Page 127 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“I know it’s wrong, Petra. And I know it complicates things. But whether it’s days or months, it makes no difference. I’ll still crave you when this ends. Please, let me drown in you while I can.”
Her eyes flash—sharp, assessing, as though she’s weighing her options against her better judgment.
Finally, she tilts her chin, defiant. “Then quit talking and fuck me.”
I grab her waist and pull her in. Our mouths collide—hot, hungry, and no restraint. I kiss her like I’ve got something to prove. Our lips push and pull in a perfect storm of contradictions—fierce yet tender, like we’re both wanting to savor and devour.
Her hands slide into my hair, deepening the kiss. Her moan vibrates through my chest, a sensual melody that lights me up inside.
I clutch her hips, pressing her right into my growing cock. The towel offers little to cover up my readiness for her.
“God, you drive me insane,” I whisper into her skin.
With a hungry urgency, I push the robe down her shoulders, uncovering the silky landscape of her skin. The sight of her, so bare and captivating, sends a tidal wave of desire crashing through me.
Her nimble fingers undo the knot at my waist, the fabric dropping, and she’s already wrapping her hands around me.
“I’m thinking you need it rough and quick. Because, holy hell, this—” she gives my throbbing dick a tight squeeze “—is about to burst. And I want you back in action ASAP so we can go another round. Got it, Moneybags?”
“A well-thought-out plan, Pip.”
She kicks off the spa slippers, and I lift her effortlessly, her thighs gripping my body as I pin her to the wall. The cool stone on her backmakes her arch into me.
“This position suits you perfectly,” I say, strengthening my hold on her ass. “You, shamelessly at my command.”
My cock glides across her slick heat, and she whimpers, her nails digging into my shoulders. We grind against each other, getting lost in the rhythm—her folds drenching my shaft while my arms guide her up and down.
“Fuck, B. I’ve never gotten so wet so fast in my life.”
I position myself at her entrance, both of us groaning at the contact. “I need you so badly, it’s physically painful.”
“Then take what you need,” she whispers.
We’re seconds away from crossing that line when my brain catches up.
“Dammit. I don’t have any protection.”
I ease her down reluctantly as we catch our breath. My forearms bracket her head against the wall while I try to think past the desire fogging my judgment.
“I’ve never done it bare, but I’m clean,” she says breathlessly. “And I got the shot last week. Good for three months of worry-free debauchery.”
Every lesson about responsibility and consequences my father ever drilled into me battles with the primal urge coursing through my veins. “This is precisely the kind of reckless decision I’ve been conditioned to avoid.”
“Am I giving off psycho baby-mama energy?” she asks with typical Petra bluntness. “Trust me, the last thing I want is to explain to my kid why Daddy lives in a different tax bracket.”
I drag the head of my cock through her slickness and nearly see stars. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to leave this room. Not for anything.”
She presses her lips to mine, gentle this time. “Then don’t.”
I growl, scanning the space with mounting frustration—massage table, essential oils, decorative water features. Zero contraceptive solutions.
“I thought this place had mind-reading staff?” she deadpans. “Shouldn’t there already be a concierge playing sensual jazz and bringing us an antique crystal bowl of condoms?”
I throw open the only other door here: the Ice Room.
The air punches me in the chest like a glacier uppercut. My skin immediately regrets this decision.
Petra leans around me and whistles. “Well, this’ll make your nipples angry.”
