MATEO.

I.

An Old Fashioned and a Cosmopolitan. The faint smell of cigarettes cutting through the chill of the night. Whispers begging to be heard. And under the table his hand on my lap, lingering there for not quite long enough. Tantalizing.

Was I being too cold? Had he misread my gaze as one of discomfort?

Little does he know...

"What are you thinking about?" he asked in that deep, husky voice of his. Heavily tinged with a Spanish accent. "You've had your eyes on me for quite a while."

He knew exactly what he was doing. His honey eyes traveled from mine to my lips, then to my neck, and further below...

His lips crashed down on mine before I could meet his question with an answer. The impact was destabilizing. My body pinned to his by his hands clawing my waist. The sweet, dull pain as his lips demanded more from me.

"Let's leave," I mumbled between kisses. Against my lips, he smiled.

"La cuenta, por favor," he called out to a server, who returned seconds later with a reader. With a swift tap of his card, the bill was paid for.

"I'll hail a taxi," I offered as he helped me put my jacket on.

"Absolutely not."

"Let me."

"No."

I had no choice but to submit.

♠       ♠       ♠

He was staying at the W, a ten-minute blur of streetlights away from the bar. His suite boasted a view of Barceloneta on one side and the Mediterranean on the other. Warmly lit and scented with smoked cinnamon and roses. A trace of tobacco.

Cold fingers moved my hair away from the back of my neck, followed by colder lips. I turned around to meet them with mine. But just like his hand on my lap they left too soon, the now gone warmth of his breath like a ghost.

Aggravating.

"What are you doing?"

A scoff instead of a response. I felt his hand snake behind me, resting on the clasp of my dress.

I wanted to push him away as much as I wanted him to strip me of my clothing.

"That look again," he whispered against my ear. "I wonder what it means..."

It was my turn to scoff. "If you keep doing this, you won't find out."

His eyes bore into mine. "Darling, I already know."

Our lips collided in a suffocating kiss as he pinned me against the wall. I never thought I would find pleasure in the struggle to breathe. His fingers carved a path from the side of my waist to between my legs. Inching closer and closer to my womanhood. 

My mind was spinning. I could hardly make out what he was doing to me but I knew one thing.

I was drowning in him and he was soaked with me.

"And the best part is..." he said against my collarbone. "...we're just getting started."

"Stop talking."

I took his face by my hand and maneuvered it to where his fingers were. The feeling of his cold tongue against my skin coaxed a moan I didn't know I was suppressing.

"Oh baby–"

"Stop talking."

I scowled as I forced him deeper into me. "Don't tell me what to do."

As if to retaliate, he pulled back and looked up at me, his dark eyes pinning me down from below. A malicious smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. Clearly enjoying the sight of me in frustration.

"I see you like to run things," he began. "But remember, that doesn't work with me."

With one motion I was thrown over his shoulders and onto the king-sized bed in the center of the room. Not a moment later, my dress and his shirt were carelessly scattered over the side of the bed like paint thrown on a blank canvas. My wrists pinned together with one hand while his other unfastened his belt.

"How are you so sure I like getting tied up?"

"I'll make sure of it," he muttered as he traced kisses from my chin to my breasts. He stopped to push my hands, now shackled together with his belt, over my head. "Don't think. Just feel."

And I did.

I felt every breath. Every kiss. Every bite.

Every inch of him.