Rafe tosses another twig on the fire, ignoring me.
I can’t believe I’m having to convince a guy to get naked with me. “I know you’re a virgin. I know you have a huge dick. I promise you I won’t be weird about either one, okay? Whatever your reason for celibacy, I respect it. I’m not going to mess with you. I promise.”
That gets a response from him. Astonishment. “You think I want to be celibate?”
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Why else would you be a virgin?” But then I think back to earlier today, when he slid his fingers inside me and rubbed his cock against my panties. There wasn’t shame in his body, like he was doing something forbidden. There was hunger, dark and intense.
Hunger like there was in his eyes right now. “You don’t understand,” he says in a low growl.
“Try me.”
“I killed a woman during sex.”
I blink. “How?”
His lip curls at my stupid question. “How do you think?”
“Asphyxiation? I mean, some people get off on that, but . . .” Maybe he asphyxiated her with his cock? If ever there was one to choke a girl to death, it’s that one.
He gives a sharp shake of his head and stares into the fire. “No. You misunderstand. I tried to put my cock inside her and she died. End of story.”
I’m a little aghast at this. I mean, his cock is big, but I didn’t realize it was killer big. I can’t help but glance down at his pants again. He’s not erect, I don’t think, but he’s still bigger than most guys, which is pretty staggering.
“And that was your only time?” I ask softly.
He rubs his unshaven jaw and stares into the fire.
“Have you ever had any sex that didn’t end with . . . anything like that?”
Rafe looks at me, and then his gaze flicks to my near-naked body. He’s probably thinking about this morning, when I rode his hand and screamed his name.
Was that the only time anyone’s touched him sexually and didn’t freak out on him? I don’t know what to make of this information. The more I see Mendoza’s monster dick outlined in his pants, the more I get used to seeing it. It’s huge. Scary huge, and not in a sexy way. I think most size queens would even get a bit alarmed at the sight.
But I also feel sympathy for the big guy. He’s sexy and muscular, and most girls would give their right hand to be able to touch him. The fact that he’s never had a great sexual encounter other than this morning?
It makes me want to give him more. I’m attracted to him despite our predicament, and I want to show him that sex can be good, even if it doesn’t have a dick inside a vagina.
So I sidle closer to him. Put a hand on the buttons at the top of his shirt and begin to slowly undo them with my good hand.
He freezes. His breath is rasping hard in his throat. “Ava, don’t—”
“Shh,” I tell him. “We should get these cold, wet things off of you.” I wish my hand was better so I could make this sexier. For now, he has to settle with me fumbling with his hem. I manage to free a patch of skin and then give up. “Do me a favor and take your shirt off, will you?” I ask, holding up my bad hand. “This is working against me.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“Get you naked so you can dry off,” I say. “Then I’m going to rub up against you for a bit and touch you, if you’re okay with that.” I lean in. “I’d volunteer to kiss you but my breath probably isn’t minty fresh.”
“I don’t fucking care,” he says, and his gaze goes to my mouth. There’s the hungry, intense look again. Like he’s going to die if he doesn’t eat me alive.
I shiver, and I feel my nipples responding, getting hard. My pulse throbs between my legs, too. “I’ll kiss you if you take off your shirt, then,” I tell him. I wonder for a moment if he’s going to take it off, but he doesn’t hesitate. Off it goes, and onto the floor in a wet, sodden heap.
And now I get to gaze at Mendoza’s male beauty. He’s got a few scars here and there, carved among his muscles. He’s got a sprinkling of chest hair, and his skin is a dark, rich, warm brown that speaks of long days in the sun and his Hispanic heritage. He’s also mouthwateringly gorgeous, a few tattoos on his arms interrupting the otherwise perfect sculpture of him. There’s a happy trail near his belly button that disappears into his pants, and I run a finger over it, fascinated. “Man, I should not like looking at you so much,” I sigh.
He stiffens.
I quickly feel the need to qualify my words. “It’s distracting,” I say, running my finger up his chest. He relaxes. Lord, there’s a six pack, complete with ridges. This man must not have an ounce of fat on his body. God, I bet his ass is incredible, too. And his thighs. “Pants off?”
“I’m fine,” he says in a voice that is stern, gruff.