“Shake your head yes or no, Sofia,” he said, voice low but commanding as he skimmed one hot, callused finger over her shoulder, across her jaw, and then over her lips. She opened her mouth for him as his teasing stroke made her lips tingle. “Did you ever do this with him?”
“With who?” she sighed.
The slow birth of Aish’s feral smile made her remember. Henry. He was asking about Henry. While he was blowing her mind. Cabrón. Gillipollas. She jerked her lips away from his touch and he let her, instead stroking his thumb against her chin and the long line of her neck.
“No talking,” he said, and his blind grin hovered over her like the X-rated version of the Cheshire cat. “Do you want to do this with him?”
Sofia hesitated. But then shook her head no, made sure his thumb could feel it. It was a fair question; this was only a game, and he should know that no one would get hurt by their play.
“Do you want to do this with me?”
That’s when she realized that while she lay all-but-naked for him—she still wore her nude-colored panties—he’d only touched her shoulder, her face, her neck. In the time that he’d been in her kingdom, Aish had unrelentingly pressed her for more, pushed her for reaction and answers and emotional intimacy she’d been unwilling to give him.
Except in this. In this, in desire, he’d never pushed. Come on, baby had been omnipresent with men. But not with Aish. Never with Aish.
“Do you want to do this with me?” He’d made himself vulnerable when she would have let him take.
“Yes,” she groaned, the restraint in her fraying and snapping, arching up her back. “Yes, please, por favor, Aish. I need you to touch me, por favor, tócame, tócame ahora.”
One hand covered her mouth, rough skin muffling her pleas, while the other hand skimmed down her body to find her breast. His mouth bent to her nipple, licked, bit then pulled as her back arched sharply and she gave a cry against his palm.
“No talking,” he commanded again, sucking against her skin, savoring, and she pried her eyes open to watch it, watch him blindfolded and bent over as his whisker-shadowed cheek hollowed to pleasure her. He opened his mouth wide, like he would swallow her whole, and his mouth and tongue were wet and voluptuous over her breast.
“You taste so good...like, fucking...you taste like cinnamon candy, Sofia.” His tongue slid down her sternum. “You’ve always been my favorite flavor.”
When he rubbed his lips against the fine hairs along her abdomen, Sofia couldn’t help but spread her thighs. Her hips began to move helplessly as she knocked his relaxed hand from her mouth. “Keep going, Aish, please, te necesito, lower, lower, Aish, I need you, it’s been so long...”
“Keep talking and I’m stopping,” he said cruelly. “You follow my rule if you want my tongue in your pussy. Is that still your favorite, baby?”
He teased into her belly button like he would lick at her clit, and Sofia had to jam the back of her hand against his mouth as her hips begged porfavorporfavorporfavorporfavor.
“Remember the taste of your cunt,” he cooed as his nose skimmed over her quivering stomach, rubbed into the hair above her panties. “Remember wanting to eat you for days.”
She pressed her lips against her teeth as he bit her hipbone; if he saw what she’d tattooed there, the reminder that should have kept her from this, he’d realize she remembered something about him, too.
His kiss, between her legs, was soft through her panties; it jolted her like an electric shock. To watch his handsome face, once so beloved, against this essential part of herself—terror twined with pleasure when he licked hard, in this upside-down way, almost sitting next to her on the chaise, and Sofia’s hands needed him, dipped under his sweater and began tracing up his gorgeous, wide, rippling back... She caught the sight of ink—he was tattooed here, too—before he pulled away from her and moved to the end of the chaise.
Aish Salinger, blindfolded and more magnificent than she could have dreamed he’d become, kneeled between her legs, gripped the wisp of fabric at her hips, and slowly pulled her panties down and off.
She didn’t know whether the tremors as he smoothed his hands up the insides of her thighs came from her or him.
He separated her pussy lips gently and traced her like he was looking with his fingers. And then he was leaning over and the long ends of the satin were trailing over her skin and his hard shoulders were muscling between her legs and his harsh breath was warming her most intimate place.
Things fell apart in her as she stared at him, blindfolded and vulnerable and masterful between her thighs.
“I missed you,” he said before his mouth tasted her.
Kisses. Wet, soft, licking, sucking kisses. All the kisses she denied her mouth he gave to her pussy. With his fingers holding her open, he kissed and kissed her, turning his head, stroking and touching, humming against her, until he pushed her thighs up and spread her. Kissed her harder and deeper. All with a wet, searching tongue.
She knew then that the eager, hungry boy wasn’t just a figment of her hated fever dreams. His tongue flicked at her clit like her pleasure kept him alive. His fingers turned and slid inside, finding her bumpy G-spot then come-hithering it.
That was a new trick. It made Sofia want to scream.
“Good, baby?” he groaned into her skin. “Like that? Push my hand away if it’s too much. Tell me...yeah,
