Page 37 of Hate That Blooms
I meant what I said, though. You’re mine.
Did you end up going home?
You can avoid the truth with other questions all you want. You know you’re mine, Gabriela.
Yeah. I’m home.
He sends me a picture of him lying on what I assume is his bed. He’s shirtless, and I can’t tell if he has bottoms on. I zoom in on the photo, taking in every detail of him. The flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the way his curly hair looks when it’s still a little damp. The perfect fullness of his lips, and I immediately think back to how they felt on my body.
Do I get a picture too?
I roll my eyes and snap a quick picture, angled down of me in my tank top and underwear. My hair’s still wet from my shower, but it’s already waving at the roots. I attached it and hit send.
Already washed me away. Kinda pisses me off, but you being braless and in your panties helps.
Fuck, I’m hard again already. Want me to come over and paint those pretty tits again? Did you end up getting off?
Do I tell him I came in the shower, thinking about his mouth and how his tongue felt? How I wanted it to be him making me come?
No, definitely no.
You did, didn’t you? Tell me, did you get off in the car before you drove home? Or did you wait until you got home?
I’m typing out my response when a notification at the top of the screen shows that he’s video calling me. I bite my lip and consider not answering it. Looking over at the clock, it’s nearing two in the morning, and I need to get some sleep before work tomorrow.
But I don’t have the strength to ignore him.
My finger hovers over the green button, letting out a sigh, and pressing down.
Joaquín’s face and upper body appear on the screen, and I let out a groan as I see his blankets covering his lap. He said he was hard, and I want to see him so badly.
“Tell me how you got off.”
“Why do you care now? You didn’t seem interested in me getting off when you were covering me in your cum, then leaving me there by myself. Maybe I found someone to finish what you started.” The shift in his demeanor is exactly what I was expecting. Anger flares across his face.
“You better be fucking lying. I told you nobody but me touches you.” I watch as he angrily throws the covers off and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?” I let out an exasperated sigh as he mumbles to himself in Spanish.
“Getting dressed, because I apparently need to go kill someone for touching you.” He sets his phone down, allowing me to watch him get dressed. Joaquín was naked under his covers, his cock still semi-hard as he pulled up a pair of black joggers. He snatches a grey shirt from the floor and pulls it over his sculpted, tattooed chest and stomach. My mouth dries as I sit and watch him, wondering what it would feel like to have him on top of me, inside of me.
“You gonna tell me who, or do I need to come and fuck it out of you?” Snatching the phone from where he propped it up, he licks his lower lip and bites it a little.
My brain: option two... pick option two.
“So you need my address, then.” I sass back at him. “Or are you bluffing?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Gabriela.” He lets out a groan, rolling his eyes.
“Go to bed, Joaquín. You know I didn’t let anyone touch me. I left without washing you off, just like you told me. Your cum stayed on my body until I got home and showered. Then I used my showerhead to make myself come to the thought of you eating me out.You.No one else. There, happy? Good night, asshole.” I hit the end call and tossed my phone next to me.
I get up and turn off all the lights and crawl under the covers, wishing that he was under the covers with me. That will never happen, though. Before I drift off to sleep my phone pings. I groan as I grab it, pulling up the text message.
Goodnight, Hermosa.
Chapter23
Joaquín
