My head tips back against the wall. “Please.”
That one word is all it takes.
He kisses me—deep, filthy, claiming—while I toe off my shoes and his hands work my shirt up and off, jeans next, boxers last. I’m naked in seconds, skin prickling in the cool air, cock already hard and leaking against my stomach. He doesn’t touch me there yet. Instead, he drops to his knees, hands sliding up the backs of my thighs, spreading me justenough to press his face to the crease where leg meets hip and inhales.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice wrecked. “You smell so good. Always do.”
Then his mouth is on me—hot, wet, greedy. He takes me deep in one slow slide, throat relaxing, tongue flat and pressing along the underside. I cry out, hands fisting in his hair, hips jerking forward before I can stop them.
He hums approval, the vibration shooting straight through me. One hand grips my ass, fingers digging in; the other hand wraps around the base, stroking what his mouth can’t reach. He works me slow at first—long, deliberate pulls—then faster, messier, spit slicking his chin, eyes flicking up to watch every reaction on my face.
“Daddy—” The word slips out, needy and raw.
He pulls off with a wet pop, strokes me fast and slick. “That’s it, baby. Let go. I’ve got you.”
I’m shaking—thighs trembling, breath ragged. He takes me deep again, throat working around me, and I shatter with a broken moan—spilling down his throat, hips bucking, vision whiting out.
He doesn’t stop until I’m oversensitive and whimpering, then he rises slowly, kissing his way up my body—stomach, chest, throat—until he’s kissing me again, deep and filthy, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
“Bed,” he rasps against my mouth.
I nod, legs still shaky.
He scoops me up—effortless and possessive—and carries me to the bedroom, lays me out on the sheets like something precious. His clothes hit the floor in seconds. When he settles over me, skin to skin, cock hard and leaking against my thigh, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down.
“Inside me,” I beg. “Now. I need you.”
He groans, reaches for the lube on the nightstand and slicks himself, then his fingers. He preps me slowly—two fingers, then three—curling, stroking, whispering praise the whole time.
“So beautiful…taking me so well…my fiancé…fuck, I love you…”
When he pushes in—slow, deep, stretching me perfectly—we both moan, long and broken. He holds still for a second, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.
“Mine,” he whispers.
“Yours,” I breathe back. “Always.”
Then he moves—slow rolls at first, deep and deliberate, building to something harder, hungrier. His hand wraps around me again, stroking in time with his thrusts. I arch, nails raking down his back, crying out every time he hits that spot.
“Come for me again,hermoso,” he growls. “I want to feel you clench around me.” He grabs my hand then—fingers interlacing with mine, the cool metal of my ring pressing into his palm like a brand. “Want to feel this—my ring on your finger—while you fall apart for me.”
That does it.
I come hard—shuddering, clenching around him, spilling over his fist with his name on my lips. He follows seconds later—burying deep, groaning low and wrecked into my neck.
We collapse together; sweaty, sated, tangled in sheets and each other.
He kisses my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.
“Fiancé,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and reverent.
I smile against his skin, ring glinting in the low light.
“Fiancé,” I echo.
EPILOGUE 2 - SILAS
Two Years Later
