“You made me watch the city while you did it,” I gasp. “You told me to keep my eyes open. That you wanted me to remember what it felt like to come for you. And that no one else would ever make me feel it. No one but you."
"Si," he says, his voice hoarse. "Only me."
He curls his fingers inside me, and my eyes roll back.
"Look at me."
It takes every ounce of willpower I have, but I obey.
He looks like an angel.
A dark angel sent to ruin me.
"Mario, please," I beg.
He strokes inside me.
"Yes," he breathes.
"I'm—"
He stops all movement, all at once, and I let out a pained keening sound.
"No," I say desperately. "Please."
He presses his lips against the side of my neck.
"Not yet."
"Why?" I ask desperately.
"Because this isn't a dream," he says darkly.
And then his hand is gone.
The sudden loss is jarring.
My hips jerk back.
"Don't move," he says, just like he did in the dream.
I freeze.
My chest heaves.
Every nerve in my body is screaming, and the need is so deep and painful, I want to cry.
Is he going to put his mouth on me now?
Please, please.
I realize that I'm muttering it out loud, like a chant.
Behind me, he unbuckles his belt and pulls it free.
My heart is racing.
He sets it aside and the sound of his zipper next sends another shiver through me.
