Page 113 of When Lies Unfold

He gives a delicious upward punch of his hips, driving so deep. When I coat him with more of my arousal, his mouth tips up at one corner. “Think you’ve got a thing for a certain narco with a ponytail.”

“Shut up.” My breathless response doesn’t hold any heat.

“You should just confess.” Smugness enters his gaze, mingling with heated lust, as he gives another upward thrust. His nostrils flare before he plants his feet flat on the bed, holding me firm with one hand while the other toys with my nipple. “Gonna admit it?”

He drives his cock harder inside me on each of my downward thrusts, and tremors of pleasure ripple through me. When I fail to respond, his searing gaze burns even hotter as he slows his thrusts.

“Better say it.” The raw quality of his voice defies the spark of challenge in his eyes. “Might not let you come all over this cock you seem to be enjoyin’ if you don’t.”

Letting my hand trail down from his chest to the base of his shaft, I run my thumb along the soft, uninked skin. I have a feeling he’ll hold true to his threat, which is why I hedge, “I might have a thing for a certain narco.”

Satisfaction has his mouth tugging up. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” I give a slow roll of my hips.

“Think you got a thing for my girly hair, too.” He punctuates this with a firm, upward punch of his hips, rendering me breathless. “Don’t you?”

I try to suppress the shiver that rolls through me, but of course, he notices. Eyes alight with a gleam of satisfaction, it quickly evaporates as lust takes hold of his expression.

Reaching for me, his palm cradles the side of my face. “Gonna need you to prove it.” Gaze darkening with need, his hoarse murmur has my nipples stiffening painfully. “Need another taste of that mouth of yours.”

His fingers thread in my hair, tightening as he captures my lips in a kiss. Desire shoots straight to my core as he powers into me in fast, even strokes.

His tongue sweeps inside to tangle with mine, tasting me deeply, and my body clamors for more. Each strong upward punch of his hips is his very own demand for release. His thick, pulsing length driving in and out of me propels me closer to my climax.

Somehow, my hand finds his hair as I tilt my head, desperate to deepen our kiss. I’ve become insatiable for his touch. Fiery lust licks through my veins, and my muscles start to tense with my impending release. I bear down on him, silently demanding more friction, and he doesn’t disappoint.

Holding one hip in a near-punishing hold, his thrusts turn frenzied. A desperate, needy sound climbs up my throat, but his mouth muffles it as my release takes hold.

My body arches, my inner muscles clamping down on him before I’m overcome with shudders. His groan vibrates against my lips as he surges upward, driving even deeper as his body grows taut beneath me.

Tremors wrack his body as another, more tortured groan rumbles from him. Wet warmth floods me, and my hips move as if to work every drop out of him.

I slump, burying my face against his throat where his pulse beats like crazy against my lips. Hearts thundering against one another, our harsh breaths seem to echo in the quiet room.

It isn’t until his hand settles over my back, those callused fingertips lightly sweeping in a downward motion, that awareness edges its way back in.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit. I just fucked Santiago Hernández. There’s no?—

“Stop overthinkin’ it.” His gravelly tone skates over my skin in an odd sort of caress. “Just give it a moment before you freak out.”

Defensiveness has me scowling. “I’m not freaking out.”

“Mm.” He lets out a grunt of disbelief. “Okay.”

I should get out of here this instant. But my body’s so limp that I’m reluctant to move. Those slow strokes of his fingertips along my back have me more relaxed than I’ve been in ages.

I’ll leave in a minute. Then again, he’ll probably kick me out first.

“Gonna tell me where you went that first time I caught you sneakin’ back into your place?”

Of course, he poses a question like that when I’m lying here after what was decidedly the best sex of my life. At this point, it won’t change much, but I still answer quietly, my tone stiff. “I was tending to someone medically.”

His stroking pauses. “Anybody I know?”

“Esteban Vargas.”

“Ahh…” He resumes trailing his fingertips in slow, easy strokes along my spine. “He had gout and a leg injury, too, didn’t he?”

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