And she’s the only thing that’s everfilled me.
This is a bad idea. I know it in the marrow of my bones, the kind of certainty you get right before the trigger pull. It doesn’t matter. Not when Alejandro’s mouth is on mine, rough and hungry, not when his hands are skating up my thigh and the friction from his jeans is exactly where I want it. Maybe I want to punish myself. Maybe I just want to forget the last two years—every single moment I kept running from one contract to the next. Either way, I’m not stopping.
He pulls back, just enough that our breaths tangle in the small space between us. “Tell me to stop.”
I bite his lower lip—hard enough to remind him who he’s dealing with. “If you stop, I’m stabbing you.”
His laugh is low, dangerous, and so goddamn familiar I want to crawl inside it. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my legs locking around his hips as he carries me through the clutter, past the table with its godawful lampshades and half-burnt ramen boxes, straight to the room we’ll be sharing.
Every step is a silent dare, his arms solid beneath me, my fingers digging into his hair like I can anchor myself tosomething that’s already half-gone. His mouth never leaves my neck.
He lays me down—gentler than I expect. I pull him down, kissing him hard, as his body covers mine, heat sinking into all the places I’ve been cold for too long.
He pulls back again, searching my eyes. “Last chance. If you don’t want to do this?—”
I let my grin sharpen, even as my pulse hammers. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to open up that bullet hole and shoot you again.”
He laughs—dark and hoarse—and that’s it. The last line gone.
He strips his shirt off in one smooth motion, and I pull mine over my head, fingers finding the zipper on my sports bra. The fabric parts down the center, and I watch his eyes track the motion as it slips off my shoulders.
His gaze drops straight to my breasts, dark nipples tightening in the cool air. The hunger on his face hits me like a live current.
He drops to his knees on the mattress, sitting back on his heels as he unbuckles his belt. I rise up to mirror him, sliding my fingers over the button of his jeans, down the zipper, pushing denim and boxers just low enough to free his cock.
God, he’s beautiful like this. Tan skin. Dark hair dusting his chest. Muscles tightening with every breath like he’s trying not to break.
I sink onto my hands and knees in front of him. Grip him at the base. Keep my eyes locked on his as I drag my tongue up the length of him, slow enough to make him curse under his breath, before sealing my mouth around the head and sucking.
His head tips back, eyes closing, a deep groan spilling out of him.
“Mierda, nena… así.”?*
Then, rougher, “Dios… tu boca es un pecado.”?*
His compliments go straight to my core. The man has an incredible cock, but better than that, he knows how to use every part of him—hands, mouth, body—like he was born to wring pleasure out of a woman.
But right now, I want to make him lose control.
I hollow my cheeks, take him deeper, stroke him with one hand while my tongue works the underside. His breathing slips into ragged territory. His hands slide into my hair, fingers winding at the base of my skull as his hips pulse up, not forcing, just meeting me. Matching me.
Another minute of this and he’ll come. We both know it.
And neither of us wants it to end yet.
He groans down at me. “Ven aquí, Pícarita.”?*
A single finger hooks beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. He kisses me, deep and slow this time, tasting himself on my tongue, breathing like he’s relearning it.
“I don’t want to come down your throat,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Not right now, at least.”
His hands slide down my hips, under the waistband of my tights, fingers slipping between my legs. The second he feels how wet I am, he lets out a low,satisfied rumble.
“Quiero comerme este coño,”?* he says, voice wrecked with intent.
His finger slides inside me. My breath stutters.
“Y luego quiero enterrarme dentro de ti.”?*
