Tiago's Heart Read online

  The image plays in my head, fueling feelings and sensations, making my thighs clench, and my back arch. I prop myself on my left side so that he can capture a different angle of me–– especially my hips and my waist.

  “I’d want to see you lose control,” I murmur, my voice softer, quieter. “Feel you shake your hips against my mouth.”

  The place goes quiet.

  I no longer hear the sound of the pencil moving across the paper.

  I open my eyes and meet his stare, his gaze cut out of purest dark-green gemstone. He leans back against his seat, his shirt open across his chest, his drawing pad resting against his thigh, his pencil dangling from his hand.

  He seems to be pondering over something, his silence rendering me nervous.

  I lower my arms, prop myself on my elbow, and push up. My hair falls over my face and shoulders.

  I shake my head a few times to push it away when he sets the sketching pad on the armrest and rises to his feet.

  I tip my gaze up as he closes the gap between us.

  He helps me up to my feet on the sofa but doesn’t free my wrists. My soles sink into the sofa seat cushions when his arms drape around me, his hands sliding to my backside, his fingers trailing up my spine and then back down. He tips his head and closes his mouth around my nipple and then the other one and kisses every inch of my full mounds.

  Every bit of his touch arouses me and pushes me to the edge, making me squirm with an overwhelming hunger for him as he showers me with kisses from my chest down to my sex.

  His teasing, sensual touch ignites every fiber of my body, his hands cupping and stroking and brushing, tenderly worshiping every ounce of me.

  If I’d never loved this man, now would be the moment when I’d fall for him.

  If I’d never known this man, now would be the moment when I’d give myself to him.

  If I’d never thought that I could ever feel this way, now would be the moment when I’d shatter that belief.

  He starts doing to me what I just said I’d do to him, his head going lower as his lips draw a path to the spot where my firing nerve endings crisscross my pulsing clit.

  He drives me wild with a few strokes of his tongue and open mouth kisses, making me climax within seconds. I welcome the relief, but it’s hardly a relief. It feels like a bridge to the next sinful high.

  So I start climbing again.

  Because I’m not scaling down much, to begin with, I’m not feeling that satisfying calmness and peace and soothing bliss.

  I’m even more turned on now that he straightens his back and runs his fingers over his swollen lips.

  The lips that I’d like to kiss.

  “Please come back,” I say as he turns his back to me, picks up his sketch pad and starts drawing again.

  It’s a different sketch.

  “Ugh...”

  I growl in protest as I crash onto the couch again, the pillows piled up beneath my tush.

  “It won’t take long. I promise.”

  Smiling, he slides into his seat, his eyes sweeping my features, his hand moving with maximum precision.

  “I want to get this on paper,” he adds.

  By ‘this’ he means my flushed cheeks and burning eyes, my swollen lips that taste like blood because I bit them in frustration.

  My stern look makes him shift his focus to 'me' me for a moment. His lips part into a lazy smile, his teeth grazing his bottom lip earnestly.

  “I never thought you were that wild,” he says as if delivering a well-thought-out conclusion.

  His words are meant to make me feel good about myself–– I guess, but I don’t feel like smiling.

  “How do you think I was?”

  “Warm, affectionate. Curious.”

  “Perhaps the keyword is curious.”

  “It may be.”

  I shift my position and lie down on my stomach, my head tilted in his direction, my eyes on him.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “You,” I say.

  His eyes move back and forth between his hand and my face.

  “What about me?” he asks, distracted.

  “How were you before me?” I ask in a quiet voice.

  He glances at me.

  “Were you acting the same way?” I insist.

  He lifts his gaze again and studies me before he tips his eyes down and concentrates on his drawing.

  “I felt stranded.”

  A faint smile accompanies his words. The small dimple at the corner of his lips makes me flash a grin too.

  “Are you are no longer stranded because of me... perhaps?”

  “You asked me how I was before––”

  “Never mind.”

  He breathes out a chuckle.

  “Seriously,” I say.

  “Seriously, I was... ready to start a war at all times.”

  “Are you different now?”

  “Only when I’m with you.”

  “You start wars with me too,” I toss at him as I fold my legs beneath me.

  “You usually ask for them.”

  “I do, you say?”

  I grin flirtatiously.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And yet, I always lose.”

  “Most of the time, you do. Yes.”

  “I guess, you’re bound to lose them when you’re in love. It’s a given, isn’t it?”

  My words flow from my lips as I look down.

  By the time I finish speaking, his silence prompts me to lift my eyes to him.

  “Right?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says as he drags his eyes away from me and continues working on his drawing.

  I laugh, looking down again.

  “I love your honesty,” I mutter.

  “I’m only returning your favor.”

  I tilt my gaze to him.

  “That’s it?”

  “You deserve the truth.”

  “What is the truth?” I ask as the effect of wine starts tapering off, and more serious thoughts cross my mind.

  He flips the sketching pad and sets it face down on the coffee table before he leaves his chair.

  Taken by surprise, I push upright, stretching my hands out at the same time.

  “Can you free my hands?”

  He clicks his tongue.

  “Nope.”

  “What is the truth?”

  He slides onto the couch near me, brings his hand to my back hair, and threads his fingers through my hair.

  I lower myself next to him.

  Slowly, he drags his lips across my jawline before he murmurs.

  “The truth is, beautiful girl, we are both drunk on love. And it’s the rarest, most powerful feeling of all.”

  5

  EVE

  His eyes glint with emotion as he cups my face and kisses me tenderly.

  “This is the most important truth of all.”

  “What if something happens to us?” I ask.

  “Nothing will.”

  Softly, he strokes my cheeks, his eyes locked with mine.

  My lips curve into a soft smile.

  “You make it so hard for me...”

  Emotion lines my voice.

  “Hard, baby? Why are you saying that?”

  Slowly, I shake my head, drinking him in.

  “You make me feel good. And I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you if something...” I stop as he opens his mouth to argue with me. “If for some reason, you can no longer be in my life.”

  “Is there a reason for saying that?”

  “No. No reason.”

  A shadow darkens his eyes.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He observes me for a moment.

  “Why do you have to think about it then? Enjoy the present. That’s all that matters, anyway,” he says, brushing my hair away from my face.

  I smile.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Because tomorrow I’m going to
tell you the same thing and the next day the same again, and so on.”

  A few moments of silence slip by.

  “May I see the drawings?” I ask.

  His lips crease into a playful smile.

  “Sure.”

  He pushes off the sofa and brings his sketchbook to me. He sets it on the couch before he unties my hands.

  “You are an excellent model, you know?”

  He winks at me before he fastens his belt and takes a seat next to me. My eyes fall on the first drawing, my mouth opening in surprise.

  “No way.”

  The sketch portrays me lying on my back, my arms up, my wrists tied up. The contour of my body is soft and sensual, my chest voluptuous.

  My hair speaks of a rebellious life that usually lies dormant in its waves, my lips holding the slightest grin.

  My lowered lids partly conceal my eyes, a sensual expression painted on my face.

  “Is this for real?” I murmur, not looking at him, enthralled with what I see. “You made me look that way...”

  I lift my gaze to him, fascinated.

  “You do look that way.”

  “No, no... You know what I mean. Not in your drawing. In real life. I’ve always had layers and veils and walls rising around me. I’ve never expressed anything remotely resembling this.”

  He broadens a cocky smile that makes me weak in my knees. He also nods, acknowledging the truth.

  I clear my throat.

  “Never mind,” I mutter.

  Gesturing dismissively, I shift my eyes back to the drawing.

  “It’s good. I like it very much.”

  I sound stiff all of a sudden, making him laugh.

  “Check out the others.”

  I flip the... pages?

  “I thought there were only two.”

  “Four.”

  The second one captured me sitting, my hair a tumultuous ocean–– my strands tangled, glued to my face, a post-orgasmic expression glowing on my face. Some edge is noticeable in my eyes too, a testament to how much I wanted him that moment.

  The third one portrays a lascivious woman that I have a hard to admit it’s me.

  The way I look at him as I lie on my stomach, propped on my elbows–– an eyebrow lifted, a taunting grin on my lips, my spine arched and my backside slightly raised, is foreign to me.

  I feel tingles running down my legs as I soak in that ensnaring image.

  “How is it?” he asks, tucking his hands into his pockets.

  “It turns me on. How about you?”

  “What do you think?”

  My eyes stay linked with him for a second.

  “You must’ve been really hard.”

  His eyebrows push up, a grin messing with the contour of his lips, starting a fire in his eyes.

  “You think?”

  I bring my hand to his abs and slowly find my way down, sweeping the metallic buckle before trailing his fly.

  “You’re hard now.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He nods, his smile an invitation that I can’t refuse.

  My palm moves down as my eyes stay put, unable to break away from his stare. I feel him up–– his outline, his hard ridge, and thick girth.

  Bold, I cup his balls and slowly stroke him through his pants. His hands leave his pockets as he pushes to his feet, removes the drawing pad from my hand and drops it on the coffee table.

  The last drawing catches my eye–– a dark-haired woman propped on her side stares at me, her eyes glinting with a secret smile as if she knows what I’m about to do right now.

  He pivots to me while I slide down off the couch until my knees meet the floor. My hands root to his groin, my gaze linked to his eyes.

  I wedge my knees between his feet while my hands move up and down his thighs. There is something insanely pleasurable in being naked, and on my knees, in front of him. Something raw and primal and arousing in running my hands on his pants, and feeling the smooth edge of his shoes against my skin, having his bulge in front of my mouth.

  Slowly, I drag my gaze up his bare abs and pumped pecs.

  His lips arch into a soft smile, his fascinating eyes reading my expression.

  With a deft motion, he slides his zipper down and pulls his fly open. Encased in smooth skin, his erection stirs and juts in the air, our eyes meeting above his veiny hardness.

  I cuff the root of his cock and cup his balls, his hands moving away from his groin.

  His shoulders pull back while his hips tilt forward, his legs spreading open–– a sexy, teasing stance that makes my thighs clench, trapping in between my wetness.

  “What are you doing?”

  His voice spills all over me.

  He ticks his chin slightly, pointing to my legs.

  I tear my hand away from his crotch, my grip still firmly locked on his shaft as I run my fingers through my folds.

  “You make me wet,” I mutter, flicking my fingers up as if I want to show him proof before I slide my hand back to his sex.

  He grabs my wrist and lifts my hand, tilting his head down at the same time while I push high on my knees so that his lips connect with my fingers.

  Slowly, he licks them while I run my fist up and down on him, my eyes widening and my lips spreading as I watch his teasing moves with unquenched hunger.

  The more I stare at him, the harder I grip him.

  My mouth fills with water as I wrap my lips around his crown and suck on it. He tears my fingers away from his lips and places my hand on his groin.

  “You taste good...” he says, watching me fill my mouth with him.

  Eyes locked with his, I move my tongue around his chiseled crown before I press it flatly against his hardness, and drag it up a trail that starts at his root and ends at his tip. I swirl it around his girth and close my lips around his crown, swallowing as much as I can.

  His veins plump beneath my touch.

  A fiery grin lines his lips as he lifts my hair with both hands, gathers it in one fist, holds it up, and watches me sucking his cock. The knowing smile embroidered in his gaze tells me that he likes to see me famished.

  I stroke him with my lips and tongue, getting him iron hard.

  “Easy...” he purrs, smirking, as I take more than I can swallow and almost choke on him.

  I clamp my mouth on him, a grunt vibrating in his chest.

  “Fuck...” he breathes out as my quick, impatient strokes signal that I’m getting more aroused, and closer.

  His grip tightens on my hair as I roll my lips down, jamming him into the back of my throat.

  My hands move in synch with my mouth, rubbing and stroking and cupping, making a twisting motion as they go, leaving no inch of his length uncovered, no part of his sex untouched.

  He watches me with heavy eyes as I fill my mouth with him over and over again, my instinct dictating my moves.

  He must be sensing the craze storming through me, the voraciousness gnawing at me. His teasing has fueled my imagination and made me share my fantasy with him while he decided to delay gratification, and now, I can’t get enough of him.

  The closer I get, the more intense my strokes become.

  A drop of pre-cum bursts in my mouth as he nears the climax as well.

  I suck on him for a few more moments, my grip iron-hard before he drags me up and spins me around, my back to him.

  It takes me a split second to clutch the back of the sofa and lean forward slightly while he pulls my hips against his groin, and enters me. He thrusts into a pool of wetness, sliding all the way, burying himself in my deepest depths–– hard and thick and stretching my walls, the friction between us turning what’s been brewing between us for the past few hours into a sinful blaze.

  “Tiago...”

  I moan as I feel the edge and the relief so close and yet I want to prolong this moment, although it feels impossible.

  He moves, fueling my tension, heightening that need in me that craves his hard fast thrusts, his plunging into me.

>   And yet, we still fight it because we both want much more of this. Tensed up, and loaded with imploding sexual tension, we are ready to experience the satiating high and blissful relief, yet we push things further while walking a thin line, basking into an ocean of lust and heat.

  His fingers dig deeper into my hips as he guides my body against his frame and thrusts harder into me, his long sliding motions filling me up, his skin slamming against my skin, his thick hardness ramming into me.

  His hips roll at a different pace as he changes the way he enters me, stirring his cock inside me.

  He does one last thing as I lift my gaze to one of the full-length mirrors and get a glimpse of us.

  With one swift motion, he retrieves his phone from his back pocket and records a video of us.

  The sight of him–– his arms lifted and his chest disrobed as his hips keep rocking make me clench faster around him.

  “I think we’re done,” he says, handing me his phone and letting me watch him entering me, his hard ridge sliding between my wet walls.

  I shoot him one last glance in the mirror and make a note of his flushed face and his hazy eyes before I tip my gaze down and hold on tight, letting the couch absorb some of the force that he bestows on me as he plunges into me.

  The moments link together in a crazy dance of power, lust, and pleasure, my eyes and mind absorbing the image as my body gets the brunt of his unleashed hunger.

  A storm sweeps through him and me as he rams into me fast and hard, satiating the most basic need known to man.

  For both of us.

  EVE

  I dream about him and the Portuguese vineyards when a pang of awareness sidles up to me, prompting me to crack an eye open.

  My body hurts, and my muscles feel sore, yet my sex is hot and wet, the soft pulse between my legs making me press my thighs together in silent yearning. Smoothly, I roll to my left side and push my right knee up across the sheet, parting my legs.

  His hand moves with me, migrating from my flank to the space between my legs before softly cuffing my left thigh.

  Heart pounding, I listen to his steady breaths. Concluding that he’s still asleep, I do my best not to close my legs and trap his hand between my thighs.

  Clumsily, I fumble for my phone and check the time. Damn it, it’s way too early. I’ve barely had any sleep, and yet, I should get up and go home. I need to change before I go to work.