Chapter 7 The Lagoon Edge #4
He doesn't hesitate. He pulls out of me and shuffles down on the bed to brace himself between my thighs. I keep toying with myself until he grabs my wrist, forcing my hand away and pinning it to the bed.
"My turn." He lunges for me, sucking my clit between his lips and devouring me with his tongue, so rough that my hips thrash.
He throws his other arm across my waist, pinning me down while he ravages me with his mouth.
The sensation is so intense and so furious that it almost hurts.
I'm howling as my body hurtles toward the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced.
I realize distantly, making animal noises as Santi feasts on me.
Then he stops.
My body is coiled tight on the edge, thrumming with the tension of my pending climax. But it doesn't happen.
"Santi..." I gasp, my clit fluttering.
He blows cool air over me, and I shudder, straining my hips up toward his face, but he holds me down.
"I wonder how many times I could get you close like this," he says wickedly. "And then stop."
I whimper.
Then his fingers are at my entrance, dipping in and out gently, avoiding my needy clit. "I could play here a while," he says, curling his fingers and then withdrawing them again. His fingers are moving in and out, in and out. "Like this?" he asks innocently.
"Yes," I groan. "And your tongue... please... use your tongue again... go hard again..."
When his lips meet my skin, I cry out. He fucks me with his mouth and his fingers until I detonate, imploding beneath his licks and caresses in wave after wave of sheer bliss.
Just when I think he can't squeeze out another drop from me, he crawls up my body and drives his cock inside me, hard and deep and unexpected.
Then he moves like lightning, fucking me at a pace I didn't think was humanly possible.
I'm coming again within moments, my core pulsating and clenching around him as he drives my hips into the bed like he's trying to break it.
I grip onto him, my hands clawing his back, my thighs clenching against his hips.
"Again..." he grits out, still hammering into me with that delicious pace.
Impossibly, I feel another orgasm building deep within me. Nothing else exists in this moment. There is only him. Only his hot, writhing body. Only his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes my eyes roll back, and my toes curl.
"I'm going to come with you this time," he mutters in my ear, teeth grazing.
"Show me..." I breathe. "Let me watch you come."
He growls and all but drags me to the edge of the bed, still inside me, so he can stand and lean over me as we fuck.
"Tell me when you come," he says, eyes blazing down at me.
It doesn't take long. His pace. His thickness. The way he's looking at me. It all sends me dizzyingly over the edge. "C—coming," I say as I tip over the edge again.
"Me... too..." He pulls out of me at the very last moment and presses his spurting cock against my clit. Hot fluid squirts out of him, coating me, heightening the aftershocks of my own orgasm. He strokes every last drop out of himself, rubbing himself against me and giving me a good show.
When he's spent, he leans over me and claims my lips in a searing kiss. He cups my chin and meets my gaze, looking irreverent. "You are a fucking goddess, Nora Valdez."
If I weren't so drained and satiated, I think I would have blushed.
***
It's well past midnight when the knock jolts us out of a doze. We go instantly still. His hand tightens on my bare hip.
Another knock, more urgent.
"Santi." Ryan's voice, muffled through the door, pitched low enough not to carry to the neighboring caba?as. "I know it's late. I need five minutes."
Santi is across the room, pulling on a shirt before I've fully processed that the voice belongs to Ryan.
"This better be good," he says, opening the door a careful few inches.
It is not good. I can tell from the look on Ryan's face. "Can we come in?" Erica is with him.
Santi looks back at me in the bed, the sheet pulled up to cover my nakedness. "Not a good time."
"If it helps, I can pretend I didn't see Nora in there. Or hear her screaming your name through the thin walls earlier," Erica chimes in gleefully.
Santi rolls his eyes at me.
"Let them in," I say grudgingly, clutching the sheet.
"I did some reconnaissance after dinner," Ryan says, stepping inside, eyes carefully fixed somewhere over Santi's shoulder, scrupulously avoiding the obvious state of the room, the bed, the two of us.
"I cross-referenced Mateo's described route with satellite topography and the GPS coordinates from his earlier photographs. I found the Cumbre Verde camp."
"Ryan—"
"I have a location fix." He holds up his phone, screen glowing in the dim room, and turns it so we can both see. "And I have this."
The photograph is dark, grainy, taken at a distance with what's clearly a zoomed-in, stabilized phone camera—a cluster of tents, a supply post driven into churned mud, equipment hanging from a crossbar lashed between two trees.
And on the post, unmistakable even in poor light, hanging like something left there on purpose for anyone clever enough to find it: Mateo's jacket.