CHAPTER 002

OLIVER

Oliver groaned, shifting his sore ass on the bed. He watched Rafael take off what was probably their sixth condom.

“You’re a monster,” Oliver whined, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. “You make it sound like you’re just going to take it easy, and then you pound into me.”

Rafael chuckled, wrapping the used latex in a tissue before turning around. “Who asked me to go deeper and harder?” He shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Você não sabe o que quer, juro por Deus.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, resting his chin against the soft pillow. “I understood that, you know.”

Rafael laughed, sliding back onto the bed beside him. “No, you don’t. Your Portuguese is not that good, meu amor.”

Oliver rolled his eyes again, but before he could toss back another retort, Rafael pulled him into his arms for a warm hug. The heat of Rafael’s skin and the steady rhythm of his heart beneath Oliver’s cheek melted his little fuss away.

Oliver couldn’t help but sigh, the weight in his chest finally easing. He couldn’t help but say, “My father didn’t call me tonight. Thank God for that.”

Instantly, Rafael pulled back, worry written all over his expression.

Unlike Rafael, who was raised in a large, free, and wildly happy family, Oliver was raised as the son of the former football prodigy, William Hayes.

He had been born for nothing but one purpose: to keep his father’s legacy alive. It was something William had never failed to remind him of, every single day of his life.

It hurt, deeply, because ever since Oliver was a child, he had never wanted anything more than his father’s approval.

But now, it seemed like his father was just determined to never be proud of him. No matter what he fucking did, no matter how many trophies he lifted or how hard he played on the pitch, it was never enough.

Oliver let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the bedsheets.

“I’m sorry, meu amor,” Rafael comforted, his voice dropping into a tender register. “I know you and your father’s relationship is… complicated. You want to talk about it?”

Oliver sighed and shook his head, forcing a fake smile onto his face. “No, I… have four therapists already. I’m pretty sure I’m good.”

But Rafael didn’t smile. His dark eyes softened. “I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he said quietly, his large hand coming up to cup Oliver's cheek. “Don’t fake your smile in front of me.”

Oliver’s fake smile faded as well. He looked into Rafael’s eyes, a rare vulnerability slipping through his defenses. “Sorry if I ruined the mood. I just… I don’t know.”

“Don’t say that,” Rafael snapped, genuine frustration lacing his tone. “You to talk to me. I want it. I want you to share how you’re… you’re…” He snapped his fingers twice, searching his mind for the right word.

“Feeling?” Oliver supplied.

“Yes. That. Share how you’re feeling… to me.”

This time, a real smile broke across Oliver’s face. “Well, I’m happy now. Because of you.” He stretched out a hand, lazily tracing his fingertips over the hard ridge of Rafael’s dark chest. Rafael was just so large and… muscled.

“I might even be happy enough to… go another round.”

Rafael scoffed, a low rumble vibrating under Oliver’s touch. “You are not happy enough for what I will do to you if you give the chance. Come, I feed you. Then we sleep.”

Oliver let out a small sigh, his eyes drifting toward the window. “I really shouldn’t sleep here, though…”

Rafael grabbed him by the hip, pulling him close with a firm grip. “You are not leaving me this night. That was not a suggestion. Come, let’s go eat.”

Oliver barely hid his smile as Rafael turned to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He never liked to make it obvious just how much Rafael’s dominant side turned him the fuck on.

Though, judging by the tiny prick of pain lingering in his ass, he really shouldn’t be getting turned on anytime soon.

“Fine,” Oliver groaned, pushing himself up from the mattress and following Rafael out into the dim lights of the living room.