The words hit me like a physical force. Five years of wanting this woman, and she just said the words I would have waited forever to hear.
“I think I have for a long time. I just... I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. You’ve been here every single day, every time I call. You flew Jess out because you knew I needed her. You punch ex-boyfriends who insult me—“
I kiss her. She makes a sound against my mouth that destroys me. Her hands come up to frame my face, and she’s kissingme back with the same intensity, the same relief, the same overwhelmingyes.
I stand, pulling her with me. She gasps when I lift her up and spin her around onto the bathroom counter. Her legs part automatically to let me step between them, and then we’re pressed together, kissing because we have five years to make up for and not enough time to do it.
“Mateo—“ She breaks the kiss to breathe. “Your hand—”
“I don’t care about my hand.” I kiss her jaw, her neck, that spot below her ear that makes her shiver. “I care about you. Only you.”
“Bedroom,” she manages.
I don’t need to be told twice.
I lift her. She wraps her legs around my waist, arms around my neck, and I carry her out of the bathroom and down the hall. She’s kissing anywhere she can reach, and it’s taking every ounce of my control not to just press her against the wall right here.
But she deserves better than a hallway wall. I kick the bedroom door open and gently toss her onto the bed. She looks up at me, hair spread across my pillow, wearing my flannel, eyes dark with want.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” She reaches for me. “I want this. I want you.”
That’s all I need. I lower down over her, bracing myself, not caring about my hand, and kiss her again. Slower this time. Deeper. Taking my time because we finally have it.
Her hands find the hem of my shirt. Tug it up. I break the kiss long enough to pull it over my head, and then her hands are on my chest, my shoulders, exploring with a kind of wonder that makes my skin feel like it’s on fire.
“Your turn,” I say, fingers finding the buttons of my flannel she’s wearing. She helps me, shrugs out of the flannel, and pulls her t-shirt over her head.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.
“Mateo—“
“You are. You’re perfect.” I kiss her collarbone, her shoulder, the curve of her breasts. “Every fucking inch of you.”
She arches into me, and I take that as permission to keep going until there’s nothing between us but skin and want and five years of building desire.
My mouth travels down her body, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her fist the sheets.
“Mateo, please—“
The sound of her begging unleashes me.
“I know,tesoro. I know.“ I kiss her hip, her inner thigh, taking my time even though every instinct is screaming at me to rush. “I’ve waited five years for this. Let me savor you.”
I settle between her legs. She’s perfect. Everything about her is perfect.
I swipe my tongue over her clit.
“Oh, god,” she moans. “Right there.”
I lick over her again and again, rhythmically and hungrily. I press a finger into her, and her hips arch up. Her hands leave the sheets and move to my hair, fingers tangling and tugging.
“More,” she begs.
And who am I to refuse?
I look up at her, catching her eyes. She’s watching me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and the sight of her like this—completely undone—makes me work harder. I press a second finger into her, sucking at her clit. Then a third.
