"Because of me."
He kisses me before I can respond.
It's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's a man who's done waiting, taking what he wants. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I moan against him, my hands finding his chest, feeling the ridges of muscle, the raised lines of scar tissue.
He pulls back just enough to yank the hoodie over my head. His eyes rake down my body and I don't try to cover myself. I want him to look. I want him towant.
"Every guy I've ever been with," I say, "made me feel like I was doing them a favor."
His jaw tightens. "What?"
"Like they couldn't believe their luck. Like I was this prize they'd won and they had to hurry up and claim it before someone took it away." I reach for the waistband of his pants. "They were always rushing. Always thinking about themselves. I faked it more than I didn't."
"Diamond."
"I don't want to fake it with you." I hold his gaze as I pop the button, drag down the zipper. "I don't think I could if I tried."
He stands. Strips off his pants, his boxer briefs. And there he is—all of him—and my mouth actually waters.
He's big. Thick and hard, curving up toward his stomach. Nothing like the mediocre dicks attached to mediocre men who thought they were God's gift.
Cesar kneels on the bed, crawls over me, cages me with his arms. He kisses down my throat. Bites the spot where my neck meets my shoulder—hard enough to make me gasp, gentle enough not to break skin.
"I'm going to ruin you," he says against my collarbone. "You understand that? After tonight, no one else is going to be enough. No one else is going to know how to touch you, how to make you come, how to give you what you need."
Before I can answer, he's moving down my body. Not slow, not teasing—purposeful. He hooks his fingers into my lacy bottoms, and then he's spreading my thighs and burying his face between them.
I cry out at the first stroke of his tongue.
He doesn't warm up. Doesn't ease me into it. He eats me like he's trying to prove a point, like he's got something to show me, and within thirty seconds I'm already shaking.
"Ohfuck!"
"That's it." He seals his lips around my clit and sucks, and I nearly come off the bed. "Let me hear you. None of that quiet, polite shit. I want the neighbors to hear you, and the nearest neighbor is three miles away."
He slides two fingers inside me and I moan so loud it echoes. He curls them, finds a spot that makes my vision blur, and works it while his tongue does something obscene to my clit.
"Cesar—I'm gonna!"
"Already?" He sounds smug. I want to smack him. I want to marry him. "Go ahead. This is just the warmup."
He doesn't stop. Keeps licking, keeps fucking me with his fingers, and before the first orgasm finishes rolling through me, he's pushing me toward a second. He adds a third finger and the stretch makes me gasp. "You've just never been with someone who knew what they were doing."
He's right. God help me, he's right. Every guy before him fumbled around like they were solving a puzzle in the dark. Cesar knows exactly where to touch, how hard, how fast. He reads every twitch and moan and adjusts accordingly.
When the second orgasm hits, I actually scream.
He works me through it, murmuring things I can barely hear over the blood rushing in my ears. When I finally go limp, he pulls his fingers out slowly, presses a kiss to my inner thigh.
"Now," he says, crawling up my body, "you're ready."
I feel him notch against my entrance. The head of his cock pressing where his fingers just were. And even after two orgasms, even soaking wet, the stretch, it’s all impossibly perfect.
"Oh."
"Too much?"
"No. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
