“Trust me, I give zero fucks, and you look very hot in scrubs, so I’ll gladly take them off once we get to the room.”
He carries me to his bedroom and lays me on the bed, already starting to strip me out of my clothes. After my pants and shirt are gone, he pauses, staring at me with a hunger I haven’t seen before. He takes a moment, his expression full of hunger and something deeper. I know this isn’t the first time we’ve had sex, but it feels different, heavier, knowing what comes next.
Somewhere along the way he sheds his clothes, but all I feel is the intensity of his eyes on me.
He climbs onto the bed without a word and uses his knee to ease my thighs apart. His eyes never leave mine as he sinks his cock into me. My back arches at the way he fills me, the sensation lighting every nerve.
“You see, I gave you the benefit of the doubt yesterday by being gentle,” he says, his voice low. “I don’t feel like holding back. If you want me to stop, tap my thigh. Okay?”
“Yes, please.”
He drives into me, thrusting harder than before, and it sets my whole body on fire. I know I pissed him off in the car, calling him an asshole and telling him this isn’t how a marriage should start. But I am mad, too. All the lies, everything that’s been kept from me my whole life, the secrets. I feel all of it,and I let it bleed into this moment as I meet him thrust for thrust.
Am I actually mad at him? Not really.
Am I enjoying what he’s doing right now? God, yes.
“You don’t get to come until I tell you.”
A moan slips from my lips.
“That’s not an answer, baby.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He thrusts harder, faster, leaning in until our foreheads touch. Sweat beads along his brow, his jaw tight, his stubble brushing my skin when he leans in. The more I see of him, the more he pulls me in.
And that’s when my thoughts start to spiral.
What comes next?
Will I actually fall for this man?
Am I already starting to?
Does he want kids? Would I even want to bring them into this world?
Will I have to give up my job?
How will everyone look at me once I’m married?
Suddenly I feel small again, like a younger version of myself, worrying about how I fit into a life I never asked for.
Mateo seems to feel the shift. His movements slow, then stop, and when I look up, he’s staring at me like he can see every thought running through my head.
“What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?” he murmurs.
I swallow, caught between everything I feel and everything I don’t know how to say.
“Nothing.” I swallow, caught between everything I feel and everything I don’t know how to say.
He snorts. “Yeah, that was believable.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He eases away and settles beside me, pulling me into his arms so we’re curled together on the bed.
I don’t know when it starts, but tears slip down my face. At first I think he’s asleep, until his hand comes up to my cheek, brushingthe tears away. He kisses the top of my head, then shifts and gets out of bed.
