Page 98 of Keepsake

I cleared my throat. “Are you hungry?”

He chuckled darkly, raising all the hairs on my arm. “Famished.”

His hands lowered to my shoulders and down my arms. Even with my sweater, I felt his heat on my skin. Slowly, he reached down, one arm curling around my waist.

“I’m really hungry.”

He wasn’t talking about food, and I knew it. My head tilted to the side, and I felt his mouth close over my skin peppering me with open-mouthed kisses.

He was hot and sinful, moving the glass of wine away like he knew we couldn’t be trusted around something fragile. Without asking permission, his hand went up, taking my breast at the same time his teeth grazed my neck.

I muffled a cry. My eyes went down to see his tattooed arm taking me.

A gasp flew past my lips. “What happened?”

My fingers tried to take his bloodied hand off mine. He looked like a mess, but he shushed me.

“Just an accident. Don’t worry.”

I opened my mouth to argue that it looked much more than an accident, but his other hand was now on my ass, kneading so forcefully I stumbled, using the counter to hold myself together.

“Logan,” he rasped. “Be a good girl and ask me not to stop.”

The need in his voice tore my chest apart. It was his timber, his unexpected vulnerability, like he was crumbling without me.

His bloodied hand closed around my neck, tilting my head to rest under his chin as I whimpered, “Don’t stop, Alvaro.”

A growl that was more animal than man came from him and brought goosebumps all over my skin. He turned me around, making me look at him for the first time.

Eyes dark with want, he looked sweaty in a T-shirt and basketball shorts. He looked like he came from the gym, but the questions died on my lips when he took my mouth. Big, delicious, impossible. I tried to touch as much skin as I could. Down his arms, under his T-shirt.

He took me by the waist, putting me on the counter. I desperately brought my skirt up so he could fit between my legs.

“I’m addicted to you, Jefa,” he told me between kisses. “How did you do it? How did you make me like this?”

I had no air to tell him it wasn’t me. It was him who barrelled into my life, who made me need his presence and crave his company.

He was more than I ever dared to wish for. And yet he was all over me. His hot hands on my legs, his mouth on mine, his scent all over my house. I bit his lower lip, and that was all it took.

Alvaro growled, and then took me from the counter with only one arm, my hands laced behind his neck. Mirroring the desperation I felt deep inside, he asked when we reached the stairs, “Your bedroom or mine?”

“Let me down here.” I wiggled in his hold.

“Rubbing on my cock isn’t the best way to make me let you go, Jefa.”

I drew a sharp breath. No one ever talked to me like that. I had sex, I went on dates, but I never felt consumed by the idea and the need to be with someone. He took my breath away, his rough words, hands, and personality.

“Dash might be still awake,” I told him.

For a second, I thought he wasn’t going to let me go. His hands gripped my ass like he wanted to leave marks, but then he let my feet touch the floors.

I swallowed and fixed my skirt, taking his hand and ignoring the overwhelming flare of questions that arose every time I glanced at his knuckles. The rest of him looked ok, though. He looked untamed—feral—but not hurt.

Unstable on my wobbly legs, I went up the stairs. The only sound was from my beating heart, hammering inside my chest, weighing my decisions.

I relied too much on Alvaro already. I told myself again and again that we were a bad idea, but still, I led him to my bedroom and closed the door behind me.

In the same second, he was on me. I craned my head up to face him, but his hand was already tipping my chin up.

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