Page 163 of Disarm
“Fuck,” I inhale. “Do you ever worry you’re gonna wake up and decide this—us—is too hard?”
Miguel’s fingers curl at my waist, firm. “No,” he says without hesitation. “I worry you’ll decide life is too much. But I never doubt us.”
His thumb strokes my hipbone.
I appreciate that he is being real with me.
“My turn,” he whispers, voice dipping again. “What do you want right now?”
The friction hits me hard as I shift, hitting just the right spot on the underside of my dick. A low sound escapes me. “I want you,” I whisper. “Not… like… not full-on sex, because I won’t be able to focus after. But… I want your hands on me. I want…” My face heats. “I want you to make me come on your thigh.”
Miguel makes a sound deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Okay. I’ve got you.”
Strong hands guide my hips again, slow and controlled. My breath stutters as heat coils low in my stomach.
“My turn,” I gasp. “Why… why do you like watching me like this?”
Miguel’s eyes darken, pupils blown. “Because you look alive,” he murmurs. “You let go with me and watching you fall apart is the closest thing I have to religion.”
“Jesus,” I breathe.
“No,” he says softly, “just me, baby.” He brushes his nose along my jaw. “My question. What do you need to hear right now?”
I press my forehead to his, breath shaking, hips rolling in slow, desperate circles. “That I’m okay,” I whisper. “That last week didn’t ruin anything between us. That I’m not too much.”
Miguel’s hands slide up my back, pulling me closer, holding me steady.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs into my mouth. “You didn’t ruin anything. You’re not too much.”
His thigh presses up just right and I gasp.
“You are exactly the weight I want on me, Caleb.”
My stomach flips so hard I almost come right there. “My turn,” I choke out, voice cracking. “What do you want from me?”
Miguel exhales softly, kissing me once, then again. “Honesty,” he says. “Even when it scares you. Even when it scares me. I want you to talk to me the way you did at dinner. The way you did in bed after.”
Those brown eyes of his soften, warm and unbearably tender. “And I want your hands on me right now.”
I slide my hands under his shirt, palms gliding across the ridges of his stomach and chest. His breath stutters and his thigh tenses.
“My question,” he whispers. “What do you want me to say while you come for me?”
Heat explodes behind my ribs.
I bury my face in his neck. “Spanish,” I gasp. “Say something in Spanish. Anything.”
Miguel groans softly.
“Mmm,” he whispers. “I can do that.”
His grip tightens on my hips, guiding my rhythm, deep and slow and devastating.
“Caleb…”
His voice is almost a growl.
“Así… mi amor. Eso. Qué rico te mueves… te ves tan hermoso cuando te pierdes.”
