9. Fabián #3
Ones I remember fondly and ones I remember because I survived them. None of them prepared me for Elías Cárdenas on his knees in a raspado trailer with a tongue ring and a fucking attitude problem.
His tongue slides along the underside of me, the silver ball catching against the barbell in my dick. My knees nearly give out, and he hums. The vibration lights up every nerve I own.
My hand flies to his hair before I can stop it, and he pulls off with a wet sound, eyes sharp. “What did I say?”
“Sorry,” I pant. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
His eyebrows rise, and I swallow hard.
“Can I?”
The anger in his face melts for half a second, and I fall even harder for his softness. Then he reaches up, grabs my wrist, and puts my hand in his hair.
“Don’t push.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
“Don’t make me loud.”
“You’re the one with my dick in your mouth.” I chuckle.
“You want me to stop?”
“Nope.” I lift my hand to motion that I’m zipping my mouth shut.
“Then behave.”
I nod like a man who still has thoughts.
I do not. It’s all Lalo up in this bitch now.
He goes back down, and the first slow slide of his mouth steals every single one.
He is filthy about it, sloppy on purpose.
No shame.
No hesitation.
His hand wraps around the base, slick with his spit, stroking what he can’t take while his mouth works the head. His tongue ring taps the piercing, drags under it, circles it until my hips twitch despite every ounce of control I have left.
He looks up at me the whole time.
His eyes on mine, daring me to look away while his mouth wrecks me, while his cheeks hollow, while spit gathers at the corners of his lips and slides down his fingers.
I’m dying.
I’m being murdered by a man with a smart mouth and red shorts.
Nah, fuck that. Lalo’s mouth, only his mouth, from now until the day I die.
Fuck everyone else.
He pulls back to breathe, mouth slick, voice rough. “You still mad I said no?”
My laugh comes out strangled. “Are you serious?”
He strokes me slowly, thumb careful over the piercing. “Answer.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“You have my dick in your hand.”
“And?”
“I can’t form legal testimony.”
His grin is wicked. “Good.”
Then his mouth is back, and this time he takes me deeper.
Too deep.
I slam my hand over my own mouth, and his tongue presses up. The ring catches, and my vision whites at the edges.
Outside the trailer, someone calls, “Elías? You good?”
His mother.
Both of us freeze.
His mouth stays around me while my soul leaves my body. Elías’s eyes lift to mine.
Wide, then amused.
The bastard is amused.
I stare down at him, horrified and so hard I might die.
He slowly pulls off, only enough to answer, his voice too normal for a man on his knees with spit dripping down his chin.
“Sí, Ma. Just getting more cups.”
A pause.
My whole body turns to stone.
Then his mother says in a tone that sounds like she definitely doesn’t believe him, “Hurry up.”
Elías waits until her footsteps fade, then he looks up at me and whispers, “You heard her; you better hurry up.”
I nearly come right there. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“You like when I say shit like that.”
“I like when your mouth’s filled with my dick.”
His eyes go dark.
Oh.
I said that out loud.
He smiles and dives back down.
There is no easing back in. No mercy. His mouth takes me fast and wet, his hand twisting at the base, tongue working around the metal like he has made a study of ruining me.
My head falls back and my fingers tighten in his hair, not pushing, just holding on because if I don’t, I may evaporate into the syrup-sweet air.
“Elías,” I whisper.
His eyes flick up, and I can feel the smile in his mouth around me.
That nearly does it; I almost come because of his attitude.
“You’re too good at this.”
He hums and I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.
The ring.
His tongue.
His throat.
The wet sound of him taking me, obscene and impossible under the market noise. I’m gone. Done for, every argument in my head scattering.
Work. Who gives a fuck about what they think.
Family. They’ll get over it.
TikTok. Fuck ‘em.
Labels. Who gives a shit what people want to label me? Especially when I have him.
Time. Time went out the window the moment he said no.
All of it blows apart under the heat of his mouth. There’s only Elías kneeling for me, not weak, not submissive, not anything except powerful in a way that makes my bones loosen. He looks like he owns me down there.
He does.
Messy.
Stupid.
Hot.
In a trailer that smells like sugar and bad decisions.
My stomach tightens and my breathing starts getting tight. “I’m close, ohh fuck.”
He doesn’t stop, his hand just squeezes my thigh.
Permission.
Demand.
Warning.
All three wrapped in one gentle squeeze.
“Lalo,” I whisper. “I’m gonna—”
He takes me deeper, and the tongue ring drags once, perfectly, against the barbell.
That’s all it takes. I come so hard my vision goes, and I can’t see anything.
My hand slaps over my mouth again, muffling the broken sound that claws out of me.
My hips jerk once before I lock them down.
Elías holds me steady, swallowing every drop of cum that shoots down his throat, his hands tight on my thighs like he is keeping me exactly where he wants me.
When it finally lets go of my spine, I sag against the wall, breathing like I ran across the market.
Elías pulls off slowly, and my whole body flinches from the last little drag of his tongue ring over the piercing. He looks up at me with wet lips, flushed cheeks, and eyes bright with victory.
I am ruined.
A dead man.
A ghost in Vans.
He wipes his mouth with the pad of his thumb. “So,” he whispers.
I blink down at him.
He smiles. “Still need more time?”