Page 38 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Noah

The city stretched out below us, bathed in the amber glow of a setting sun. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of our hotel room, San Francisco looked like something out of a dream, hazy and endless, an electric hum running through its veins.

But right now, I wasn’t thinking about the city.

I was thinking about Evan.

His body was pressed against the glass, hands braced against it, his breath leaving fogged traces against the cool surface.

I had him pinned, I gripped his hips, my lips dragged along the column of his throat as he arched back into me.

The soft skin of his neck was warm beneath my mouth, and I could feel his pulse racing as I kissed him.

My tongue darted out to taste the sweat on his skin, and he shuddered beneath me.

The way he responded to me, the way he came undone in my hands, it wrecked me.

Every moan that escaped his lips was like fuel to my desire, every twitch of his muscles a testament to the heat that coursed through him.

I could feel his ass clenching around me as I thrust into him, the tight heat enveloping my cock like a vice.

Somewhere between conference sessions and long, lazy mornings in bed, something had shifted.

We weren’t just fucking. We weren’t just filling the space between obligations.

This was more. Every touch sparked a fire that was beginning to consume us both, every kiss coming from somewhere deeper and more meaningful.

And I knew it .

His forehead rested against the glass, a quiet, desperate sound slipped from his lips as I moved inside him.

My grip tightened on his hips, pressing into his skin, trying to hold myself back as the heat built between us.

The sound of our breathing filled the air.

My cock slid in and out of him, filling him deep inside, hitting that sweet spot that made him cry out for more.

His hands were still braced against glass but now they were trembling with need.

I could feel myself getting closer, my balls drawing up tight, my cock throbbing with anticipation.

And then, without warning, Evan was coming.

He shot his hot load onto the window. I watched his eyes go wide with surprise in his reflection in the glass.

The sticky liquid slowly dripped down the pane, pooling on the carpeted floor below.

At the same time, I felt myself explode inside Evan, filling the condom as I let out a low growl of pleasure.

And when our orgasms finally relented, we collapsed against each other, spent and breathless.

I pressed a lingering kiss to the back of his neck, letting myself savor the moment, his skin warm against mine, his breathing slowly steadying.

Eventually, I eased out of him and helped him upright, both of us sticky and sore in the best kind of way.

He turned and kissed me, soft and unhurried, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Evan let out a shaky breath as he brushed his nose against mine. “I’ve never cum hands-free before. Good job, Noah. That was a very intense and different kind of orgasm.”

My smirk widened, proud and satisfied.

“I should shower,” he said quietly against my lips.

“Yeah,” I said, stretching with a wince and a smile. “We’re a mess.”

We cleaned up together, the shower quiet and efficient. Our movements overlapped in a quiet rhythm. No rush. Just two bodies moving around each other like we’d done it before and would do it again.

Back in the room, we worked in tandem, tossing the used towels into the bathroom, straightening the bed, gathering up the scattered pieces of our clothes from the floor.

I pulled on my conference badge and slid my laptop into my bag. “I’ve got to head down. The afternoon panel starts in fifteen.”

Evan nodded, pulling on his shirt, his hair still damp. “Big techy talks?”

I gave him a look. “Thrilling ones. With spreadsheets and everything. ”

He laughed, and God, it made me want to forget about the sessions and just go for round two with this beautiful man.

“What about you?” I asked, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. “Plans before dinner?”

He shrugged. “Might wander the local shops. Maybe find a coffee shop. Or a little gay gift shop.”

I laughed under my breath, then paused, looking at him. “You’re still coming to dinner tonight, right?”

His smile softened. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.” I nodded, then, before I could talk myself out of going downstairs, leaned in and kissed him once more. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” I said, heading toward the door.

“Break a leg,” he called after me. “Or whatever you tech people do.”

I glanced back, smiling despite myself. And then I stepped out, letting the hotel door click softly shut behind me.

The conference was, predictably, a formality.

The presentations and panels were nothing but overblown PowerPoints and recycled ideas, and anyone who had been in the industry long enough knew that the real work happened outside of the scheduled sessions.

Networking over cocktails, lingering in hotel lobbies with people who actually made decisions, and slipping away to dinner reservations where the most lucrative deals were made.

I spent most of the afternoon schmoozing in the hotel’s rooftop lounge with a group of producers and tech leads from a studio we’d been hoping to partner with for months.

It was all talk of cross-platform builds, adaptive AI behavior, and some wildly ambitious speculation about what procedural generation might look like in five years.

I nodded in the right places, dropped just enough keywords to stay interesting, and kept my glass half-full.

During a break in the conversation, I slipped my phone from my pocket and shot off a quick text to Evan.

Noah: Hey. You good? Didn’t get lost in a bad café noir remake or anything?

His response came quickly.

Evan Mitchell : I found a coffee shop that serves iced lattes in glass mason jars shaped like skulls. And a gift shop that sells things I’m pretty sure are illegal in at least three states. Bought something fun to try on you tonight. You’ll see .

I swallowed hard, my eyes glancing around briefly to be sure no one had picked up on the shift in my expression. My ears were burning. I am not sure if I was scared, nervous, or excited, but I do know that text sent something straight to my dick.

Noah : Is that so? You keep texting me stuff like that, I’m not going to make it through dinner with my boss.

Evan Mitchell : That’s the point, babe.

Babe? I smiled, typing back.

Noah : Meet me in the lobby at 6:15. We’ll walk there together.

Evan Mitchell : Can’t wait.

I locked my phone and tucked it back into my pocket, straightening my posture as someone at the bar launched into a story about product launch disasters. My body was still here, nodding along, laughing at the right moments. But my thoughts? They were already at 6:15.

If Evan was nervous about joining me for dinner with my boss and co-workers, he didn’t show it.

He stepped into the lobby from the elevator like he belonged here, greeting my colleagues with a handshake and a smile, slipping into conversations like he’d been doing this for years.

Evan, despite not knowing a damn thing about the tech industry, fit into that rhythm seamlessly.

And I did not realize just how much I loved watching it.

He was so good with people, never meeting a stranger.

He was so fucking hot in those khakis and fitted button down shirt.

And what those curls do to me… I had to stop myself and remind myself I was working.

We headed out of the hotel in a big group talking and laughing about the day’s sessions and the hot gossip about rival companies.

The restaurant was designed to impress, white tablecloths, candlelight, and panoramic views of the bay through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Evan sat beside me, leaning back in his chair, completely at ease as if this was just another night at The Rivermere Bistro instead of a dinner with my boss, the head of our development team, and Milo, who had made it his personal mission to be the biggest shit-stirrer in my life.

It started off simple. Our waiter introducing herself and sharing the specials, a round of drinks, and a light conversation about the city.

Evan immediately hit it off with Claire, our lead graphic designer, after discovering they shared a mutual obsession with classic films and Broadway musicals.

Their conversation was already deep into a discussion about All About Eve and the brilliance of Bette Davis when Milo, ever the opportunist, saw his moment.

He swirled his whiskey lazily in his glass. “So, Evan. How’s it feel to date a man who once built an entire playable prototype just to prove a professor wrong?”

Evan turned toward him, clearly intrigued. “Okay, that already sounds unreasonably on-brand. Go on.”

Milo leaned in, more than happy to entertain. “Sophomore year. Game Theory class. Professor Hartley casually says this one mechanic wouldn’t work in a single-player environment without breaking immersion. Most of us just nodded and moved on.”

“But not Noah,” Evan said, smiling as he glanced at me.

“Absolutely not,” Milo confirmed. “He vanished for three days, retooled half an open-source engine, and turned in a demo where the NPCs responded to the player not engaging , like, full-on existential crisis mode.”

Evan blinked. “Wait, so like… the characters got sad?”

“One wrote a journal entry about feeling abandoned. Another refused to speak until the player apologized. It was grim.”

Evan leaned back, wide-eyed. “Okay, full transparency, I have no idea what any of this means, but I’m assuming that’s wildly impressive and only mildly unhinged.”

Milo raised his glass. “Correct on both counts.”

Evan laughed, shaking his head. “God, I’m dating a tragic video game poet. Incredible.”