latino_menace | OOM: Christmas

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OOM: Christmas

It had taken three attempts to get Bar to open the door to where he wanted to go. Three times he looked out on a truly scummy bar filled with sweaty, running men and the sounds of choppers bearing down in the distance; Hell on the edge of a jungle.

Not where he wants to be right now.

On the fourth attempt - it's warm. Not hot, but pleasantly mild and the view is of a comfortably lived-in sitting room, with child's toys in a corner and overstuffed sofas and armchairs dotted around. The first thing his eyes rest upon is a glass still half full of Scotch; the second a stone block on the table, a sculpture with a woman's face looking out of one side. He pauses for a moment (so long since all that), then wanders in and puts his bag down, goes to the French windows to look over the garden that ends in beach and then, nothing but sea. Three thousand miles of sea standing between him and home.

But it's alright. It's nice to see the place again. He'd had mixed feelings the night before, wondering if it would be unpleasantly strange to have Fiona here. But it's not. He wants her to see it. For some reason, letting her see the places he lives is like letting her see himself. It's not even about showing off, this time. The house is not small but still modest by his standards. And it was a real home, for a while. Maybe he wants her to know that he can live normally, sometimes.

'Want a tour or do you want to head straight off? I just need to make a couple of calls before we go.'

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She moans, laughs as best she can, low and hungry. But she doesn't let him go, no, not for a moment. She slows her pace, drawing it out for him, knowing exactly how much is almost enough.

Tongue and fingers, lips and mouth, lost in the scent and feel of him, savouring every hitch in his breath, every groan. She looks up at him, eyes dark and intent.

He holds her gaze, locked by it and the unrelenting pressure of that beautiful mouth. Slow it almost worse, the anticipation of every stroke twisting his arousal higher every time.

'Jesus Fi...gonna come...'

She holds tight, leaning her weight across his thighs, and finishes him off with the same delicate flickering of her tongue on that sweet spot, pushing him up and over and giving him no choice in the matter.

He'd been so sure that she'd stop. The way she doesn't takes him completely by surprise and the choked cry that's torn from his throat is as unexpected as the orgasm that roars through him, making him lose it completely as he spills over that wicked tongue.

She closes her eyes, feeling him shake and grip her hair. She holds him between tongue and soft palate, laving gently as he gentles back to earth, humming her own contentment at a job well done.

When she pulls back finally, she snags a tissue from the side board and wipes her mouth before returning to him.

"Better?"

He doesn't answer for another few long moment, breathing deep and running his hands down her body.

'Everything's better after one of those.'

He grins and kisses her, visibly more relaxed. The afterglow is melting through him, leaving him languid and happy.

"Good."

She wraps her arms around him, breathing in that contentment, letting it fill her senses and wash away her own tensions, her own worries. Living in the moment.

His arms hang loosely around her and he drops his head to kiss her neck softly.

'Jacuzzi?'

"Mmmyeah," she purrs, grinning against his ear. "Grab the champagne, oh nevermind it's right here." She grabs the bottle and takes a swig, her eyes smiling at him.

She slips from his embrace and steps down into the huge tub with a long appreciative sigh, her hand never leaving is skin.

He grins and drops his shirt off his shoulders, kick his jeans off and slides in after her. Without a second's hesitation, he insinuates himself between her legs, pressing his half hard cock against her and kissing her deeply.

Then champagne. But he doesn't move away even an inch.

She winds her legs around him, returning that kiss with a low contented purr. When he breaks away to drink, she runs her hands over his chest, wetting his skin, kissing whatever she can reach.

Her nails draw lines over his ribs. "Sit back," she says, her tone edged with need. "I want to ride you."

He groans quietly, loving those nails on his sides. He could get touched like that all day. And he does what she says, sitting back opposite her, draping his arms over the edges of the jacuzzi.

'It's all yours.'

So true. She can ride him until she can't take any more, he's just fine with that.

She moves into his lap again, straddling his hips. Her hands twine around his neck, fingers running up into his hair. She nuzzles under his jaw, nibbling up to kiss his lips, humming softly.

She sinks into that kiss, closing her eyes, not in any rush at all.

One hand wanders over her back, running idly up her spine. She's taken the edge off him with that blowjob but that doesn't mean his body isn't taking an interest in her attentions.

'Going to ride it slow? Or do you want me to give it to you hard?'

"I just want to ride you, nice and easy," she whispers, against his jaw. She gets like this, he knows. Like he's the best drug in the world and she just wants to lose herself in him.

She guides his other hand around her, wanting to be held. Her hips begin that slow circle, dancing gentle and slow against him, honey slick and hot. That wild energy coils through her like licks of flame, wanting to make him burn for her all over again.

He murmurs a faint sound of approval against her cheek, holding her close, endlessly aroused by the way she always wants him so damn much. It makes him want to get her off as hard as she can come, repay that desire with something worthy of it. So he runs his fingers down he centre of her, kissing her soft as he touches light on her clit.

She shivers, sighs into his mouth, her teeth catching his lower lip in a lingering almost-bite. She leans closer, pressing into that touch, slip sliding over his cock.

The hand in his hair tightens as she gasps.

"Want you in me."

'In a minute.'

He was to get her desperate before he lets her climb on - she just had him at her mercy, now he wants her at his. He holds her close enough that she can't just manoeuver herself on to him, keeping her tight against the hand playing between her legs, tickling gently over that sensitive nub.

Her grip tightens on him, but not because of the direct stimulation. Oh his hand is doing amazing things to her body, things that make her lips twist in a silent cry of ecstasy. But it's the way he holds her so close, the strength of his embrace and the sound of his voice that send her higher. Her hips roll, but it is her heart that twists in her chest.

She captures his mouth again, moaning against his lips. Letting him feel it in her hands and in her body.

He feels lazy this afternoon. Maybe it was the long drive, maybe the heat and steam of this water all around them, maybe the afterglow of the fantastic orgasm she gave him ten minutes ago. Maybe a combination of all of it. Either way, he has all the time in the world to play with her, languid strokes of his thumb keeping her moaning while his fingers push down and into her, buried into that tight heat he adores.

'I'm gonna make you come so hard.'

A long shivering cry slips from her lips, a sound of pure, decadent pleasure. Her hand flutters at the back of his neck, that shiver travelling through her like an earthquake.

Her movements stay slow and even, but he can feel her muscles trembling, can feel her breath coming in ragged little gasps.

He smirks, slow and quiet, watching her from under half-lidded eyes. He knows exactly what effect he's having and as usual, he's more than a little smug about it. But as she'll no doubt be able to tell, seeing her like this turns him on just as much and if he didn't want to make her come so bad, he'd take her right now and let her feel for herself.

"Baby, please."

Her hips rock into him, hard enough to make the water in the tub slosh up to the edge. Her nails dig into his shoulder and she's buried her face in his neck, muffling her cries against his skin.

Please don't keep me at arm's length. Please let me feel your heart against mine. Me vida, please.

He lets out a long breath, pressing into her harder, faster, stroking her where he knows she needs it.

'Come for me.'

It's a quiet command. He knows she needs to and it's what he wants to see, to feel.

She hears his voice and goes taut, her hips bucking hard against his hand. He knows how to touch her, knows how to push her, knows how to break her. He can feel the hard pulse going through her, can feel it coiling up her spine. He can hear it as she keens against his shoulder, holding tight around his neck, her knees dug into his thighs so hard she's probably going to leave bruises.

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