“That’s it. Come on me.”
I pull her mouth to mine, our teeth clashing and our lips meeting messily. Her breathing starts to change, increasing and staggering. My balls tighten, and just as I push into her with more force, she cries out and comes so hard that her body stills, keeping her clit right against the head of my cock to ride her pleasure out. Feeling her pulsate around me, I groan into our kiss and roll my hips once more, feeling my cock twitching and tightening.
Alara, still in a haze of pleasure, reaches down my boxers while breathing heavily. The first contact of her palm around my tip has stars whitening my vision, my orgasm shooting through me so hard, so unexpectedly, that I slump into her. My hips jerk, spasm, then still, and I spill into her hand.
“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers as her legs shake around my hips. “That was—”
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “Like a fucking fifteen-year-old.”
Alara hides her face in my neck and chuckles, her breath tickling my damp skin. I gently rub her back, soothing her as we both come down from the high, our chests rising and falling in perfect sync.
Holy shit.
I can’t believe this just happened.
She was incredibly sexy, and I was pathetically desperate for her, but I’m not even ashamed of blowing like that.
“Hot,” she whispers. “I was going to say that it was hot.”
My heart is about to stall with the way it’s beating so fast. Gently cupping her face in my trembling hands, I brush her hair out of the way and place a tender kiss on her lips. “So fucking hot. This is just the beginning of our deal.”
For a moment, time stops as she holds my gaze, a satisfied smile on her face. “I can’t wait for more.”
“So eager to fuck me,” I taunt, before pecking her cheek.
As I pull away, she straightens herself, and when she tries to adjust her panties, I hook my fingers beneath the bands and pull them down her legs. I pocket them as she looks at me, bewildered. “They’re mine now.”
She arches a brow, her cheeks flushing despite the confidence in her voice. “Are you going to fuck yourself with them while you think of me tonight?”
Fuck. I love her dirty mind. “You bet I am.”
We share another soft kiss before she hops off the table to fetch some tissues for me and her hand.
I’ve slept with a few girls, and this is the moment where it often gets awkward as we get dressed, but Alara is quick to talk about her day with her mom and, weirdly, I don’t feel that usual sense of discomfort during the aftermath. She draws a few chuckles out of me when she rambles, getting animated with her hands.
This feels natural.
Feels good. Really good.
As I clean her hand, she taunts me about the hickey she left on my pec, and I pester her about the way she left her mark on my briefs. She flushes at that, and I kiss the inside of her wrist as a form of apology.
And as I watch her walk around with her cardigan undone,her mussed-up hair, and her blood-rushed lips, I can’t help but think that she’s already ruined me – and I haven’t even fully fucked her yet.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALARA
“Delicious as always, Loretta.” I grin at Mrs Ramirez as I scoop some guacamole into a tortilla chip.
“Thank you, sweet girl. Diego actually made it,” she says, while laying out some ingredients on the counter. From the looks of it, she’s going to make black-bean enchiladas.
I was out with Gaby and, when I dropped her off, she asked if I wanted to eat dinner with her family. The day I refuse Mrs Ramirez’s home-made meals is the day I die. Her cuisine is excellent, and I make sure to tell her so every time I have the honor of sitting at her table. The dish that brings me the most comfort is her famoustinga de pollo– that shredded chicken is to die for, and the way it melts on my tongue and bursts with flavors is nothing like I’ve ever had. After slumber parties with Gaby, she’d make us chilaquiles, those fried tortilla chips simmered in tangy salsa, which is eternally one of my all-time favorite breakfasts.
At the mention of Diego, my palms get clammy. I try to feign indifference despite my thrumming heartbeat. “Impressive.” I swallow my bite, nodding. “This is really good.”
Mrs Ramirez – whom I still have trouble calling by herfirst name, even though I’ve known her my entire life – grins at something behind my shoulder. I sigh, knowing Diego is standing there, probably smiling like the smug bastard he is.
In fact, I feel his gaze on me as he enters the kitchen. He sits across from me at the table, dimpled grin on display. “Did you just compliment me?”
