Mansion Heat

Cody POV

I step out of the cab, staring up at Ryan’s mansion, my stomach doing flips. It’s huge—white walls, glass windows, lights glowing soft in the L.A. night. My sneakers feel cheap on the smooth driveway, and I tug at my shirt, hoping I look okay. I texted him when I got close, and now I’m here, heart thumping like I’m about to audition. The door swings open before I knock, and there’s Ryan—hair messy, barefoot, wearing a tight black tee and jeans. He grins, all easy and hot, and I’m already weak.

“Hey, dancer,” he says, voice low. “Come in.”

I follow him inside, and whoa—this place is unreal. The living room’s sleek, all dark wood and plush rugs, with a massive TV on the wall. Dim lights make it cozy, shadows dancing on the furniture. He leads me to a big gray couch, so soft I sink right in when I sit. He grabs a remote, flops down next to me, and clicks on some action flick—cars crashing, guns popping. But I’m not watching the screen. I’m watching him, the way his shirt hugs his chest, the little smirk on his lips.

“Popcorn?” he asks, holding out a bowl. His arm brushes mine, and I swear it’s on purpose.

“Sure,” I say, grabbing a handful. My fingers shake a little, and he notices, raising a brow.

“Nervous?” he teases, popping a piece in his mouth.

“Nah,” I lie, smirking back. “Just… your place is nuts.”

He laughs. “Yeah, it’s a perk. You get used to it.” He shifts closer, his knee bumping mine. “Glad you’re here, though.”

“Me too,” I say, and my voice dips, flirty without meaning to. The movie’s noise fades, and it’s just us, the air thick with something hot.

We munch popcorn, pretending to watch, but his hand’s on the couch now, inches from my leg. My skin’s buzzing, and I can’t focus. He turns his head, catching me staring, and his eyes—dark, shiny—lock on mine. My breath hitches. He slides his hand over, slow, brushing my thigh. It’s light, but it burns through my jeans, and I freeze, pulse racing.

“Movie’s boring,” he says, voice husky. His fingers press a little harder, and I feel it everywhere.

“Yeah,” I manage, throat dry. “Kinda is.”

He grins, sly, and leans in. His breath’s warm on my cheek, smelling like popcorn and him. “Got a better idea,” he whispers, and then his lips are on mine. It’s soft at first, testing, like he’s waiting for me to pull back. I don’t. I kiss him back, slow and careful, my hand finding his arm. His muscles flex under my fingers, and it’s like a switch flips.

The kiss turns hungry fast. His mouth opens, hot and wet, and I match him, tongues sliding together. He groans low, and it sends a jolt straight down me. My hands grab his shirt, pulling him closer, and he swings a leg over, half on top of me. The popcorn bowl tips, spilling everywhere, but we don’t care. His weight pins me to the couch, solid and warm, and I’m drowning in him.

“Cody,” he mutters against my lips, voice rough, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. His hands yank at my shirt, tugging it up, and I lift my arms, letting him peel it off. My skin’s bare, goosebumps popping as his fingers trace my chest, slow and teasing. I gasp, arching up, and he smirks, eyes dark with want.

“Damn,” he says, staring at me like I’m something to eat. His shirt’s next—I rip it over his head, messy and fast, and his chest is right there, smooth and hard, a little hair trailing down. I run my hands over it, feeling his heartbeat, and he shivers, pressing into me.

We’re a tangle now, hands everywhere. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me tight, and I feel him—hard against my thigh through his jeans. It’s real, raw, and my head’s spinning. I fumble with his belt, clumsy but desperate, and he helps, kicking the jeans off. Mine follow, a quick scramble, and then it’s just boxers, thin fabric between us. His skin’s hot on mine, sweaty and slick, and I can’t get close enough.

He kisses me again, deep, his tongue doing things that make me moan into his mouth. One hand slides down, cupping me through the cotton, and I buck up, a shaky “Ryan” slipping out. He grins, wicked, and tugs my boxers down, slow enough to drive me crazy. I’m bare now, and his eyes rake over me, hungry. He shucks his own, and there he is—all of him, hard and ready, and I can’t look away.

We crash together, rolling on the couch, a mess of legs and arms. He’s on top again, kissing my neck, teeth grazing, and I’m grabbing his back, nails digging in. His hand wraps around me, stroking firm, and I’m panting, dizzy with it. I reach for him too, matching his rhythm, and he groans, loud, his forehead dropping to mine. It’s fast, sloppy, electric—skin on skin, heat building, every touch lighting me up.

It hits hard. I’m shaking, gasping his name, and he’s right there with me, a low growl in his throat as we lose it together. It’s a rush, messy and perfect, and we collapse, sprawled across the couch, chests heaving. Sweat sticks us together, popcorn crunching under us, and the movie’s still blasting—some car chase nobody’s watching.

I catch my breath, staring at the ceiling, feeling him next to me. His arm flops over my stomach, heavy and warm, and I turn my head. He’s looking at me, hair a wreck, lips red from kissing. “This is just the start,” he murmurs, voice soft but sure.

I grin, still buzzing, heart pounding. “I’m in,” I say, and it’s true—I’m all in, hooked on him, this, us.