Snow

20 | cuidado

❝when you're ready, just say you're ready;
when all the baggage just ain't as heavy.
and the party's over, just don't forget me.
we'll change the pace, and we'll just go slow.❞

❘❘

TWO LINES DOWN, AND everything is blurry. I'm shaking, spiraling... smiling... holding a gun...

I can taste stars, and I can see sparks, and I can fucking fly.

"Is it good shit?" Julian graces me with that sonrisa irresistible—lazy and high. Fingertips trace up my bare hip and to my throat, higher, higher, higher, igniting every nerve in my body. All those white-hot pin needles puncture tender muscles, leaving a fresh sea breeze beneath paper skin. "Better than mine?"

I can't find my tongue, or my lips, or my lungs, or my fucking heartbeat.

"You are fucking beautiful, Neva."

I blink, but Julian swims in front of me in too many layers of smoke. A thousand, a million, an infinite veil of intoxicating lies.

I don't feel beautiful, but I don't even need to feel beautiful.

I need to feel like this.

My fingers dance down his neck, seizing warmth in every inch of exposed skin. I reel him into my body, and friction feels delicious, almost unbearably delicious, almost too hot... almost too much, almost too...

"Cuidado, mami," he warns, his voice low and raspy, just like that first fucking night. Just like that first fucking high. I remember thinking Julian was like gravel and smoke, and everything that burns...

...skinned knees, sore throat, tender wrists...

I blink again.

A cool smirk sweeps the embers and ashes from my veins.

Now, Julian is just midnight storms and black ice—still and sensual, like a night unloved and unforgiving. Letal.

My hips roll, and my fingers twitch over a trigger. As I grind on his cock under the sultry, sweet, stifling stare, I still don't feel beautiful. I feel fucking fierce.

Podría matarle.

En ese momento, there's finally something real about Julian. His lips are parting, his eyes are flashing, and his cheeks are flushing. Julian Rivera isn't immortal, or invincible, or forever.

I am.

"Neva." Agudo... y... severo, the warning cuts through the haze. "Cuidado."

"Oh, papi." As I press the gun to the side of his head gently, a smile toys at my lips. "¿Qué paso? Are you scared, Jules?"

Julian grins, and there's a wild threat written in the edges of his lips. Fingers tangle into my hair and yank, and as my back arches, teeth dig into my neck.

"Ah, Julian!" I jerk on top of him, gasping when his cock hits deep, deep, deep. "Julian..."

"You're too fucked up to think straight, mamita."

For a half a hiccuping heartbeat, I think I am too.

Because then I'm upside down, I'm swerving sideways, and every fragmented thought is derailing in different directions.

I sink into sheets and stare up into hazy eyes.

Thoughts don't exist; only we do. In a sensational stroke of pleasure, stripped free of fear and flaw.