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He’d do anything for me.
Only when I was ready would I begin to move, rocking my hips slowly. Slowly. Then harder when I needed to feel him…
There.
I’d cry loudly at the pleasure he could give me—a fire unlike any other. I’d chase it mindlessly, knowing he’d follow. I’d press his hand to my chest and let him feel how fast my heart is racing. How good he’s making me feel.
I’d say his name...
But that would be too dangerous now. So, I just gasp and gasp, bearing my hips onto his, rocking the entire bed with our movements.
The man beneath me would only be able to restrain himself for so long before his groans of ecstasy joined mine. Low. Guttural. Beautiful fucking noises.
Drunk on pleasure, I’d show him my gratitude for giving me such power. I’d hunch over him and press my lips to his throat. Feather kisses down his chest and smooth my fingers along his perfect, flawless skin.
However, the painted flesh I find beneath my searching fingertips fractures my fantasy. This calls for a rewrite—my perfect man has tattoos. Endless tattoos, made of black ink and delicate swirls. Then skulls. A snarling Jaguar behind a thicket of leaves.
He would have his secrets, but I’d love him more for it. My perfect lover. He would never keep anything from me.
And I would share all of myself with him. All of it. I wouldn’t let fear keep me from exploring him. Worshiping him. Taking my pleasure.
Intoxicated by him, I’d press open mouth kisses to his chest and trace the tattoos nearest me.
And he would…
Groan. Buck his hips into me, driving his cock into my inner walls. He couldn’t help himself.
And I would allow him that fracturing bit of control. I’d crave him even more for it. His coming undone would only herald an orgasm for the ages. For both of us. We’d feel it coming like a freight train with no way of stopping it.
I’d go first, eyes rolling, toes curling, voice echoing throughout the room like a mad woman’s.
And just as loudly, he’d follow, gripping my hips so hard he’d bruise and using the leverage to slam into me. So hard. So fast.
His strength would make the headboard slam into the wall, and we’d hit that peak together. Hot. Breathless. Mindless. Climax.
Utterly spent, I’d collapse against him, pressing my lips to his neck. His chest. I wouldn’t be able to get enough of him…
“Enough.” The low rasp of Julian Domingas snaps me back to reality.
Hard.
Blinking, I realize that it’shisbody I’ve been mouthing.Dios mío.I scramble off him, crawling to the other side of the bed, my cheeks flaming.
“Wait,” he warns before I can even think to stand.
Reaching toward the nightstand, he picks up something he must have prepared for this moment. “Open,” he commands, beckoning me with a crooked finger.
He means my mouth. When I comply, he places something on my tongue. Hard. Round.
The promised pill.
I swallow it dryly and tell myself I’m not afraid as it slides down my throat.
“Braulio is more of a fucking pussy than I thought,” Jaguar says, leaning back against the pillows, his hands folded behind his head. “He likes it mushy.”
And he doesn’t. Not that I try to let his amusement sting. My fictional Bob would have my appreciation far more than the two other men I’ve been with. I think I mourn for him. Poor fake Bob.
“What now?” I ask Jaguar when he doesn’t move.
