I’m already dripping just thinking about how Santiago’s hips move when he dances—like he’s fucking the air itself. So when he caught me watching him through the studio’s glass door, smirking like he knew exactly what was going through my mind, I didn’t even pretend to look away.
“You’re staring, Camille,” he called, voice smooth like whiskey, his dark eyes glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. He wasn’t wearing a shirt—just those damn loose pants that hugged his thighs just enough to tease.
“I’m admiring the view,” I shot back, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind me. “You know damn well I can’t help it.”
He chuckled, low and rough, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Yeah? Then maybe you should do more than just admire it.”
Before I could respond, he was on me, his mouth crashing into mine, hot and demanding. I moaned into the kiss, my hands tangling in his hair as he backed me against the mirrored wall. The cool glass pressed against my bare shoulders, a contrast to the heat radiating off him.
His fingers slipped under the hem of my leotard, teasing the sensitive skin of my waist before dragging it up, up, until he exposed my tits. I gasped when his mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other. Pleasure shot straight to my clit, wet and throbbing.
“Fuck, Santiago,” I whimpered, arching into him. His free hand slid down, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my tights, finding me already soaked.
“You’re fucking soaked, mija,” he growled, rubbing slow circles over my clit. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I hissed, my hips bucking against his touch. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Instead, he dropped to his knees, yanking my tights down just enough to expose my pussy. The first swipe of his tongue had me crying out, my fingers tangling in his hair. He lapped at me like I was his last meal, his tongue curling around my clit before dipping inside.
“God, your pussy tastes so good,” he murmured against me, sending vibrations through my core.
I came with a shuddering moan, my thighs trembling as he licked me through it. But I wasn’t done with him yet. I pulled him up, shoving his pants down to free his thick cock. The sight of it—hard, leaking, dripping with pre-cum—had my mouth watering.
“Suck it,” he ordered, his voice rough with need.
I didn’t hesitate. I sank to my knees, wrapping my lips around his head, swirling my tongue over the sensitive slit before taking him deep. He groaned, his hips jerking forward, and I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard as I bobbed my head.
“Fuck, Camille, just like that,” he growled, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Take it all.”
I did, deep-throating him until my throat burned, my hand working the base of his cock in time with my mouth. His cock twitched, his hips stuttering, and I knew he was close.
But he pulled away before he could come, hauling me up and spinning me around. “Bend over, mija. I want that tight pussy.”
I obeyed, pressing my hands against the mirrored wall as he lined himself up behind me. The first thrust was brutal, filling me completely, and I cried out, my nails scraping against the glass.
“You feel so fucking good,” he grunted, pulling back before slamming into me again. “So tight. So wet.”
His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he fucked me hard, his balls slapping against my clit with every thrust. I was already close again, my moans echoing in the empty studio.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” I gasped, my voice breaking.
“Not yet,” he ordered, slowing his pace just enough to drive me wild. “I want you to come on my cock when I fill you up.”
His words sent me over the edge, my orgasm crashing through me as I screamed his name. He followed with a groan, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he emptied himself into me.
We collapsed onto the floor, panting, our bodies slick with sweat and each other’s cum. Santiago pulled me against him, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
“Damn, Camille,” he murmured. “We’re never gonna get choreography done like this.”
I laughed, my fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “Who says we have to?”
He smirked, his hand sliding between my thighs again. “Guess we’ll just have to keep practicing, then.”