The warmth pooling low in her stomach tightened, sharpened, started climbing toward release she could almost reach—
He pulled back. Blew directly on her clit.
"Mateo—"
It came out broken, pleading.
He wiped his mouth, eyes satisfied as he watched her squirm.
"Not yet, cara."
His fingers dipped into the sorbet again and returned to her, painting gold in steady strokes while she trembled.
When his mouth closed over her clit again it was hotter than before, or maybe she was just more desperate. She heard herself make sounds she didn't recognize. Small, needy whimpers she would have hated in any other room. The pressure built between her legs, heat spreading through her thighs as his tongue moved with intent, pushing her faster than before.
That low warmth from before had banked, but it hadn't faded. Mateo stoked the flames. It spread higher layered under new pressure. Her breath fractured. One hand left the marble and twisted in his hair, holding him there.
He made a hungry moan against her and the vibration jolted through her, pulling everything tight at once. She was close. So close. Her thighs shook against his shoulders, her back arched—
He pulled back.
"No—" The word came out as a sob. "Please—"
"I know," he murmured, his voice roughened. "Cristo, I know. But you don't rush worship. The ache makes it better."
Her hand scrabbled against the marble, desperate for an anchor before she came from wanting alone. She found his hand braced against the counter near her hip, knuckles pressing into stone, and her fingers latched on desperately.
Mateo went still for half a heartbeat. Then his palm turned and his fingers threaded through hers and locked tight.
"Look at me," he said.
His eyes held hers as he lowered his mouth again. This time there was no sorbet, no cold, just his tongue hot and relentless and exactly where she needed it. Her hand gripped his. The marble pressed into her back, nearly as warm as she was now.
His mouth worked her like he was trying to feed every starved part of her at once. This time he didn't pull back and let her climb. Her hand gripped his hair. She couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel the pressure concentrating, reducing—
"That's my greedy girl," Mateo murmured against her.
Heat rose. The pressure crested and boiled over. Everything inside her surged up, expanding outward in pulses she had no control over. She came in contractions that felt like being fed, glutted with sensation she couldn't contain. His hand anchored hers to the counter.
The pulses kept coming. Her thighs shook. She gripped harder, hard enough to leave marks. She saw the hunger in his gaze as he watched her come apart. His hand stayed firm on her hip, keeping her steady while his mouth worked her through every wave, drawing it out until she was shaking and sobbing his name.
He didn't stop until she went completely boneless, until her hand went slack in his and her breathing turned to ragged gasps. Then he gentled, working her through the aftershocks with the same caresses he'd used to build her up.
Her hand slipped from his hair.
Her body thrummed, overfull and still wanting. Fed past satisfaction and still hungry.
Mateo pulled back slowly, his face glistening, his grin satisfied.
He stayed between her legs, his hands steady on her thighs, warm and grounding. "Breathe, cara," he murmured, his thumbs making small circles against her skin. "I have you."
She tried. Her lungs seemed to have forgotten the basic mechanics of oxygen intake.
His hands stayed on her, anchoring her while her body remembered how to be a body. His eyes stayed on her face, watching her come back to herself with the same unwavering attention he'd used to take her apart.
When her breathing finally steadied, he pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her thigh.
"There you are," he said tenderly.
