Chapter 17 - Nico
My tongue finds her clit at exactly six in the morning.
I know because my body clock is military precise. Eight years of deployment, four years since, and I still wake at dawn ready for violence. Except now I'm using that precision to circle Marisol Delgado's swollen clit with my tongue, feeling her body respond even in sleep.
She tastes like last night. Like us, my cum inside her, like the desperate claiming that should have emptied me but only made me want more.
My cock is already rock hard against the mattress, has been since I woke twenty minutes ago with her pressed against me, one leg thrown over mine, her pussy wet against my thigh.
Twenty minutes of lying still, breathing in her scent, fighting the urge to wake her. Twenty minutes of watching pink dawn light paint her skin gold, of counting her breaths, of realizing I've never actually slept next to someone until morning. Always left before dawn. Always maintained distance.
She asked me to stay, and I'm learning that when Marisol asks, I give her everything.
She shifts slightly, a soft moan escaping as I drag my tongue through her folds, gathering her wetness. Still mostly asleep but responding. Her thighs fall open wider. The movement makes my cock throb, another bead of precum leaking onto her champagne silk sheets.
I should let her sleep. She's exhausted from last night, when I lost every shred of control and fucked her like I was trying to crawl inside her skin. Her pussy is probably sore from how many times I made her come, how hard I claimed her.
Instead, I shift lower in the bed, my arms pillowing her thighs apart.
I slide two fingers inside her, coaxing her gently open.
She’s so fucking wet already, the pulse of it almost immediate, her body recognizing me with a kind of bone-deep trust that should scare the shit out of me.
My mouth works her slowly, tongue tracing the shape of her clit, circling, then flicking with just enough purpose that her hips rise, seeking friction.
“Mmm.” She’s still half-asleep, voice a soft, low rumble. Her hand comes up, fingers curling into my hair, with small, involuntary tugs when my tongue does something right. “What’re you…?”
I answer by sliding my fingers deeper, curling them in just the way I know she likes. I can feel her clench around me, the lazy pulse of her arousal quickening, mounting by the second. She tastes like surrender—like a person who’s finally let herself stop running for just one goddamn hour.
I suck her clit, gently at first, then harder. She gasps awake, hips bucking into my mouth.
“Oh fuck… Nico?”
“Good morning,” I say, lips moving against her.
I lift my eyes just enough to catch the look on her face as the words vibrate into her skin—confusion at first, the slow spark of pleasure, then a kind of wonder, like she’s never been woken up this way before.
I show her exactly how good the morning can be by rolling her clit between my lips while my fingers rhythmically fuck her, slow and even. She makes a strangled little noise, then laughs as the sensation blooms through her.
“Jesus. What time is it?” she manages, voice hoarse.
“Six AM.”
I don’t stop working as I answer. The discipline it takes to keep my tongue steady, my control absolute, is a new kind of challenge. I’m used to breaking myself against the world, not holding myself to a slow burn for someone else’s pleasure.
She props herself up on her elbows, blinking sleep out of her eyes. Her hair is a halo of tangles and gold against the pillow. Her mouth is swollen from sleep and last night’s kisses, and there’s a red crescent where I bit her jawline hours ago. She’s never looked more real than she does right now.
“Since when do you skip your pull-ups?” she asks, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“I’m not skipping.” I pause only long enough to answer, then go right back to her. “Just delaying. Four hundred can wait an hour.”
The laugh she lets out is half-giggle, half-moan.
It reverberates through the bed, makes my cock ache with the need to be inside her.
All the rules I’ve lived by—discipline, ritual, the belief that pleasure comes after pain or not at all—collapse under the weight of wanting her.
I’d give up every last habit for a morning like this.
I watch her face as she gives herself over to it, the way her eyelids flutter shut at the crest of sensation, the way she tilts her hips to chase my tongue, the way she says my name in a voice that means she trusts me.
I’ve seen her like this only a handful of times, and each time has made me want to destroy the world for the privilege of seeing it again.
“You’re being so gentle,” she gasps, as if the softness itself is foreign.
Maybe it is, for both of us. She’s used to chaos: men who take what they want and leave, partners who treat her like a proving ground for their own failures. I’m used to war, to violence, to the idea that every good thing comes with a cost—usually in blood, often my own.
But with her, I could do this forever. Just slow, careful work, watching her unravel because I said so. Because she asked me to stay, and I do what she asks now. I give her everything.
She grins, lazy and wide, the kind of smile that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’re not supposed to be this good at that. It’s unfair.”
“Don’t complain,” I say, nipping her clit. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”
She gasps, and I remind myself to be gentle. I don’t want to think. I want to freeze this morning and live in it until my body can’t take it anymore.
But that’s not how I’m built. I’m not a gentle man, not really. The version of myself I show her—the patient, careful lover—is new, an experiment, a borrowed skin. Underneath, I am still the man who wants to break her apart. I am still the monster she tamed.
The monster in me wants to flip her over, fuck her face-down into the mattress until she's screaming. Wants to grip her throat while I pound into her, wants to make her take everything, wants to claim her so thoroughly she'll feel me for days.
But that was last night. This morning, I want something different. Want to show her I can be more than hunger and dominance. Want to worship her the way she deserves.
"Is that okay?" I ask, genuinely uncertain. I've never done gentle. Never wanted to. Gentleness was weakness, and soft things break.
"More than okay," she breathes, her pussy clenching around my fingers. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I don't. I take my time learning every response, noting what makes her moan, what makes her writhe, what makes her fingers tighten in my hair. My cock is leaking steadily against the sheets, desperate for friction, but all my focus is on her.
When she comes, it's with my name broken into syllables. "Ni…co… oh God." Her pussy pulses around my fingers in waves. I work her through it gently, not pushing for another immediately like last night, just letting her ride the pleasure.
"Get up here," she demands when she can speak, tugging at my hair.
I crawl up her body, my cock dragging against her skin, leaving a trail of precum along her leg. She reaches between us immediately, wrapping her hand around my shaft, and I groan at the contact.
"So hard," she murmurs, stroking me slowly, her thumb spreading the precum around the head. "How long have you been like this?"
"Since I woke up," I admit, my hips bucking into her grip. "Since I felt how wet you were against my thigh while you slept."
She guides me to her entrance, rubbing the head of my cock through her wetness, coating me in her arousal. "Then we should probably do something about that."
I push inside her slowly. So slowly it's torture. Every inch is a revelation, her pussy gripping me perfectly, still swollen from last night but so wet, so ready. We both moan when I'm fully seated, my balls pressed against her ass.
"Fuck," I breathe, having to stay still or I'll come immediately. "You feel…"
"I know," she says, wrapping her legs around me. "You too."
I start to move. Not thrusting but rolling my hips, grinding deep, making sure I hit every sensitive spot inside her. It's completely different from last night's desperate claiming. This is something else. Something that makes my chest tight with emotion.
"Look at me," she says softly.
I realize I've closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation. I force them open, meet her gaze, and the vulnerability of it nearly undoes me. She sees everything. Every wall crumbling, every defense falling, the terrifying truth that I'm completely fucked because I'm falling for her.
"There you are," she whispers, hands coming up to frame my face. "My beautiful, broken soldier."
The tenderness breaks something in me. I lean down to kiss her, deep and slow, matching the rhythm of my hips. Her pussy clenches with each stroke, getting wetter, our combined arousal making slick sounds with each movement.
The monster rattles its cage, wanting to go harder, faster, to claim and possess. My hand actually moves toward her throat before I catch myself, gripping the sheets instead.
"You're shaking," she observes, running her hands down my sides.
"I don't know how to be gentle," I admit, my whole body trembling with restraint. "I don't know how to do this without…"
"Without losing control?"
"Without breaking things. Breaking you."
She pulls me down for another kiss. "You won't break me. I'm stronger than I look. And maybe… maybe I want to see you choose gentleness. Choose to stay present with me."
The permission to be soft is somehow harder than permission to be rough. But I maintain the slow rhythm, reaching between us to circle her clit with my thumb, watching her face as she climbs toward another orgasm.
"I'm close," she gasps, her pussy starting to flutter around me. "Are you?"
"Yeah," I groan, feeling the pressure building at the base of my spine, my balls drawing tight.
I increase the pressure on her clit slightly, feeling her whole body start to tense. We're watching each other, seeing everything, hiding nothing.
"Now," she whispers. "Come with me now."
Her orgasm triggers mine. She arches beneath me, crying out, her pussy clamping down on my cock in rhythmic waves.
The sensation pulls my release from me. My cock throbs as I empty myself inside her, pump after pump of hot cum, all while maintaining eye contact.
It's the most vulnerable I've ever been, letting her see me completely undone.
She pulls me down for a kiss that's all softness and acceptance.
We stay connected, neither willing to separate. I can feel our combined wetness starting to leak out around my softening cock, marking her thighs. The physical evidence of what we've become to each other.
I bury my face in her neck, overwhelmed. The soldier in me is screaming about compromised positions, emotional vulnerability, the danger of caring this much. But the man, the one she's teaching to exist, just holds her closer.
"I… like you," she murmurs.
"Even though I'm a tactical banana who counts everything and can't make normal coffee?"
She laughs, the sound vibrating through both our bodies. "Especially because of that."
Outside, Miami wakes. Traffic building, heat already shimmering off pavement, the city oblivious to the fact that everything just changed in this bedroom.
"Whatever happens," I tell her, "I'm not leaving. You asked me to stay, and that's my mission now. Staying."
She tightens her arms around me. "Good. Because I'm keeping you, tactical banana. You're mine now."
The possessiveness in her voice makes my cock twitch inside her, trying to harden again. She feels it and laughs.
"Already? You're insatiable."
"Only for you," I admit, starting to harden properly now, still buried inside her. "Only ever for you."
"Then I guess your pull-ups will have to wait a bit longer," she says, rolling her hips experimentally. "Four hundred will become five hundred at this rate."
"Worth it," I groan as she clenches around me deliberately. "So fucking worth it."
The sun climbs higher, painting everything banana, and I stop counting anything except the sounds she makes as I start moving inside her again. Slow and deep, gentle but thorough, showing her with my body what my words can barely express.
That she owns me completely. That I'll burn down the world to keep her safe. That love might be the most dangerous weapon I've ever wielded, but I'm choosing to arm myself anyway.
Because Marisol Delgado asked me to stay, and there's no mission more important than that.