Alle Kapitel von Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire : Kapitel 41 – Kapitel 50

Elias stood barefoot on the cold kitchen floor, a coffee mug trembled in his hand. His neck bore marks, kisses that lingered like brands. His hips ached, protesting each step. Sleep hadn’t come, couldn’t, not after last night’s fire. Marcus strolled in, immaculate, shirt crisp, smug. Not a hair out of place. “You look wrecked,” Marcus said, poured his coffee, voice casual. Elias grunted, winced as he reached for sugar, he didn’t even bother to answer him. Marcus watched, amusement tilted his lips. “Too much?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. Elias side-eyed him. “Too much? You knelt like a fucking priest, Marcus,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t stop till I begged. You knew exactly what you were doing.” Marcus sipped his coffee, calm as ever. “You begged so well,” he said, smirking. Elias’s face flushed, heat surged. “Shut up,” he muttered, gripping the mug tighter.

“Paul! Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!”Pete’s voice cracked through the hallway like a siren, tangled somewhere between panic and impatient frustration.Half-dressed and half-dried, he stumbled barefoot into the common area of their dorm, jeans clinging stubbornly to his hips, still halfway unzipped. His shirt, if you could even call it that at this point, hung open, buttons ignored, exposing his chest and the damp skin still glistening from his rushed shower.His hair stuck up at odd angles, water dripping at the tips like he’d barely given it a towel swipe.“Paul!” Pete yelled again, louder this time, like volume alone could summon his twin from whatever state of sleep-induced rebellion he was in.From beneath the thick blanket cocooned around him, Paul let out a groggy, annoyed groan.Dragging one hand lazily over his face, he blinked slow and heavy, like opening his eyes was the single greatest effort of the morning. His hair

[Pete's Perspective] Pete's breath hitched as Paul's fingers gripped his jaw, tilting his head just enough to hold eye contact. God, his own face, staring back at him with that dark, possessive gleam. It should’ve made him pull away. Run. Scream. But instead, it made something inside him clench, deepen. Like every part of his body was tuned to Paul’s hands. Paul didn’t even need to move much. Just that slow, maddening drag of his palm down Pete’s chest, over the dip between his ribs, across his trembling stomach, then lower, until his fingers slid beneath the towel that was barely hanging on. Pete’s knees almost gave out. “Say it,” Paul whispered, breath warm against Pete’s cheek. Pete’s voice broke. “You’re not gonna wait, are you?” Paul’s smirk was brutal. “Not when you look like this.” The towel hit the floor. And then Pete, He gasp

They didn’t go far. Paul didn’t speak as they stepped out of the infirmary. His mouth was still bleeding faintly, a raw crack splitting the curve of his lip. The hallway was empty, the gym noise muffled through thick concrete. But his hands were still shaking. From the fight. From the adrenaline. From something else. Pete walked ahead, then stopped. He looked back, eyes sweeping across the bruise forming on Paul’s cheek. His chest tightened. There was something hollow behind Paul’s eyes now, something caged and violent that hadn’t burned out. “Come with me,” Pete said, voice rough. He didn’t wait for permission. The locker room was cold. Still reeking faintly of sweat and menthol, but empty. Practice had been dismissed. Just the two of them now. As always. The silence didn’t end

One day, during Carlos's suspension, the gym stood quiet, too quiet. The usual post-practice rowdiness had long faded, leaving behind the faint hum of overhead lights and the soft gurgle of distant showers winding down. He slipped inside the basketball team’s locker room with practiced ease. No one saw him. No one was supposed to.The showers still steamed lightly, a haze clinging to the tiled walls. The air smelled faintly of soap, sweat, and disinfectant. Carlos pressed his back flat against the cold ceramic, tucking himself behind the far end of the shower stalls, the spot where sightlines cut off and no one ever bothered to look. He crouched low, hidden, silent.This was stupid. Petty. But revenge rarely listened to reason.Paul had thrown the first punch. Carlos had paid the price. A suspension. A missed game. His name whispered around campus with sympathy and mockery in equal measure. But what stung more than the bruised face or t