How she feels is fucking real, that’s for damn sure. How hard my dick is, is just as real.
Neither of us can admit it, but we both want to enjoy ourselves while we work. If we can get off without dying, then that’s a good night’s work.
I’m slow as I finish pulling her dress up to her waist, enjoying each inch revealed to me. In the better lighting than on the boat, I can see her ass isn’t what most would consider perfection. The skin is smooth as silk, but there are soft ripples. It’s perfect for me.
People say I’m the pretty one in the family, and it pisses me off. I’m more than just my good lucks. Yeah, I won the fucking genetic mega lottery. Yeah, it lets me get away with shit and opens doors that would remain shut for plenty of people.
But the same comments I’ve heard for the past twenty years are getting old. I’d rather people see me as imperfect than the living, breathing Latino Ken doll. That’s why I like Tiffani’s ass. She’s gorgeous, but she isn’t perfect. People know she’s more than just her good looks.
If anyone in this club is jealous, it’s me. I wish people would see me how they probably see her.
Buck up, buttercup. Pity party’s over.
I snap myself out of my wandering insecurities and back to the temptation in front of me as my hands once again squeeze her ass, lifting and separating her cheeks. The things I want to do to her…
I kiss down her back as I pull her hips toward me. My eyes are on what’s happening outside the window and our reflection. That’s fucking erotic as fuck. I crouch and blow cool air against the inside of her thigh. She shifts restlessly. I won’t kneel because: A. I kneel for no one, and B. if I need to stand in a hurry, I’m not shuffling around to get to my feet even if I can rock back onto my heels and rise in one movement.
I flick my tongue against her clit, then drag it along her seam, slipping it into her pussy. My fingers bite into her ass, surely leaving marks, and she pushes back into my hold.
Then my phone buzzes in my pocket.
And I grin while she can’t see me.
I rise and pull it out as her head whips around to watch me.
“Hola, primo.”
“Is my timing perfect as usual, cousin?”
“Sí.”
I told Joaquin that if he saw me bringing her up here tonight, he was to call me twenty minutes later. Sure, part of it is to make sure I’m still alive. But largely it’s to leave her hanging.
Sexual frustration is the worst kind of frustration, isn’t it?
My guess is she speaks Spanish, and that’s part of why she was hired to target me. I know she can’t hear Joaquin, and I don’t need to say more than yes. Even if I did, I wouldn’t unless it was to mislead her. I end the call and shoot her a regretful frown.
“I have to go,chiquita. Something came up.”
She glances down at my crotch, where my trousers don’t disguise my hard-on. Her eyes appear sad, but the quirk of her lips tells me she knows I’m just as uncomfortable as she is. But I can survive not getting my rocks off.
“Pity.” She shrugs before retying her straps and pushing down her skirt.
“I’ll walk you downstairs.”
Our gazes lock for a moment before she looks away. There was that air of confidence that she had on the yacht. A touch of defiance, arrogance, and understanding. She knows there’s not a chance I’ll leave her up here alone. She knows I know she knows.
I entwine my fingers with hers and walk down the stairs. They’re steep, and this part of the club isn’t well lit on purpose. I genuinely don’t want her to tumble down the stairs in the four-inch heels she’s wearing.
“Thank you.”
We turn to look at each other when we reach the ground floor.
“You’re welcome. Can I get you another drink?”
“No. I’m going to head out. Thank you for a—unexpected night.”
I lean forward and whisper to her before grazing my bottom teeth against the skin behind her ear. “Unexpected and enchanting.”
