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The cold air meets the swollen, angry head and I hiss, bringing two fingers to her opening and push them inside—pumping them in and out rapidly and I’m rewarded with a rush of wetness that I use to lube my cock.
With my fingers soaked in her, I bring my face once again against her core and breathe her in, rubbing my nose over her clit.
Above me she’s whining, arching her back and pulling on her nipples while my tongue follows the same path, using the flat of my tongue to catch every drop and bring her closer to the edge.
“I’m so close.”
“Give me what’s mine.” My voice doesn’t drown out the sound of my hips meeting my hand, cock piercing through the tight fist as I forget about anything but her. Her taste. Her scent. Her scream as I bite down on her clit hard enough to make her come. “Good girl.”
There’s nothing I find sexier than your trust.
“...” Her lips part but no words escape. She’s lost to her pleasure, riding my tongue while I continue to fuck my fist.
I’m so close. Just need...
Mariah grips my hair hard, a few strands breaking as she pulls me closer—holds me to her while a second orgasm rips through her lithe frame.
“Fucking hell, Muñeca,” I growl, tightening my hold to almost the point of pain, and come overflows my palm and lands on the floor below.
At the same time, her legs give out and she slides down into my lap, letting me wrap her in my arms.
We sit there for a while. Just breathing. Calming racing hearts when the bag with dessert catches my attention and hers.
It doesn’t look ruined, the container and bag not broken, and I clear my throat. “We need to talk.”
***
14
“WHAT ARE YOU thinking about, beautiful?” Javier asks, and I’m pulled back from my thoughts. Everything he’s said, the giant mess created by the twins, spins in my mind. Sadly, this makes more sense than the behavior displayed by who I now know isn’t Mildred.
Because while she remained aloof this time, there wasn’t the usual glare or underhanded comment she passed as a compliment in the hallway after I showed them out. A behavior that I’d roll my eyes at in the past, I found the lack of strange.
Mildred and I never spent time together outside of the necessary business meetings, but the woman has always been unpleasant. Always miserable in my presence.
However, I get it now. Mildred was nothing but the bitter other woman.
Lane couldn’t leave me, not without dealing with consequences his parents couldn’t spare him from. Christ, he made me the fool of the story, and even with that, this delusional bitch had the gall to be angry with me as if I’d taken something from her.
You killed him. I did. And would again to protect myself.
“Just thinking,” I answer truthfully, giving him a small shrug before taking a sip from my lukewarm coffee. We’re in my living room and dressed somewhat; I’m wearing his shirt while Javi remains bare-chested and tempting.
There’s no awkwardness. No regret. No self-reproach when I’ve fought so hard to keep him at bay.
Instead, I feel at peace even though the situation with the Fredericks leaves a sour taste in my mouth—ire in my veins—but it’s contained with him by my side. Not even the memory of my parents betrayal and the disdain on the Dermots face make my heart clench like before. Instead, I find myself thinking rationally, not acting on impulse while enjoying the view in the seat across from mine.
Javier’s tan muscles and the small amount of chest hair across his pecs are on display, and I’m memorizing each. My gaze travels lower and across beautiful tattoos, unashamed, and I count each indentation that leads to a delicious ‘V’ I want to run my tongue across.
He’s a bit of a distraction, but I like it. Secretly love the fact he refuses to let me be.
A throat clears and once again I meet his eyes, feeling the slight heat sweep across my face. I’ve never been a person who blushes, but this man has that effect on me. He makes me lose my train of thought and the ability to send him to hell.
He has no idea he’s already won.
“Be specific, Mariah. You’ve been silent for twenty minutes, and your facial expressions range from lust to anger. And before you answer, that lust better be for me.”
“And if it isn’t?” I challenge back, loving the way his nostrils flare and jaw clenches. Testing his patience is a turn-on, and the earlier result was worth every minute we’ve fought so far. Subtly, I rub my thighs together, but he catches the act and raises a brow, smirk in place. “Answer me, Muñeca,” he croons, and goose bumps rise, a stuttered breath caught in my throat as I choke back a groan. He has me with that nickname. The effect is always the same as liquid heat rushes through my veins and settles in my core. The day he realizes this, I am screwed. “If I parted those thick little thighs and ran a finger down your folds, I’d find you wet. More than eager.” Abort. Abort before you climb into his lap and ride that beautiful thickness you watched him abuse. “And while God knows how badly I want you on my tongue again, I’m concerned with your reaction to the Mildred situation. You’re being too passive for the fiery woman I know.”
