by V. F. Mason
Oh my God!
Palming my head, I groan into my hands at the prospect of working for Rebecca and maybe colliding once again with her son.
A son I did my best not to think about yesterday and today, pushing any thoughts of him far away, because dwelling on our dance and embrace creates chaos inside me.
How his body moved with mine, how his arms wrapped tightly around me as if I were the most precious thing he ever held, his sinful voice whispering….
Digging my nails harshly into my palms, I will myself to snap out of the stupid infatuation with Santiago that has already lasted longer than it should.
Because even though the girly part of me loved our little moment yesterday, the rational part of me knows it was some twisted game the rich older men are playing and had nothing to do with a true desire to be in my company.
And somehow this knowledge brings more heartache and disappointment than any family truths could.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I mutter before noticing Rebecca has a specific request for my interview sketch. The assignment should depict the myth she has chosen for me. Sort of telling the story with my drawings alone in an easy and interesting way for the kids.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
So much for not thinking about her son.
“Focus,” I order myself, blocking away memories of the dark four and deciding to start working on the project right now.
I might be savvy with all the Greek and Roman mythology; however, I have no clue about the four riders.
Getting up, I walk in the direction of the librarian who can advise me where to find the appropriate books, only to frown when I realize there’s no one around. In fact, the library is empty.
“Hello!” I call. Maybe the librarian went somewhere in the back, but only silence greets me. “Hello!” I shiver a little when the blast of the AC hits me, and I sigh in exasperation, studying various bookshelves to find what I might need. In normal circumstances, I would go straight for the Bible; this time though, I go to the mythology section, because maybe someone wrote a book specifically on them.
It takes me four rounds of walking around until I find the right bookshelf, tracing my finger over the books as I read their names and come up short every single time, as none of them covers what I need.
Until my eyes land on the bright red book and with a loud squeal I snag it, flipping it open and searching through the table of contents.
“Found what you needed?” a deep, husky voice echoes in the space, making butterflies erupt in my stomach and my heartbeat speed up.
Spinning around, I come face-to-face with Santiago, who stands between the shelves in all his handsome glory, wearing jeans and white T-shirt, his leather jacket hanging over his shoulder on his finger.
He swipes his gaze over me, appreciation flashing in his sapphire orbs before he cocks a smile at me. “I might help with that.” He points at the book in my hand, and it finally snaps me out of my stupor.
“What are you doing here?” His brows rise at my question, and I mentally slap myself; we’re in a public library where anyone can enter. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect to see you here.” What are the odds of me meeting Santiago in the library of all places? He didn’t strike me as the type that frequents them.
Unless he came here because of me?
“And no, thank you. I’ll figure everything out on my own.” With a fake smile on my face, I glue my gaze back on the book, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave me alone.
The last thing I need right now is for Santiago to distract me from work and play with my emotions.
Instead of leaving though, he steps closer, and his masculine scent washes over me, disturbing my senses as he rests his arm above me on a shelf and traps me between it and his hard chest. “Is this what you’re used to in life?” he asks, and I have no choice but to look up, our stares clashing. The air in my lungs hitches at such intensity blazing in them that they warm up my body from inside out, almost setting it on fire with his presence alone. “Handling all your problems on your own?”
Pushing a little at his chest to wiggle out of the prison he created around me and not seeing him budge, I reply, “Doing an assignment for work is hardly a problem. Please step away.”
He of course ignores my request. “Well then, you refusing help is one.”
“I don’t have any problem!” I shout and clamp my hand over my mouth, groaning in frustration and embarrassment in case someone heard it. I don’t want to be kicked out of the library, and who knows, maybe newcomers have arrived just like Santiago did. “Look, whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want any part of it.”
Amusement flickers in his gaze, and he leans ever closer, our faces inches away from each other. He prompts, “Game?”
Licking my dry lips while simultaneously ordering my body to behave and not become a pile of goo by his feet, I elaborate to my humiliation. “Did you bet on me or something?” Anger crosses his face at this, his body tensing next to mine, wiping away the smug grin from his mouth. “Is this why you danced with me and now followed me here?” Since he stays silent, I straighten, pressing the book hard to my chest and doing my best to keep my voice steady, even though I secretly hoped he would have denied my accusations. “Not sure what the conditions were, but you can tell them you won and stop bothering yourself with faking an interest in my problems or going around offering help.” I shrug. “Please, just stop acting like you’re interested in me.”
There is no logical explanation for his interest but this, and I won’t let my heart fool me into thinking anything otherwise.
Clearing my throat and shifting a little, I say, “So if you—”
He swallows the rest of my sentence with his mouth as he drops it to mine, connecting us with a deep, toe-curling kiss when his thumb presses on my chin until it gives up under his assault. I open my mouth wide to welcome his tongue slipping in, roaming and gliding over mine while they duel for dominance.
I moan into him, the book dropping to the floor along with his jacket as my arms circle his neck. I rise to my tiptoes and tilt my head back to give him better access to deepen the kiss, the desire sliding along my skin and awakening every hair on my body while arrows of lust shoot to my core.
I’ve been kissed by a few different men in my life, but no one kissed me like Santiago.
Passionately, hungrily, and so deep as if he wants to forever imprint himself on my mouth so every other kiss I experience won’t be able to compare to this one.
His hands slide down my waist, squeezing my flesh during his exploration, then he bites on my lower lip and tugs it to the side, giving me a momentarily reprieve to gasp for breath before he dips his tongue back inside.
His palms stop under my ass, and he hikes me up, my legs wrapping around him, and we groan when his hard-on presses to my wet, aching core as he pushes me against the shelf, several books falling down from the impact.
“This is madness,” I whimper when his lips slide down to my chin, nipping on it hard before soothing it with a lick, and thousands of sensations travel through me, one more powerful than another, my body demanding satisfaction from the lust this man has inspired. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“In madness lies chaos, and where chaos is, there is fun, querida,” he murmurs against my skin, shifting lower to my neck, and I arch my back, welcoming every lick and nibble of his mouth breaking goose bumps all over me.
My mind urges me to stop all this, mortified by what I’m allowing this man to do to me, yet its voice is blocked by my body and heart craving to know what it’s like to be the object of Santiago’s desire.
My pussy clenches just thinking about the heavy bulge behind his zipper, hungry for it and what it can do inside me.
Sliding his mouth to my shoulder, he tugs the strap of my dress to the side with his teeth before latching onto my skin, sucking on it so hard he’ll probably mark it. Urgently, my fingers lace in his hair, pulling him closer to me, if it’s p
ossible. “Someone will see,” I say with my last bit of protest, powerful enough to stop me from doing this, but instead of listening to the slight fear of someone stumbling upon us making out, I tighten my hold on him, needing him to take care of our mutual needs that drive me insane.
“No one will enter without my permission.” He walks us away from the shelf, transferring his attention to my other shoulder as he moves us back to my seat and places me on the table, right under the harsh light streaming above me from the glassed ceiling. “I cleared it out for us.” An odd thrill zips over me at his admission. I whimper, arching my back, and he chuckles.
Leaning back, he flips my dress up so he can settle his splayed palm on my core, his fingers slipping inside my lacy panties, running them over my walls, up and down, driving me insane with each slide. “So fucking wet.” His bites my nipple through the dress, leaving damp imprints on it as he enters me with two fingers, pressing them so deep I moan. “The idea pleases you, doesn’t it, my dirty, dirty girl?” In this moment, I’m willing to be his anything, if he continues to pleasure me in the way I’ve never known before.
Even if my brain screams at me to stop being so pathetic and push him way.
His mouth trails toward my other breast, trapping my covered nipple between his teeth and tugging on it, sending sensations through me and awakening every hair on my body.
A gasp slips past my lips before he sucks it into his mouth, dampening the cloth around it and growling against it.
His fingers delve deeper, back and forth, adding more friction to the insanity slowly spreading inside me. He drags his mouth back up and bites on my collarbone and then catches my mouth, his tongue pushing in, seeking mine as they engage in a duel that has the power to wipe anything from my mind.
Wrapping my legs around him, I pull him closer, threading my fingers in his hair and marveling at the strong muscles pressing against my curves. It’s like he’s the most perfect carved statue who has come alive.
Alive to feast on my flesh, and I’ll gladly let him.
He owns my mouth, stabbing himself deep into me as if permanently marking a territory that shouldn't be his in the first place.
Each brush of his tongue tells me how this man takes whatever he desires, not giving a shit what anyone thinks about it, and for some maddening reason, he craves my body right now.
And as much as I know this will bring me nothing but heartache, I give in to his embrace, my fingers digging into his neck as his own roam inside me, over and over again, heightening the pleasure gliding over my skin rapidly and warming my blood, which is ready to erupt like a volcano and burn me with its intensity, claiming me.
The heated kiss envelops my senses. The hot flush scorches through my veins, and I tighten my hold around him, slightly moving my hips forward, meeting his strokes halfway, and I gasp into his mouth when his thumb taps on my clit. My flesh dampens more, and I thrust up again, just a little more friction and I’ll come to the edge, ready to fall into a pool of pleasure.
I close my eyes when he lets go of my mouth and throw my head back, baring my neck for his assault. He grazes it lightly with his teeth, sucking on my skin and marking it for everyone to see. I whisper, “Please, Santiago.” My hand slides down my stomach, covering his wrist, pushing it harder into me; he just needs to go a little deeper. “Please,” I whisper, focusing only on the need to come and the pleasure my body so craves, demanding it like my next breath.
“No, querida,” he murmurs, his husky voice enveloping me in a haze and only adding to my need. “Dónde estaría la diversión en eso?”
Where would be the fun in that?
Ever so slowly, he drags his fingers back, my core clenching around them and not wanting to let go, but he removes them, leaving me empty again.
While the fire consumes my flesh with no extinguisher in sight.
Groaning in protest, my eyes snap open, and Santiago’s blue ones meet mine, burning me with the need flashing in them, yet I notice amusement there too.
My hands itch to slap his cocky grin away, and I open my mouth to tell him he can go to hell, only to freeze when he lifts his glistening fingers to my lips, coating them in my juices. “Lick your lips, querida,” he orders, fisting my hair and tilting my head back so our gazes clash.
I’ve never tasted myself before, and my cheeks heat at his demand.
He jerks his hips forward, his hard-on tapping against my clit then dragging up and down over my aroused flesh, sending me in a spiral of all-consuming need again. “If you want to come, querida, lick your lips.”
Rolling my tongue out, I trace my lower lip. My taste hits me at once and oddly spikes the pleasure inside me, causing me to push against his hard-on, almost imagining it moving inside me. My pussy contracts, only intensifying the need to get off or I might go insane. “That’s what your desire for me tastes like. Only me.” His voice is hard as steel. He leans closer and traps my lip between his teeth, biting it so hard he leaves a sting behind. A groan erupts from me when the peppery flavor of my blood mixes with my own taste and hits my tongue, creating an odd combination that sends a thrill through my spine. “Look at you all needy and wet, grinding on my cock.” His other hand grabs my panties, clenching them in his fist. “These are soaked. Who made you this wet, Briseis?”
Without waiting for my reply, he captures me in another heated kiss, his fingers scraping my scalp and tilting my head farther, giving himself better access. His tongue roams inside me, wiping away all doubt and guilt about the encounter.
Palming his head, I tighten my hold on him, my thighs cradling him while the kiss deepens, becoming slower, spreading goose bumps on my skin as my lungs scream for oxygen, but I don't let go, too afraid it might end again.
The cruel yet handsome man tears his mouth away though and thrusts into me, the rough texture of his jeans scratching against my sensitive folds, and I whimper, electricity traveling all over me and consuming me with a need so strong I’m afraid I might burst.
“Respóndeme.” He reminds me harshly of his earlier question, and I reply, ready to tell him anything as long as it ensures an end to this torture designed to drive me insane.
“Tú. Solo tu.”
The minute I utter the words in Spanish, he stills, and the energy between us changes, creating a dangerous and wicked web around us, slowly wrapping us tightly in a cocoon where nothing else exists but this moment.
An all-consuming ocean of desire is ready to hit us with its endless waves.
“I want another taste, querida.” Loosening his hold on me, he pushes me back until I lie flat on the table, his body looming above mine as his sapphire eyes roam over me, leaving invisible imprints on my skin.
I arch my back when he dives forward, exposing myself to his nipping kisses as he trails them from the underside of my chin to my neck, occasionally sucking on the skin before shifting lower to my collarbone, biting on the flesh. I hiss, raising my thighs higher and trying to close them around him, but his palms on my knees don’t let me, keeping them separated as his hard-on still presses against me.
His hot mouth travels to the mounds of my breasts, biting on them one by one, sending zipping sensations straight to my clit. I moan loudly only to quickly cover it with my palm, afraid someone might hear me and interrupt this moment.
“Be loud, querida. I enjoy the throaty sounds you make, your body practically begging me to fuck it,” he whispers, sliding his mouth over my stomach, leaving wet imprints on my dress as he bites on the skin through it. And then finally he kisses my core over my panties, and this time around, I cry out in frustration as this touch only intensifies the need and does nothing to soothe it.
He flips my dress back, his hot breath settling over my center, and my pussy clenches in anticipation of his next move.
His lips gently kiss my navel, his tongue tracing my panty line and sliding under it, only to slide out again, his nearness playing with my sanity.
His hands sneak under my thighs, shouldering the
m apart. His warm palms grip my hips and bring them closer to him, making me so wet that annoyance builds up along with desire.
“Just do it already, Santiago,” I say, gasping when his palms slide under my ass, each grabbing a cheek and squeezing hard, sending an onslaught of new sensations that the pain only highlights. “Please, please.”
“What do you want, querida? You have to be very specific,” he whispers, his hushed tone having the ability to make me come by itself, and licks me over my panties, earning himself a moan. “Do you want my fingers driving into you, stretching you wide for my dick?”
I shake my head, my hair shuffling over the wood, even though he probably can’t see me.
His fingers dig harder, and I wince, understanding he wants a reply.
“No.” My voice is strained, my throat so dry, while all I can think about is his tongue inside my core, soothing the inferno swallowing me whole.
So lost in the deep hunger he created in me, I place my hand over my mound and slip the panties to the side, displaying my dripping core, and his hot breath instantly washes over me. Barely finding proper words, I say hoarsely, “I want you to fuck me with your tongue.”
My cry filled with pleasure echoes in the space when his mouth covers my core, his tongue stabbing deep in me as he kisses it, sending hot flashes through my entire body.
My thighs clamp over his head, but he pays no attention to it. His hands clench my ass harder as he brings me ever closer to him, his tongue swirling between my folds, fucking me deeper and deeper with it while my back arches from the pleasure spreading through me in waves. I feel cool sweat dripping over my hot skin that tightens over my bones.
His palms glide over my ass before he pulls them from under me and pushes my thighs wide open again, putting his hands on either side of my pussy as he licks me from bottom to top, sucking on my lips one by one. Breathy moans erupt from me as my hand threads through his hair, pressing his head closer.
His fingers pinch my walls, and he bites on the flesh, making me arch against him before he traps my clit between his teeth, nipping on it and then rolling his tongue over it. He slips two fingers inside me so deep I cry out. “Please, please,” I whisper brokenly, thrashing my head and placing my foot on his shoulder, opening myself wider for him, grinding on his tongue and fingers, needing more of the pleasure slowly coming to me like a giant snowball ready to claim me. Only instead of running away from it, I run toward it, needing it to survive and relieve me from this all-consuming passion that burns everything in its wake.
