This is not the urgent, frantic sex from last night. This is slow, deliberate. Possessive.
His hands are everywhere: my waist, my hips, my breasts.
My nails dig into his back.
I can’t think.
I can’t breathe.
I’m a nerve ending. I’m a fire. I’m his.
And just as I’m tipping over the edge—
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I ignore it, but it brought me back from the edge for a moment. I pull him closer, my legs locking around him. "Keep going," I moan.
“I intend to,” he says roughly.
His thrusts start to speed up, and I realize he’s getting close, and I am nowhere near where I was a second ago, but I don’t care. I want this. I want to feel him come inside me.
He pulls back a bit, shifts, and changes angles, andoh.
There it is.
I arch with a cry.
“Antonio,” I manage.
He groans and moves faster. Harder. His thumb finds my clit and starts rubbing in circles.
I come with a sharp, surprised cry. My whole body clenches around him, and he follows me over the edge, burying himself deep with a low, rough sound.
We stay like that for a long minute, panting, tangled, sticky.
I’m never moving again.
He pulls out, and I make a pathetic whimpering sound at the loss of him.
He laughs, low, and shifts until he’s spooning me, pulling the sheet over both of us. The room is starting to get warm.
“Now,” he says, lips against my hair. “Breakfast.”
I don't want to move. The thought of leaving this warm, tangled mess of limbs and sheets is an actual tragedy. The idea of putting on clothes and interacting with another human being feels like a monumental task, bordering on impossible.
But my stomach, the traitor, rumbles. A loud, insistent gurgle that echoes in the quiet room.
Antonio’s chest vibrates with a silent chuckle behind me. “I guess that answers that.”
I press my face into the pillow, mortified. “That was not my stomach.”
“Oh, no?” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Who else is in this bed? A wild animal?”
“Yes,” Isay, muffled by the pillow. “And she’s starving. And she’s also never leaving this bed again.”
He pats my hip. “We’ll see about that.” He untangles himself, and I mourn the loss of his warmth.
He reaches toward the bedside table and grabs the phone.
