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“Are you insane?”
“Yes.” His warm hand slides up the back of my thigh, bunching up my dress in the process. He stops just beneath my rear, fingers massaging my flesh. “Now behave, Miss Quintero. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“You are?”
“I am.” Alejandro never puts me down but does adjust me before ascending the stairs. Now he carries me bridal style, his hold on my thigh possessive and his cognac-colored eyes show his hunger. His eyes are heavy-lidded and his mouth so close to mine as we make it to the top and turn right where a long hallway ends with a set of double doors.
And it’s when we make it through those doors that I follow through on my promise.
There’s something about being in his room, his private domain, that sets off my own need and I fist his hair in my hands, pulling on the soft strands as I kiss him. I’m not afraid or timid or careful. Instead, I take, slipping my tongue past his lips and swallowing the almost feral hiss that builds in his chest when I nip his bottom lip.
“Dangerous fucking flower,” Alejandro growls, his hands wandering as he walks us over to the large bed at the center of the room. It’s dark and the sole lighting comes from the moon above, filtering through the sheer window curtains—bathing us in a soft glow as my back meets the plush comforter. His body covers mine, a predator pinning a willing prey. “You’re not ready, Sol. Not yet.”
“I want you, Alejandro. Always have.” It’s the truth. I’ve always known there was more to this man than what the media or my family portrayed. There’s always been something about him that calls to me, and I don’t want to deny it anymore.
What I’m doing—seeing him—is crazy and probably idiotic, but denying myself will hurt more. We need to talk and discuss what this is between us, but not now. I need to feel him close. To experience his ardor.
“You’re the sweetest temptation.” With one hand, he holds himself slightly off me. Alejandro licks his lips, and I moan low. “You’d let me do just about anything to you.”
“Yes.” No shame. Am I nervous? Yes, but I want this. With shaky hands, I pull the skirt of my dress up slowly, not stopping until the soft material is bunched at my hips and my lace black thong is visible.
“Motherfuck.” Then, I’m cradling his hips. They fit perfectly against mine, grinding while my eyes roll back. “So beautiful.”
“Oh God,” I whimper, feeling every solid inch of his cock as it throbs against where I need him most. Where I’m wet and swollen. Where I’ve fantasized him taking me. Another gyration and I shake, fingers clawing at his shirt while his lips skim up my throat and chin, stopping their exploration when he finds my lips. This kiss is softer. Slower. A complete contradiction to all the others while the intensity remains, heat licks at my skin.
“Please.” It’s all I can manage as he presses me further into the mattress, length flexing against my core. Two thin layers of clothing separate us, and I despise each. “I need—”
“I know,” he says, voice pained as he pulls back, and I immediately miss his warmth. My lips part, the whine sitting on the tip of my tongue, but they die when I feel his nose skimming my upper thighs. From the left to the right, each leg is given the same treatment. A lick. A nip. A kiss.
I’m shaking and gasping. I’m sensitive and unable to make a single coherent sound as his mouth travels higher, just to the juncture of my thighs, and he exhales. My core clenches and I lift my hips in offering, and it feels natural to do so. An instinct I don’t question.
No shyness.
No doubt.
I let him see my yearning, and his harsh breathing against me is all the reward I need.
I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
It’s painful. Driving me crazy.
“Alejandro, I can’t—”
“Mine.” One word, and the accompanying action steals the very air from my lungs. One lick, the flat of his tongue running over the lace covering my pussy, and I seize. For a second or ten, I can’t breathe as pleasure rocks me from the very tip of my toes to the last strand of hair on my head.
I’m coming for him, and the man has barely touched me. Wave after wave is crashing over me as he curses, but I’m too gone to understand the words.
Languid and satiated, I find myself sleepy. So gone that I don’t open my eyes when he lowers my zipper and manages to pull off my dress. Not a single peep when my shoes and panties follow, and without my wearing a bra tonight, I find myself naked and snuggled against a bare chest.
When he undressed, I have no clue, and I’m too comfortable to care.
The last thing I remember is his warm chuckle against my neck as I drift off.
The room is pitch black when my eyes open again. The curtains are closed and for a minute, I’m disoriented. This isn’t my room or bed, and the body next to mine is unfamiliar until the last twenty-four hours come rushing back to the forefront.
The party.
My mother’s confession.
