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He didn’t explore farther; he continued to tease and stroke, whipping my need to a fever pitch.
“Does my good girl want her reward?”
I whined and nodded, desperate.
“You have to ask, Sofia. You have to beg if you want me to play with your pretty pussy.”
“Please,” I whimpered, opening wider to urge him on. “Please, Mateo.”
Two of his thick fingers slid through the wetness on my labia, and I cried out at the foreign, delicious contact. No man had ever touched me like this before. And while I’d harbored fantasies about what it might be like for Mateo to touch me here, I never could have prepared myself for the shock of pure pleasure elicited by the barest brush of his fingers against my sex.
He explored farther, pushing forward in a slow glide. The first feather-light touch to my clit rocked my body with a hit of bliss, drawing a gasp from my chest.
“Are you always this sensitive, dulzura?” he asked, his voice impossibly deep. “Or is this just for me?”
He brushed my clit again, and I let out a wanton moan.
“I don’t…” I struggled for words, for breath. “I’ve never…”
A harsh growl rumbled from him, and his palm suddenly pressed against my soaked lips, gripping my entire sex in his huge hand.
“All mine,” he snarled.
I shuddered, pleasure washing through me. I wasn’t frightened of the animal sounds he was making. Not anymore. I craved this primal possessiveness, this savage intensity. His obsessive hold reassured me that he didn’t want to let me go. He wouldn’t abandon me and leave me bereft.
“Come for me, florecita,” he commanded, grinding his palm against my pussy lips. His fingers pressed down directly on my clit, rubbing in a firm, demanding rhythm.
“Mateo!” I screamed out his name as a tidal wave of ecstasy slammed through my body. Pleasure swept me up in a ruthless torrent, claiming my entire being. My body shook with the overwhelming force that wracked my system, and my fingers and toes curled as the pleasure rushed outward from my sex to flood every inch of my flesh.
“Good girl,” he praised while I continued to whimper and writhe over his lap.
His approval pushed me higher, prolonging my ecstatic release. My world glowed with incandescent, white light, blinding me until all I could sense was the sound of his approval, the bliss of his hands, and his intoxicating, masculine scent. It mingled with the new, strange scent I’d noticed earlier. It smelled forbidden and decadent, and I heard Mateo inhale just before his cock jerked beneath me.
“Fuck, belleza,” he groaned. “You’re going to kill me.”
I didn’t quite understand what he meant, but he didn’t sound upset. I reveled in his admiration, enthralled by the silky feel of his fingertips sliding through the wetness on my inner thighs.
Suddenly, his touch faltered, and I felt him tense beneath me.
“What’s this?” he asked, his tone less warm than it had been moments ago.
He rubbed my thigh, and I felt his fingers running along the line of my scar. It was a neat, perfectly vertical cut, precise and deep. He traced the entire length of the mark; four and a quarter inches carved into my thigh.
Panic slammed through me, obliterating my bliss. I tried to close my legs, to hide my shame.
His huge hands wrapped around my thighs, spreading me wide so he could get a better look. I twisted against his hold, desperate to escape his judgmental stare. If he managed to turn me over, he’d see the revolting mess of neat, straight cuts that had mutilated the rest of me.
“Stop,” I begged, completely helpless against his strength.
He didn’t ease up. Instead, his fingers flexed around my legs, his entire body tightening beneath me.
“Did someone do this to you?” The disgust that roughened his tone was unmistakable.
The cathartic tears that wet my face were washed away by tears of anguish. He’d told me I was perfect, but now, he was staring at the evidence that I was damaged beyond repair.
“Let me go,” I beseeched, ragged and frightened.
His hands held firm, his incredible strength pinning me in place for his horrific inspection.
“Who did this?” he demanded.
I shook my head wildly. The answer to that would disgust him even more. Shame twisted my stomach, bile burning at the back of my throat.
“You promised,” I choked out. “You promised you wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t ask you to. Please, let me go.”
He released me instantly, and I shoved myself off his lap, stumbling away. He stood, reaching out as though to steady me.
I shrank back, grateful for the tears that blurred my vision. The sight of his revulsion would break me.
My fingers fisted in his massive t-shirt, tugging it down to ensure it hid my ruined body.
“Sofia…”
He took a step toward me. I dodged back.
“Do you want some space?” he asked, his tone soft and sad.
