Delgano: A Dark Contemporary Interracial Romance

“Is this weird?”

“No, no.” He traced her uncovered jawline up to her cheekbone. “I like that I can touch you but not see you. I don’t believe, for a second, that I would be disappointed, but there’s something kind of romantic about the mystery of it.”

She faked a gasp. “Romantic?”

“Again, just between us.”

“Again, email blast.”

She leaned into his touch, and he pictured her smiling, her eyes closed. Whenever she smiled, it wrenched one out of him, so the fact that one was slowly spreading across his face meant it was possible his imagination wasn’t far off.

Her hand covered his.

Then, she joined their fingers.

“Come here.” She pulled him along, warning him when to step around or over an object until the side of her bed hit his leg. “Now, sit.”

He took a seat on the edge.

She climbed onto the mattress and kneeled beside him. He’d stripped down to his boxer briefs and had planned to be up and dressed before she came to the front room. So, virtually everywhere she touched him, he felt her hands on his skin.

She smoothed her palms along his shoulders, and he traced her arms, where he felt the sleeves of either a T-shirt or nightgown. Inadvertently, they’d started taking turns, so he waited while she squeezed his biceps and caressed his forearms. Then, he followed the curve of her waist, confirming that she was wearing a nightgown long enough to pool where her knees pressed into the mattress.

She thrust her fingers into his hair.

Frizz along her hairline tickled his palm, her hair strands wound into soft twists that ended in a ponytail. With each pass of his hand, a light fragrance, buttery and roselike, wafted around them.

“Can I keep going?” she asked. “Just a touch.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Her hands shook as she slid them down his stomach, dipping her fingers into the ridged outline of his ab muscles. Then she continued, and when her fingertips met his shaft, she gasped when it twitched in response. Thankfully, it was behaving. If she reacted that way from a slight twitch, she wouldn’t be able to handle how much larger it could get.

“Okay.” Sighing, she removed her hand. “Now, you.”

“You have more parts to play with, querida. If you leave me to choose, we will be here all night.”

She moved his hand to her inner thigh.

“As much as I’d love to,” he snuck a whiff of either her shampoo or soap, “let’s start with something you might better be able to handle.”

His hand disappeared under the gown.

The higher he went, the louder her breathing became, and the tighter she gripped his forearms. They were supposed to be in bed, but it still caught him off guard when, instead of a bra, he felt warm, soft, weighted flesh.

“You’ve never even been touched like this, querida?” he asked, massaging her breast.

She didn’t respond.

“Did you nod or shake your head?”

“Oh, I forgot. I shook my head.”

“What about like this?” He stroked her nipple, and she all but folded in half.

“No, not like that either.”

“What about like,” he kissed the bud through the fabric, “that?”