Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

Regardless, I’m glad I decided to put a bit of effort into my undergarments—the Hanes cotton briefs I was wearing most of the day were threadbare and torn.

Mateo takes his time dragging them down my thighs, on a mission to make me insane. It’s slow—too slow—and I want to scream and boss him around and tell him where to put his mouth and how hard to suck.

UGH!

He’s toying with me. Whether unintentional or deliberate, this feels like a cat-and-mouse game I’m not sure I’m going to win.

See, the thing is—I love it when men go down on me, but I can never wait until I come before demanding they fuck me. I know, I know: if a man wants to pleasure me downtown, I should let him finish the job.

Obviously I’ve had my mouth on enough dicks that I’m familiar with getting an orgasm or two from someone else’s.

And yet—there’s always a point where I can’t take it anymore and all I want is for him to slide in. I anticipate that first moment he’s hovering above me, those seconds before the tip enters me.

Little by little then all at once.

That’s what I want.

That is the moment I’m living for right now.

If I could bottle up that feeling and stick it in my back pocket, I would—and I’d make a damn fortune because it’s better than a first kiss. Or the first time a guy runs his hand up your torso to slide his hand inside your bra.

Best. Anticipation. Ever.

I want it.

I want it.

Mateo’s tongue is driving me insane!

Teeth, just a baby bite.

Suck…

Yes, that’s it.

I writhe, undulating my hips on the mattress so he’s forced to use his palms on my inner thighs to keep them parted.

So maddeningly frustrating—why won’t he fuck me already!

Whoa, hormones—dial it down a notch.

I try to enjoy it, adjusting so I can balance myself on my elbows and get a better view of the action. His thick dark hair is shiny, head tilted down, nose nearly buried in my pussy along with his tongue.

The entire visual is quite intoxicating, and if I wasn’t in such a rush to get sexed, there is no doubt I could sit here all night and watch the show.

But I won’t.

I want what I want and I want it now.

My hands give him a gentle nudge, my brain hoping he takes the hint without me having to come right out and say the words.

He ignores me.

I nudge him again, this time with slightly more force. Push, push on the broad shoulders that lured me in the first time, the corded muscles giving me pause.

Damn he’s good-looking. I’m almost jealous of myself.

Tap-tap.

I’m beginning to feel rude, like I’m inconveniencing him with the demands I’m keeping inside my head.

Finally, he lifts his head, mouth covered in—

“What’s wrong. Do you want me to stop?”

Yes.

No.

“I want you to f-fuck me.” I swear, my nostrils are probably flaring, mind shouting, Stop talking and fuck me! This is not a tea freaking party, bro!

Welp, it’s official: I’m a monster, and not the cute cuddly kind.

The pregnant, hormonal, sex-crazed maniacal kind.

Mateo thinks it’s adorable. “You are so cute. Listen to yourself, begging me to bang you.”

“First of all,” I argue, “please stop using the word bang when you’re talking about banging me.” Wait—now I’m doing it. “Second of all…” He licks my swollen clit and I forget what I’m upset about. “Um…second of all…don’t call me…” I swallow. “Cute.”

“Sexy.” Lick. “Bold.” Lick. “Sassy.”

Lick.

He nips at the skin of my inner thigh and it startles me—in a good way.

This entire mood feels playful, and I love it.

L-O-V-E.

I push the thought and the word out of my mind—that word has no room in this bed!

“So, you want me to fuck you, eh?”

“Knock it off—stop teasing.”

“You weren’t this bossy the last time.” He sucks at the sensitive skin on my leg, a spot close to my pussy (which is a damn miracle because I haven’t waxed that area for fear that it’ll be excruciatingly painful).

Waxing while pregnant? I’ll have to google that—it sounds like a terrible idea.

“Just because I know what I want doesn’t make me bossy.”

“Why don’t you relax and let me take care of you?”

“Because!” I squirm some more, entering that territory where I’m kind of embarrassing myself but also not giving a shit.

“For shame,” he chastises. Then he mutters a few things in Spanish—sexy words I wish I could translate—as he relents, slowly crawling up the bed, over my body.

I feel his erection dragging between my legs. Touching my leg.

Yes, yes, YES.

“Guess we don’t have to worry about a condom,” he jokes, causing us both to laugh.

So funny.

My palm strokes his cheek, his head lowering at the same time so our mouths can meet.

The kiss is deep with lots of tongue. Passionate.

More passion than we shared the first night in that hotel room, so many weeks and weeks ago when we barely knew each other’s first name.