“You’re—” I start, and then realize I can’t even get a proper insult out, not when he’s touching me like this.
His thumb slides over my nipple again, making me shiver.
“You were going to say ‘insatiable’,” he tells me, smugly. “We’ve covered that.”
“I was going to say ‘awful,’” I lie.
He laughs, deep and genuine, and leans in, kissing me deeply. It’s not a demanding kiss like last night. It’s slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world to taste me.
The kiss is soft at first, then deeper. Antonio’s tongue nudges between my lips like he’s testing whether I’m going to let him.
I let him.
His fingers trace the line of my spine lazily.
My hand finds his shoulder, then his chest, and I feel the solid warmth of him under my palm. My body reacts immediately—muscles tightening, pulse spiking, that sore, tender place between my legs pulsing like it didn’t get enough last night.
Which is insane.
And yet.
Antonio breaks the kiss and watches me breathe.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say without thinking, and then realize we are absolutely not talking about food.
His smile turns wicked. “I knew it.”
I push lightly at his chest. “Not that. I meant—” I gesture vaguely with my hand, because I’m not coherent. “Actual breakfast.”
He laughs, low. “We can do breakfast.”
“Can we?” I ask, because his hand is already sliding down my hip again, like he can’t help himself.
He kisses my jaw, then my neck, and I shiver. “We should,” he says, voice against my skin. “We’ll order. Eat. Hydrate.” Another kiss. “Be responsible.”
I make a sound that is not dignified.
He lifts his head, eyes bright. “There’s that sound again. The one that drives me crazy.”
“Stop,” I whisper, but my hand is already sliding into his hair.
He rolls me over, and I am not strong enough.
His knee parts my thighs. I can feel him hard and ready against me, and I want to weep with how badly I want it. How much I want him again.
“Antonio,” I say, and I can’t manage anything else.
He leans in and kisses the shell of my ear, making me arch.
“I’m going to make you forget how to speak,” he whispers.
He already has.
He’s inside me in one long, smooth stroke, and my whole body lights up like a firework. The stretch is still a little tender, and the ache is sharp and perfect.
He starts moving, and the world narrows down to the rhythm of our bodies.
