latino_menace | OOM: Out

He feels so fucking good, she can't even breathe. He fills her, driving her back up into that halo of sensation, relentless. She takes all of him, pain and pleasure mingling, setting her alight all over again.

Her legs wind around his waist, and she rises to meet his thrusts, strong and hungry. She lifts up to kiss his throat, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He doesn't hold back even a little bit and she's so accomodating; rising like that lets him gets as deep as he likes, however fast he likes. He's trying not to hurt her but he can't slow himself down because she just grips him so fucking tight.

He's not quiet either. Three weeks without and he's letting her have it all.

It's like having a hurricane between her legs and she holds tight, letting it destroy her in all the right ways.

He's wild and fierce, filling her senses, overwhelming her again. Just as it should be, she thinks. She's missed this, missed just being able to let go and soar.

He wants her to come so fucking bad because then he can. A few moments later, his fingers are pressing her clit in time with his movements.

'Come for me, Fi. Gotta see you come.'

She's almost there when he touches her directly, and it sends a shock of pleasure twisting through her. His weight pins her, giving her no escape, and she just has to take it.

A harsh cry tears from her throat as she goes taut beneath him, her cunt pulsing hard around his cock.

He loves sex like this, when the other person is pinned and just has to take what he gives them. It's always especially gratifying with her because she gets off on it so hard and matches him for pace and energy.

And God, the way she squeezes.

She hasn't even finished her initial high before he's choking out a breath, taut all over, letting go deep inside her.

Her hand comes up, hooking behind his neck, pulling him down as she rises to press her forehead against his. She's still shuddering through of her own peak, but she wants his mouth against her own.

Her heels hook in the backs of his thighs and she presses him deep, crying out as he jerks against her. What had been a shock of pleasure, bright and hot, changes, twists in her belly, turning dark and intense, rolling through her, thunder following the lightning.

He groans as he kisses her, oversensitive still but loving the sensory overload, still grinding into her as she comes again. He feels like he can never get deep enough, never push hard enough and the aftermath of his own climax is sending sparks through his nerves, making him shake with the intensity of it.

She holds him, one hand weaving in his hair, keeping him close as she melts back, aftershocks shimmering through her. Her body clamps and ripples around him, like she could take him into her and never have to let him go.

Her breath is ragged against his lips, and her hand slips over his back. She needs this, needs him close, not caring about his weight above her. She needs him, and right here, right now, she's not afraid to make that fact very clear.

He follows her down, kissing her breathlessly as he does, still feeling her holding him in like he has to stay there always. Right now that seems like a good idea because it just feels so damn good.

His kisses soothe her, each one stitching her to this moment, just revelling in the soft press of his lips, the gentleness of his touch. Each one makes her feel like, just for a moment, she can believe that everything is going to be okay.

Her hands stroke through his hair as her grip on him relaxes, her heels sliding down the backs of his legs. Another kiss. Just one more. Tender, playful, claiming him all over again, one mouthful at a time.

He's alright with being claimed, here and now (he feels like he claimed her a long time ago, perhaps as soon as he saw her).

'Guess you really needed that,' he murmurs, with a quiet laugh.

He knows he did.

'But you messed up my birthday fantasy.'

She's only ever dared to claim him a few times. And only for a night, or a day. Maybe an hour or two. She doesn't feel like he belongs to her. And she has no idea that he feels he has any claim on her.

"Really needed you," she whispers. And then she pulls back to look in his face.

"Your what?"

He shifts to the side, keeping a leg intertwined between hers and smiling in the dark (he knew he'd have her the first moment he saw her and wasn't going to stop until he did).

'Did you think I forgot?'

Her hands keep him close, and he can hear a little bit of panic in her voice. "I thought yours was in January? The 26th? Did I mess up and forget?"

She's truly confused. And he might pick up on the fact that she was so not expecting him to remember, that she forgot her real birthday had just gone passed.

He rolls his eyes good humouredly.

'Yours, idiot. Sixth of November? It was last week.'

"Mine? Oh, you mean my -- oh god," she laughs, burying her face in his chest. "It just completely slipped my mind."

He didn't forget her birthday. She mentioned it once. (As opposed to Michael, who she could just make up a date and say, 'Hey my birthday's coming up!' and he'd never remember that she changed it every year.)

'I got you a couple of things. One will have to wait until you next take me to Miami. But the other...'

He gets up and goes to the drawer she lets him have for his bits and pieces of clothes and accessories. A box is withdrawn and he returns to bed.

It says Bvlgari on the front and inside is this.

'Happy Birthday.'

She looks at the name and at back at him, clearly stunned.

And then she opens the box.

And stares.

She can't believe her eyes. This must be -- she doesn't even know how expensive it must be, but those are rubies and diamonds and there's so many of them. She blinks rapidly, her eyes growing wet, and then she looks back at him.

"Oh Ramon..."

Edited 2009-11-13 23:37 (UTC)

He smirks and lies on his back, arms casually folded behind his head. Quite obviously pleased with himself.

'You're welcome.'

"Oh baby. You shouldn't have." She crawls over him, pulling it out, wanting to put it on, fumbling with the tiny clasp. "But thank you. It's -- this must have cost a fortune."

'Mmmm, well. I have a lot of money.'

He sits up to help her fasten it, still smug.

'As for my birthday fantasy, I wanted to have you wearing only this. But you woke me up and I forgot.'

She laughs, giddy, her hands covering the stones as his fingers work the clasp.

"The day is young, and we're just getting started!"

She turns when he's finished and catches him around the neck, kissing him soundly.

He laughs too and lets her kiss him, hands holding her sides just below her breasts.

'It used to belong to Eva Peron,' he tells her, once he has his mouth back. 'Be careful with it. It's insured but don't lose it.'

Her hands keep moving back to it, as if it might turn to mist (or worse, paste) beneath her fingers. Her brow furrows.

"This belonged to Evita? Oh, Ramon."

She swivels on the bed, her toe reaching out to open the wardrobe door. She has to reach to turn on the bedside light but the image she sees in the glass is so very much worth it.

Their reflection makes her heart skip a beat. His hands at her waist, his smiling face over her shoulder, and that stunning piece of art draped around her throat. She piles her hair on top of her head to better see it, and she meets his gaze, her green eyes alight with emotion.

"Thank you," she says again, one hand reaching back to touch his cheek.

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