“Not yet,” I murmur, grinding against him. “You’re still standing.”
His fingers dig in slightly, and the sound he makes? A low, guttural exhale that sends a shiver down my spine. I turn around, slowly, hands sliding up his chest. He watches me like he’s starving and I’m going to be his next meal. The kind of look that turns my insides to molten heat. Then the music changes. A bachata track.
His hands find mine, and without a word, he draws me closer. His hand rests at the small of my back, the other clasping mine. Our steps fall into rhythm like they were made to. Dancing bachata is slow, sensual, intimate. Every move with him feels like foreplay.
Our bodies stay pressed, my thigh brushing between his legs with every step. His nose grazes my temple. Our mouths are so close. We’re both breathing heavier now, and neither of us is pretending anymore.
“You’re driving me insane,” he says, his voice low and rough.
“Good,” I whisper, my hand drifting to his chest. “I want to.”
He stops moving. And I know it. I can feel it. The moment he makes a decision.
“Please,” he rasps, like he can’t take another second.
That one word undoes me, and I nod. He pulls me in and kisses me. Not soft. Not sweet. Hungry.
His lips crash into mine like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. His hand slides up my spine, the other cupping my jaw as he deepens it. I melt into him, my hands threading through his curls, anchoring us together as the music fades beneath the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I’ve never had a kiss that drove me as crazy as this one is. The kind of kiss that makes me wonder how I ever went withoutit. How did I go this long without feeling the press of lips against mine, the minty taste of his tongue as it moves against mine? Now that I’ve had it, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.
He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting on mine. “I need you. I can’t wait anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I breathe. “Let’s go.”
We weave back through the crowd, his hand tightly laced in mine. At the booth, Anna raises an eyebrow. Mari smirks knowingly.
“We’ll see you all tomorrow,” Mateo says, voice rough.
“Use protection!” Andres calls.
I roll my eyes. Mateo just laughs. And then we’re out the door.
The second the door to my house closes, he’s on me. His hands grip my waist, my back hits the wall, and our mouths crash together again, messier this time. Needier.
I gasp against his lips, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer. My hands, trembling with adrenaline and something like need, knot themselves in his thick hair. I’m greedy for his mouth, the scrape of his teeth across my bottom lip. His hands are everywhere at once—fingers sinking deep into my waist, thumbs tracing the edge of my ribs, palms spanning the small of my back.
He lifts me in a single motion and pins me against the wall. My breath punches out of me as my legs wrap around his waist. His body presses into mine, heat radiating through fabric. Every muscle in him is taut, a coil drawn so tight.
He’s kissing me like a man lost in the desert who just found a spring—hungry, reverent, wild. My hands skim his jaw, his neck, the slope of his shoulders, memorizing every inch with frantic devotion. He pauses only when we’re bothgasping, our foreheads pressed together, breath coming in hard, ragged waves. My heart hammers against his chest. He looks at me, eyes dark and dilated, trembling with the restraint it takes not to devour me whole.
His lips press into the hollow of my throat, hot puffs of breath branding the skin just below my ear. “You don’t understand, chula,” he says, voice rough. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. For so damn long.” He pauses, the silence full of promise. “And now that I have you,” he growls, dragging his mouth along my jaw, “I’m not going to rush. I’m going to savor every goddamn second. I’m going to take my time.”
The words melt straight down my spine. Every cell in my body vibrates with anticipation. I clutch his shoulders, desperate to keep him anchored to me. His hands span the flare of my hip, his thumbs stroking slow, hypnotic circles that make my vision blur. His mouth finds the pulse beneath my ear and lingers for a breath.
His fingers curl around the thin straps of my dress and drag them slowly down my shoulders. The fabric slips away, exposing skin to the cool air. I shiver, not from cold, but from the intensity in his eyes.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, voice thick with want.
His palms cup the weight of my breasts, thumbs brushing over my hardened nipples in a way that makes my head fall back against the wall. I arch into his touch. The calluses on his hands create a delicious friction against my skin.
He lowers his head, replacing one hand with his mouth. The first touch of his tongue sends electricity shooting through me. I cry out, fingers tightening in his hair. He sucks gently, then harder, a low hum vibrating through his lips. My knees threaten to give out, but he has me caged in, his mouth relentless. Every flick of his tongue is a jolt straight through my core. I arch, clutching him harder. When hecloses his lips around my nipple, a raw, involuntary cry escapes me.
“Mateo,” I gasp.
He pulls back just enough to blow cool air across the dampened skin, then moves to the other breast, lavishing it with the same devastating attention. His teeth scrape lightly, a gentle bite, and my body bows in response. My head thuds against the wall. Every muscle in me is wound tight.
I can’t catch my breath. I can’t think. The only thing I can do is feel. And he’s making me feel so damn good. He teases and tastes, alternating between soft and rough, gentle and greedy, until I’m trembling.
His hands slide down, tracing the curve of my spine. My dress is bunched around my hips. His fingers span the backs of my thighs, squeezing, kneading, dragging me closer to the hard line of his body. He rocks his hips forward, the ridge of him pressing against my pussy through our clothes. A strangled sound escapes me.
