10. Elías #3
Then his mouth is on mine again, and everything turns frantic. His hips roll against mine, rough and slippery, our dicks trapped between us and his hand. For a second I think we might both come like this, messy and stupid and too turned on to make it to anything else.
Then he tears his mouth away.
“Condom?”
I blink at him, dazed.
He reaches toward the nightstand, and I catch his wrist. “No.”
His eyes snap to mine. “You sure?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Still just me?” The question is rougher than it needs to be.
Jealous, a little possessive.
Very him.
I smile. “Since yesterday?”
His jaw flexes.
“Elías.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Still just you.”
His face changes at that, and I touch his cheek. “Still just me?”
He looks almost offended. “Yes.”
“Your hand stay loyal?”
That startles a laugh out of him. “Barely. Yesterday there was this fine motherfucker who gave me the best head of my life in a raspado trailer, and I almost dragged him back in there to get him off—”
I pull him down and kiss him, my tongue sliding against his as he tries to practically swallow it.
“Entonces cógeme.”
His breath stops, and I love doing that to him.
“Say that again,” he says.
I grab his back and feel the strong muscles flex under my palms.
“Cógeme.”
His hand wraps around my throat again.
“Ask nicely, muneco.”
Oh.
The room tilts, and I smile, slow and filthy. “Por favor, papi. Cógeme.”
His eyes go black. “And?”
I know what he wants because I want it too. Because I could feel the shape of it pressing under every joke, every thrust, every time he looked at me like the word “boyfriend” was too much and not enough.
“Fill me again.”
His hand tightens with one careful breath.
“Lalo.”
I push my throat into his palm just enough to make his control flicker. “I need to feel you inside me. Filling me up, then I’ll know I’m yours.”
His hips jerk hard enough that his dick drags against mine and makes us both gasp. He moves off me only long enough to grab the lube from the nightstand. I notice it’s a brand-new bottle, unopened.
My eyebrows lift. “You went shopping?”
His ears go red.
“What, I like being prepared.”
“For your boyfriend?” I flutter my lashes at him.
“Keep running your mouth and maybe I’ll just fuck that instead.”
I snap my mouth shut and smirk. He makes a sound low in his chest and flips me onto my stomach.
Just like that.
A sharp, quick movement that punches the breath out of me in the best way. My face hits the pillow. His weight covers me from behind, chest to my back, mouth at my ear.
“You want rough?” he asks. “Or like the first time?”
My body goes still under him. He’s asking me what I want and how he can make me feel good. Fabián isn’t asking like it’s a threat; no, it’s permission asking for a door to open.
I turn my head enough to look at him. “Yes.”
“How rough?”
“Hard enough, I feel you tomorrow.”
His jaw ticks. “And?”
I swallow. “And soft enough that you stay with me after.”
The whole room goes quiet; I watch his face change. My own words land in me late.
Soft enough that you stay with me after.
The thing under the sex, the ache I tried to dress up in red shorts and attitude. Fabián lowers his forehead to my shoulder, pressing kisses to my skin.
“Elías,” he says, pausing for a second before drawing in a breath. “Nene, I would rather die than not stay with you.”
I believe him and maybe that makes me stupid.
I’ll be stupid for the rest of my life if he keeps whispering promises like that to me.
“Good,” I whisper.
His mouth brushes my ear.
“This position okay?” He asks. “We can switch it.”
A smile pulls at me. Look at him, checking in. The man is already excelling at being a communicative boyfriend.
“Yeah, carino. Just like this.”
His teeth graze my shoulder. “Then open up for me, muneco.”
My whole body melts, and the first finger is slow despite all the rough talk.
Too slow.
Fabián can’t help himself. Even when he is trying to be filthy, some part of him listens like it is sacred. His hand on my hip, his mouth against my back, his finger working me open while his breath catches every time I push back.
“Este culito me quiere tragar entero, nene,” he growls.
I laugh into the pillow. “You like it.”
“I fucking do.”
A second finger slides in, I hiss, and the sound makes him stop. I reach back and slap his thigh.
“Don’t stop.”
“I’m making sure I don’t hurt you, mandoncito.”
“Your boyfriend is demanding.”
He freezes for half a second, then his fingers curl, and my hips jerk.
“Oh, fuck.”
His mouth presses against my shoulder. “Say it again.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
I push back on his fingers, shamelessly. “Your boyfriend needs your dick.”
He groans. “There’s that dirty mouth.”
“Fabián.”
“I know.” His fingers pull out, and I hear him grab for something off the nightstand.
Peeking to the side, I watch as he cleans his finger and then adds more lube to his palm.
I hear the slick slide of his hand around him, and my breath starts coming too fast. The room feels too hot, too small, too full of want.
He shifts behind me, thighs bracketing mine, one hand on my hip.
Then he pauses, and I look over my shoulder, his eyes are on mine.
“Porfa,” I whisper. “Entra en mí, papi. Te necesito.”
He presses in, slow at first.
Then the stretch burns, opening into delicious heat. My hands clench into fists in the sheets. His barbell drags over nerves already trained from the first time, already ruined for anybody else, and my body clenches hard around him.
Fabián curses under his breath.
“Fuck, nene.”
“You feel that?” I gasp.
“Yes.”
“Good.” I push back, taking more. “Then move.”
The first thrust snaps my breath out, and the second makes the bed hit the wall. We both freeze but then quickly remember that there’s no one here to catch us.
Fabián laughs once, dark and breathless.
“Fuck,” he says. “We can be loud here.”
Heat blooms everywhere, and I turn my face into the pillow and grin.
“Prove it.”
The next thrust is rough enough to shove me up the bed.
My fingers claw at the sheets. He grips my hips and pulls me back to meet him, deep and hard, the sound of skin and breath filling the room.
There is nothing careful now except the way he listens.
He fucks me like he believes when I say I can take it and checks on me like he remembers I am still a person while I do.
It makes me dizzy.
It makes me stupid.
It makes me want things I don’t know how to ask for without turning them into sex first.
“Fabián,” I groan.
He bends over me, hand sliding around my throat again, pulling me up against his chest. My back bows, his dick driving deeper, and the angle changes so sharply I lose my voice.
“There,” he says, rough. “Right there?”
I nod because words are gone.
His fingers rest on my throat, light pressure, enough to make me feel held in place by his whole body.
“My pretty little slut,” he whispers in my ear. “Taking my dick like he was made for it. Weren’t you, nene… you were made to take my dick in this tight little ass of yours?”
I come embarrassingly close to coming right then.
He feels it.
He laughs, breathless and mean. “Yeah? That’s what you are for me.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Say it.”
“I’m your slut.”
His whole body shudders, then he turns my face with his free hand and kisses me over my shoulder. Messy. Hard. Almost impossible at this angle. I kiss back anyway, moaning into his mouth while he keeps fucking me, while his hand stays at my throat, while my body takes every inch and begs for more.
“Mi putito lindo,” he says against my mouth.
I make a sound I will deny in court, and his hips stutter.
“Oh, you like that too.”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”
“Nah.” His grip tightens on my hip. “You like being a good little slut for me.”
I bite his lip.
He hisses. “Dirty and good,” he says. “That’s what you are.”
My eyes roll back. This man is going to kill me in his very clean apartment while the albóndigas get cold in the kitchen.
His rhythm gets rougher, less controlled. The bed knocks the wall again, and this time neither of us stops. I reach down for myself, but he catches my wrist and pins it to my stomach.
“No.”
I choke. “Why?”
“I want you to come from me fucking you.”
“Fabián—”
“Can you?”
I don’t know. I’ve never come that way before. Maybe I could? I think he could ask me to try anything right now and my body would at least attempt the paperwork.
He shifts and pulls out suddenly, and I curse at the loss.
“What the fuck?”
He flips me onto my back before I can complain again.
The movement is fast, rough, and perfect. Then he grabs my thighs, pushes them up, and slides back inside me with one deep thrust that makes my mouth fall open. Face to face with him above me, his chain swinging against his chest, nipple piercings flashing, eyes dark and fixed on mine.
I’m spread wide under him.
Owned.
Seen.
The thought hits so hard my chest aches.
“There,” he says, his voice rougher now. “I want to see you come for me.”
I grip his shoulders. “Oh, fuck. God, you’re so hot, carino.”
His mouth curves. “Yeah, well, I’m all yours now.” Then he drops his forehead to mine and starts moving again.
Deep.
Hard.
Enough that the bed frame complains and the wall gives a dull knock with every thrust. The whole apartment complex could know.
The entire East Bay. Let the taco truck hear.
Let the laundromat ghosts file a complaint.
Fabián Salcedo’s fucking me in his bed after telling people I am his, and I want the world to learn by vibration.
His hand finds my throat again with his thumb under my jaw and fingers along my pulse. I wrap my hand around his wrist and keep him there.
“More,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches, and the pressure increases slightly. Enough to make my heartbeat loud in my ears. It’s hard enough that the edges of everything blur except him.
His eyes search mine the whole time.
He’s rough but so careful.
He is mine.
My body tightens around him, and he feels it. His mouth opens and his hips drive harder.