her Rosa , her name falling from his lips like stardust, pixie dust. She’d done a fair impression of Wendy Moira Angela Darling, and she’d cursed it as she relished it.
He shifted, settling onto his butt, never letting her go. She straddled him, reminiscent of the very first position they’d tried six hours ago, except they were both sitting up now. He scooted to rest his back against the headboard, his face still in her neck, his goatee scratching the silken, sensitive skin there.
“Ride me,” he demanded, and she shivered again.
Rosita began undulating her hips, not sliding off his length because his arms were too powerful around her, too secure, too wonderful. He started kissing along her neck, across her collarbone, up to the point of her chin. His hands moved from the small of her back to her breasts, cupping their heavy weight, thrumming her chocolaty nipples. He continued to nip her chin and tweak her breasts while she just rocked upon his erection. She felt his eyes on her again, and she looked everywhere but at him. He had her too open as it was; she needed to guard some secrets for herself.
“When are we gonna stop this?” he asked breathlessly, moving his hands from her chest to wrap his arms around her waist again.
“As soon as I come,” she hissed, her face pinched as she glimpsed the release she desperately needed.
There was a deep, breathless chuckle. “And then what, you go back to Bevin’s until you need my cock to scratch your pussy’s itch?”
She snapped her eyes to him and glared. “¡ Sucio !”
He quirked an eyebrow. “¿ Es la verdad, sí ?”
She averted her gaze and bit her lip, her climax and her shame warring within her. No , she said in her head, admitted to herself for the first time. He was not just a cock to scratch her itch…he hadn’t been for a long time. In fact, she’d purposely stayed away from him that first night at The Barrel .
Both of them knew Patrice hadn’t been his initial choice.
They’d pretended—all three of them, actually—though he’d eventually grown to have real feelings for Patrice. The pretty Korean hadn’t felt the same as intensely, though, her parents too strong an influence compared to her hormones or how “nice of a guy” he was. Rosita had admittedly lost a little respect for him because of it, despite the fact he was among the most elite fighters in the country. So what he could shoot a rifle on target or knock a guy out with one punch? He couldn’t stand up to a woman who was maybe five-four and a buck-ten soaking wet. Rosita needed a strong man, a man who would fight for her, a man who would fight her should she start tripping.
Be careful what you wish for…
“¿ No es la verdad, Rosita, chica ?” he asked quietly in her ear, not moving, his body primed and ready to go upon her command.
She looked directly into his eyes. “You know it’s not.”
He smiled slowly, exposing the tiny gap between his two upper-front teeth, her heart opening wider and feeling the warm breeze of affection overcome her. “Good girl,” he congratulated, thrusting into her hard. “Very good girl.”
Rosita’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. His thrusts were measured and deep, as if he were laying claim to her, marking her. She wanted to pull out of his arms. She wanted to meld into him. She wanted everything and was scared that he offered it to her and then some. She wasn’t really ready for this…booty calls she could handle. She handled them very well, in fact. But this, the upping of the ante, was far, far out of her league.
“Kiss me, Rosa,” he husked against her cheek even as his mouth crept to hers. “Kiss me…”
She did, softly, nothing but lips, and yet it triggered her most powerful climax thus far. She felt him freeze also, then explode inside her, making her shake more violently than an eight-point earthquake.
There were most certainly not tears in
He shifted, settling onto his butt, never letting her go. She straddled him, reminiscent of the very first position they’d tried six hours ago, except they were both sitting up now. He scooted to rest his back against the headboard, his face still in her neck, his goatee scratching the silken, sensitive skin there.
“Ride me,” he demanded, and she shivered again.
Rosita began undulating her hips, not sliding off his length because his arms were too powerful around her, too secure, too wonderful. He started kissing along her neck, across her collarbone, up to the point of her chin. His hands moved from the small of her back to her breasts, cupping their heavy weight, thrumming her chocolaty nipples. He continued to nip her chin and tweak her breasts while she just rocked upon his erection. She felt his eyes on her again, and she looked everywhere but at him. He had her too open as it was; she needed to guard some secrets for herself.
“When are we gonna stop this?” he asked breathlessly, moving his hands from her chest to wrap his arms around her waist again.
“As soon as I come,” she hissed, her face pinched as she glimpsed the release she desperately needed.
There was a deep, breathless chuckle. “And then what, you go back to Bevin’s until you need my cock to scratch your pussy’s itch?”
She snapped her eyes to him and glared. “¡ Sucio !”
He quirked an eyebrow. “¿ Es la verdad, sí ?”
She averted her gaze and bit her lip, her climax and her shame warring within her. No , she said in her head, admitted to herself for the first time. He was not just a cock to scratch her itch…he hadn’t been for a long time. In fact, she’d purposely stayed away from him that first night at The Barrel .
Both of them knew Patrice hadn’t been his initial choice.
They’d pretended—all three of them, actually—though he’d eventually grown to have real feelings for Patrice. The pretty Korean hadn’t felt the same as intensely, though, her parents too strong an influence compared to her hormones or how “nice of a guy” he was. Rosita had admittedly lost a little respect for him because of it, despite the fact he was among the most elite fighters in the country. So what he could shoot a rifle on target or knock a guy out with one punch? He couldn’t stand up to a woman who was maybe five-four and a buck-ten soaking wet. Rosita needed a strong man, a man who would fight for her, a man who would fight her should she start tripping.
Be careful what you wish for…
“¿ No es la verdad, Rosita, chica ?” he asked quietly in her ear, not moving, his body primed and ready to go upon her command.
She looked directly into his eyes. “You know it’s not.”
He smiled slowly, exposing the tiny gap between his two upper-front teeth, her heart opening wider and feeling the warm breeze of affection overcome her. “Good girl,” he congratulated, thrusting into her hard. “Very good girl.”
Rosita’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. His thrusts were measured and deep, as if he were laying claim to her, marking her. She wanted to pull out of his arms. She wanted to meld into him. She wanted everything and was scared that he offered it to her and then some. She wasn’t really ready for this…booty calls she could handle. She handled them very well, in fact. But this, the upping of the ante, was far, far out of her league.
“Kiss me, Rosa,” he husked against her cheek even as his mouth crept to hers. “Kiss me…”
She did, softly, nothing but lips, and yet it triggered her most powerful climax thus far. She felt him freeze also, then explode inside her, making her shake more violently than an eight-point earthquake.
There were most certainly not tears in
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