When he shoved into my throat, I swallowed his intrusion as he let out a quiet groan and pulled me to his groin. Too full, I pressed my hands against his thighs in protest as he spilled himself down my throat.
My nails dug into his thighs, marking them with red streaks until he finally let go and I pulled back until he slipped free. He cupped my chin and ran his thumb over my lip again as I caught my breath and swallowed back the sting in my throat. "Esta boca será mi muerte," he groaned.
I didn't even know what the words meant, but they brought a flush to my face anyway as he helped me up from my aching knees and plundered my mouth as if he didn't care what I'd done with it.
As if it was his, and he'd do as he damn well pleased, regardless.
His white dress shirt hung down to my knees, and I glanced at the dress and bathing suit he'd folded and draped over a chair in the dining room. Wearing his clothes shouldn't have felt so intimate, not when I'd had him inside me.
Not when he'd been in my mouth.
He'd thrown open the glass door panels that folded to the side, letting the ocean breeze blow through the suite. With only gray shorts covering his bottom half and his chest bare, he moved to the suite door when the knock came and let a staff member come inside with a cart. I squirmed uncomfortably, looking up at Rafe when he moved into the room with the other man. While the staff deposited my cell phone on the table without another word and worked to unload covered dishes onto the table in front of us, Rafe's hand came down on the back of my chair. His other reached around to the front, grasping my chin and bending me back until I stared up at him. I pulled the shirt down, trying to keep my thighs covered. His gaze went to them, turning knowing as he tormented me and leaned in to press a wet kiss against my mouth.
If I hadn't known better, it would have felt like a claim.
But the staff member’s eyes never even glanced our way as he pulled the covers off the plates and went back to his cart with nervous movements that clanged dishes against each other. He nodded but never dared a glance.
"Señor Ibarra," he said, moving to the door and disappearing.
As soon as he released my face, I scowled up at him. "That was cruel. I'm not even wearing underwear! He could have seen my, my—" I stuttered.
"Your pussy?" he asked, his gaze going dark even as his mouth smiled. "I would never let another man lay eyes on your pussy, Princesa."
"Then why did you let him in here with me half naked?" I whispered. Something was wrong in his gaze, something sinister lurking in the multicolored depths as he settled in the chair at the head of the table beside me.
"You could have been entirely naked, and he wouldn't have so much as glanced at you."
"But why?" I asked, watching as he used the utensils to place a piece of rustic toast with tomato and some kind of meat on it onto the plate in front of me.
"Because I told him not to," he said with a shrug. To be in a world where someone wouldn't even look at a person just because he was told not to? I felt like I'd walked into an episode of the twilight zone.
I swallowed as he cut off a portion of the potato omelet and dropped it on my plate. "So, Rafe Ibarra?" I asked, deciding to change the subject. A one-night stand wouldn't be an appropriate time to tell him to reevaluate the way he ordered people around, so I had to work around how heavy that felt in my gut.
"Rafael Ibarra, if you want to be technical," he said, glancing up at me with a serious look, as if waiting for a moment of recognition that didn't come.
"I'm sorry. I don't know anyone in Ibiza. Is that a name I should recognize?" I asked shyly, taking a sip of my freshly squeezed orange juice.
He shook his head with a broad smile. "No. I like that you do not know of me," he said. The words felt like the truth, not like something he said to placate me.
I refrained from asking more, deciding I would simply Google the name after we went our separate ways, but that brought another question to the forefront of my mind. "I'm a little surprised I'm still here," I admitted. "What am I still doing here?" I asked, picking up my fork and bringing a bite of the omelet to my mouth. I groaned the second the flavor exploded on my tongue, and his eyes dropped to my mouth as I chewed.
Feeling suddenly shy as his eyes darkened and he pressed his lips together while he watched me, I recognized that it felt similar to how he watched me in the shower. My fork fell to the plate with a clatter as I took another sip of water.
"How long are you in Ibiza?" he asked, picking up his fork with a smirk that made me clench my thighs together. It was so sinful, such an arrogant tip of his lips that displayed how much he enjoyed the way he affected me.
I'd have been lying if I said there wasn't something captivating about knowing he wanted me. That he looked at me and thought about my mouth or about being inside me. Under any normal circumstances, I might have doubted the thoughts swirling inside his head. I might have questioned
