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"Let me love every part of you," I whisper, and there's a desperate edge to my words, a hunger that's about more than just flesh.
"Please," she gasps, and it's all the permission I need.
My mouth descends, worshiping the swell of her breasts, the dip of her navel, until I'm at the core of her femininity. I lingerthere, taking my time, learning the language of her pleasure with my tongue. Her hands weave into my dark hair, holding on, guiding me closer.
"Constantino..." Her voice breaks, and it's music, a melody of desire that I chase with fervor, drawing out her sweetness until I'm intoxicated with it.
"Tell me what you feel," I command between kisses, needing her to acknowledge every sensation, every moment we're stealing back from a world that's been too cruel, too indifferent.
"Everything," she breathes out, her body a testament to my effect on her. "I feel everything."
And I do too—the rawness, the connection, the terrifying realization that I'm teetering on the brink of something irreversible.
Love?
It claws at the edges of my consciousness, demanding recognition, but I shove it down. Not yet. I can't face that beast—not when there's still so much to prove, to myself, to her.
"Good," I rasp, my voice hoarse with emotion and lust. "Remember this. Remember us."
"Always," she promises, and it's a vow that echoes in the chambers of my soul, filling them with a dangerous hope.
Her moans are a siren's call, pulling me deeper into the abyss of desire. I'm lost in the taste of her, my tongue swirling around and flicking her clit. I revel in the jolts of pleasure it sends through her body, shown to me through the beautiful tensing of her muscles. A reckless part of me whispers that this is what addiction must feel like. "You're fucking divine," I growl against her skin, my lips tracing fire across her quivering flesh. "On death row, you'd be my last meal."
A giggle bubbles up from her throat, light and airy, so damn incongruent with the heavy heat between us. But it's perfect, because it's Evelyn—unguarded and real. She pulls me up tomeet her gaze, those blue eyes shimmering with something like mischief.
"Let me undress you," she breathes out, her fingers already tugging at my shirt, and goddammit, if that isn't a demand I'll gladly surrender to. Her hands move with purpose, peeling away each layer of clothing like she's unwrapping a gift that she's been dying to get her hands on. The air hits my skin, but it's her touch that sends shivers down my spine.
"Want to taste you too," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire as her fingers trail lower, teasing the waistband of my jeans.
"Go ahead, little rabbit," I rasp, my chest heaving with anticipation. Her movements are slow, sensual—the opposite of the primal hunger that usually drives me. And fuck if it doesn't feel good to be worshipped like this, to be seen not just as a weapon or a tool of the Maldonado name, but as a man.
She frees me from the confines of my clothes, and her lips are on me before I can catch my breath. The warmth of her mouth is an inferno, her tongue a velvet flame that licks and coaxes every ounce of pleasure from my being. My hand finds its way to her hair, not to control, but to feel the silkiness between my fingers—to ground myself in this moment that feels dangerously close to tenderness.
"Christ, Evelyn..." The rest of my words get lost in a groan as she sucks me in deeper, her eyes locked on mine. It's a gaze full of promise and secrets, one that tells me she knows exactly the kind of power she holds over me right now.
And I let her. For the first time in my godforsaken life, I relinquish control willingly, eagerly, because with her, it doesn't feel like weakness. It feels like freedom—a chance to break away from the violence and expectations that have shackled me since birth.
I don't think about the epilepsy that haunts me like a specter, or the tattoo hidden beneath my leather wristband. In this moment, there's no room for fear or doubt. There's only her and me, and the intoxicating illusion that we could escape who we are, if only for tonight.
I can't let her continue this way; I won't last. I lay her down gently, like she's something precious, something that might break—a stark contrast to the roughness I'm known for, especially with her.
"You on birth control?"
"Y-yes," she stammers out, breathless and looking up at me with those blue eyes that see too much.
"Good, 'cause I need this. No barriers." My voice is gruff, raw with desire. It’s not just about skin on skin—it's about trust, an unfamiliar feeling worming its way into my chest.
She nods, a flush spreading across her cheeks. There's a tremble in her agreement, a silent plea that matches the hunger in my own veins. As I enter her, it's like sliding into salvation. Her body envelops me in warmth, in softness that contracts and welcomes—inviting me deeper into her essence.
"Fuck, Evelyn." My breath comes out in a hiss. She's incredible, fitting me like a glove, each inch of her hugging me closer to oblivion. "You feel so goddamn good."
I've never felt this connected to anyone before. Not like this. Every other time was a play of power, a display of dominance where the endgame was release, not revelation. But with her, it's as if our bodies are having a conversation, whispering secrets through touch and motion.
I start to move, pulling back and then pushing forward, setting a rhythm that has both of us gasping. The carpet fibers graze my knees, a rough reminder that we're grounded in reality, no matter how much this feels like a dream.
Her hands claw at the carpet, fingers entangled in the strands as if she's trying to hold on to the earth while I thrust us both into the stratosphere. With every stroke, I can feel her building around me, her body tensing, coiling like a spring.
"Constantino, please... don't stop," she begs, her voice laced with that edge of desperation that drives me wild.
