17 - Adrian #2
She parts her legs wider, inviting me in, and I take it slow, pushing into her slowly, carefully, knowing exactly what a gift this is.
Her heat envelops me inch by fucking inch, and I watch her face as I sink deeper, wanting to see every flicker of sensation cross those hard, beautiful lines.
Her mouth falls open—barely a sound, but her eyes slam shut as the head breaches, then the shaft, and then I’m buried to the hilt.
Her cunt grips me like it never learned how to let go.
"Look at me," I whisper, the words coming out as a plea. My hands frame her face, thumbs stroking the bones of her cheek. I want her to remember this, to memorize the feeling of being full, of being seen. "I need to see you, mi amor. Need to know this is real."
She obeys instinctively, eyes snapping open, pupils blown wide. "I'm here," she says, voice hoarse and holy, and her nails dig into my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself to the earth. I have no idea which of us is trembling harder.
I start to move, slow at first, drawing nearly out before driving back in, every thrust deliberate and deep.
She’s so sensitive from her last orgasm that she shivers with each movement, gasps growing louder as I fuck her through the lingering aftershocks.
I want to give her more, to remake the morning into something she’ll remember even if she leaves tomorrow.
She holds my gaze the whole time. That’s the hardest part: not the pleasure, but the connection. The way she looks at me, like she’s searching for something behind my eyes and maybe—finally—finding it.
"You feel incredible," I groan. It’s not a compliment. It’s a confession. My cock twitches inside her, desperate for more, for everything. “Words fail me.”
She laughs, but it’s throatier than her usual sound, low and intimate.
“That’s a first.” Then her expression hardens, and she hooks her legs behind my back, heels digging in.
She locks me in place and grinds her hips up to meet mine.
"Harder," she demands, her voice suddenly full of need, not bravado.
"I need to feel you tomorrow. Need to remember this every time I move. "
I give her what she wants. I always have.
My thrusts get rougher, the bed creaking beneath us, the slap of skin and wet, filthy sounds of her cunt echoing off bare walls.
The headboard smacks the drywall, and I realize, distantly, that the neighbors can definitely hear us.
The idea makes me fuck her even harder. I want everyone in this building to know who she belongs to now.
Her tits bounce with every stroke, the bruises on her chest blooming darker. I lean down and catch a nipple in my mouth, biting and sucking until she yelps, then soothes her with my tongue. I want to leave marks all over her body—proof that, for at least one night, she was mine.
"Yes," she hisses, her hands in my hair, yanking me closer. "Mark me. Make me yours where everyone can see."
I suck harder, rolling the peak between my teeth, and she bucks under me, nearly coming again.
I savor the moment, pinning her wrists above her head and driving into her with everything I have.
The look on her face is something I’ll never forget: abandoned, raw, so much want it hurts to look at her.
We build toward it together, a slow, tidal pull, both of us refusing to let go first. Her cunt grips me on every downstroke, trying to milk me, but I hold back, denying myself. I want to come with her, to time it so perfectly we shatter together.
Outside, the sounds of the city are distant and meaningless. Sirens wail, a dog barks, maybe someone yells a threat in Spanish three blocks away. I don’t care. This is the only world that matters—her body under mine, her voice in my ear, the pulse of her blood against my teeth.
I slow down, just for a moment, and kiss her. Not the desperate kind we started with, but something softer. She melts into it, arms looping around my neck. Her legs wrap tighter, and she moves her hips in time with mine, guiding me to the place she wants to go.
"Touch yourself for me," I say, releasing her wrists. My voice is rough, but gentle. Begging almost. "I want to see you fall apart."
She lets one hand tangle in my hair, the other down her body, fingers finding her clit as if she’s been waiting for the order. Her movements are practiced, but it’s not about getting off—it’s about showing me she’s unashamed, that she wants this as much as I do.
I stare down, mesmerized, at the way her fingers move on her clit while my cock disappears inside her. The sight is so filthy, so perfect, my balls draw up tight and I have to force myself not to come right then. I slow my pace, then speed up, changing rhythm to match the motion of her hand.
"Adrian," she gasps, her voice a strangled moan. "I'm going to… fuck, I'm coming again…"
I drive into her harder, the wet slap-slap-slap echoing, and she clenches around me so tight it nearly hurts. My own orgasm builds like a wave, higher and higher, until it crashes over me with white-hot intensity.
We shatter in the same moment, her cunt pulsing around me as I empty myself inside her, pump after pump marking her as mine.
I grind against her, making sure she gets every drop while her pussy ripples around me.
For these seconds we're not two people but one creature, breathing together, feeling the same pleasure.
I collapse partially on top of her, still buried inside, feeling our combined fluids leaking out around my softening cock. In the afterglow, she stays. That's the miracle of it. She has the key, has her freedom, could walk out right now. But she chooses to remain in my arms.
"You're thinking too loud," she murmurs against my shoulder. "I can actually hear you catastrophizing."
"Just processing," I admit, pulling her closer. "That you're here. That you chose to stay. That I finally have everything I've wanted since that night of the party."
She props herself up again, looking down at me with an expression I'm still learning to read. Then she's laughing again. Twice in one morning, an absolute fucking miracle.
"Adrian Marín, terrifying King of La Sirena, scared I might leave." She presses a kiss to my jaw, then another to the scar on my palm I've never explained. "I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me now."
"Promesa?" The word comes out more vulnerable than intended.
"Te lo prometo," she says, sealing it with another kiss.
My arms tighten around her automatically, that deep fear finally quieting under the impossible fact of her presence. Not gone. It will never fully leave, not after everything I've lost. But hushed by her weight against me, her breath on my skin, her choice to stay.
"We should probably go to La Sirena eventually," she says, but makes no move to leave the bed. "Logan will send a search party."
As if summoned, my phone lights up on the nightstand.
Logan. Fourth time since dawn. I reach over her and thumb it silent without breaking our tangle, and if there's a small cold voice observing that Logan doesn't call four times about inventory, it's very easy not to hear over the sound of her breathing.
"Let him," I say, already hardening inside her again. "The King's taking the morning off. The family can survive without us."
The morning sun climbs higher, painting our tangled bodies gold. Outside, Miami continues its beautiful chaos. But here, in my bed with the woman who chose to stay, the fear finally quiets enough to let joy win.
For now, for this perfect morning, I have everything.