His hands are everywhere, reverent and greedy, as he peels my leggings and panties away, baring me to the cold air and his hungry gaze. I watch his face as he takes me in—dark eyes heavy with heat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low enough it scrapes across my skin.
He kisses the inside of my knee, teeth scraping, lips dragging heat up the inside of my thigh. When he reaches my hip, he doesn’t stop—just keeps moving, mouth teasing a slow, torturous path, never quite where I want him. My hands fist in his hair, but he’s in control now. His lips close around my nipple, sucking until I arch, then biting until I gasp.
He smirks against my skin, then trails kisses down, down, over my stomach, my hips, pausing at the mound above my clit. His breath is hot, making me twitch, and then finally—finally—his mouth is on me.
He licks me slow, savoring every moan, every shiver. When he fixes his mouth around my clit, it’s not gentle; it’s filthy, practiced, like he’s staking a claim. “Joder, eres perfecta…”?* His tongue circles, then flicks, then plunges deep, and my hips jerk up into his mouth.
“Fuck,Alejandro—don’t stop,” I gasp, my voice raw. I grab at his hair, but he just growls, hands gripping my thighs, holding me open for him. He works me over, relentless, switching from slow, lazy laps to fast, ruthless flicks that have me teetering on the edge.
He pulls back for just a second, glancing up at me, lips slick, stubbled chin shining. “Mírame, Pícarita.”?* His voice is dark velvet, all command. “Quiero verte venir.”?* I force my eyes open, holding his stare, letting him see what he’s doing to me.
He grins, then sucks my clit hard, fingers sliding inside me, curling until I break—arching, cursing, clawing at his shoulders as I shatter on his tongue.
“Fuck—Alejandro—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop?—”
He doesn’t, not until I’m limp and boneless, my pulse thundering in my ears, breath coming in ragged gasps. I’m ruined, but I want more.
He drags his mouth up my body, slow only because he likes to watch me squirm. I’m shaking, skin fever-hot, barely catching my breath before he’s on top of me again—bigger, heavier, hunger in his eyes. His cock is hard and leaking, pressed between us, leaving a hot smear across my stomach as he grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand.
We both know there is no risk of a pregnancy. Guild initiation requires it. And producing little fuck-trophies is never something I wanted.
He doesn’t ask if I want this. Heknows the answer. My thighs open for him automatically, my hips arching up, desperate.
Alejandro grins, teeth sharp in the low light. “Look at you. Always pretending you’re in control.” He shifts, lining himself up. “But you want to be ruined, don’t you, Saint?”
I bite his shoulder, hard, just to prove I can. “Shut up and fuck me.”
He laughs, dark and savage, and pushes inside in one rough thrust that knocks the air out of my lungs. He’s thick, stretching me so good it hurts, and for a second I think I might actually fall apart.
He moves hard, relentless, hips slamming into mine, the mattress beneath us rattling with every thrust. He fucks me like he’s angry—at me, at himself, at the years lost between us. Every sound he makes is a growl, every word in Spanish, dirty and reverent all at once.
“Así, Pícarita, así—mira cómo me tomas, how you squeeze me—joder, you feel so fucking good?—”?*
I drag my nails down his back, clawing, daring him to go harder, rougher, to give me everything he’s got. He pins my wrists tighter, driving in deeper, making me cry out. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
“Is this what you wanted?” he rasps, his voice rough with need. “To be fucked like you’re nothing but mine?”
I bare my teeth, daring him. “Prove it.”
He does. He fucks me through another orgasm, not letting up, not giving me a second to recover. I shatter, legs shaking, gaspinghis name and curses and nothing at all.
He barely gives me time to breathe before he’s moving again—hands rough as he drags me up, spins me, and pushes between my shoulders until I’m bent over the edge of the mattress, ass in the air. My pulse thunders. I don’t ask for mercy. I want none.
“Stay there,” he growls, and I do. My hair tangles in his fist as he lines up behind me, and when he drives back inside, I bite my forearm to keep from screaming. He’s deeper like this—harder, hips slamming into me, each thrust making my legs quake. The slap of skin, the obscene wet sounds, the dim light of a single bulb in the ceiling. It’s all chaos. All heat.
“Play with yourself,” he orders, voice low and fraying, Spanish curses threading through every word. “Quiero verte venir otra vez, Pícarita. Hazlo.”?*
I reach down, fingers working my clit, still so fucking sensitive I almost can’t stand it. But I want more. Need more. He yanks my head back, forcing my spine to arch. My eyes roll, every nerve ending burning as he pounds into me, dragging pleasure and pain tight together until I’m begging—swearing, pleading, grinding back to take all of him.
“Fucking—harder, Alejandro—don’t you dare stop?—”
He slaps my ass, handprint blooming hot across my skin. “Look at you, taking everything, so goddamn greedy—” His words are a growl in my ear as he fucks me deeper, rougher, like he’s trying to erase the years and the guilt and every goddamn thing that came between us.
The pressure builds—hot, violent,inescapable. I rub my clit harder, moaning his name as I come again, body shaking so hard my arms nearly give out.
He follows with a guttural moan, hips jerking as he empties inside me, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. For a second, neither of us moves. Just gasping, shaking, strung out and ruined.
He finally lets go of my hair, his breath heavy at my back. I straighten, shoving my wild hair out of my face, refusing to look at him. My legs are barely holding me up. My heart’s still trying to claw its way out of my chest.
