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I’d shiver at his tone if I didn’t see the slight quirk on his upper lip. Sparing verbally with him takes immense skill. After a few sentences, I feel like I’ve run a marathon, but I can’t deny the rush he gives me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like someone was listening—truly listening—to my every word.
Such attention makes me reckless.
“Let me see more, and I’ll make it up to you.”
His smirk widens though those eyes never lose their cold hue. “How so?”
“I’ll let you in on one of my secrets.”
He says nothing, and I’m sure he suspects I’ll reveal something about Braulio he can use to his benefit. Maybe if I knew something of the sort, I’d tell him. Instead, all I have deals with me.
“Fucking you was what made me see it,” I blurt, taking a risk by speaking first. “How you hide the real you.”
“Oh?” He braces a calloused hand against the desk’s surface and leans in. “And how so? Was my magic cock really that good? I’m used to flattery, chica, but damn. You certainly know how to ladle it on.”
“And genuine praise makes you uncomfortable. Not because you don’t believe you deserve it. You think I’m winding you up.”
“And are you?” he asks, flicking his gaze over my exposed front. “Do tell.”
“I’m not. But you don’t trust me. You think I was faking it the first time, but I wasn’t.”
And perhaps that’s a step too far when it comes to honesty. Being in this room does something to me. It lowers the iron wall I’ve learned to keep up—and not just when it comes to him. Diego trained me well, and maybe the threat of him unravels my armor now.
“You don’t hide yourself when you fuck someone. You’re brutal and unrestrained, and you don’t give a damn if your partner enjoys it. You let them get a glimpse of the real you, and if they only want pretty clothes and shoes, then it’s their price to pay. You don’t force them, but you don’t work for their approval, either.”
Other men are different. They thrive on praise wrung from eager mouths, and they need to feel like a big man. He would have preferred it if I had played the same song and dance with him. Not because it would get him off but because it would minimize me as a threat.
“You don’t believe anyone could enjoy the real Julian, but I did. It’s why you don’t trust me.”
His expression doesn’t reveal if my hunch is correct or not. “I think I’m beginning to realize that you enjoy reckless, dangerous stunts, chica. But you forget one thing. One aspect of our fucking that I would like clarity on,sí?” Without warning, he captures my chin in one hand. “You commanded me. Go slow, remember? Why would a woman who enjoyed my cock so much beg me to take her gently? One might assume I hurt you.”
He utters the statement as though it were a trump card. Concrete proof that I was lying. He couldn’t be more wrong.
“I wanted to feel you,” I confess, my voice huskier than I mean it to be. “And you let me. No one ever has before.”
I’m referring to just one man, but he doesn’t need to know that. In any case, the point is the same.
“You gave me a taste of control, yet you didn’t hold back. You didn’t demand I take you as you wanted. You gave me what I asked for, even in that small way, and it…”
Turned me on like nothing else. Even now. I’ve grown wet just thinking of him, and that terrifies me. Honesty aside, I pray he didn’t enjoy my body the same way. Avoiding another tryst with him would be in my best interest.
I can’t risk getting attached to him. Or addicted.
“And if I were to fuck you now around your precious books?” Jaguar asks, putting my personal vow in utter peril. “How wet would you be?”
Embarrassingly so. I’ve never been this aroused. Ever. My body reacts to his presence in ways I can’t deny, even though I know I should be alarmed by the intensity of it all. This man will be the death of me.
It’s a good thing I’m already legally deceased, then.
I don’t know who moves first. I think he flexes his hand to guide me out of my seat, but I’m already standing. He doesn’t let me circle the desk, however. He leans over it and hooks his hands beneath my waist, yanking me on top of the wooden surface so I’m resting on my knees. In a graceful display of strength, he extends my legs before me and steps between them.
He moves to free his cock, but I stop him by reaching for his fly first. A thrill shoots down my spine that I can’t deny. I feel like a child unwrapping the most coveted present on Christmas morning. The comparisons between him and Diego threaten to overwhelm me, but one sticks out.
I never rushed to undress him first. He would never allow it, and it wasn’t long before sex with him became a punishment. A necessary task he had to undertake to cement his hold over me. I never ached for him. I never felt my body practically vibrate for his touch, and I never understood what it meant to be wet. Truly wet.
It’s frightening how aroused I feel, and Jaguar hasn’t even touched me in the ways that matter. He watches me through heavy-lidded eyes and raises his hands so that I can tackle his fly unassisted. When I get him free, my mouth goes dry.
God, he’s beautiful. He’s terrifying. His cock is a weapon composed of flesh and straining veins, and rock-hard muscle. He seems to be feeling the equivalent of what I am, swollen to a painful degree. An unexpected impulse rises within me—I want to taste him. Badly. I want to feel what it’s like to have him unleash that power in my mouth.
