Ares de la Peña lives his life in the light.
I live in the shadows.
Nothing good could ever come from him kissing me.
And yet… my entire body is screaming at me not to let him leave. He’s staring at me like he’s waiting for me to say something, anything. He scrubs the back of his neck awkwardly, like he’s faced with a puzzle he can’t figure out before nodding. “Okay. I, uh. Okay.”
I almost laugh at his response. It’s probably a rare instance for him to be faced with a girl who doesn’t immediately throw her panties at him and spread her legs. He looks completely flummoxed. It’s kind of adorable.
I mean, I get it. He is… well… he’s the most delicious specimen of a man I’ve ever seen.
But the raw vulnerability on his face, in his voice… this can’t be a joke, right?
“Ares?” I don’t know what else to say. I don’t seem to have words beyond choking out his name, but it’s enough.
His head jerks up, and he moves back into my space. My traitorous body responds, heaving out a sigh as his warmth steps toward me.
He cants his head.“¿Sí?”
I refuse to come undone at him speaking to me in Spanish. I mean, why is Spanish so dreamy? Ugh. What is it about a man who can speak another language that makes me tremble inside?
He’s staring at my lips like he wants to take a bite out of me.
The worst part is, I want him to.
I suck in an unsteady breath.“Bésame.”
It’s only one word, and it’s whispered on an exhale, but the smile that lights up his face has me wishing I’d said it sooner. He’s beautiful when he smiles. I mean, when he really smiles.
He’s not ugly when he flashes his playboy grin, but this… this smile… it takes my breath away.
He doesn’t say another word as he steps deeper into the space between us. My back grinds up against the edges of the rough bricks on the wall behind me again. I’ll have scrapes and bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care. I guess it’ll be proof that this did happen. Because I’m going to wake up and think it was all a dream.
I gulp. It’s almost comical, but I can’t help it.
Ares de la Peña is going to kiss me, and I’m going to do my level best to shut up my inner monologue and let myself enjoy it. I’m not going to be another notch on his bedpost, or another conquest for him to leave in his wake, but I will let myself kiss him.
Because tomorrow he’s going to wake up and realize that I’m not a great kisser, I’m not beautiful, or whatever bet he’s made with his friends will be over.
And yet, as he pins me to the wall with his body and slants his mouth over mine, I feel anything but cheap, like a priceless Ming vase, or a rare bottle of Champagne. His hands skim up my sides, bracing me against the wall as his lips brush against mine.
He’s tender, yet firm. Not demanding or aggressive. My mouth opens to him on a sigh, and his tongue brushes against mine. I moan, which makes him press harder into me.
That’s his penis pushing against my thigh. I’d love to say I’m too evolved to care that he’s hard, but I’m not. It’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. I made Ares de la Peña get a hard-on. It’s a powerful awareness.
His tongue explores my mouth as he kisses me with a passion I’ve only ever dreamed of. His thumbs have found their way under my sweater, but they’re staying at my waist, brushing back and forth over the skin above my hips as he kisses me. His gentle caresses scorch my skin.
It’s like he’s opened all the windows on the first day of spring. He smells like shower gel and tastes like mint. My fingers have taken on a mind of their own and claw at his shirt. He presses against me, pinning me to the wall without using his hands. His leg finds its way between mine, and I’m doing my level best not to dry hump him right here in the street.
The kiss shifts, we’ve gone from kissing, to needing. I want him to consume me, to possess me, to light me on fire from the inside. He fists my hair, and I pant, whimpering into his mouth as he owns every inch of me against the coffee shop.
Somewhere in the distance a wolf whistle pierces the air as Ares’s fingertips curl into my waist like he’s fighting the urge to do more, to want more, to take more.
A horn honks a few blocks away, but it’s the snarky “Get a room,” some girl quips on her way out of the coffee shop that cuts through my horny stupor.
I ignore every single tingling nerve ending in my body, brace my hands on his shoulders, and push. At least, I think I do. Granted, I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself that we should stop, but to his credit (and my surprising disappointment), he pulls away. Our lips make a smacking sound as we separate, and we both stare at each other, panting shaky, ragged breaths making little puffs of steam in the cold air.
My brain doesn’t want to reengage. I can’t find words or move. I don’t know how to talk or even exist right now. It’s like I’ve needed that kiss for a lifetime. Now that I’ve had it, all I want is another.
