Page 162 of Raspados & Regret

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

A pause, then three quiet words. “You liked it?”

I laugh softly.

He lifts his head, defensive already. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing at you.” I say, my whole body shaking.

“Kinda looks like it.”

“Because you just rearranged my internal organs and then asked if I liked it.”

His ears go red.

Mine.

“I liked it,” I say, gripping his chin so he looks me in the eyes. “A lot.”

His face changes; it softens in the way I’ve grown to love.

That word again.

I touch his cheek. “Come here.”

He is already on me, but he comes closer anyway and kisses me. Slow and deep—a kiss with no audience and no hurry. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to mine.

“You hungry?” he asks.

I blink and then laugh again. “That is the most Mexican after-sex question anyone has ever asked me.”

“Your mom sent you with food.” He leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. “That’s hella Mexican if you ask me.”

“She also told me to make you work up an appetite.”

“You did.”

“Did I?”

He looks down between us, at the mess and at the fact that he is still inside me. Then his gaze trails back up. “Yeah, Imma go with yes.”

The laugh that tears out of me is loud and helpless. He kisses it quietly, smiling against my mouth. After a few more minutes of kissing and laughing, we separate carefully.

I hiss and he freezes. “Nene?”

“I’m fine.” Those words make his eyes narrow.

I sigh. “Good sore. Jesus. You’re very committed to aftercare now.”

“I’m trying not to fuck this up.”

That shuts me up real quick.

We clean up with a towel he clearly set out on purpose because he is a prepared menace. Then he hands me a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts without looking directly at me. I hold them up, inspecting them.

“You want me in your clothes?”