“You want to go again?” Daniel murmurs against my lips.
He tastes like mint and rum, like the mojitos we had at dinner, and his kiss is just as sweet. Every inch of me is tender, and yet there’s nothing I want more. I somehow manage to nod. We’ve been lying here for the past fifteen minutes, recovering from our last round and kissing lazily, like there’s no need to take this anything but slow tonight.
Between him going down on me in the office, my reciprocation, and then the hard and fast fuck from behind on the edge of the mattress, it’s amazing that neither of us has had our fill. But I’m still beyond turned on. It’s like an addiction; I’ve had plenty, but I still want more, and he has no qualms about getting me high time and time again.
His fingers drift down between my legs, and I open for him. He circles my clit and makes a sound of approval against my mouth, then pulls back just enough to murmur, “You’re still so wet for me.”
I roll my eyes, but my breath catches. “You act like I can control that.”
He runs a finger down my seam, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to sigh and arch into his hand. “You didn’t deny it’s because of me.”
Why would I? It’s a fact. But instead of answering, I slide my hand up into his hair and brush my lips over his. “Just fuck me, Daniel.”
He lets me kiss him for a moment before pulling back with a familiar glint in his eye. “So demanding.” Leaning over the edge of the bed, he searches for something on the floor. But then he pulls himself back up and drops his forehead to my shoulder with a curse.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, cupping his jaw.
He sighs. “We’re out of condoms.”
I could tell him I’m on birth control, that I’m desperate to feel him without anything between us. But then I remind myself of the facts. I don’t know this man all that well, and getting pregnant isn’t the only thing to be cognizant of.
Which is why I packed a box of condoms.
“There are more in my suitcase.” I nod to where it’s set up across the room. “Left side.”
He rolls off me with one more bruising kiss and strides across the room. I slide my hand between my thighs and close my eyes while I wait for him to dig through the clothing that’s likely covering the box. I miss his touch already, and I’m too on edge to wait. After a moment or two, when he hasn’t returned and I’m desperate for more than my hand, I roll to my side, ready to urge him to make it quick.
That’s when I see him holding my vibrator.
Fuck.
There’s a slow smile blooming on his face, like he’s discovered all of my secrets and he has every intention of wielding them over me.
“Why did you bring this?” he asks, amused eyes flicking between me and the palm-sized pink device meant for perfect clitoral stimulation.
I suck in a deep breath, refusing to be mortified by this. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having and using sex toys, and there are plenty more in my bedside drawer at home. But damn, why did he have to find this one?
Eventually, I clear my throat and say, “Because I wasn’t sure if this would happen again, and I knew seeing you would make me…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence with anything other than so goddamn horny. “Look, a girl has needs.”
“You think of me when you touch yourself.” It’s not a question. It’s a pure statement, one that he’s daring me to refute.
“Yeah. I do.” My face is on fire, but what else is there to say? He knows.
And yet my answer still makes him close his eyes and tilt his head back. His throat works as he murmurs, “Mierda, Selene.”
“What?” I challenge. “You know damn well you’re hot, you bastard. And the things you do to me—” I cut short before I say something I’ll regret. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a fantasy, or—”
“Stop talking.”
I scoff. “Excuse me?”
“I said, stop talking,” he repeats. His voice is tight as he shifts onto the bed again. Far more naturally than they should, his hips slot between my thighs and press me open harshly.
I wrap my legs around his waist without thinking twice, eyes flicking down to his steadily hardening cock.
Tossing the condom onto the pillow, he braces himself with one arm and drops his face to my neck. The kiss he presses to that sensitive spot below my ear is soft, but then he roughly scrapes his teeth along my skin, pulling a hiss of surprise from me. Still, I shudder with desire, and an inferno rushes through me. I’m a little pissed but incredibly turned on by what he’s doing to me.
“You’re being an ass—”
“Shut up,” he says against my jaw, cutting me off. “Just shut up.”
“Don’t tell me what to—”
And then his mouth is over mine, silencing me. But the faint buzzing that fills the air steals anything else I could have said. I gasp when he grazes the vibrator over my clit and nearly scream when he brings it back up and presses down, leaving me unable to escape from the jolt of pleasure. My head presses back into the pillow as my spine arches, fully possessed.
“Never tell a man he’s who you think about when you’re alone,” he murmurs. “It will go to his head.”
I want to speak, to tease him in return, but I can’t form words. The pressure builds faster than I anticipated when he slides two fingers into me. Between his touch and the vibrations, his name is all I can utter. A desperate, breathy plea for release.
He swallows it as he kisses me again, hard and punishing. Like that single word was enough to remove the façade of control he had.
His cock is hard and hot against my thigh. Precum leaks from the tip, painting my skin as his fingers work in tandem with the vibrator. I gather just enough wits to reach down and touch him, but he bats my hand away, then pins it above my head as he increases the intensity on my clit in punishment.
“You aren’t in charge here,” he growls against my ear, and it only sends more lightning to my core.
I buck up into his hand, wanting him deeper, wanting more, and he rewards me by adding a third finger. I groan, luxuriating in the way he stretches me. And when he curls his middle finger up and presses down on my clit, I’m done for. I come hard, pulsing around his fingers. Wetness drips down my thighs, mixing with what he’s left on my skin.
I’m still coming down as he pulls the vibrator away and turns it off. He drops it beside me and shifts up onto his knees, grabbing the condom. He rips it open and rolls it on, giving himself a long stroke as he stares down at me, his eyes darker than ever.
I’ve barely come down from my orgasm, and I still want him. I don’t even know how that’s possible. But the sight of him—all long, hard lines and narrow hips that I already know fit perfectly between mine—has me craving more.
My walls still haven’t settled, but I spread my thighs and place one wrist over the other above my head. I’m open for him, his to take.
“Fuck, Selene,” he breathes out as he covers my body with his and pins my wrists again with one hand while gripping his cock with the other. “You make me crazy.”
I’m dizzy with power and the knowledge that I can make this man feel like that. It’s an accomplishment worth bragging about. I want to tease him about it, to grin sharply and bat my lashes, but all I can do is beg him for more.
He doesn’t go easy on me as he pushes inside, all the way until I physically can’t take any more of him. We both moan and take a moment to adjust. His is muffled in my neck as he bites down, sure to leave a mark. I won’t cover it up tomorrow.
“Show me just how crazy,” I say in shallow gasps.
He withdraws and slams into me harder, over and over and over again in slick rhythm. It’s desperate and possessive and I take it without complaint, closing my eyes and giving myself over to him. His grip on my wrists is tight, making it impossible to escape, not that I would dare. He told me I could have whatever I want, and it’s this—the chance to let go and let him use me however he desires.
The sound of our skin meeting is nothing short of vulgar. The pleasure-slurred words he breathes into my ear are even filthier. Some I understand, some I can only guess, but there’s no mistaking him when he tells me to never think of anyone but him.
“Only me,” he whispers.
In this moment, I can’t imagine ever wanting to. Right now, the only one in my little world is him. He’s all I can feel, smell, taste. He’s all I need.
He lets my wrists go and slides his hands under the small of my back to lift my hips to him, and that’s all it takes for me to come apart under his touch. His voice guides me through it and brings me back on the other side when my hazy vision clears.
Backlit by the city lights, his hair is damp and swept across his forehead, and his expression is one of exhausted amusement. For a moment, all I can think is that he can’t be real. That he’s nothing more than an apparition. But when he drops low to kiss me hard, to murmur more against my lips, there’s no denying it.
Daniel Santiago is all too real. And I’m falling headfirst for him.
