You Had Me at Hola(68)

Except this. With her, things seemed to make sense, even though they shouldn’t. So before she could voice the question in her eyes, he slid his hand around the back of her neck and sank his fingers into the warm mass of her hair.

She didn’t move toward him, but nor did she pull away. They hovered like that, his intention clear, and her—waiting? So he leaned in and kissed her. Until their lips touched, he still wasn’t sure if she’d stop him, but she met his mouth with open enthusiasm, and he had a flash of kissing her earlier on the stoop. The two experiences merged—then, wanting to kiss her more deeply, but needing to stick to the agreed-upon choreography—and now, feeling a jolt at the touch of her tongue on his, craving the heat but worrying he needed to pull back.

Except they weren’t Victor and Carmen now. It was just the two of them, alone. He shut everything else out and lost himself in her. In her touch, sure and confident as she stroked his chest. In her taste, so sweet and with faint fruity notes from the wine when her tongue teased his.

He tugged at her clothing, needing to be closer, to touch more of her. She helped him strip away her pajamas before tossing them to the floor. Then he stretched her out on the sofa, taking a moment to gaze down at her body, cataloging her curves in his memory and feeling a deep sense of contentment. How lucky he was, that this amazing woman let him be close to her, let him touch her, let him—

He cut off the thought before it could go too deep and bent to kiss her breasts. She let out a long sigh, holding his head closer to her, but he had another destination in mind. Shifting lower, he spread her legs, draping one over the back of the couch. When her hips rocked toward him in invitation, he lowered his mouth to her and worshipped her.

Her response delighted him. She gripped his head, pulling his hair and urging him on as he licked her. When he stroked her and tongued her clit, a litany of “yes, yes, yes” fell from her lips. She writhed and shook beneath his touch, kneading and pinching her own breasts, the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. And when she climaxed against his mouth, around his fingers, he knew bliss.

As he eased back, to take in the sight of her naked body reclined in sated pleasure, a smile curved his lips. His dick was rock hard, and he was still fully dressed, but her pleasure was everything to him. Absently, he caressed her thigh, just happy to touch her after so many days apart. But she surprised him by rearing up and scrambling into a position at his feet.

After tucking a throw pillow under her knees, she yanked at the fastenings on his jeans with hurried moves.

“Jasmine, you—”

“Shh.” She reached into his boxers and gently withdrew his cock. At her touch, he groaned and dropped his head back. In a smooth move, she took him in her mouth. Her hot, wet mouth.

This is it, he thought. This is how I die.

It was too good. Too absolute. No one could feel this good and survive, could they? Maybe not, but he was willing to test it.

She worked him with her mouth and hand, getting him slick with her lips and tongue, squeezing his hardness within her fist. He sank his hands into her hair and rocked his hips, panting her name as she took him for a ride.

He was almost there, so close, but he didn’t know if—

“Jasmine, por favor,” he ground out, not knowing what he was even begging for. Stop? Keep going? He didn’t know. She was in total control.

She must have guessed he was close, because she pulled her mouth off him with a smacking kiss, then climbed up to straddle his lap.

He filled his hands with her as she kissed his mouth. Her lips wet and soft, and his still carrying the lingering taste of her. He couldn’t get enough. All the reasons why this could never be fled from his mind, or seemed inconsequential in the light of his burning need for her. She’d gotten under his skin, so quickly and easily, it should have been impossible. And yet here she was. Here they were.

Her busy fingers undid the buttons of his shirt and she pulled back enough to whisper against his mouth, “Dime qué quieres.”

The words sent shivers through his body. Her utter confidence, the latent sensuality, the fact that she now felt comfortable enough with him to try dirty talk en espa?ol. This woman was already everything he could ever want. How was he supposed to put it into words?

“I want”—I need—“you.”

She let out a husky chuckle and kept undressing him. “Which part of me?”

All of you.

He couldn’t say that. Some shred of self-preservation remained. Instead, he reached between them and stroked her, finding her wet and open. She let out a sigh as he slipped his fingers into her, pumping back and forth. She rocked her hips, riding his hand, looking so fucking beautiful he could barely stand it, but after a moment she eased back.

“Condom,” she whispered, getting to her feet and yanking at his jeans to pull them off. “I want you inside me.”

“Fuck yeah,” he ground out. He grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket before she could toss the pants away and took out the foil condom packet. While she opened it, he went to the bedroom and came back with the bottle of lube, because he knew she liked it. Squirting some into his hand, he waited while she rolled the condom down his cock, which was exquisite torture in and of itself. Then he greased himself up, resumed his seat on the sofa, and leaned back.

He didn’t know what the hell they were doing here, but as she sank down and sheathed him in her heat, he didn’t fucking care. Everything felt different—no, better—with her. He was better, just for being in her presence. Her patience and emotional responsiveness allowed him to explore how it felt to let someone in and be truly seen—something he’d forgotten how to do. It was a gift he could never repay.