The Younger Man - Karina Halle Page 0,60

his lip, his gaze intensifying, and lets his knuckle slide all the way down until it’s gliding over my aching flesh.

My eyes close, my mouth opening, a low, guttural groan surprising me, like I’ve got some primal, carnal woman inside that I’ve ignored for too long.

“Sí,” he hisses quietly. “So soft.”

I’m feeling a little dizzy. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I place my hands on his shoulders, round and hard as rock, and try to adjust myself, wanting more of him and needing to get away at the same time.

My face comes close to his, and he stares at me through his long black lashes, his hand retreating briefly to come at me from another angle, this time sliding his hand all the way under until the length of his fingers find me silky with need.

I let out another gasp, and he grins at me. “I never knew you could make such beautiful sounds. I dreamed about it, but I never knew.”

I’m being reduced to an aching mess and with his cock right up against me. I know it would take nothing at all for him to lift me up, just enough so that he can plunge his length inside me.

I’m dying for it. Throbbing for it.

But I also know I can’t get carried away.

“We can’t…I need to stop this,” I manage to say.

“Then stop this,” he says as he slowly inserts another finger.

I groan, clenching around him, needing him, needing this.

I should stop this.

But I can’t.

I need this more than the air I breathe.

I adjust myself in the water, and for a moment I think I might have hurt his knee.

And then I remember.

His knee.

Why I’m in the water with him.

Where I am.

I blink at him, and he frowns, knowing the connection was just altered. Not severed, but we certainly can’t continue like this out in the open where anyone could stumble upon us.

I push back against his shoulders as he quickly removes his hand.

I start swimming away toward the steps.

The moment my back is to him I’m mouthing, “Oh my fucking god” and staring wide-eyed at the water. I do a quick sweep of the area, just to make sure there’s no one here for sure, and then I walk out of the pool, heading into the steam room.

“Hello?” I call out softly as I open the door. The steam billows around me, making it hard to see. I walk along the benches that edge the room, but there’s no one in here.

I can still feel his fingers inside me.

What are you doing, Thalia?

Why are you doing this?

Because I want to.

Plain and simple.

The door to the steam room opens, and I hold my breath, not knowing if Alejo will have followed me or not.

A tall, shadowy figure emerges from the steam, like the villain in an old film noir.

But it’s not the villain.

It’s Alejo.

And he’s completely naked.

Before I can even take in the magnificent sight of him, he’s at me, his hands sliding into my hair, tugging my strands loose from my ponytail and covering my mouth with his.

Fuck. Me.

This is like the kiss from the other night but on steroids.

I am a goner.

I’m absolutely melting into his hands as he walks me backward until the back of my calves hit the bench, lips and tongue and teeth all over my mouth and jaw and neck.

Inside, a frantic need wells up, like a river rising over a dam, wanting more of him, so much more.

This is happening.

This is Alejo’s mouth ravaging mine, his hands tugging at my hair, running down my back. Tis is his cock jutting up between us, making me salivate.

This is no longer a fantasy or a threat of what might happen.

This is me finally giving in to him, about to give him everything I have.

Before I can do that though, he’s pulling his mouth away from mine, leaving me breathless and bereft, and wrapping his hands around my waist. In one smooth, effortless motion he lifts me up so that I’m sitting on the upper bench. He immediately places his big hands on my thighs and parts them, stepping between them.

His head is almost level with my hips, and he puts his good leg up on the bottom bench in a lunge position, bending down slightly as his palms slide up over my thighs. He kisses me through the material of my bikini bottom, a torturous tease of not-quite-feeling him.

But I do feel his stubble, the way it scrapes against the soft skin

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