Page 156 of Embriagado

“Fuck,” I moaned.

He huffed, his face shoved into my nape.

“I love it when you swear.”

“Shut your mouth,” I warned, pushing against his thrust. “And focus.”

The sad truth is…

Hugging one arm around my shoulders and another around my stomach, he pulled me in until my back was pressed to his broad chest.

The sad truth is that I also find solace in his embrace.

“I’ve never been more focused in my life.” He kissed me along my neck, still thrusting his cock between my legs.

It felt good, too good, and I craved for him to be bold and breach inside me. To fuck me deep like he so often did, but knowing better than to ask for such dangerous things, I bit my lip and held my breath until he climaxed and came all over my ass and thighs. And afterward, when he used his hands to wash me of his release, I pretended to be oblivious while, in fact, I enjoyed it quite a bit.

* * *

“Do you remember that next week, you’re off the hook?” I asked, giving him room under the showerhead so he’d wash himself up.

“Yep.” He scrubbed his hair. “You said something about the hotel hosting some party?”

“Yes.”

While he was busy rinsing his hair, my eyes dipped along his fit body, pinning on a faint scar on the right side of his rib cage.

“Can I come?”

“Where?” I asked, still focusing on the scar. I’d noticed it before and always wondered how he’d gotten it.

“To the party.”

“How did you get this?” I brushed my fingers over the scar when he grabbed my wrist. Looking up, I saw him smiling at me.

“Answer my question first.”

“Of course you can’t come.”

His brows pulled into a frown as he pouted his lips. “Why not?”

“Because it’s held by an outside contract.” My boss. “And the guest list is limited.” To scum and prostitutes.

He grunted his frustration before letting go of me and stepping out of the shower, dripping all over my floor in the process.

Ugh.

I shut off the water, then followed him out, only I made use of the bathroom rug.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I said, watching him dry himself.

“Ah, this scar?” He stopped with the towel in his fist and glanced down at it.

“Yes.”

“Got stabbed my first week in prison.”

I stepped closer. “You did?”