Now, he didn’t coax or encourage me to kiss him back. His teeth sank into my lower lip, drawing a gasp from my chest. His tongue surged into my open mouth, blocking my breath.
I writhed beneath him, struggling for air. But he didn’t relent. He held me firm, keeping me trapped right where he wanted me and demanding my surrender on his terms.
Heat licked through my veins, pooling low in my belly. My labia pulsed, and my sex contracted, craving to be filled. My writhing shifted to wanton undulations as I rocked my hips against his thigh and rubbed my breasts into his hard chest.
I opened for him, welcoming him to take more. My head began to spin from lack of oxygen, but I craved his scorching kiss more desperately than I wanted air.
When I started to go weak beneath him, he pulled back just enough so I could draw breath. The fresh hit of oxygen sent me soaring, and I was weightless in his harsh hold. I stared up into his obsidian eyes, utterly entranced.
His thumb rubbed my swollen lips, making my sensitized nerve endings tingle and dance.
Unthinking, I rotated my hips against his thigh, seeking to stimulate my aching clit. He let more of his weight press down on me, wedging his leg between mine and forcing me to spread wide.
A needy whimper eased up my throat, and I continued to try to rub against him, my body squirming helplessly beneath his vastly superior mass.
His lips twisted in a wicked grin, his eyes glinting with cruel pleasure.
“You want more, belleza?” he asked, the question dripping with arrogant satisfaction.
“Please,” I whispered, struggling for more friction against my sex.
He made a low humming sound that resonated deep in my body, and his head dipped toward mine. I offered my lips for another mind-numbing kiss, but his beard skimmed over my cheek as he leaned in to murmur dark words at my ear.
“I like when you beg, dulzura.” His teeth nipped at my lobe, tugging before his tongue flicked over the abused area.
My breath stuttered, a little broken sound catching in my chest.
“Good girls ask nicely for what they want.” He pressed a soft kiss beneath my ear. “And you’re my good girl, aren’t you, Sofia?”
“Yes,” I whined.
“Tell me.” The dark command rolled into my mind, compelling my truthful response.
“I’m your good girl,” I promised, ragged and desperate.
“That’s right.” He nuzzled my neck, the tender contact belying his restraining hold on my body. “I think you’ve earned a reward,” he murmured, his deep voice rumbling over my sensitized skin.
Keeping my wrists pinned with one hand, his other skimmed down my side, tracing the shape of my curves before caressing my thigh. His fingers found the hem of my dress, teasing beneath it.
My clit pulsed madly in anticipation, but fear tore through my lust.
“Wait,” I gasped, trying to move away from his touch. He was inches away from touching my scars, from feeling the marks of my shame. I wasn’t ready to lose his affection again. He’d managed to overcome the unsightliness of one scar, but he didn’t know the extent of the damage.
He didn’t relent. Mateo had always been gentle and careful with me, but this facet of himself he was showing me now was far rougher and more demanding.
“Mateo, stop,” I begged, jerking against his hold.
He frowned down at me, his hand pausing just above my knee. “When we’re in my bed, you’re not in charge, florecita.”
The low warning made my panties grow damp with a rush of fresh arousal, but my fear didn’t abate.
“I can feel your hot little pussy through my jeans,” he said, his voice rough with hunger. “You like this.”
He resumed his progress, pushing up my dress.
“No!” I shouted, panic slicing through my desire.
He stilled again, his massive body tensing. “I know you want me to touch you,” he ground out. “Why are you fighting this?”
I cut my gaze away, my cheeks burning with shame. “I don’t want you to see my thighs.”
His hand instantly withdrew from my leg, coming up to cup my cheek instead. He turned my face, commanding my attention.
When I peeked up at him, I found that the sharp hunger in his black eyes had softened to something like sorrow.
He released my wrists and stroked his fingers through my hair in a soothing rhythm.
“I know I reacted badly when I saw your scar,” he said, the words deep and even. “That had everything to do with me, not you. I think you’re perfect.”
My eyes burned. I wanted so badly for that to be true, but it simply wasn’t.
“There are more,” I admitted on a pained whisper.
He dropped a kiss on my lips, a sweet reassurance rather than a harsh claim.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Sofia.”
“I’m not.” The first hot tear dropped down my temple and fell into my curls. “You only think that because you haven’t seen all of me.”