Page 129 of My Spanish Love Affair

His answering groan is low and rough, vibrating through both of us.

He lifts his head just slightly, his forehead pressed against mine, his breathing uneven.

“I meant it,” he murmurs. “This weekend is ours. No interruptions. No distractions.”

I nod, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “Just us.”

He hums in agreement, his lips brushing against mine once more before he shifts slightly, his weight settling against me in a way that makes my breath hitch. I can feel the hard, thick length of him pressing into my thigh, and my legs spread further to better accommodate his hips between mine.

“Now,” he says, his voice laced with mischief, “let’s get started, shall we?”

As he kisses me again, everything else ceases to exist. His lips move against mine with slow, deliberate precision, as if he has all the time in the world to unravel me and intends to use it.

His grip on my hip anchors me beneath him, and combinedwith the weight of his body and the heat of his skin… it’s all so intoxicating.

I arch into him instinctively, chasing the warmth he offers. He moans against my mouth, deep and low, and the sound ignites something desperate inside me.

“Santi,” I whisper, his name slipping past my lips in a wanton plea before I can stop it.

I buck my hips against his, searching for the delicious friction only he can bring.

He groans again as he leans himself further forwards, effectively pressing his body further into mine in a way that sends heat rushing through my veins. His large hand wanders from my waist and slides along my thigh, his touch deliberate and controlled, but I can sense the tension thrumming through him, can feel the restraint he’s holding onto by a thread.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he asks.

His voice is rough, his forehead pressing against mine as his breathing grows heavier.

I smirk, letting my fingers wander from his hair under his shirt so that I can trace the defined lines of his back, feeling the way his muscles tighten under my touch.

“Good.”

His answering chuckle is dark, filled with something that makes my stomach flip.

“Oh, listen to you now. You think you’re in charge here?”

Before I can respond, he moves forwards again, his mouth dragging a slow, agonising path down my throat. He nips lightly at the sensitive skin just beneath my jaw and I gasp loudly, my fingers tightening against his back as he lingersthere; teasing, tasting.

His lips move back up to mine, claiming, possessive. He kisses me like he’s trying to mark the moment, to brand it into my skin, and I match his urgency, my own need coiling tighter with every passing second.

We make quick work of shedding our clothes between hot, wet kisses. I roll over as Santi pulls off my shirt, only I completely over-estimate the amount of space that we have in the bed and end up halfway off the mattress. Santi catches me, of course, and I let out a laugh as I grab tightly onto his biceps -

And the pair of us end up down on the floor anyway.

Not that I mind, of course. Not even with the dark oak floor being so cold and hard against my naked back.

No, I can’t bring myself to care about anything other than the feel of Santi’s hot mouth pressing against my own right now.

I sigh as his large palms wander from around my waist to squeeze at the flesh of my ass, and I moan in approval as he digs his blunt nails deep into my cheeks and uses his firm grip to tug me flush against the hard length of his bare cock.

It isn’t always like this with him, and I very much enjoy having sex with Santi when he’s gentle, too; when he caresses me and moves himself softly against me, when he takes his time with me and drags out each thrust of his hips so that it’s all slow and sensual and full of care.

But my god, I love it when he’s rough with me. When he becomes like this: as though a switch has been flipped within him and something completely primal takes over.

It’s almost as if I’m looking right at the man who I see charging around and dominating the field, and the sight of that wild glint in his stunning green eyes sends a thrill through me like nothing else ever has.

Pinned beneath his muscular arms on the floor of the bedroom, Santi aligns my body against his so that he’s positioned perfectly between my slick folds. My eyes flutter to a close at the sensation of the head of his cock brushing against my clit, and he hisses as he grinds his hips against me, the sound low in the quiet of the room as he firmly slides his cock against the outline of my wet heat with ease.

“Santi, please,” I beg.

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