She smiled at his ludicrous question. “Would you have denied me orgasms if I did love him?”
He wrenched her hard against him. “No and you know it.” And maybe he was going to break her rules and maybe he was going to taste her lips and maybe he would fuck her through the floor and maybe she would face the consequences later. In the morning.
His bite on her lower lip was sharp. She gasped, eyes and mouth flying open, pain and want getting all mixed up, and the look in his eyes got darker and more determined, his hold on her tighter, as he tilted his head to kiss her jaw. The bite there was kinder, slower, and toe curling. She felt the delineation of his strong, white teeth.
Looming over her and warming her like a furnace, he held her against him and began to make out with her ear, her neck, the skin between her clavicles—wet, soft flicks and nips and hot, nerve-scoring lip drags—mocking her mouth for all the kissing, sucking, and biting it was missing out on.
“Your beautiful fucking neck,” he murmured, thumbs holding back her chin, tilting her head back for his exploration. “Your neck makes me crazy...the only skin you’ll let me see... I fuck my fist thinking about your neck... I come fantasizing about kissing it.”
Why did his filth make her so hot? When he began pulling up the calf-long hem of her dress, she felt molten.
A final, desperate flail from her dying self-preservation reminded her what Aish would see on her hip.
“Apaga las luces,” she gasped, not wanting to think, not wanting to stop. “Turn off the lights, Aish.”
Like a cord had been snipped, he sagged against her, making Sofia stagger then straighten to take his weight. She grabbed his hip, grasped the back of his neck when he buried his head against her shoulder.
She’d gone from bending beneath him to being the only thing keeping him up.
“I’ve been in the dark for so long,” he said, tight and low into her skin. His hands came around her and clung to her back. “I can’t go back there tonight.”
As a boy, he’d caused her so much pain. The worst misery in a life that had a fair share of it. She hadn’t wished him evil in return; instead, she’d tried to erase him from her mind entirely. Seeing him crumbling now, she should be dancing on his ashes.
She slid her hand to his chest and pushed him upright. He gritted his teeth, thinking it was a rejection. But she swept his hair out of his eyes then tugged his head back with a soft grip so he was looking at her.
She let him go and walked backwards to a silvery grey chaise, took a seat on the edge of it, and pointed the toe of her basket-weave wedge sandal. “Would you help me with my shoe?”
She wouldn’t leave him alone in the dark. Neither did she want to be touched by his light.
He approached her cautiously, unsure, but when he slid that long body down onto his knees, it started a low flame in her belly. When he dipped his hands under the hem of her dress and traced slowly up the crisscrossed satin ribbons to the bow at the top of her calf, that flame grew.
When he untied the bow, Sofia murmured, “Could you tear off one of the ribbons?”
He did, effortlessly, the veins in his guitar-playing hands bunching as he ripped the wide ribbon loose, then handed it to her. When she held it up to him, pulled taut between both hands, understanding knocked the dreamy expression off his face. The white satin ribbon was as wide as her palm.
Hunger filled his eyes as he lifted his chin and leaned his face toward her.
She settled the ribbon over his eyes before he could see the jolt of excitement, of power, his acquiescence gave her and tied it at the back of his head. “¿Estás bien?” she murmured, running her fingers over the slick fabric, already warm from her body and now from his, making sure it covered his eyes and was secure but not too tight.
It was a creamy, glistening white barrier against his tanned skin and black hair, banning her from his lightning-storm eyes and making his leonine nose, the slash of his cheekbones, and those plunderable lips even more erotically upsetting.
He tilted his head toward her ear. “I’m good,” he said, a purring rumble from his chest. “And no more talking, Sofia.”
A thrill shook her as he regained his bravado. He moved closer and slid his fingers up the back of her calves, untied her other shoe and tossed it away. He spread her knees and made room for himself between them.
“I can’t see you, just a glow,” he murmured as he feathered his fingers against the sensitive skin behind her knees. It was overwhelming to see him, watch those lips move, study him this close and vulnerable without the threat of him looking back. “I promise. I swear. Can I get you naked? Let me touch you naked.”
And she wanted it, the pressure and pleasure of his hands on her body without seeing the weight of what it meant in his eyes. It was every fantasy she’d swear she never had.
She wiggled the dress up her thighs, over her body and tossed it away. It made a soft thump against his rug and his hands painfully squeezed her kneecaps.
“Lay down,” he murmured, and he moved and pressed her knees together, swung them up on the chaise as Sofia leaned back, her head flat against the chaise’s long seat. The material was cool and velvety against her skin.
As a fully clothed Aish Salinger leaned
