He turns around and gives me a smile that’s decidedly wicked.
Now that it’s just the two of us, I can’t help feeling nervous. Not in a bad way, in the way that reminds me of being young, like high school young, and finally getting a chance with a big, juicy crush of mine.
I suppose that’s what Alejo is, a big, juicy crush.
Alejo has a massive collection of rare vinyl records, and the current one, some metal band, is spinning. He walks over to it, puts on another record, and smooth jazz comes out, something a little sensual and dark.
He comes over to me and grabs my free hand while I put the glass of wine down on the side table, lifting me to my feet.
“Dance with me,” he says, immediately sweeping me up in his arms, moving back and forth to the decadently slow grooves.
I can’t help but let out a soft laugh, my heart growing warm inside my chest as he spins me around. I can’t remember the last time I danced like this. Probably at my wedding.
A pinch of disappointment forms deep in my gut, but I close my eyes and lean into Alejo, letting him sweep those cold cobwebs away. I won’t be tangled up in them now.
“Luciano taught me a saying,” I say after a moment. My voice is low. It feels wrong to speak loudly, as if it will break the spell.
“If it’s a Portuguese one, I hope you know they make no sense.”
“No. Well, there was one about a flea. Anyway, he said it was something that Mateo taught him. To compete, to win, to succeed, you have to be persistent and keep going. Don’t let any failures or setbacks stop you. You have to run that animal down.”
“Sí,” Alejo says. “It’s true. That’s what we need to do.”
I pull back to stare at him, smiling. “Is that what you’ve been doing with me? Am I the animal?”
He bites his lip thoughtfully, a stray lock of dark hair falling onto his forehead. “Si,” he says. “But you’re more like a rare bird. One that’s hard to find and even harder to catch.”
“Not a squirrel?”
He laughs, rich and joyful, the kind of laugh that makes your heart skip two beats at once. “Not even a squirrel.”
We sway for a little bit, slow dancing in an empty room.
And then his hands slide down the sides of my hips.
Curl around the hem of my cocktail dress.
Start pulling the dress up, over my hips.
I’m breathless at his attentiveness, at how slowly his fingers work, around my thighs, pausing before they slip to where I really want them.
“Am I making you wet already?” he says into my ear, causing icy shivers to cascade down my spine until they dissolve in warmth. “Shall I test and see?”
I let out a breathy, “Yes,” already so eager for him. There’s no point in trying to control my hormones or my body at this point. Alejo has opened up a reservoir of desire for me and I’m jumping right into the deep end.
With his gaze locked on my eyes, he slips his hand under my panties, and I inhale sharply.
He groans, his eyes fluttering as his fingers sink inside me. “You are soaked. So fucking wet. I could play a game and make you beg for it,” he says roughly. He brings his fingers away, and I feel cold without his warm hand there. He deliberately sticks his finger in his mouth, sucking, and then kisses me softly, teasingly, until I taste my salt.
Sweet Jesus.
My knees are starting to buckle, I swear. I grip his arms to steady myself.
“Or,” he adds as he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine, “I could get you to sit on my face. Eat you out until you’re wild and squirming for release.”
I gulp. Eyes wide.
“Yes, please,” I manage to say.
His mouth curves into a cunning smile, and he grabs me by the waist, spinning me around until I’m falling backward onto the couch.
“Turn around,” he says. “Take off your underwear.”
“Bossy boy, aren’t you?”
He raises his chin in defiance. “Not a boy. A man who’s going to tongue-fuck that sweet, pink co?o of yours until you’re coming on my lips.”
Well, I won’t be making that mistake again.
And I definitely don’t need a translation for what co?o means.
I get on my knees and turn around, reaching down to take off my underwear until they’re dangling on one foot.