Chapter 13-Maya
Waking up after the best night of sleep I’ve had in months with something long and hard and throbbing pressed against the crack of my ass?
Well, there are worse ways to wake up, I suppose.
It takes a heartbeat before everything comes flooding back.
The months without him.
The way he tracked me down.
The baby. He knows.
The wedding.
Oh my fuck.
I’m married to him.
El Tigre. Rico Véliz.
And now I’m in his bed. Again.
I should be freaking out. I should be running a thousand scenarios through my head about what happens next.
Instead, I lie there perfectly still, grinning like an idiot, because Rico is wrapped around me like a blanket.
His chest vibrates with a low rumble— like he’s purring in his sleep just like the Tiger he’s named after.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s hot.
It’s so him.
He’s warm, big, solid— comfort and danger rolled into one —and God help me, I melt into it.
Who else could make a woman feel safe and hunted all at once? Only Rico.
And that’s what makes him more than a rockstar. He’s not just a performer. He’s an artist.
His melodies are hauntingly beautiful, his anthems are heavy with bass and rhythm that make entire stadiums shake.
He takes both worlds— the raw, dirty streets and the glittering, polished spotlight —and somehow makes them work.
But right now?
I’m his only audience.
And I’m not complaining. Especially when he grumbles in his sleep, nuzzling against my neck, and tightens his hold on me.
His hips roll, pressing that hard length of him against me with more insistence, and my whole body goes liquid heat.
Hormones, I tell myself. It’s just hormones.
Except it’s not.
Because Rico is simply hot .
And when I remember the nights we burned together, the way he worshiped my body with his mouth, his hands, his cock— hubba hubba, indeed.
I’m already wet before he even moves his hand.
But then he does.
And moisture floods between my legs.
Slowly, deliberately, he slides his hand lower, over my stomach, beneath the waistband of my shorts.
His fingers find my pussy.
When they slip between my folds? It’s almost embarrassing how slick I am for him already.
I gasp. Then I moan. Then I arch into him when he circles my clit like he never forgot the map of my body.
I should stop him.
I don’t.
I encourage him.
I lift my leg, draping it back over his thigh, opening myself to him even more. My head falls back against his shoulder, and a needy sound I can’t hold back tumbles from my lips.
“Fuck, Mami.” His voice is gravel and silk in my ear, still rough from sleep. “You’re so hot for me, aren’t you? My needy little girl.”
I clench around his fingers as they slide inside me, my body answering before my mouth can.
And just like that, I’m lost to his touch again.
Rico’s fingers work me open, slow and sure, and my body betrays me with every slick sound in the quiet room.
“Mami,” he growls against my ear, teeth grazing the shell. “So wet for me already. You missed this cock, didn’t you? Say it.”
I choke on a moan, arching as his thumb circles my clit. “I-I missed you.”
“Not enough.” He thrusts two fingers deep, curling them just right, making my toes curl. “Say it, Songbird. Say you missed my cock.”
Heat floods my face, but God, my body answers before my mouth can.
I grind shamelessly against his hand, desperate, searching.
“I missed your cock, Rico. Fuck, I missed it so much.”
He groans, the sound guttural, possessive, and I feel the thick length of him grind harder against my ass.
“That’s right. Because no one else gets this pussy. No one else makes you come like I do.”
“Rico, please?—”
He flips me onto my back before I can finish, looming over me, his eyes black fire. He shoves my shorts down my thighs in one impatient move, ripping them off like they offended him.
My tank top follows, tossed carelessly to the floor until I’m bare beneath him, flushed and trembling.
And God help me, I’ve never felt more alive.
He strips down fast, with only those tight boxer briefs in the way, the outline of his cock straining, obscene and perfect.
When he kicks them off, my mouth goes dry. I forgot how big he is.
How thick. How mine.
He sees my eyes widen and smirks, crawling over me, pressing his weight into me until I feel caged, owned.
“Open those pretty legs, Mami. Let me remind you what you left behind.”
I spread for him, shame and want colliding in me, and he groans like I’ve just given him the world.
He drags the head of his cock through my slick folds, teasing, coating himself, and I nearly sob with need.
“Fuck, please?—”
“Please what?” His voice is rough velvet. “Please fuck you? Please ruin this tight little pussy again? Or please make you mine all over?”
“All of it,” I gasp, my nails biting into his shoulders. “All of it, Rico. Please.”
And then he thrusts inside, slow but relentless, and my cry echoes through the room.
“Fuck, Maya,” he grits out, his forehead pressing to mine, sweat already breaking. “So tight. Always so goddamn tight. Like your body knows who owns it.”
I whimper, wrapping my legs around his waist, taking him deeper, my walls clenching around him like I never want to let go.
He fucks me with purpose—hard, deep strokes that leave me gasping, every thrust staking a claim.
His words burn against my skin, dirty and hot, filth and devotion all tangled together.
“You’re mine, Maya. Always were, always will be. Nobody else touches you. Nobody else gets to see you like this. Say it.”
“I’m yours!” I cry out, arching as he pounds me harder. “Oh God, Rico, I’m yours!”
His lips crush mine, swallowing my moans, his tongue claiming me the same way his cock does.
He breaks away only to whisper against my lips, voice wrecked.
“My wife. My Songbird. Carrying my baby. And I’m never letting you go. Never again.”
The words push me over the edge. My orgasm slams through me, sharp and blinding, my body convulsing around him.
He snarls, the sound feral, and drives into me with savage intent.
“That’s it, come on my cock, Mami. Milk me. Show me who you belong to.”
I shatter, screaming his name, every nerve alight.
And when he follows, spilling inside me with a guttural roar, his arms lock tight around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish again.
When it’s over, when the world tilts back into place, I realize I’m crying.
“Shhh. I got you,” he whispers, holding me tight, but his breaths sound hitched too.
Because between the filthy words and the desperate claiming, the truth is there, undeniable.
We’re still us.
Broken. Raw.
But still us.