11
Andres peppers my face with soft little kisses as our breathing slows. I place my outstretched hand on his chest and feel the pace of his heartbeat quicken, matching the cadence of my own.
“Andres, I can’t handle the girls. If you want to keep going with whatever we are doing here, it has to be just me.”
“Okay,” he answers automatically.
“I’m serious. I know you aren’t used to being with one person, but I can’t do it any other way.” I take his hand in mine and trace an indistinct pattern on its surface. “This hand, your hands”—I kiss the top of it—“will only be touching me.” I hold his stare intently. “If your hands are going to be touching anyone’s a*s, it will be mine.”
One side of his lips contorts up into an adorable smirk.
“I don’t care if it’s a friend. I don’t share. That’s
