He doesn't hesitate for even a second, like he's been waiting for me to give him that unspoken yes. His lips press harder into my skin, warm and insistent, and then I feel the slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue over the spot he's claimed. The sensation is molten, a heated trail that shoots straight down my spine and curls low in my stomach, making my breath hitch sharply in my throat.
Mateo makes a low, satisfied sound, almost a hum, as if he's drinking in my reaction. His hand moves from the wall to my waist, fingers sliding with purpose until they settle firmly against me. He grips just enough to let me know he could pull me closer if he wanted to—which, judging by the way his thumb is pressing into my side, he very much does.
