Love Story isn't what you think it is. These are tales of men-real, grounded, sometimes rough, often silent-who don't talk about their feelings, but let them explode through sweat, friction, and the heat of proximity. In locker rooms, suburban backyards, moving trucks, and late-night showers, attraction brews slowly, then hits hard. This is virile eroticism-where tension is foreplay, and nothing is said that isn't felt on the skin.
The title story begins on a quiet Saturday. A new neighbor. A shirtless body. A pool glistening in the sun. He's called Gianni-built, cocky without meaning to be, and utterly unaware of what he's igniting. What starts with a helping hand turns into gym workouts, shared saunas, stolen glances-and ends with wet skin, whispered apologies, and lips wrapped around things once only dreamed of.
""He kissed me. Just like that-raw, hungry. When he pulled back and muttered, 'I didn't mean to...', I showed him how much I had. I took his cock in my mouth, slow, like a promise. He tasted like sun and beer and something I'd waited too long to have. Later, his hand on me, his fingers slick, I came hard into his fist while we kissed again-this time without hesitation.""
Love Story leaves nothing to chance and nothing to fantasy. These aren't dreams. These are moments: soaked in sweat, heavy with silence, and crackling with the kind of male desire that doesn't ask for permission. Just two men, a long look, and what happens when one finally makes a move.
