Be strong.
“I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” I say.
“I won’t let us,” he counters, twirling a curl from my twist-out between his fingers.
Be strong.
I grab the skillet. “What about Kenya? A-aren’t you together?”
“Not even close. She’s not the one I think about.”
Bitch, be strong!
My breath hitches at his hand on mine. Every ounce of resolve drains from my body.
“If we cross this line—“
“We already did.”
I turn just enough to look him in the eyes. The air is knocked out of me when Antonio’s mouth crashes onto mine. His hands hold my face as he tilts my head to suck on my lips. I stumble at the force of his body pushing against mine before I’m lifted into the air.
Where the hell is my strength?
Girl, it’s gone.
His lips on my skin isn’t what shocks me. What shocks me is that I’m kissing him back.
A moan slips, and he chases it with his tongue. My arms wrap around his neck as our kiss deepens. Searching. Unleashing.
He walks us to my kitchen table and clears it with a swipe of his hand. The salt and pepper shakers and the lemon bowl I spent an hour rearranging crash to the floor.
“Sorry,” he mumbles against my mouth.
“It’s o—“ I groan at the erection pressed between my parted legs. My hips buck, an invitation for him to rock the weight of his length into my center.
“Let me take care of you,” Antonio says, showering kisses down my neck.
I lean back on my palms, anchored to the table. At no point does common sense activate to tell me that this is a bad idea. My common sense is grabbing her ankles in the air.
My breasts are in his face, and he caresses them, massaging the plump curves between his hands. I widen my legs so his tongue can continue its voyage down my body. Our eyes meet, and I bite my bottom lip when he pinches my nipple between his fingertips. Cotton skates over my sensitive buds, and I free them with the push of my straps.
He’s practically drooling when he dives in. The suction of his mouth and the pull of his teeth are enough to send me through the wall. I hiss at the pads of his fingers over my clit, and it becomes a cry when he pushes inside of me. He moans at my lack of panties and pumps in and out.
It should be embarrassing how wet I am. The echo of my desire is louder than Celia Cruz. My hips buck at the pressure building between my legs.
“Fuck my hand.” Antonio pecks my lips and fists my throat. “Yeah, that’s it. Harder, Doe.”
My body must have received a memo that said we like being choked on a kitchen table. My back arches off the table when his other hand presses down on my abdomen. He inserts a third finger and increases his speed.
I jerk from the explosion of pressure, short-circuiting in English and Spanish curse words when I come.
Antonio squats, tossing my legs over his shoulders. I get a kiss to the thigh before he latches on to my engorged hood.
He sucks hard, pulling my clit deeper into his mouth. I push him away once it’s too much, but he pulls me back in. His tongue spreads, and the room spins as his pace quickens.
“Slide it over my beard,” he commands, separating my thighs to lick me in long strokes. His deep moan is all I need to ride him and his beard.
I know for a fact this man licked his plate clean when he was a child.
