Page 91 of Outspoken

I moan my response, clinging to his broad shoulders and forcing our lips back together. He presses into me, his hard cock grazing my stomach.

I'm already wet, desire pooling in my stomach and aching between my legs. I need more. I need his hands all over me, his fingers stroking me. I need him sliding between my legs, his cock thrusting deep. Just thinking about him filling me causes more moans to escape my throat.

He moans back, nibbling at my jawline and then giving my neck a hickey. His palm presses into my breast and squeezes at the same moment he sucks my skin harder, the sharp sensation making me cry out in pleasure.

He yanks the top of my dress down, exposing me since I’m not wearing a bra. After lightly biting along my shoulder and then trailing kisses down my flushed skin, he sucks on a nipple. His teeth pinch the bumpy surface and I gasp.

Twisting my fingers through his hair to push him deeper into my chest, I say, “I’ve never been bitten so much, but I kind of like it.”

He glances up at me with devilish eyes.

“But I also need less foreplay and more fucking.”

With a laugh, he straightens. “Ay, you’re demanding.”

I smirk. “I thought you knew that already.”

Nodding and running his tongue along his teeth, he grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it up over my head. I’m left in glitter-pink heels and my black thong. The lights are completely on, every bump and ripple of my body on display.

I glance at the bed, wishing I was close enough to grab the covers and wrap myself. This is my first time having sex at this weight. I mean, we’re already this far into it, but I’m starting to get too much in my head about it.

“Damn,” Miguel says, stepping back to take me in. “Damn.”

I cross my arms over my stomach to hide some rolls.

“Turn around.”

I frown at him. “What? Why?”

“Come on.”

Though I can’t hide the back rolls, I turn, trying not to think about just how many rolls he’s seeing.

“Damn,” he says again, almost in a growl. He moves closer to grab my ass, one palm on each cheek. His commanding hands slide over the curves of my hips, up my sides, and along my back as if he’s creating an image of me through touch. Then his hands slide back down, kneading all the excess fat in my rear. “Damn, your ass is perfection.”

I roll my eyes at the door. “Stop joking. This is a lot of talking when we should be fucking already.”

“I’m serious,” he says, his words barely formed since his full attention is on his hands as they explore and knead.

He presses his cock against my ass, one hand snaking around to dip below the front of my thong. As he slides a finger into my wetness, his hips grind me like he’s possessed. He starts babbling in Spanish against my neck.

I have no idea what the hell he’s saying, but I’m the most turned-on I’ve ever been. There’s something sexy and mesmerizing about the way words roll off his tongue, and his fingers are rubbing in all the right places. My head lolls back against his chest as he circles my clit with a finger pad and then slides deeper into my folds, teasing my opening. I bring his other hand to my chest, so he can pinch and caress my breasts.

My moans become a little too uninhibited and loud, which makes him grind me harder. Gruff, deep Spanish continues pouring from his mouth, and I’m dangerously close to hitting my peak. But I don’t want to orgasm like this against the door. I’ve been too long without sex and touch and this wonderful lust. All I crave is sloppy, dirty, sweaty fucking until all of my senses blur together and I lose my damn mind.

I grab his wrist, stopping his extremely skilled fingers, then I push my thong down my legs. “You should fuck me now,” I say, a little breathless. I reach back to squeeze his bulge through the cotton of his pants.

In an instant, he lifts me, crosses the space to the bed, and tosses me on the mattress. Then he yanks off his tank top and I gasp—actuallygasp and cover my mouth with a hand.

He freezes, looking down at himself with concern. “What?”

“You…Jesus.”

“Jesus?”

My eyes drink in every zero-fat muscle and the intricate black tattoo of a circular Mayan design on his pec. Another tattoo—a tribal design—is etched around one shoulder. I’m mostly focused on the hills and mountains of muscle, though.

I squeeze my thighs together because I’m a littletooaffected by his glorious, masculine body. “How…how are you fucking real?”

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