Page 178 of Raspados & Regret

“At the door?”

His head tips back against it. “Yes.”

“Couldn’t even wait for the bed?”

His throat works, and he looks down at me, smile ruined but beautiful. “You’re the one on your knees, cariño.”

Fair.

Disrespectful, but fair.

I take him in my mouth before he can say anything else. His hands tighten on my head and he moans loudly. Full volume, in our apartment, our locked door, the night still warm around us, and Elías losing his smart mouth one inch at a time.

I groan around him because I love this.

God help me, I love this.

I love the way he tastes after a night under market lights. Salt and heat and the sweet ghost of chamoy on his skin. I love how his thighs tremble, how his fingers try not to dig into my scalp, how he forgets to be clever when I take him deep enough to make his breath stutter.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck… your mouth.”

I drag off him slowly, tongue pressing under the head, and look up.

His glasses are crooked.

His chains are twisted.

He looks like my favorite bad decision that survived a year and turned into my whole life.

“Hands on the door,” I say.

He puts both palms flat against the door above his head.

Hermoso.

I go back down and this time, I don’t tease. I work him with my mouth and one hand, fast and messy, letting him hear how much I want him. Wet sounds. His breath. My own rough groans around him. His hips twitch, and he catches himself against the door.

“Fabián,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m close.”

I pull off.

He makes a broken sound that goes straight to my dick.

“No,” I say.

His eyes snap open. “No?”

“No.”

“That’s cruel.”

“You started this with the shorts.”

“You said you’d take them off with your teeth.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t say you’d edge me by the door like a villain.”