Leon's breath hitched, the air around them suddenly thick with unspoken desires. Mark's thumb, still resting on Leon's cheek, began to trace the line of his jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down Leon's spine.
The casual intimacy of it was disarming, especially given the raw confession that had just passed Mark's lips.
"You talk gibberish..." Leon managed, his voice a low, rough murmur he barely recognised as his own.
He tried to project an air of nonchalance, but the tremor in his hand, still clamped over the evidence of his undeniable reaction, betrayed him.
Mark's eyes, dark and knowing, never left Leon's, a slow, predatory smile playing on his lips. He leaned in closer, his scent—a subtle mix of something earthy and incredibly masculine—enveloping Leon.
"Oh, you have no idea, chef," Mark purred, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that seemed to bypass Leon's ears and go straight to his core.
