Page 119 of Outspoken

“What about all those women?” I give a weak smirk. “Wait. Did you propose without waiting for them to say that?”

“Yeah, I’m dumb. I know.”

I touch the middle of his chest. “No, you’re just lovesick.”

He laughs softly. “Don’t start calling me that. I get enough of it from my mom.”

“And you’re sweet,” I continue, grazing his dimple with my thumb. “And compassionate. And a ball of energy. And I only want to be with you. I’ve never felt this way, so maybe your lovesickness rubbed off.”

His expression turns serious, tormented, but I only get a glimpse before his mouth is pressed against mine. We both moan in unison like this simple kiss is too long overdue. Like it’s all we’ve needed our whole lives.

For a split second, I consider pulling away. This will only cause both of us more pain when tomorrow comes. But I also want this moment to treasure. Even as I move on with my life, I want this last beautiful memory with Miguel.

Our kiss turns greedy. Our lips are frantic, tongues twisted in a dance to take in as much of each other as we can. I claw at his shirt because I need us to be naked, skin pressed against skin. We separate long enough for him to pull his shirt off and for me to shed the jacket, then our mouths are locked again, his hands holding my waist and nudging me toward the blanket on the grass.

The next seconds are a blur as we finish yanking clothes off and somehow end up on the ground. There’s no pausing or talking or thinking. We’re on the blanket, naked, then he’s on top of me, then his hips spread my legs open, then his cock is fully inside me. Only at that moment do we pause, both moaning and arching into each other. My fingernails dig into his back while he kisses my hair, forehead, cheek. His hips remain motionless as I savor how he fills me, how we’re connected, how our flushed skin warms one other.

He whispers to me in Spanish.

“Tell me,” I say. “I want to hear it.”

“You’re my heart. The spark in my soul. The star I wish on. You’re everything, mi amor.”

I give him a teasing smile. “So poetic.”

He kisses me. “Only for you.” He pulls out slowly and then thrusts, making me moan and dig my heels into the blanket, grinding our hips together.

He kisses me again, stroking his tongue along mine and then nipping my lower lip. “I can’t believe how much I love you.”

“Show me,” I say in a shaky voice. “Show me how much.”

He envelops me. Or, we envelop each other—hands, legs, torsos, lips all losing shape as we meld into movement. We’re kissing, and he thrusts slow and steady, and he’s confessing his love in Spanish, and his fingers run through my hair, and I’m clinging to his back and lost in the heat of our skin and the heat of how he fills me, and his thrusts are faster, and I’m moaning my love and everything I feel, and it’s all building into something I’ll never contain, but I know I don’t have to.

We’ll contain it together.

And after we’re both sweaty and panting and at a loss for words because we’ve let everything out, he drives into me hard and fast, again and again, until any barriers inside me are hopelessly shattered. I cry out his name as both of us shake from the jumble of every emotion, every sensation, and I know there’s nothing I’ve ever experienced—no drug—greater than this.

After we’ve both unraveled and we’re coming down from the high, he kisses my cheek, his cock still twitching inside me as he’s positioned over me. “Te amo,” he says, and somehow I know exactly what it means.

“Te amo,” I echo back.

He rewards me by showing his dimple. “You’re making me melt by saying it to me in Spanish.”

“Te amo mucho.”

He laughs. “Damn, you’ve been studying.”

“That’s all I know.” I kiss him, running my hands up his sides. “You’ll have to teach me more if—” I snap my mouth shut.

Just like that, we’re both brought back to reality.

Finally separating our bodies, he rolls onto his side, spooning me close as we lay naked under a sky that’s still cloudy.

“Why does it have to be this way?” he asks, his body sagging against mine for support. “It’s cruel.”

“That’s just life.”

“Well, I hate it. There is no damn plan, only chaos.”

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