Page 91 of Raspados & Regret

That part is new.

Elías reaches for the waistband of my sweats and hooks one finger there. “Can I?”

I nod.

“Words, papi.”

My breath catches.

He smiles like he knows exactly what that does.

“Yes.”

He pulls me closer and presses his mouth to my stomach.

Not my mouth.

Not my throat.

My stomach.

Right above the waistband, and the kiss is so soft. Tender in the craziest way. My hands go to his hair before I can stop them. He looks up from under his lashes, mouth still against my skin.

“Still nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Still want this?”

“Yes.”

His tongue flicks over the trail of hair below my navel, and my entire spine locks. He makes a pleased little sound and mouths lower.

I grab his hair tighter. “Elías.”

“Shhh, Papi.”

“You’re the problem.”

“Mm-hmm.” He kisses the inside of my hip where the sweats sit low, then looks up at me again. “Tell me what you want.”

The answer in my head is too big. Too much. Too many things.

I want him.

I want his mouth. His hands. His voice in my ear. His legs around me. I want to know what he looks like when he stops being clever. I want to touch him and not apologize for it. I want to be wanted by a man and not turn it into something ugly inside myself.

My voice comes out rough. “You.”

His eyes soften.

I hate that it helps.

He stands suddenly, and his mouth hits mine, hard enough to make me step back. I grab him. He grabs me. The kiss turns messy fast, all teeth and breath and hands. His shirt rides up under my palms. Skin. Heat. Waist. Ribs. The hard lines of him. His skin is sticky with sweat already from summer heat, and I can taste salt when I kiss his shoulder.

He breaks away, breathing too loud.

“Shirt,” I whisper.