Page 68 of Forget Me

It was only then I realized I’d been swinging my hips as I worked. His hands encouraged the movement, then he pressed his pelvis against my behind until we swayed together. Continuing to guide me with his body, he lifted his hands from my hips, grabbed the towel, and patted my hands dry with it. Then he reached to the shelf over the sink, pumped a bottle of lotion, and smoothed it over my skin, massaging it into my wrists and fingers.

“Feels nice,” I murmured.

“We’re only getting started,” he purred in my ear, his stubble tickling my earlobe.

He kissed the side of my neck. I leaned my head to my other shoulder to give him more skin to caress with his lips. His hands swept up from my hips over my ribs to cradle the undersides of my breasts.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against my pulse point.

“More,” I groaned.

He smoothed his hands over me. Although his hands were big, my breasts overflowed them. His thumbs rubbed across my nipples, encouraging them into needy peaks.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long,” he murmured into my neck.

“Touch me.”

His hands left my breasts for one disappointing second until he tugged the tail of my blouse out of my skirt and rolled it up my torso, over my head, and off. He set it carefully on the counter before he gazed down over my shoulder. His breath hitched. “Beautiful.”

I checked out what he saw. I wished I could wear lacy, sexy bras. I was sure Larissa and Natalie had drawers overflowing with them. Mine was made of sturdy, white polyester-cotton with thick, supportive straps. There was nothing beautiful about it.

But Mateo treated the contraption with reverence, running his fingers over the fabric, even the straps, cupping, squeezing, exploring until, needy, I leaned back against him, unsure how I was still standing.

He followed the band to my back. “May I?”

“Please.” It came out as a throaty whisper.

He released the tension and peeled the bra from my chest. My breasts sagged, heavy, and not for the first time, I cursed their weight and the pull of gravity.

But Mateo rubbed his hands across my skin where the band had dug in and lifted my breasts, running his fingertips to my nipples and tweaking them. “I want to worship these. Always.”

I stretched up my arms until my hands clasped behind his neck. “Worship away.”

Without warning, he spun me in his arms until my ass rested against the edge of the sink. I caught his hungry expression just before his mouth descended on my right nipple, licking, sucking, nibbling. Tension stretched from my breasts to the tingling nexus between my legs until I forgot where we were, until I forgot my own name.

He lifted his head and looked into my face, still idly plucking at my other nipple. “Can you come from this?”

“I—I don’t know. I never have, but…”

He didn’t wait for me to finish but turned his attention to my other breast, driving me higher. I rubbed my thighs together to get at the pressure building low in my belly, so close. At last, as he clamped his teeth down and sucked, long and hard, I found my release. I stopped breathing as I shuddered, pinned between him and the counter. He eased my nipple from between his lips and lapped at it until the aftershocks eased.

“Never?” he murmured at last.

Cool air caressed my heated chest. “Not like—not like that. It must have been the dancing.”

He hummed, and a smug smile lifted his wet lips. He smoothed his hands down my sides. “I like this skirt. I think we’ll leave it on.”

Then his hands were under my skirt, caressing my panties. He groaned as he traced the high leg openings and the lacy dip at the waist with his finger. “I’m glad I didn’t know about these before. I’d have come in my pants. But now they come off.”

The words had barely left his lips when he squatted, taking my panties down my legs. One hand behind my calf encouraged me to step out of one leg, then the other, until I was naked except for my flared skirt.

He looked up at me from his knees. “Still okay? Think you can come again?”

“Maybe?”

That smug smile appeared again right before he ran his big hands up the insides of my thighs until they met at my core. All I could do was hold on to the counter behind me while he ran a finger through my wetness and then popped his finger into his mouth. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’re going to kill me, Mimi.”

He ducked his head under my skirt. His shoulders nudged my legs wider as he gripped my ass cheeks with his massive hands. Then he touched me. I couldn’t see anything but the shape of his head moving under my skirt, and somehow that made it more erotic, not knowing what he was using to touch me—his fingers, his tongue, his nose. Or how. A kiss, a caress, a slow slide in.

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