I silence her by sliding my hand between her thighs and pressing the heel of my palm against her pussy through her skirt. She chokes on the insult, her hips bucking into my hand, and the wet heat I feel through the fabric confirms everything I just said. She's soaked for me. Despite hating me, despite everything, her body is begging for what her mouth won't ask for.
"You're so wet," I murmur against her ear. "You've been thinking about this. How long, Sofia? Since the first morning? Since I handed you the knife?"
"Shut up."
"No." I work my hand under the waistband of her skirt, past her underwear, and slide two fingers through her folds. She's slick and swollen and burning hot, and when I find her clit andcircle it with my thumb, her whole body jolts against the wall. "I want you to hear yourself. I want you to hear what you sound like when the man you hate makes you this wet."
She grabs my wrist but doesn't pull my hand away. Her grip tightens as I push two fingers inside her, curling them, searching for the spot that makes her legs shake. I find it. Her knees buckle and I pin her tighter against the wall with my hips, my fingers working inside her, my thumb on her clit, and she's making sounds she can't control, broken gasps and half-formed curses in English and Spanish.
"That's it." I bite the shell of her ear. "Let me hear you."
"Fuck," she breathes. Her hips roll against my hand, riding my fingers, chasing the pressure. "Fuck, Mateo, I need more."
"Tell me what you need."
"More. I need more."
I pull my fingers out and she whimpers at the loss. I bring them to my mouth and taste her, holding her gaze while I lick her from my skin. She watches me with blown pupils and parted lips and an expression that's somewhere between outrage and need so desperate it looks like pain.
"On the floor," I tell her.
"Make me."
I take us down. She hits the linoleum and pulls me on top of her, her legs wrapping around my hips, her hands tearing at my belt with frantic purpose. She gets it open, shoves my jeans and briefs down, and wraps her hand around my cock. Her grip is firm and sure and unapologetic, and I groan into the curve of her neck as she strokes me, her thumb rubbing over the head, smearing the precum that's already leaking.
"Mierda." I thrust into her fist. She tightens her grip and strokes faster, and I let myself feel it for exactly three seconds before I grab her wrist and pin it to the floor beside her headbecause if she keeps going I'll come in her hand and I need to be inside her when it happens.
I hook my fingers into her skirt and underwear and pull them down her thighs, off her legs, gone. She's bare beneath me on the cold kitchen floor, her thighs falling open, her pussy glistening in the dim light, and she is the most devastating thing I have ever seen.
Mine. Every inch. Mine.
"Stop looking at me like that and fuck me," she says.
I notch myself against her entrance, the head of my cock pressing into wet heat, and I pause. Not to tease but to memorize. The way she looks right now, spread open on the floor of my safehouse with her hair in a dark halo around her head and her chest heaving and her eyes burning with a need that matches my own.
"Eyes on me," I tell her. She locks her gaze on mine. I push inside her in one long relentless stroke, burying myself to the hilt, and her mouth falls open and her back arches and the sound she makes is raw and shattered.
She's tight, so tight her body grips me like a vice, and the sensation is so intense I have to hold still with every muscle locked, breathing through the overwhelming urge to pound into her until we both shatter.
"Move," she orders. Her heels dig into my lower back. "Move,Mateo."
I pull almost all the way out, feeling the drag of her walls clinging to my cock, and drive back in hard. The impact rocks her body against the linoleum and she gasps, her nails scoring my shoulders.
"Again," she demands.
I give her again. And again. Each thrust is deep and punishing, the kind of fucking that leaves bruises, and she takes every inch with a ferocity that matches mine. Her hips slam upto meet me, her pussy clenching around me every time I bottom out, her moans escalating from sharp gasps to raw throaty cries.
I brace one hand beside her head and grip her hip with the other, tilting her pelvis, and the change in angle makes her scream, full-throated, the sound of a woman who has found the thing she didn't know she was looking for and is terrified by how good it feels.
"Right there," she chokes out. "God, yes, just like that, harder."
"You feel that?" I'm driving into her relentlessly now, the wet sounds of our bodies obscene in the quiet kitchen. "That's what you do to me. Days of watching you walk around this house in my shirt, days of listening to your voice, days of wanting to bend you over this table and fuck you until you forgot your own name."
"You're insane."
"And you're coming on my cock in about thirty seconds, so what does that make you?"
Her laugh breaks into a moan as I shift my weight and reach between us, finding her clit with my thumb. I circle it in tight relentless strokes while I fuck her, and her body winds tighter with every pass, her walls fluttering around me, her breathing fragmenting into staccato bursts.
