Page 136 of Raspados & Regret

It is not forgiving.

It is a collision of tongue and teeth, and anger still hot in the middle. His hands fist in my crop top, yanking me down. Mine grab his hips. He bites my lower lip hard enough to make me hiss, then kisses the sound out of me.

I pull back half an inch. “Wait, are we still fighting?”

“Yes,” he says.

Then drops to his knees, and my entire soul exits my body.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes lift to mine, and they’re dark. Then he wets his lips and says, “Winning.”

“Elías.”

“Shhhh, papi⁠—”

My dick pulses so hard it hurts, and when he grabs my waistband, I catch his wrist.

His eyes narrow.

“This a no?” he asks.

“No.”

“Then hands off unless I tell you.”

My brain stutters and tries to reboot like AOL. My hands lift, and he smiles.

“There’s my good listener.”

Fuck.

My head knocks back against the trailer wall.

Outside, the market lives ten feet away. Voices. Music. Orders. Someone laughing. My tía probably pretending not to know exactly why we disappeared.

Inside, Elías Cárdenas is on his knees in red shorts, pissed off and beautiful, undoing my pants like he has a grudge against fabric.

“Lalo,” I whisper.

He looks up. “Too much?”

No hesitation.

No joke, he asks it like he means it.

My chest squeezes. “No.”

His mouth curves. “Good.”

Then he pulls my dick out, and the air hits wet skin and silver, and his gaze drops. Every time he sees the piercing, he looks offended in the best way. Like I personally hid treasure from him and deserve punishment.

“You and this thing,” he mutters.

“It’s done nothing to you.”

“It has done plenty to me.”