A creak from the shadows at the far end of the porch interrupted his thoughts. He turned and peered into the darkness. There was Mateo, sitting on the wide railing, leaning back on a thick post, one leg folded under him, one dangling.

“Oh, hi,” Archer said, mouth turning to dust. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I did,” Mateo said in a low rumble. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Archer’s feet traveled over toward Mateo on their own accord, then he hopped onto the railing and mirrored Mateo’s pose against the other post. “Wallowing in your Connect 4 defeat?” he teased.

Mateo’s laugh was like syrup, thick and slow. His gaze swung from the lake back to Archer.

“We’re ready for the finale, I think,” Archer said, choosing a safe topic for discussion. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Time slowed down as Mateo slid off his seat and moved closer to Archer. He leaned against the railing, his hip touching Archer’s bent knee. “I hope so.”

Archer swallowed hard, giving into his impulse to reach over and squeeze Mateo’s hand. “You’ve done an amazing job getting us there.”

Their eyes met. The heat sent a charge of goose bumps over his skin, an overwhelming tingle that reached deep into every cell. The shadows slid over Mateo’s face as he shuffled closer, highlighting the ridge of his eyebrows and lips. Then he shuffled closer still until he was between Archer’s legs, his hip resting against Archer’s dangling leg.

Archer dared to hold the gaze, even though he knew it would set him on fire. And it did, a scorching, exhilarating burn that turned his skin to ash before the embers licked at his core.

Heart thudding, blood boiling, his throat closed and his soul shrieked with need. His brain grasped to make sense of the moment, and all it could come up with was Mateo Dixon is standing between my legs. The smell of Mateo’s sweat and deodorant and skin filled his lungs—forest and sunshine—and he wanted to drown in it all.

Their eyes were still locked, the moment stretching out until it was too thin to hold. It broke. A whimper escaped Archer’s lips. And Mateo kissed him.

The kiss swallowed Archer’s next whimper, then a sigh.

Their lips danced—leading, following, in perfect sync, just as the rest of their bodies were so accustomed to doing. Mateo’s tongue was strong and slick as it pushed into his mouth. Archer groaned and threaded a hand into Mateo’s thick hair, the other taking hold of Mateo’s ass and pulling him even closer. His legs grasped Mateo’s hips.

Mateo’s arms slid around him, fingers gripping the back of his neck, a growl rumbling from his chest and sending sparks along every nerve ending Archer had.