The garage light caught the sheen of sweat on his chest as he pushed me back against the workbench, the cold edge biting into my thighs through the thin fabric of my thong shorts. His hands found my waist, rough and sure, and I felt my breath go shallow as he dropped to his knees in front of me.
"Mateo—" His name came out broken, half a question I didn't know how to finish.
He looked up at me, those dark eyes catching the light, and his mouth curved into that slow smile that made my stomach flip. "Quiet, princesa." His voice was a low rumble, barely above a whisper. "Let me take care of you."
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts and pulled them down my thighs, the cool air hitting my skin, my cunt already slick and aching for him. He didn't look away from my face as he lowered his mouth to me—not until I felt the first drag of his tongue, slow and deliberate, tracing the length of my slit like he had all the time in the world.
I gasped, my hips bucking instinctually, and his hands locked onto my thighs, holding me open, keeping me still. He made a sound—low, almost a groan—as his tongue circled my clit, and the vibration of it shot through me like a current.
"Fuck," I breathed, my fingers finding his hair, gripping the dark strands as he worked me. His tongue was everywhere, hot and wet, dipping inside me, then back up to that spot that made me see stars, over and over until I was a mess of trembling and want.
He pulled back just long enough to murmur against my skin, "You taste so fucking good, princesa."
I couldn't answer. Couldn't think. His mouth was a religion and I was already converted, ready to worship at his altar until I couldn't stand. He sucked my clit between his lips, a gentle pressure that built into something insistent, his tongue flicking against the sensitive nub in a rhythm that matched the pulse between my legs.
My thighs started shaking. I knew I was close—could feel it coiling in my belly, a tension wound so tight it was almost unbearable. He knew it too. I could tell by the way his grip tightened on my thighs, the way he doubled down, his tongue pressing harder, faster, until I was gasping his name and the world was dissolving into heat and light.
"Mateo, I'm—"
He didn't stop. He pushed me over the edge with his mouth, his fingers digging into my hips, and I came apart against his lips, my cry echoing off the concrete walls, my body arching into him as the orgasm ripped through me in waves that seemed to last forever.
He stayed with me through every pulse, every shudder, lapping at me gently as I came down, his touch softening, tender even as my thighs quivered around his head. When I finally opened my eyes, he was looking up at me, his chin slick, his eyes dark and satisfied, and he pressed one last kiss to my inner thigh before standing.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. "That was the first of many, princesa."
I was still floating, my legs barely holding me up. He caught me, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering—same as mine. Same desperate rhythm.
I buried my face in his neck, breathing him in. "You're dangerous," I whispered.
"Yeah." His voice was soft, almost sad. "I know."
We stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together in the dim light, the smell of grease and sweat and something sweeter between us. Then he pulled back, his hands cupping my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.
"Val." His voice was serious now, the playfulness gone. "I need to tell you something."
I looked at him, my heart still racing. "What?"
"That thing I said... about covering up. The first day we met when I said I wasn't good for you." He swallowed, his jaw tight. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to hide."
I blinked, the words settling over me like a blanket. "Mateo—"
"I was trying to protect you," he said, cutting me off, his eyes intense, searching mine. "From me. From the shit I bring. But that was wrong. I don't want you to ever cover up. I don't want you to be anything but exactly who you are."
Something cracked in my chest. Not in a bad way. It felt like a wall coming down, like I'd been holding my breath for weeks and finally letting it out. "You mean that?"
"I want you confident, princesa. I want you walking into every room like you own it, showing off every curve, every inch, because you should. You're gorgeous. And I was a fucking idiot for asking you to hide that."
I didn't know what to say. My throat was too tight. So I kissed him instead, soft and slow, my hands sliding up his chest to the silver cross at his throat. He kissed me back like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth.
When we broke apart, I was smiling. A real smile, not the cocky one I wore like armor. "So you're not going to tell me I'm too much anymore?"
He laughed, low and rough. "Nah, princesa. You're exactly enough."
God, my heart. It felt like it was going to burst.
He held me for another minute, his hand stroking my hair, his lips brushing my forehead. Then he sighed, and I felt the shift in his body—the reluctance stiffening his spine.
"I need to send you home."
I pulled back, frowning. "What? Why?"
"Because if you stay here another minute, I'm not going to be able to stop, and we need to slow down." He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. "I'm serious, Val. I want this. I want you. But I'm not going to rush through it. You deserve better than that."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to push him back onto the concrete and climb on top of him and show him just how much I didn't need to slow down. But the look in his eyes—that softness mixed with steel—told me it wasn't up for debate.
"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "But you owe me."
His grin was back. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Pool party at my place. You in?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Pool party?"
"Yeah. My boys are coming over. Beer, music, swimming." He reached out and tugged a strand of my hair. "And you, in the tiniest bikini you own."
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. "I can do that."
He drove me home, his arm wrapped around my waist the whole way, his hand resting on my thigh. When he dropped me off, he kissed me long and deep, leaving me breathless on my doorstep, and then he was gone, the rumble of his bike fading into the night.
---
The next day, I stood in front of my mirror, turning left and right, a satisfied smirk on my face. The bikini was hardly there—two triangles of bright red fabric that barely covered my nipples, connected by a string that wrapped around my neck. The bottoms were just as tiny, a scrap of fabric that disappeared between my cheeks, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Over it, I pulled on a pair of denim shorts that were more suggestion than clothing, the curve of my ass eating the fabric, the waistband dipping low enough to show the string of my bikini.
No bra. No cover-up. Just me, exactly as I was.
I heard the rumble of his motorcycle pulling into my driveway and felt a thrill run through me. I grabbed my bag, slipped on my sandals, and walked out the front door like I owned the world.
He was waiting, straddling his bike, his eyes finding me the second I stepped outside. And the look on his face—the way his jaw went slack, the way his eyes traveled down my body like he was memorizing every inch—made everything worth it.
"Princesa." His voice was hoarse. "Holy shit."
I twirled for him, letting the shorts ride up just a little higher. "You like?"
He shook his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. "Get on the bike before I change my mind about slowing down."
I laughed and swung my leg over the seat behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against his back. He felt warm, solid, and I could feel the tension in his muscles as he revved the engine.
The ride to his place was short but electric, the wind whipping through my hair, his body shielding me from the road. When we pulled up to his house, I saw a few cars already parked out front, music thumping from the backyard, voices mixing with the splash of water.
He helped me off the bike, his hands lingering on my waist. "Ready?"
I grinned. "Born ready."
He led me around the side of the house to the backyard, and I saw them—three guys, all of them built, all of them holding beers, their conversations dying as their eyes landed on me. I felt their gazes, hot and hungry, trailing over my body, lingering on the curves I'd put on display.
I pretended not to notice. I kept my eyes on Mateo.
He turned, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me close. "This is Val," he said, his voice carrying that edge of possession. "My girl."
One of the guys let out a low whistle. "Damn, Lobo. You didn't say she was..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Mateo's grip tightened on my hip, but there was a smile on his face. "Yeah. I know."
I looked up at him, and the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person in the world—made my heart swell. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then spoke low enough for only me to hear. "Go get in the pool, princesa. I'll grab us drinks."
I slipped out of his arms and walked toward the pool, feeling the weight of every eye on me. The shorts came off, tossed onto a chair, and I dove into the water, the cool shock of it a relief against my heated skin.
I surfaced, my hair slicked back, water dripping down my chest, and I saw Mateo standing at the edge, two bottles in his hands, watching me with that dark, hungry look that made my insides clench.
He set the drinks down and stripped off his shirt, revealing the ink across his chest, the cross at his throat, the muscles shifting under his skin. He dove in next to me, the water parting around him, and when he surfaced, he was right in front of me, close enough that I could see the droplets clinging to his lashes.
"Having fun?" he asked, his voice low.
I bit my lip. "Getting there."
His hand found my waist under the water, pulling me closer, his mouth brushing my ear. "Just wait, princesa. The night's just getting started."
The laughter around us died. Not all at once—it trickled away, one guy nudging another, the grin on the whistler's face faltering as he registered the shift in Mateo's body.
I felt it too. His hand on my waist had gone from casual possession to something harder, fingers digging into my hip like he was anchoring himself. The water lapped at our chests, but the air between us had gone cold.
"What did you say?" Mateo's voice was low. Not loud. Not angry in the way most guys got angry—this was quieter. Sharper. A blade being unsheathed.
The whistler—some guy with a buzz cut and a beer belly—held up his hands. "Relax, man. Just a joke."
"Doesn't sound like a joke."
I looked up at Mateo. His jaw was set, his dark eyes fixed on his friend with an intensity that made my stomach flip. Not fear. Something else. Something hot.
"Lobo, come on—"
"You don't talk about her like that." Mateo's voice cut through the water, through the tension, through the silence that had fallen over the whole backyard. "Ever."
The guy nodded, slow, his eyes dropping. "Got it. My bad."
The moment stretched, thin and brittle, and then Mateo's hand relaxed on my waist. Just a fraction. Just enough for me to breathe again.
He turned to me, and the hardness in his face softened. "You okay?"
I nodded, but my heart was hammering. Not from fear. From the way he'd stepped in front of me. The way his voice had dropped an octave. The way he'd made it clear, without a single curse word, that I was his and he didn't share.
"I'm fine." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "But that was—"
"Necessary." He ran his hand up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the wet fabric. "I don't let anyone disrespect what's mine."
What's mine. The words settled in my chest, warm and heavy.
The other guys had drifted to the other side of the pool, giving us space. The music had been turned back up, but it felt distant, muffled, like we were in our own bubble.
Mateo's hand slid to my lower back, pressing me closer until my chest was against his, the water warm between us. "You want to get out?"
I bit my lip. "Yeah."
He led me to the edge, his hands finding my waist and lifting me onto the concrete like I weighed nothing. Water streamed down my body, the red bikini clinging to every curve, and I felt his eyes on me as he pulled himself out after me.
I grabbed a towel, but he took it from my hands and wrapped it around my shoulders himself, his fingers lingering on my collarbone.
"Come on," he said, his voice low. "Let's go inside."
I followed him through the back door, into the house, the noise of the party fading behind us. The kitchen was cool, quiet, the counters clean, a half-empty bottle of tequila on the island.
He didn't stop there. He led me through the living room, down a hallway, to a door at the end. His room.
The bed was unmade, dark sheets tangled, a guitar propped in the corner. The walls were bare except for a single poster—some band I didn't recognize—and the blinds were drawn, casting the room in a dim, golden light.
He closed the door behind us. The click of the lock was loud in the silence.
I turned to face him, the towel slipping off one shoulder. "Mateo—"
He crossed the room in two steps, his hands finding my waist, his mouth crashing into mine.
The kiss was different from before. Harder. Hungrier. His tongue slid against mine, and I moaned into his mouth, my hands finding his damp hair, pulling him closer. His hands roamed down my back, over the curve of my ass, gripping the wet fabric of my bikini bottoms.
He pulled back, breath heavy, his forehead resting against mine. "I've been trying so hard to take this slow."
"I don't want slow."
"I know." His thumb traced my jawline, tilting my chin up. "But I need you to understand something first."
I looked up at him, my chest rising and falling. "What?"
He took a breath, his hands sliding to my hips. "When I told you to cover up—when I made you wear that hoodie—I wasn't trying to control you. I was trying to protect you. From guys like that. From guys who look at you like you're something to be consumed instead of something to be treasured."
I opened my mouth to speak, but he kept going.
"But I was wrong. I see that now. You're not something to be hidden." His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips. "You're something to be shown off. To be proud of. And I am so fucking proud to have you on my arm, princesa."
My heart swelled, heat prickling behind my eyes. "You mean that?"
"Every word." He kissed me again, softer this time, like he was trying to pour the apology into it. "I will never ask you to cover up again. I want you to be exactly who you are. Confident. Bold. Mine."
I let out a shaky breath. "I missed this. I missed feeling like your princesa."
"You never stopped being my princesa." His hands slid down, hooking into the waistband of my bikini bottoms. "And I'm going to spend the rest of tonight proving it."
My breath caught. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He dropped to his knees, his hands running up my thighs, pushing the wet fabric aside. "I've been dreaming about this since the first time I saw you."
He pulled the bottoms down, slow, deliberate, letting them fall to the floor. I stepped out of them, my heart pounding, my skin flushed with anticipation.
He looked up at me, his dark eyes tracing the lines of my body, the curve of my hips, the wetness already gathering between my thighs. "Fuck, princesa. You're beautiful."
Then his mouth was on me.
His tongue found my clit, flat and warm, and I gasped, my hands flying to his hair, gripping the damp strands. He worked me slow, teasing, his tongue circling, dipping, tasting. My knees buckled, and he caught me, his hands gripping my ass, holding me steady.
"Mateo—"
He hummed against me, the vibration sending a jolt through my body. I cried out, my head falling back, my hips grinding against his mouth.
He didn't rush. He took his time, like he was savoring every sound I made, every shiver that ran through me. His tongue slid inside me, and I saw stars.
"Oh god—"
He pulled back, just enough to speak, his voice rough against my skin. "Let go, princesa. Let me hear you."
His mouth was back on me, his fingers joining, sliding into me, curling, hitting that spot that made my vision go white. I was trembling, shaking, the orgasm building like a wave about to crash.
"Mateo—I'm—"
"Come for me."
And I did.
The scream tore out of me, raw and desperate, my body convulsing against his mouth, his fingers still working me through it, drawing out every last tremor. I gripped his hair so hard my fingers ached, and he didn't stop until I was gasping, limp, leaning against the doorframe for support.
He stood, his lips wet, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Good girl."
I was still trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "That was—"
"Just the beginning." He kissed me, and I tasted myself on his lips, salty and sweet. "But I'm sending you home."
I blinked. "What?"
"We need to slow down." His hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing my swollen lips. "I want you too much to rush this. And when I finally have you, I want to take my time."
I wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me. He wasn't rejecting me. He was protecting what was building between us.
"Fine," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "But tomorrow?"
His smile was slow, dangerous. "Tomorrow, you're mine."
He helped me pull my bottoms back up, his hands lingering on my hips. He walked me to the front door, past the pool where his friends were still drinking, still laughing, but I didn't see any of them. I only saw him.
At the door, he kissed me one last time, deep and claiming, and then he let me go.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon," he said, his voice rough. "Be ready."
I walked to my car on shaky legs, my body still humming, my skin still burning from his touch. And as I drove home, the taste of him still on my lips, I knew one thing for sure.
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
The rumble of his motorcycle pulled me out of my own reflection. I gave myself one last look in the mirror — the red lace hugging my curves like a second skin, the garter straps cutting across my thighs. Beneath the plain white tee and my tightest blue jeans, I was a secret only I knew.
I ran downstairs before he could kill the engine, my heels clicking against the porch steps. He was already pulling off his helmet, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his eyes finding me before I reached him.
"Princesa." His voice was low, warm, the word wrapping around me like his hands had last night. "You ready?"
"Always." I swung my leg over the back of his bike, my thighs gripping the leather, my arms wrapping around his waist. He smelled like gasoline and soap, and I pressed my face against his back, breathing him in.
The ride was a blur of wind and heat, his body solid against mine, the engine vibrating between my legs. I didn't care where we were going. I would have followed him anywhere.
His shop came into view, the same place where he'd had me against the pool, where his mouth had undone me on the garage floor. But tonight, he didn't lead me through the bay. He took my hand and guided me up the stairs to the apartment above it.
"Close your eyes," he said, his hand warm on the small of my back.
I obeyed, my heart racing, my heels tapping against the floor as he guided me forward. I heard a door open. He stepped behind me, his chest against my back, his lips brushing my ear.
"Open them."
The room was unrecognizable. Fairy lights strung across the ceiling, casting the space in a soft gold glow. And everywhere — on the bed, draped over the chair, hanging from the closet door — were clothes. Skimpy. Barely there. Exactly what I loved to wear.
Lace bodysuits. Mesh tops. Thongs in every color. A dress that was barely more than a strap with a clasp. A bikini that was three triangles and some hope.
My breath left me. "Mateo—"
"I noticed," he said, his voice soft behind me. "When we first met. The things you wore. The way you carried yourself. And when you started hiding—" His hands settled on my hips. "I hated that I made you feel like you had to."
I turned to face him. My eyes were burning.
"You didn't—" My voice cracked. "You bought all of this?"
"I want you to wear whatever the hell you want, Princesa." His thumb traced my cheekbone, catching a tear before it could fall. "I want you to be yourself. The girl who walks into a room like she owns it. The girl who made me forget my own name the first time I saw her."
The tears spilled over, hot and fast. I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his shoulder. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve everything." His arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight. "And I'm going to spend every day proving it."
I pulled back, my hands trembling as I reached for the hem of my shirt. "I have something for you too."
I peeled the white tee over my head, letting it fall to the floor. Then I unbuttoned my jeans, slow, deliberate, watching his eyes darken with every inch of skin I revealed. The jeans pooled at my ankles. I stepped out of them.
And stood before him in nothing but the red lingerie.
The lace was sheer, barely hiding anything — my nipples visible through the fabric, the cut of the panties so high they nearly met my ribs, the garters hugging my thighs. I had chosen it for him. Every strap, every curve, was for him.
His breath left him in a rough exhale. "Fuck, Princesa."
"Do you like it?"
He crossed the distance in two steps, his hands finding my waist, his mouth crashing against mine. The kiss was hungry, desperate, his tongue sliding against mine like he was tasting me for the first time.
"Like it?" he breathed against my lips. "I'm going to worship you in it."
I reached for his belt, my fingers fumbling with the buckle. "Let me—"
He caught my wrists, gentle but firm. "No."
I blinked. "What?"
"Tonight is about you." His eyes never left mine. "I don't want your mouth on me. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you come around my cock. I want to hear you scream my name until your throat is raw." His thumb traced my lower lip. "I'm obsessed with you, Princesa. And your pleasure is the only thing that matters to me right now."
My thighs pressed together, the ache between them sharp and undeniable. "Mateo—"
"Lie down."
I didn't hesitate. I climbed onto the bed, the fairy lights casting gold across my skin as I lay back, my body open and waiting. He stood at the edge of the bed, his eyes raking over me, his hands working the buttons of his jeans.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice rough, "how many nights I've thought about this. About having you in my bed. About taking you apart piece by piece."
His jeans dropped. His boxers followed. And then I saw him — his cock, thick and hard, the head already glistening. He was bigger than I'd imagined. Longer. Thicker. The sight of it made my cunt clench, a wet heat pooling between my thighs.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he said, climbing onto the bed, his body covering mine. "And I'm going to make you feel things you've never felt before."
His mouth found my neck, kissing, sucking, biting. His teeth grazed my pulse, and I gasped, my hands fisting in the sheets. He worked his way down, his lips trailing across my collarbone, my chest, until his mouth closed over my nipple through the lace.
The sensation was electric — the wet heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the rough fabric of the lace against my sensitive skin. I arched into him, a moan spilling from my lips.
"More—"
He gave me more. His hand slid down my stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, his fingers finding my clit. He circled it slow, torturous, his mouth still working my nipple, and I was already trembling, already close.
"That's it," he murmured against my skin. "Let me feel you."
His finger slid inside me, then another, his palm pressing against my clit. He curled them, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes, and I cried out, my hips bucking against his hand.
"I'm—I'm going to—"
"Not yet." He pulled his fingers out, and I whimpered at the loss. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
He pulled the lace aside, positioning himself at my entrance. I felt the head of him pressing against me, thick and hot, and I held my breath, waiting.
He pushed in.
The stretch was overwhelming — a deep, aching fullness that stole the air from my lungs. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, my back arching off the bed.
"Fuck—" His voice was strained, his forehead pressing against mine. "You're so tight, Princesa. So fucking perfect."
He moved, slow at first, letting me adjust, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that made my toes curl. I felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein, the way he filled me completely.
"Harder," I begged. "Please—"
He gave me harder. His thrusts deepened, faster, his hand finding my knee and pushing my leg up, opening me wider. The angle changed, and suddenly he was hitting that spot, the one that made my vision go white.
"There—right there—"
His hand moved between us, his thumb finding my clit, pressing hard circles against it. The dual sensation was too much, exactly enough, and I shattered, my cunt clenching around him, a scream tearing from my throat.
"One," he counted, his voice ragged. "Ten more to go."
I didn't have time to recover. He was already moving again, his thrusts relentless, his mouth finding my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
"I told you I was going to take my time."
He flipped me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up, entering me from behind. The new angle was deeper, hitting places I didn't know existed, and I buried my face in the pillow, my moans muffled as he drove into me.
"Two."
His hand slid around my waist, his fingers finding my clit again, stroking me in time with his thrusts. I was already climbing again, the pleasure building faster this time, my body desperate for release.
"Three."
I came again, my body shaking, my voice raw. He didn't stop. He slowed, let me catch my breath, then started again, building me up from the bottom.
He turned me on my side, lifting my leg over his hip. He entered me slow, deep, his eyes locked on mine, his hand cupping my face.
"Four."
His thumb traced my lip. "You're taking me so well, Princesa. So fucking perfect."
He kissed me, soft and deep, his tongue sliding against mine as he thrust into me, the rhythm unhurried, worshipful. I came with his mouth on mine, the orgasm rippling through me in waves.
"Five."
He pulled out and guided me onto my back again. He knelt between my legs, his cock slick with both of us, and lifted my ankles onto his shoulders.
"I want to watch you fall apart."
He entered me again, and the angle was devastating. I felt him everywhere — in my stomach, in my chest, in the back of my throat. His hand pressed on my lower belly, and I felt myself clench around him, the pressure building.
"Six."
I came with a sob, my body convulsing, my hands gripping the sheets so hard my knuckles went white. He kept moving, drawing it out, pushing me through it.
"Seven."
He flipped me again, my chest against the mattress, my ass in the air. He entered me from behind, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangling in my hair, pulling my head back gently.
"You're mine, Princesa." His voice was a growl. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Mateo."
He thrust deeper, harder, and I came with his name on my lips, my voice breaking.
"Eight."
He laid me on my side again, spooning me, his arm wrapped around my waist, his mouth on my neck. He entered me slow, deep, rocking into me with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
"I've never—" My voice was hoarse. "I've never felt like this."
"Neither have I." He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "You're everything, Princesa. Everything."
He made love to me then, slow and deep and full of feeling, his hand finding mine, his fingers lacing through mine as he pushed into me, the rhythm a promise. I came with my eyes on his, tears streaming down my face.
"Nine."
He pulled out and guided me onto my back, kneeling between my legs. He positioned himself at my entrance, but didn't enter. His eyes met mine, dark and intense.
"I want to feel you come around me," he said. "One more. Then I'm going to fill you."
He pushed in, and I was already trembling, already on the edge. He thrust into me, his hand on my clit, his eyes never leaving mine, and I shattered for the tenth time, my body clenching around him, my scream lost in the space between us.
He didn't stop. He kept moving, kept thrusting, pushing me toward another peak, and I was so sensitive, so raw, that every touch sent sparks through my body.
"Two more, Princesa. Give me two more."
He found a rhythm, steady and deep, and I climbed again, faster this time, the pleasure building from the aftershocks of the last. I came again, sobbing, shaking, my nails raking down his back.
"Eleven."
He lifted my legs higher, pushed deeper, and I felt the orgasm building, the biggest one yet, the one that had been waiting. I held onto him, my arms around his neck, my face buried in his shoulder, and when it hit, I saw nothing but white.
I screamed. I don't know what I said — his name, please, more, yes — the words lost in the roar of blood in my ears. My body convulsed around him, and I felt him finally let go, felt his cock pulse inside me, his groan hot against my ear.
"Twelve, Princesa." He breathed the words against my skin. "Every single one was for you."
We lay tangled together, our breathing ragged, our skin slick with sweat. The fairy lights cast their soft glow across the room, and I could feel his heart pounding against my cheek, still pressed against his chest.
I didn't speak. There wasn't anything I could say that would capture what I felt. So I just held him, my fingers tracing the ink on his arm, my body still trembling with aftershocks.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his voice rough and low. "I meant what I said, Princesa. Every time I said it."
I looked up at him, his dark eyes soft in the golden light. "I know."
And I did. For the first time in my life, I knew exactly where I belonged.