“I’m going to come,” I manage as he tickles the shell of my ear with the scruff of his jaw, and when my knees buckle, he tightens his hold on me, his cock hard against my lower back.

“That’s the point,” he says with a chuckle, and I arch into his hand, eyes closed, head resting against his shoulder as I pant my release.

When I turn to him, I find he’s watching me, the un-inked corner of his mouth turned upward in a grin. He slides his hand out of my panties and brings it to his nose, then to my mouth. I open, lick, taste myself before he slides his fingers into his own mouth, that grin widening.

“So sweet,” he says before kissing me on the mouth, one hand on my shoulder guiding me to my knees.

I look up at him, aroused again at us like this. Him standing over me, big and dominant.

“Take me out,” he says.

I lick my lips and shift my gaze, undoing his belt, his zipper, pushing his pants and briefs as far as I need to before I free him. He’s hard, and I listen to his deep sigh as I stroke his length and lick the tip, tasting him. He cups the back of my head, weaving fingers into my hair, grip just tight enough so as not to hurt but to control.

“Open.”

I do, and I keep my eyes on his as he moves slowly at first, savoring each stroke of my tongue, pushing deeper as I relax, my hands on his thighs, my own cum leaking down the insides of my thighs as he takes my mouth because no matter how gentle he is, how careful with me, it always comes to this with us. Fucking. Wild. Feral. Like animals as he bends me backward, setting one knee to the ground and pushing in so deep that I gasp for breath between thrusts, and when he throbs in my throat, and I feel him empty, I think about how beautiful he is when he comes. How his eyes glisten, almost black, how his chest heaves with heavy breaths. How sweat beads on his forehead. And mostly how he can’t drag his gaze from mine like he can’t get enough.

Because this is the thing with us. I can’t get enough either. And I’m banking on this new Santiago. This man who cares for me. Who takes care of me. Who treats me like I’m precious.

Because if I’m wrong, if I’m making a mistake, the price I’ll pay will be a heavy one. One I won’t recover from.

He draws out, then watches me swallow, and we straighten so we’re facing each other on our knees. He adjusts his pants but doesn’t bother with the belt. He brings his thumbs to my eyes, wiping away the tears at the corners.