Page 159 of Raspados & Regret

The next thrust is rough enough to shove me up the bed. My fingers claw at the sheets. He grips my hips and pulls me back to meet him, deep and hard, the sound of skin and breath filling the room. There is nothing careful now except the way he listens. He fucks me like he believes when I say I can take it and checks on me like he remembers I am still a person while I do.

It makes me dizzy.

It makes me stupid.

It makes me want things I don’t know how to ask for without turning them into sex first.

“Fabián,” I groan.

He bends over me, hand sliding around my throat again, pulling me up against his chest. My back bows, his dick driving deeper, and the angle changes so sharply I lose my voice.

“There,” he says, rough. “Right there?”

I nod because words are gone.

His fingers rest on my throat, light pressure, enough to make me feel held in place by his whole body.

“My pretty little slut,” he whispers in my ear. “Taking my dick like he was made for it. Weren’t you, nene… you were made to take my dick in this tight little ass of yours?”

I come embarrassingly close to coming right then.

He feels it.

He laughs, breathless and mean. “Yeah? That’s what you are for me.”

“Yes,” I gasp.

“Say it.”

“I’m your slut.”

His whole body shudders, then he turns my face with his free hand and kisses me over my shoulder. Messy. Hard. Almost impossible at this angle. I kiss back anyway, moaning into his mouth while he keeps fucking me, while his hand stays at my throat, while my body takes every inch and begs for more.

“Mi putito lindo,” he says against my mouth.

I make a sound I will deny in court, and his hips stutter.

“Oh, you like that too.”

I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” His grip tightens on my hip. “You like being a good little slut for me.”

I bite his lip.

He hisses. “Dirty and good,” he says. “That’s what you are.”

My eyes roll back. This man is going to kill me in his very clean apartment while the albóndigas get cold in the kitchen.

His rhythm gets rougher, less controlled. The bed knocks the wall again, and this time neither of us stops. I reach down for myself, but he catches my wrist and pins it to my stomach.

“No.”

I choke. “Why?”

“I want you to come from me fucking you.”

“Fabián—”