3. Beatriz
Beatriz
Alejandro's unexpected apology catches me off guard, keeping me silent as I blink back at him. I'm not entirely sure of what he's apologizing for. Maybe for the way he left me? Maybe for never speaking to me again afterwards? Hell, maybe he's apologizing for ever even becoming my friend.
Whatever it's for, I can't help but respond with a small nod.
Alejandro takes my hand between us, squeezing it tight as he holds my gaze. “I've got you now, Bee. Sleep.”
His words are soothing, but my mind is bouncing with thoughts of his apology, at the fact that I'm lying in his bed with only his shirt on. The inebriated side of me wants to jump on him and ride his cock into the night, but the sober part of myself knows how terrible of an idea that is.
We stare at one another for what feels like twenty minutes in utter silence, only holding each other’s hand between us. It's almost as if we're trying to memorize each other's faces once more, noting the subtle changes of the years apart.
He has a new scar over his lip, faint but visible enough for me to notice in the dim light.
“Bee?” I snap my eyes back to his and see something in them I wish I wouldn't have. The same hunger that’s coursing through me right now. I hum in response, worried my voice will give me away, quaking with need. “How sober are you now?”
I know what he's really asking— are you sober enough to give me consent?
“Sober enough to remember all this in the morning,” I confess, only feeling the light hum of the alcohol still buzzing in my body.
“Good,” he whispers, scooting closer to me until his chest is flush against mine. His arm drags over my hips, pulling my pelvis into him, allowing me to feel his hardening shaft. “Will you let me take care of you tonight? Let me make you forget about that asshole, Bee, please.”
Jesus.
“Is that a good idea?” I question, biting my lip in response, which is the biggest dead giveaway.
A smirk stretches across his lips the second he catches it. Of course he does—Alejandro always knew that look, the one that meant I was halfway to giving in. Eight years apart, and he still remembers my tells.
“Let me take care of you, Killer.” His hand slides between my thighs, cupping my already soaked pussy through the thin fabric of my panties. His fingers press, probe, like he’s reminding me exactly how well he knows this body. “Tell me you need this, Bee.”
The rough edge in his voice sends a shiver up my spine. God help me, I’m already lost to the heat of his touch. “I need this,” I whisper, the sound raspier than I expect, heavy with lust and the ache that’s been sitting inside me for years.
His eyes catch the sliver of moonlight bleeding through the blinds, dark blue but sparking with something wild and volatile.
The corner of his mouth tilts up, arrogant but sure, like he knows exactly what he’s about to do to me.
He leans in close, breath hot against my neck.
“I want to make you feel good again. To remind you who the fuck you are. My Killer Bee.”
He reaches under my waistband, slowly inching his way between my thighs. His thumb circles my clit lazily, teasing, while his middle finger slips down to trace my folds. He groans under his breath, and the sound lights me up.
“Are you sure you won’t regret this tomorrow?” I manage, clutching at his shoulder. The words feel thin even as I say them—I already know I’ll regret it, but I can’t stop.
His teeth scrape my jaw when he smirks. “Don’t worry about tomorrow.
All I care about is right now. Getting you off.
Being inside you.” His thumb presses harder, dragging a gasp from me, and his finger pushes in, slow but steady, like he’s savoring the first taste.
“Shit, Bee. You’re already so wet for me. ”
My chest heaves, my pulse hammering. “Alejandro—”
He cuts me off with his mouth, a rough kiss that steals my breath. His tongue pushes past my lips like he’s claiming me all over again, dragging me right back to that night when I gave myself to him for the first time.
The reminder burns, sharp and raw, but his touch makes it impossible to hold onto anger. My hands fist in his shirt, tugging at the fabric, desperate to feel more of him.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my lips, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. His chest heaves, his pupils blown wide. “I need more.”
His fingers skim under the hem of my shirt, rough palms sliding up my ribs.
He peels it over my head slowly, deliberately, like he’s savoring every new inch of skin he uncovers.
My bra follows, straps falling down my arms one by one before he tosses it aside, his gaze locking on my breasts like he’s starving.
“God, Bee…” His voice cracks into a groan. He cups me, thumbs brushing over my nipples before bending to take one into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make my back arch.
Heat pools low in my stomach, my panties already ruined. He trails kisses back up my chest, reclaiming my mouth with another searing kiss before his hands move lower, tugging at the waistband of my panties.
He doesn’t rush—not this time. He drags them down my hips, knuckles grazing my thighs, making me shiver.
“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.” His voice is ragged, but his hands are steady.
I can’t. I don't want this to stop.
"Keep going."
Alejandro’s jaw tightens. “Fuck, Bee.” His gaze rakes over me like he’s memorizing every inch. He palms himself through his jeans, groaning low before yanking his shirt off in one quick motion. His chest is lean, harder than it used to be, muscles cut from years of pushing himself.
Then he’s on me again, mouth hungry, hands rough as they roam my bare skin. My own fingers work clumsily at the button of his jeans, needing to feel him just as much.
He curses when I finally push them down, his cock springing free. Thick, heavy, perfect—exactly as I remembered, only more. My breath catches, my body remembering too quickly. He leans over me, propping himself on his elbows between my thighs.
“Shit,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” His smirk is dark, possessive, as he strokes himself once. “You ready for me?” His voice is a low growl, the tip of him rubbing against my slick entrance.
“Yes.” The word rips out of me, desperate.
His grip on my hip tightens before he pushes forward, sliding inside inch by slow inch until he’s buried deep. My nails dig into his arms as I moan. The stretch is perfect, unbearable, everything.
“Bee…” He groans, the sound torn from somewhere deep, forehead pressed to mine. “That’s it. Take me.”
My body clenches around him like I never let him go, like these eight years apart never happened. I’ve missed this. Missed him.
He starts to move, slow at first, then harder, faster, like he’s making up for every lost day.
“You feel so good,” he grits out between thrusts. “Like this pussy was made for me. Eight years, and you’re still mine.”
His dirty mouth makes me tremble, something I would never expect from him, but the part that scares me most is how right it feels. His body pressing me down, his cock driving me higher with every stroke—it feels like it was always meant to be.
My hips rise to meet his, chasing the friction, chasing the release I swore I wouldn’t give him again. But he’s everywhere—mouth on mine, hands gripping, voice rasping filth in my ear.
“That’s it, hermosa,” he pants, calling me beautiful in a way that melts me further. “Take my cock like a good girl. Take all of me.”
I moan against his shoulder, my body begging and betraying me. His lips find my breast, sucking my nipple into his mouth. The hot pull of his tongue has my back arching off the bed.
“Fuck, Alejandro…” My hips grind frantically, chasing the orgasm building inside me. “I’m close.”
"That's it, hermosa... let go for me," he encourages hoarsely, one hand reaching between us to rub rapid circles over my clit.
His other hand grips my thigh tightly, pulling me up to meet each of his deep, grinding strokes. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, along with my increasing moans.
"Come on my cock," he growls as he slams into me, pushing my orgasm through me. I'm lost in the waves of my pleasure when he gives one hard, final thrust inside me before stilling. His own orgasm crashes through him a moment later, hot jets of cum filling me as he spills himself deep into my pussy.
He collapses over me, his chest heaving as we try to catch our breath. His softening cock slips out of me with a wet sound, and he rolls onto his side next to me, pulling me close in his muscular arms.
For a second, everything is silent except for our gasps. His weight is heavy, grounding, almost comforting. But comfort is dangerous.
"That was... fuck," he mutters, nuzzling my neck affectionately, tightening my chest with a new need for him. This is bad . "I've missed you so much."
Oh. This is really bad.
His fingers trace idle patterns on my skin as we lie there in the afterglow, basking in the remnants of our passion. Only my mind is torturing me with a million questions of what now? I've just let the man who could crumble me fuck me, remember my body, and leave his mark.
I'm pretty sure Alejandro just fucked the alcohol out of me, feeling a thousand times more sober than before. Sensing my sobering thoughts and the uncertainty in the air, he tilts my chin up so our eyes meet and says softly, "Hey, you okay?"
I nod my head, pretending everything is just fine when really I'm more panicked and confused than ever before.
His thumb strokes my cheek gently as he looks into my eyes, the vulnerability there too obvious for him not to notice.
"We can talk in the morning... when you're feeling more clear-headed," he promises quietly. "For now, just rest here with me."