Page 90 of Raspados & Regret

“I know,” he says, lifting my crop top inch by inch, giving me too much time to stop him.

I don’t.

When the fabric reaches my chest, it catches on the silver bars through my nipples. Gets hooked, and Elías makes a small sound, fumbling, and we both freeze as the fabric pulls tight, then releases with a snap.

“Sorry,” he whispers, breathless.

“Don’t apologize, just⁠—”

He touches me with both hands, palms flat to my chest. Thumbs careful around the piercings. I breathe loudly through my nose.

“Quiet,” he whispers.

“You’re not quiet.”

“I’m not the one who groaned last night.”

“You touched me.”

“I’m touching you now.”

He brushes both thumbs over the bars.

My head drops forward.

A sound gets trapped in my throat.

Elías’s smile is slow and terrible. “That’s better.”

I grab his waist. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I earned this.”

“You didn’t earn shit.”

“I got you on your knees at my front door.”

My face heats up and his smile widens.

“Careful,” I say.

“Or what?”

I kiss him because it is safer than answering.

That’s a lie.

Nothing about kissing Elías is safe.

His hands slide around my neck, and he melts into me with a quiet sigh that makes my knees feel unreliable. I back him toward the bed without meaning to. Or maybe I mean to.

His knees hit the mattress.

Elías sits while I stand between his thighs, and he looks up at me. Soft light from the little lamp catches in his glasses, and his mouth is swollen again. His neck is marked. His bare thighs bracket my legs, warm against my sweats. I can see the outline of him through his underwear, hard and thick and obvious.

This should scare me.

It does, but the fear isn’t bigger than the want.