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Marcos slid down her body. “I’ve been wanting to do this …”
He cupped her breasts, pushing them together so that he could suckle each one in turn. He used his tongue and teeth, licking and nipping her ever so lightly while she squirmed beneath him, the pleasure so exquisite she thought would surely expire of it before much longer.
“Marcos—oh …”
“You are delicious, Francesca. Everything a man could want …” he said against her damp skin.
His mouth made a hot path to her belly button, and then he was moving lower, pressing a kiss to her hip, her abdomen.
Francesca gasped as he moved lower. She would never survive it. Never.
“Marcos, don’t—”
He said something in Spanish then, something hot and dark that melted the words in her throat, melted her fear. And then he was parting her thighs, gazing at her.
She wanted to pant with the anticipation of it. It’d been so long, so damn long since she’d felt pleasure.
Marcos parted her with his thumbs, and then his mouth was there, licking and sucking that part of her that had been neglected for so many years. Francesca didn’t have even a moment to build up to her release; she shattered immediately, the world turning into a bright white burst of feeling that wrung a sharp cry from her before it let her go.
“Madre de Dios,” Marcos breathed. “You are incredibly sexy, Francesca. Never doubt this.”
And then he was taking her over the edge again with his lips and tongue, before moving up her body and kissing her while she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He groaned low in his throat, halting his forward motion. “I had intended to go slower, but I find I cannot wait. You must tell me if it’s too much, if I hurt you.”
“I’m not a virgin,” she said, threading her hand through his hair and arching up until her breasts were touching his chest. How much she’d wanted to do this with him so many years ago, before she even understood what it really entailed. To let him be the first—and only—man in her life.
“You might be tender after so long.”
“I really don’t care. I want you, Marcos.” How freeing to say those words, openly, and know he felt the same. At least in this.
She tugged his head down, fusing her mouth to his. Marcos must have surrendered to the inevitable, because he slid into her body in one long glide that took her breat
h away.
Francesca tilted her hips up, then gasped at the lightning bolt of sensation streaking through her. Marcos tore his mouth from hers.
“Don’t move,” he said harshly, his eyes glazing. “For God’s sake, don’t move.”
She did it again, her breath snagging in her chest, her body sizzling. “But it feels amazing …”
So amazing she wanted to cry with the wonder of it.
His jaw was granite. “Sí, but this will be over far too soon if you don’t stop moving.”
She caressed his cheek, joy welling inside her, making her giddy. “Oh, Marcos, why didn’t you tell me you had premature issues?”
He swore. And then he laughed, though she knew he tried not to. “Why do you amuse me even now? Is this not serious to you?”
“Very.”
“And to me,” he growled. Then he flexed his hips. A shiver began at the top of her head and rolled to her toes. It was so unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. All thought of teasing him flew from her head. Raw need was a clarion blast in her soul.
“Marcos—”
When he rolled his hips forward again, she couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. Couldn’t think. Could only feel.
“Oh yes, mi gatita,” he said, somehow still capable of thought and speech, “it is very serious indeed.”
