Say Yes (Something More) Read Online Free PDF Page B

his sweatshirt, revealing beautifully toned abs, a thick chest, and bulging biceps. The boy is beautiful, my Spanish Adonis. Too bad I’m too tired to play tonight. I could use the release.
    Rather than follow Andrés into the bedroom, I sink my weary bones onto the couch and groan into my hands. He comes and sits beside me, gently caressing my thigh. His heady musk envelops me like a cloud. I love the way he smells, like starched denim and spice, with the slight undertone of heat from his virile, masculine body.
    I groan and lie back as he grabs both my ankles and pulls my legs up on the sofa. He rolls up my pants and rubs my calves.
    He usually massages me every day when I get home from work. As an air brush artist, I spend a lot of time squatting on the job. A lot of time. Since I started working for Andrés’s uncle’s paint and body shop, I’ve developed a strong set of arm and calf muscles.
    You’d think I’d be used to the strain by now, but I need a massage and a hot bath about every night. When I first started working at the shop, I thought I’d love working there forever. Now, I’m not so sure. The work is so much harder than I’d expected, and though I’m handling it now, I don’t think I can work such a labor-intensive job forever. It’s something Andrés and I have discussed more than once, so when the time comes for me to quit, I know he’ll understand.
    Andrés is great at knowing all my sore spots, and my sensitive spots, too. Even luckier, the bathroom in our apartment has a garden tub, big enough for two people.
    No matter how many times we make love in the tub, it never gets old. He finds new ways to excite me, to make my core swell and throb with need. As he works his way toward my aching feet, I’m thinking more and more I’d like to take a hot bath right now. 
    When his skilled and teasing fingers find their way across my inner thighs and beneath the drawstring on my workout pants, I eagerly spread my legs. Okay, maybe I’m not too tired for sex.  
    He wastes no time pulling off my pants and underwear. My eyelids flutter at the devilish gleam in his dark eyes as he licks his fingers. I gasp as he reaches for me, stroking my clit with his wet fingertips. I toss my head back and moan toward the ceiling.
    His touch is feather soft, so tantalizing, and so teasing. He traces the outer folds, circling and circling, until I’m swollen, wet, and aching with need.
    He leans over and ever so gently suckles my clit before stroking back and forth with his tongue.
    I reach for him, entwining my fingers in his thick hair, groaning and swearing as I try to push him against me. I need this release so badly, and I swear again as he refuses to apply more pressure.
    He pulls away and flashes a devastatingly sexy, slanted smile. “Do you want me to run your bath water, mija?”
    “No,” I growl, “I want you to fuck me.”
    Andrés has the nerve to laugh as he jumps off the sofa. I get a glimpse of the bulge beneath his tight denim before he pulls me toward him and plants a kiss on my mouth.
    “I don’t want to fuck you like this,” he growls against me. “I want to lather up that sweet body with soap, and then you’re going to ride me while I squeeze those pretty tits.”
     He stifles my gasp with another kiss, and then he’s stroking my clit again, before tunneling into me with his finger. My legs go weak and I fall limp against him.
    He pulls his finger out of me, sweeps me into an embrace and carries me to the bathroom.
    I came home sore and tired, but now all I am is horny. Oh, so very horny. 
     
    * * *
     
    I’m starting to develop an obsession with sangria. Andrés makes the most delicious concoction with chocolate wine, fresh pineapple, strawberries, and punch.
    After days like these, when I’ve dealt with more than my limit of stress, Andrés helps me unwind with mind-blowing sex. Tonight is no exception. He’s standing beside the tub with a lighter in one hand, and a glass of