I groan, closing my eyes to her grip as she makes afist and lightly skims the length of me up and down.
“If you keep doing that,” I manage to say againsther mouth, “the show will be over pretty quickly.”
She chuckles and pulls away, her lips skirting mychin, neck, chest. “As long as I give you a good show, Idon’t mind.”
Normally when one of us wakes up in the middle ofthe night feeling amorous, a sleepy, hazy form of sextakes place. One of the best kinds of sex. But if she’swilling and wanting to give me a blow job, I have noinclination to stop her. A true gentleman never stops awoman from doing what she desires.
Her lips slide down from my stomach to the tip ofmy shaft, and she takes me whole and deep into hermouth. I don’t know where Vera learned her skills—andI never want to know—but I’m eternally grateful forthem. With her mouth, tongue, and hand working inunison, I succumb to the sensation, the warmth floodingthrough my limbs. My fingers curl into her hair, grippingtight.
When her other hand goes to my balls, cuppingthem with just enough pressure to drive me wild, I can’thelp but yank at her hair. “Fuck,” I whimper. “Oh fuck,Vera. Fuck yes. More.”
She picks up the pace, and I begin thrusting my hipsup, my cock going as deep into her throat as possible,her lips enveloping me like a velvet glove. I come hardand she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop until there’snothing left in me.
I’m left panting on the bed, the waves bringing medeeper into the mattress, my hands letting go of her hair.I hear her swallow and wipe her lips, like thewonderfully bad girl that she is, and I open my eyes tosee her smiling at me in the dim light. She looks awfullyproud of herself, as she should.
“Your turn,” I tell her, trying to get up, but shepushes her hand into my chest so I’m lying back down.
“You can deal with me tomorrow,” she says, takinga sip of water. “I’m exhausted. Your cock takes a lot ofwork there, big boy.”
I can’t help but grin at her flattering choice ofwords. “You spoil me.”
She smiles like she knows it’s true then kisses mequickly on the lips before rolling over on her side so herback is to me. I scoop my arms around her waist and pullher into me, not wanting to fall asleep without her in myarms.
A few moments pass and our breathing lengthens.Outside, a car putters down the street. Everything else isquiet.
“I love you,” I whisper into her ear.
My voice seems to echo in the room. She’s already asleep.
“So Mateo,” Pedro del Torro says as he spoons sugarinto his black coffee and gives it a methodical stir. “Doyou have any idea of why we might have asked you heretoday?”
I am sitting across from him and the diminutiveAntonio Ramos in one of Madrid’s more prestigiouscafés. Nothing but the best for these two, althoughAntonio has only been the general manager for aboutthree years. As Atletico’s owner, Pedro flaunts his powerand money like it’s no one’s business, more so when theteam is doing well, like they have been.
I give them a shrug and a half-smile. “Because youfind me charming?”
Pedro breaks into an easy laugh, one that I can’t tellis for show or not. He takes a sip of his coffee and nodsappreciatively at it. “The coffee here never lets medown. That’s why I keep coming back for more.”
I stare at him, knowing I have to humor hisindulgences before he gets down to business.
“You, Mateo,” he goes on, “seem to be the same.Reliable. The kind of person that doesn’t let anyonedown.”