My walls tighten around him. His body shakes, shoulders tensing, and I know he’s as close as I am. I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a moan. César reaches between us, thumb finding my clit and rubbing in slow, circular motions.
Pleasure erupts, and I scream. His moans mix with mine and soon we fall over the edge together. I come hard, just as his hot release fills me. He comes as if he hasn’t finished in months. But so do I, feeling lightheaded when the high fades. My body is a mess of sweat and cum, but I fucking love it.
I’m marked by him.
“Such a good girl, Lety. Taking my cock like that,” he groans into my ear, nipping at my lobe. Even that part of my body is sensitive.
César is slow to pull away, almost reluctant. The moment he pulls out of me, I feel empty. His release drips down my thighs, coating me even more. Before he can pull away any further, my hand snaps out and closes around his wrist. “Take…a picture…of me,” I pant.
At first, he doesn’t move, just raises an eyebrow, a silent question on his lips.
“I want to post a picture on my DesireDen.”
He goes still at my explanation, every muscle tensing—and my heart sinks. For a breathless moment, I’m certain I’ve ruined everything. The air shifts, heavy with the weight of unspoken judgment.
Of course he wouldn’t want me. No man ever truly does once they know what I’ve done—what I am. A small, bitter part of me whispers “You should’ve known better.” I can already feel the walls rising, piece by piece, the armor I’ve spent years perfecting rebuilding itself to shield me from the pain I know is coming.
But then he grins. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just soft and knowing, like he sees every shattered part of me and still wants to stay.
“That’s a fucking sexy idea,” he says, reaching down on the floor for his pants. He pulls out his phone, aiming its camera at me. “Fuck, Lety, you look so good.”
He begins snapping photos of me. I’ve never let anyone help me with my DesireDen account. This seems far more intimate than what we just did, but I can’t deny the feeling of liking that he’s not only willing to help but seems excited about it.
Is this man even real? I hate the doubt creeping in, he almost seems too good to be true. I try to keep it at bay for now.
Once he’s done, César hands me back the phone. “Text the ones you like to your phone,” he says, nuzzling my neck.
I can’t help the smile on my face.
We lay there in comfortable silence; him softly kissing me while I look through the phone. After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “Lety?”
“Hmm?”
“Come with me to a party this weekend.”
I pause, putting the phone down to get a better look at him. “A party?”
He nods. “As my date.”
I flush at the word, even though we are so far beyond that. “What kind of party?”
“Just something small. I want to introduce you to a few people.” He doesn’t elaborate on who.
The old me wants to say no, to claim I’m busy, I have other plans, that this—we—is too complicated. It would be easier to protect myself before anything has the chance to hurt.
But if I keep saying no out of fear, I’ll never know what we could be. And something about César—beyond the way he looks at me like I matter—makes me want to try.
“What should I wear?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend.
“Whatever you want,” he tells me, that confident glint in his eyes. “Just come.”
A grin tugs at my lips. “I think we already did that.”
He chuckles and leans in to kiss me. It’s not rushed or hungry this time, but rather tender. A kiss that speaks of more than lust. A kiss that saysstay. That saystrust me.
“Come with me,” he murmurs again, resting his forehead against mine.
My heart stutters. Fear lingers, but so does something else. Something like hope.
