Page 87 of Hit Man
Before I can regret my words, I take her by the hips and guide her movements, setting a faster, more furious pace. Each time she bottoms out, I arch my hips up off the mattress. Over and over until I feel her tighten around me.
I roll upward to sit and pull her in tight. Angle my head to catch her moan with my lips. Twirl my tongue to mate with her own while thrusting home, thrusting for all I’m worth. Without a word, she comes undone in my arms. I drive deep and climax right after her.
Minutes pass as I hold her, her head folding into my shoulder as her body curls into my arms.
I wait until her heart racing against my chest slows. Gently, I lay her down on the mattress, wrap my arms around her, and pull her into me.
Cuddling her.
Like the dumbpendejoI am.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me of how hungry I am. Sex, steak, wine, good company.Enjoy it while it lasts, compadre.
“Diego?”
“Yeah?”
“Think we can eat now?”
I laugh, and disengage. “A woman after my own heart.” Yet as I pull on my sweatpants and watch out of the corner of my eye how she rolls up the waistline of my oversize boxer shorts to hold them in place, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Ya valió madre.
I’m fucked, all right. Because getting rid of Aubrey just got a hell of a lot harder.
26
Aubrey
“The apartment looks like an explosion has gone off,” I mumble, taking in the destruction surrounding us.
We’d just straightened up the bedroom, stripped the bed of its sheets, upended the nightstand that’d crashed to the floor, tossed an expensive yet now damaged lamp in the trash. And that was just the bedroom. A minihurricane hit the bathroom, water everywhere, fingerprints . . . my palm print . . . on the shower glass. Two similar palm prints mar the otherwise perfectly polished floor-to-ceiling window in the living room—he ordered me not to move as he took me from behind. My folds wet just thinking about his reflection in the window, with his teeth gritted and his eyes shimmering with lust every time he angled his hips just so. I’m still too turned on by it to feel embarrassed, as any bystander below who happened to look up might possibly have seen us. Would I do it again if I could? You bet.
I’ve no shame and a whole lot of kink-infused thoughts when it comes to Diego. If ever there was a man born to fuck . . . I turn to address the sexual dynamo.
“This is almost as bad as the havoc caused by that bomb blast a few weeks ago.”
Diego freezes, the barstool he’d been setting upright at an odd angle in his hands. His gaze skims over the room. I mean, oh hell, even the fancy sofa cushions are scattered across the floor after he had me sit on the perch he’d made, got down on his knees, and stuck out his wickedly talented tongue.
I jump in surprise as he bursts into laughter.
“A sex bomb. That’s what you are,” I add, waving at the disaster surrounding us.
Which only causes him to laugh harder.
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. But if the condition of the apartment is any indication, we both have.
I sigh. What I should be feeling is relaxed and at ease with him, like I’d been for the last eighteen or so hours. Feeling like I want to curl up into his bed and daydream about the wildest night of my life.
Instead, this weird emptiness is settling in.
“You have everything you need?” He sips his cup of coffee and leans against the breakfast bar. And if I thought he was handsome before, he’s jaw-droppingly gorgeous right now.
Gorgeous, and aloof.
Is he distancing himself from me?
I give him a curious look, then cautiously reply, “Just what’s inside my purse.”
