“Kneel and put your hands on my thighs, Shannon. And don’t move them.”
It’s not an order. Not something I must obey. But the way he says it—well, it makes me want to obey. I place my hands flat against his muscular thighs as he gathers my hair in a ponytail, gripping it so tight, it pulls on my scalp.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. I want nothing more than to look at him. His jaw is covered with stubble two days old. His green eyes are at half-mast as he gazes down at me. His dick is hard and right in front of my lips.
“Open,” he says. “I’m gonna fuck your face and come down your throat.”
I open my mouth and he shoves himself inside so fast, his cock bumps up against my soft palate and makes me gag. But he doesn’t wait for me this time. He’s in control. He’s the one with the power. He pulls my head back by my hair and then thrusts me forward again, hitting that same spot. My fingers are clenched around the loose denim of his jeans as I force myself to give in to what he wants from me.
I never stop looking at him. My eyes are only on him.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” And the he rams his cock again and again. I gag, and spit, and noises are coming from my throat that I’ve never heard before. But each time he thrusts, he moans.
I am doing it right, that’s what those moans mean.
The next time he hits my soft palate I wrap my lips around him tighter and suck, bobbing my head to his rhythm. Back and forth so fast, he loses control, stiffens, and then his warm semen is spilling down my throat.
“Swallow,” he groans. “Swallow me.”
I swallow every single drop and when he pulls away and the saliva is spilling down my chin, I lean forward and lick his tip.
“I fucking love you,” he says.
I—can’t move. I can’t speak. I have tears from the stress of being face-fucked running down my cheeks and I’m sure my eye makeup is all smeared. I must look horrible.
But he just said he loves me.
“I do, Shannon. I knew the first time I saw you, I was going to love you forever. It was one of those things you just know.”
And then he pulls me to my feet and kisses me on the mouth. A long, deep kiss that says more than his words ever will.
He loves me. I can feel it in my core.
He takes my hand and leads me through the kitchen, past the living room, and into the hallway where I’ve never been before. We stop in his bedroom and he kicks off his boots and drops his pants. He takes my hand again and leads me over to his bed and then he lies down and says, “Rub your * over my mouth.”
Fuck. This dirty talk does me in. I gulp some air and then climb onto the bed, straddling his waist and bracing myself with my palms flat on his hard chest.
“Go on, do it,” he encourages me.
I scoot up his body until my knees are resting on the bed on either side of his head. And then I lower myself down.
His tongue reaches up and flicks against my clit.
Oh, God. I might die of pleasure. Is it possible to die of pleasure?
My hips start moving back and forth, his scratchy chin rubbing my tender folds in all the right ways. His tongue darts in and out of my *. He reaches up and squeezes my breasts, and then he pinches my nipples so hard, I have to let out a squeal. He releases them, but smacks the cheek of my ass.
He stops my hips for a moment and looks up at me. I’m mesmerized by his eyes. “Fuck my face like I did yours. And when you come, I’ll flip you over and show you what a good time really feels like.”
I brace my hands on the head board, my knees trembling from keeping myself positioned over the top of him. And then I do exactly what he wants.
I fuck him. I rub myself all over his chin. His tongue does a dance that I will never understand, but I don’t need to. It’s not a mathematical mystery that requires solving. It’s nothing but pure ecstasy.
And when I come, I come hard. My head falls back as he laps me up. And then he does exactly what he promised. He flips us over and enters me from the top. His palms cradle my cheeks. His mouth kisses my mouth. And we go slow. We look at each other—gaze at each other—as the pleasure builds to something close to infinity.
We come together in every way possible.
It’s moaning, and writhing, and grunting. It’s sex.
But it feels like love.
I might never have understood what that word meant before, but I do now.
Mateo is love.
We lie there afterward, him mostly talking about what we will do in Hawaii, me still focused on the mind-blowing sex. And then it starts to get dark and I know I need to go home. He helps me dress and walks me across the street, kissing me goodbye on the other side of my patio gate, my head spinning from the leftover lust and the loud hum of the 5 freeway.
I’m addicted to him and what he does to my body. There’s no starting over or going back now. I am just addicted and I need more.
I walk inside and drift around the apartment, ignoring Jason’s bad mood as he gathers his stuff to leave for work. And I realize that I never did take my test today.
Chapter Twenty-Eight