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“Tell me what you need,” he rasps, feverishly kissing me.
It’s almost too hard to form sentences. My brain is caught up in him. In the way he smells and feels and towers over me. But I manage to whisper, “I need to come. I need you to make me come.”
He breaks the kiss, which I’m about to protest, but he plants his forehead on mine and nuzzles me. “Are you sure?”
“Rafael, all I can think about lately is getting off and needing you to do that for me.”
“Say no more,” he says, lifting me up and wrapping my legs around him. Yup. He’s got something under those pants for me alright.
He squats down with me in his lap as I hold on and kiss his neck and ear while he unzips the tent. The music still playing from the speaker has switched to Get Ur Freak On by Missy Elliot and I inwardly laugh. Of course.
He makes it one step in before throwing me on the double high queen air mattress. Bouncing, I giggle as he kneels to remove my boots, socks, and shuck off my pants with those intense game-day eyes. When he discovers I’m not wearing any underwear, his jaw drops and he freezes.
“Where are your panties, woman?”
“They were wet,” I say with fake demure.
Rafael runs his hands up my thighs and grips them tight and the growl shakes me like an earthquake. “It looks like you’re still wet.”
“It’s your fault,” I say before biting my lower lip.
He crawls closer to the apex of my thighs and hovers there, his hot breath puffing against my sex, his eyes trained on mine. “It’s not my fault, Angel,” then he tenderly kisses my mound with a feather-light touch that only makes me ache for him more. “What it is, is my job,” he rasps, then closes his eyes and licks a long, wet tongue against my seam, sending my back arching. He gently pulls my labia into his wet mouth, alternating between kisses and nips. “If you’re wet and needy, then it’s my job to take care of that, do you understand?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“I put this baby inside you,” he growls, before shoving his long tongue inside me, lapping at the evidence that brought us here. “I’m responsible. Say it.”
“Yes,” I whimper. “You did this to me. You need to—oh god yes, keep doing that—you need to take care of me.”
“That’s right,” he mumbles through my body. Working his jaw in tandem with his tongue, his rough stubble from his usually clean-shaven face rubs against my sensitive skin. Fuck, it’s so good.
Rafael’s oral game is on another level—yet another thing he’s great at apparently.
When he sucks at my clit, my hands fly to the pillow behind my head, to the sheets, then to my own hair. I can’t decide where to put them.
“Grab on to me, Angel. I wanna know what makes you feel good.”
They fly down to his thick black hair and I’m grateful for the few inches he leaves on top—just enough to hold on so I can ride his face like the wanton little whore I am.
Still sucking at my clit, he never lets it go; he keeps the suction while undulating his chin into me. His beautiful aquiline nose is buried so deep I don’t understand how he’s breathing. But I don’t have to understand. What I do understand is how my orgasm rips through my body like lightning. Without knowing, I clamp my legs shut and squeeze his head between them like I’m a pair of pliers and he’s the stubborn nail I’m pulling.
For the first time ever, I let myself scream his name at the top of my lungs instead of under my breath or muted into a pillow.
Take your trophy, Rafael. You fucking earned it.
Apparently he’s not settling for just one, because when I release his head from my large, dimple-covered thighs, he lifts his head up with a gasp like he’s resurfacing from the water and the biggest smile on his face. “Goddammit, Ang,” he huffs. “That was so fucking hot.” He shifts his body so he’s kneeling before my splayed-out self, then stuffs a finger inside me. “Take your shirt off. I’m not done with you.”
“Again?” I ask, but I listen because this dominant side of him is doing things to me.
“Yes,” he growls, crooking his finger inside me like he’s coaxing the next one out of me. “You’re going to come on my hand.” He leans down and lays next to me, our bodies automatically turning on their sides to face one another. When I lift my bare leg over his hips, he adds another finger inside of me, then leans in and attaches his mouth to my neck. When it travels down to my breasts, his tongue dances over my hardened nipples, and I stroke the back of his head, the other hand on his shoulder.
Why the fuck is he still wearing clothes?
“These tits,” he moans. “You were driving me fucking crazy with them today.” His hand pummels into me as he adds a thumb to pull on my clit. My hips buck and thrust into his touch.
“Was I?” I pant.
“When you were laying in the water, your nipples were rock hard. They were begging to be touched,” he whispers, then pulls one into his mouth. “Begging to be sucked. And you,” he drawls. “Laying there. Your body writhing and desperate.”
