Come What May - L.K. Farlow Page 0,44
as he rocks me against him and my entire body convulses.
“Do you need to come, Seraphine?”
“Yes,” I whine, desperate to fall into the abyss of pleasure he’s holding me over.
“Can I touch you?” he asks through gritted teeth.
The fact that he’s a gentleman in the heat of the moment means everything to me. “Yes, please, yes.”
He tugs down the zipper of my coveralls before sliding the material from my shoulders, revealing to him my white lace bralette. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of each breast. “So perfect.”
“Less talking,” I mumble, as my eyes glaze over with want.
Mateo spins me, bringing my back to his front before snaking his hand down the opening of my coveralls. He rubs me twice over the lace of my panties before pulling them to the side and sliding his thick index finger over my slit.
“You’re so wet for me, mariposita. So warm. I bet you taste as good as you feel.”
His dirty words nearly fry my brain.
“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He presses his lips to my neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin as he rubs his index finger in a tight circular motion over my clit until I’m reduced to a trembling mass of embers desperate to ignite.
I open my mouth to beg for more, but as if he can anticipate my need, Mateo slides a single finger inside of me. “So tight,” he rumbles, using the heel of his hand to massage my clit as he pumps in and out of me. He rocks his hips in rhythm with the white-hot pleasure he’s bringing me, and something about the combined sensation of his rock-hard cock pressing into my back and the ministrations of his skilled, calloused fingers has me seeing stars.
“Oh, God. Fuck. Yes,” I moan wildly, bucking my hips as my pleasure overtakes me.
I slump back against his firm body as I return to myself. My legs feel like jelly; who knew a non-self-induced orgasm could feel that much better.
“Are you okay?” Mateo asks, his finger still softly tracing my pussy.
“More than,” I murmur, still blissed out beyond belief.
“You’re beautiful when you come.”
I pinch my eyes closed and don’t reply, because what do you even say to that? Something tells me thanks is not the correct response.
He withdraws his hand from my panties and spins me to face him. My eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when he sucks his finger—the one that was in me—into his mouth.
“Mmm,” he moans long and low, causing heat to bloom across my cheeks and down my chest. I didn’t realize that was something guys actually did. I thought it only happened in books.
“Oh my God.” I feel like I’ve been thrown into the deep end without knowing how to swim. He’s so much older and more experienced than me. He’s the kind of man who sucks come off of his fingers while I’m the kind of woman who’s never even jacked a guy off.
Embarrassment and worry set in, robbing me of my post-orgasmic happiness. He probably thinks—
“What is wrong?” he asks, derailing my runaway thoughts.
“Nothing. It’s just…” I fumble around for the zipper of my coveralls and tug it up, covering myself from his view. “I don’t do things like this. Ever.”
He cocks his head to the side and studies me. “When you say things like this, you mean what?”
“This!” I shout. “Everything that has happened tonight has been a first for me!”
I see the exact moment when the weight of my words hits him. “¿Tú eres virgen? You are a virgin?”
My embarrassment morphs to shame. What would this gorgeous, experienced man want with me? I probably wouldn’t even know how to please him.
“Seraphine.” He says my name so softly, almost reverently. “Answer me.”
“Everything about tonight” —my voice cracks— “this was my first date. My first orgasm that wasn’t at my own hands. And yes, I am a virgin.”
I expect him to scoff. To laugh. To kick rocks. Instead, he scoops me up bridal-style and holds me close. “You have no idea how happy that makes me, mariposita.”
“Ha-happy?”
He nods, brushing his nose along my temple. “That means, I’ll be all of your firsts.”
Holy whoa. “Those are some mighty big words for a first date,” I say, wondering if he truly means what he’s saying or if it’s some kind of weird bedroom talk.
“If you give me a chance, I’ll show you just how much I mean them.”
“This seems fast,”