latino_menace | OOM: Bogotá on fight night

Entry tags:

OOM: Bogotá on fight night

He'd never really thought that Fiona would take him up on his casual offer to come to watch him fight. Not that it seemed like she was full of shit or anything...but she is a woman. They say things easily, they're flippant and don't have the stomach for anything rough.

His opinion of women at the moment is, justifiably he thinks, low. Maria can shoulder a lot of the blame for that.

He always fights on a Friday and this week, he's definitely in the mood to cause some pain. He'd almost forgotten about Fi but when he opens the bathroom door and looks out onto the bar, he figures why not? He can even see her from where he's standing and she doesn't look like she's doing anything important.

'Busy tonight?'

He's never been much good at small talk.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He feels like someone's pumped about another twenty litres of blood into his body, like he's going to burst out of his skin all over. He's tight with need, feet flat on the floor and raising her up and down simply by the flexing of his thigh muscles, biceps popping in the arm thats fingering her gently. He moans as she kisses him and circles her clit fast with his thumb, praying that his guys didn't detour too much and that they get home soon.

'I want to eat your pussy,' he murmurs tightly against her mouth. 'Eat you 'til you scream. Fuck, I want to know what you taste like.'

"Yes please yes." Just as she can feel the power of his body moving beneath her, he can feel her soft curves undulating against him. Her hands twist and fret in his shirt, and when the car hits an extra hard bump, she gasps, laughs against his lips.

Her hand slips between their bodies and she brushes past his fingers, dipping her fingertip in that musky honey and bringing it back to paint his lips.

He licks it off with the tip of his tongue, fast and needy, catches her fingertip in his teeth and sucks it into his mouth with a moan, holding her eyes as he does.

'Sweet. You taste sweet.'

He can't take much more of this. His head drops forward to rest on her chest while he takes a deep breath (calm down), then his mouth closes on her breast once more as his fingers speed up
in her (theretherethere), wanting to ground himself on her body before he goes too far.

She echoes that moan back to him, louder this time, laughing under her breath again when she hears another moan from the front seat. His mouth finds her breast and she arches for him, loving the sight of his mouth moving on her skin, loving the feel of hungry lips and tongue sliding over her skin.

Her hips keep riding and her breath hitches, another shudder moving through her. Her hand returns to his, grabs his wrist and pulls him even deeper. "Curl your fingertip. Harder, fuck yes. Now just -- press and vibrate."

Normally he'd object to a woman daring to give him instruction. Right now? He wants nothing more in the world to make her come again. So he does as he's told, nipping at the soft flesh in his mouth, pressing her clit at the same time, almost desperate, needing to feel her break.

He knows the moment he's found that spot because she goes rigid and still in his arms. Her core constricts around him, pulsing in waves, and he feels her writhe, a slow hard motion as she curls around him. Another span of heartbeats, his hand moving strong and hard inside her and she's shuddering against him, the tremor moving through her whole body, her voice a rising cry that fills the small space.

He groans out again, his noise lost in hers, feeling almost spent with the effort of holding himself back. But she feels glorious, sounds glorious and he's not at all surprised to see some cleaning up happening in the front.

'Get me home, amigos,' he says, weakly, withdrawing his hand from her finally. Then he looks up at her face and sucks his fingers clean, the barest shine of sweat on his forehead.

She shifts just enough to tug her 'dress' back down again, still trying to catch her breath, smiling down at him with a look of supreme contentment. One hand rises to brush that one lock of hair back from his brow, and then she's bending to kiss him.

"Not done with you yet. Not by a long shot."

He chuckles and kisses her back, supremely confident in his ability to go all night.

'Should hope not, given that I could hammer nails with my cock right now.'

He's relieved to look out the window and see they're only five minutes away. He lights a cigarette to distract himself, resting a hand on her thigh and not at all awkward about having put on such a display for two of his guys, it seems.

She doesn't want to slip away from his lap but they're almost back, so she slides into the crook of his arm, still nibbling at his jaw, teeth fixing in his earlobe for a brief moment. There's a little growl in the back of her throat.

"I promise, I'll make it worth the wait."

Her fingertips slip between the buttons of his shirt, nails grazing his skin. (And if he's not concerned, then neither is she. She'll likely never see either of them again after tonight.)

'Oh, I believe it.'

He offers the cigarette over, even though he doesn't recall ever seeing her smoke. Anything to keep his mind off the ache, all the ways she might make it 'worth it', what he's going to do to her. He's never been so pleased in his life to pull up in front of his house.

'Come on,' he says to her, as soon as the car rolls to a halt. As they walk to the door, he says over his shoulder to his men, 'double security,' as a concession to events earlier in the evening. But that's all because as soon as he's closed the front door behind them, Fi will find herself pinned against the wall and being kissed very soundly.

God yes. Even at nineteen, he's taller than her and she loves being overpowered by his lean strength. She moans against his mouth, meeting and matching that fierce hunger with her own. Her hands tear at his shirt, half to get it off, half to pull him closer.

She wants to call him 'caro', wants to tell him she loves him, but she doesn't dare open her mouth and give those thoughts voice. She's trembling with desire, with need. She settles for winding her arms around his neck and kissing him, telling him with lips and tongue, with voice and breath and the heat of her body.

A part of her wants to believe that he knows. How can he be here, touching her like this, and not know?

Because in matters of the heart, he's denser than a forest at night. It doesn't occur to him that this is what this is about and anyway, he's too desperate to think about it right now. His jacket gets pulled off and tossed away, he pulls his shirt out of his pants and lets it hang, shoes are kicked off and discarded.

'Bed?'

He doesn't care. He's about five seconds away from doing it on the stairs but she did say she wanted to come to bed with him so he's trying to give her what she asked for.

(deleted comment)

She doesn't let him away from her touch all the while she's out of her heels and slipping out of her dress. It doesn't matter. He wants her, she wants him. Whatever else passes between them, this is simple. She can do this.

"Bed," she agrees, hands working at his belt. She wants to turn him inside out with pleasure, wants to burn a memory in his mind so rich, he'll still be hard when she gets back to the bar.

He stills her hand with his own, smiling and shaking his head a touch.

'Let me do that. Come on.'

He takes her hand like he did in the restuarant, leading the way.

Her fingers interlace with his and she grips him like he's a life line, like he might get away. Halfway up the stairs, need overcomes good sense and she stops, pushing him back against the wall and catching his mouth in a searing kiss.

She's tiny but her strength and her desire are fuelled by the weight of memories. Memories of the way he kissed her their first night together, pinned against the wall by the bathrooms. Memories of the way she kissed him when he returned from the cells. Memories of him on his knees before her, kissing her like she was his. All of them, tangled up in the sound of her voice in the back of her throat, and the heat of his body against hers.

A few seconds of being held against the wall and the desire in him won't let him be pinned; he grabs her ass and walks her back until it's her with her back to the wall. He's kissing her all the time, pulling a leg up around his waist so he can push his hips flush against her and rock, groaning at the friction where he needs it.

He pulls back after a minute, breathless and eyes dark with lust.

'Move. Or I'm going to have to have you right here.'

This time, she's the one tugging him by the hand, leading him up the stairs, her gaze never leaving his face. Her skin is singing, her heart is in her throat. Naked except for her thong, bare feet padding over the carpet, she leads him into his bedroom.

Her voice is low and gravelled with hunger, "Come here to me."

Her hands rest on his chest, undoing the buttons one by one, pressing soft kisses from the hollow of his throat down his sternum, letting him guide them to the bed.

'Sit down,' he says to her, pressuring her shoulders lightly. He doesn't move away but he wants her to see this, see what she's done to him.

He slides his shirt off and tosses it, holding her eyes as he works his belt open. He knows he looks damn good but it's not just about showing off - he wants to hold off just a fraction longer and he also wants to make sure she sees him as a man. He may not be fifty years old but he doesn't want her thinking he's a kid and what's more masculine than this?

As soon as his belt's loose his pants slip off his slim hips; he smiles with a corner of his mouth as he eases his shorts down carefully over his erection. They're left at mid thigh and he glances down, noting the dark angry colour at the leaking tip, the strain of the skin, the swell and tightness of his sac. It's heaven to run a hand down his length and squeeze his balls, letting out a breath and meeting her eyes once more.

'Look what you did.'

She sits, her gaze raking over his chest, following the path of his hand, devouring the sight of him. She puts a hand on his hip and pulls him closer. Her palms smooth down his thighs, pushing his pants to the floor, and then back up again, her thumbs brushing the inside of his thighs.

She leans in close, and she can't help but lick her lips. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the musk of his body, her breath feathering over his heated skin. She doesn't dare touch, not until he asks.

She looks up at him, fire in her eyes.

"Wanna see what else I can do?"

He nods wordlessly, swallowing hard, anticipation screwing him ever tighter. He can't let her for long, they can both see how far gone he is but he can't say no. She's right there and his body wants what it wants - his hand runs into her hair at the back of her head, drawing her into him, easing forward to get the touch he needs.

She leans forward and lets the hard length brush her cheek, nuzzling softly, her tongue darting out to taste his glistening skin. Her hands continue their slow caress, over his balls, taking him by the base in a firm grip.

"Easy, lover. Let me take the edge off," she breathes, looking up into his face.

And then she's bending to kiss him. Soft lips and a velvet tongue trace that hard ridge, licking a hot stripe all the way to the tip. Her grip at the root of him is strong enough that he can rock into her without disrupting her maddeningly gentle touch. Another warm wet breath, and he can hear and feel her voice vibrate through his skin, a soft moan as she takes him into her mouth.

And rock he does, completely unable to stop himself. The lightness of her touch is enough to drive him insane and he can't resist trying to get more. Her grip around him is so damn tight though; the makeshift cockring is letting him feel everything she's doing but not letting him get any closer to the edge than he already is. It's both the best thing he's ever felt and torture, at the same time.

It doesn't take thirty seconds for his other hand to find the back of her head and his hips are moving fast, trying desperately to get the long, deep suck he craves.

One hand comes up and grabs his wrist in a strong grip. She looks up at him and shakes her head, just enough to get him to ease his eager grip, not enough to break contact. A little fillip of her tongue against that sweet spot beneath the head should be enough to persuade him she knows what she's doing.

Another moment and he's getting more of what he wants, just not all of it, not yet. She takes him in, as deep as she can, a bit quicker now, stroking along his length, tongue hitting every note pitch perfect and making his whole body sing.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject