latino_menace | OOM: Bogotá on fight night

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.

He forces himself to ease up, tries to slow his hips and fails, drops his head back and there's an endless stream of quiet, desperate noises coming from his mouth. Her tongue is wicked and he knows he's got to stop her but he just can't bring himself to do it, not yet.

Oh, but she's torn. She wants him inside her, wants the full force and fury of him pounding her senseless. But she wants to see his face when he hits that point of no return.

Just another few strokes, just another moment, no, she wants to watch.

Her grip at the base of him relaxes and her fist slides up his length, wet skin slipping over wet skin. She presses her tongue just so, catching him against her soft palate, mouth and hand moving in relentless counterpoint, not giving him any choice.

The instant her grip lets go his breath catches hard; her tongue presses and he's in trouble and when her hand starts to move, his whole body tenses and a strangled sound rips out of him, slices the heavy air of the room. Quick as lightening he grabs her shoulder and pulls himself away, hissing at the loss of friction and the ache that's now more than a little painful.

He promised himself he was going to have her and if there's one thing that characterises Ramon, it's the way he gets what he wants. In a minute though. For now he's got a hand on the nightstand, bent over and breathing hard, eyes screwed up and pumping a fist. A little while later, he holds up a finger and shakes it - no - and soon after that, he heaves in a breath and lets it out, turns his head to look at her with glinting eyes.

'I'm not coming anywhere but in your pussy.'

He moves, bends and kisses her hard, roaming a hand over her breasts. It'll be pretty clear that he's not negotiating on this - he wants her and that's it.

There's a gasp as he pushes her away and for a moment, she's afraid he might be angry at her. She scoots farther up the bed, hedging her bets by skinning out of her thong.

When she sees that look, she knows, and the heat of his gaze pours into her blood stream like a drug.

She is a creature of fire and need, returning that kiss with equal ferocity, matching him measure for measure. Her hands roam over his skin, pulling him down to her, done with waiting.

"I want you."

He's more than happy to be pulled down but he doesn't let himself lie, preferring to stay on his knees and brace himself just above her, kissing her all the while. His mouth is insistent and hungry, pulling at her lips and tasting her tongue while that roving hand strokes down her throat, her breasts, her belly and sides and eventually sliding to the back of her thigh, lifting her leg to drape it around his waist.

There are differences between him and the older version she's used to. She may be used to him getting into her and then working the bits he knows she likes, for maximum effect - at this age, he has no knowledge of her and prefers to just touch all over, run his hands over her taut muscles and soft skin, appreciate those fine tits and the flatness of her stomach. His kisses are not calculated just to feel good, they're more raw and needy, softer lips passing on his hunger without having to use words.

He knows he can't take her instantly, though he wants to more than anything, so he rises to kneeling between her spread legs, scraping nails down her abdomen.

'You're beautiful.'

His fingers waste no time in sliding into her again, thumb on her clit and he's still caressing a breast wih his other hand. The look on his face will tell her that the sight of her is torturing him, the moans at her wetness will give away how much he wants her. But he can't stand the idea of not making her come first, though he has no idea how he's going to wait. He's backed himself into a corner by not letting her finish that blowjob but fuck it, he can make her writhe while he figures out what to do.

His touch leaves trails of fire burning in her skin, the stinging ache of a thousand knife edges, slicing her open to the bone. It's as much the feel of his fingertips and his palms exploring her skin as it is the hunger in his voice, the savage and now, heart-breaking gentle intensity of his kiss.

This body is younger, more toned, supple skin and strong muscle. But this, this is something she never expected. Her heels curl down the back of his thighs, and she arches off the bed, trying to get next to him. There's air between them, and even with his fingers slipping into her, it's not enough. She echoes that moan back to him, louder, and her hips rise.

Her hands fist in his hair and she breaks the kiss with a strangled gasp. She rests her forehead against his, a shuddering soft cry twisting up from deep inside her chest.

Her voice is a ragged whisper. "Fuck me, Ramon. Fuck me now."

Just hearing the words makes his cock start to pulse and it's no good, he just has to have her. He can't stand not making her come first but now he just can't wait anymore, he's done.

His fingers withdraw from her and he's careful when he takes himself in hand, not gripping tightly or near the head. He inches up closer and there's a tiny, quiet, high-pitched noise as the head of his cock slides against skin for just a fraction of space before there's give and the tip finds heat and wet and a touch of grip. He pulls back an inch to try and get a hold on his desire but it calls to him; his hips are moving without a thought, seeking it out and she'll feel the moment he finally lets himself push inside her - just an inch or two, so slow he could swear he feels the walls of her cunt stretching out to accomodate him - because his whole body starts to vibrate gently and he cries out quietly before cutting it off abruptly.

Breathe. Breathe, breathe fucking breathe you asshole...

He can count on one hand the number of women he's had that he actually gave a damn about pleasing. Typical that this is one of the few and she's wound him up so tight he can't please her, can hardly move for fear of breaking. But he's trying, trying so hard, to not let himself down (her hands are in his hair and she's so close, she won't be able to see him digging his nails into the soft part of his inner thigh, hoping the pain will hold off the inevitable); he eases forward again and she envelops him like a vice, a fucking vice. She was tight on his fingers, it's worse on his cock and he knows that one sudden movement and he's finished.

'Should've...let...you blow me,' he gasps out, hating the defensive note he hears in his voice. She's just a woman, what does it matter if she thinks he's bad?

But it does matter because somehow, she's going to end up his girlfriend in thirty years and he's been talking a good talk since they met and he sure as hell doesn't want to look like an asshole now. But he can't do a thing, he's moving so slow, filling her up, making her take the length of him and when he's buried completely he stays there, presses against her body and rocks a little, hopes that the pressure on her clit will get him off the hook a little while longer.

She holds her breath as he penetrates her, forces herself to remain still, even though her body is screaming at her to move. She can feel everything, the tremors going through him, the hitch in his breath, and the heat of his skin. He's so very hard and fills her so slowly, she can't contain the quiet exhalation, a keening sigh against his mouth. Her arms wind around his neck and she buries her face against his throat.

Her knees rise, just as slow as his own advance, and she wraps her thighs around his waist, her heels urging him on. The shift allows him to move deeper, allows his body to rest in the cradle of her hips, fitted so closely she can feel the pulse of his heart. He settles his weight on her and her body responds completely involuntarily. Her nails bite into his shoulder and her cunt pulses around his cock, a long, rolling contraction that shivers through her whole body.

"There."

He's so obviously trying not to move and just as obviously, biology won't let him still. His body needs this now and his hips start to rock, he fights to keep them slow but fuck, she's clenching him like she wants him to lose it and that's exactly what's about to happen - the pulse around him makes him lose his breath in a surprised huff and he jerks forward; he's horrified to find that once he's moved like that he can't stop.

No. No no no nononononono...

It's too late. He's jerking and jerking and Christ it feels so fucking good, so good that he almost stops caring about what she'll think, so good to let the pressure go, such a relief to have to give in. He has no air left but can't breathe in because the roiling pleasure between his legs has just ignited like a flame near gas; he's shuddering all over as it explodes, unaware that now he's moving, fucking her hard and fast as the fire rolls over him and burns him up, too tight to be able to make a sound as his cock spits a seemingly endless stream into her, the almost unbearable pleasure whiting out his senses for as long as it takes to be over.

He has no idea how long that is. He just knows that when it releases him, there are spots in front of his eyes from lack of air and he's gasping like he's just been in a three hour fight. It's almost a surprise to find that when he comes to rest he's still locked tight between her legs, the soft centre of her pressed around his aching hardness, keeping him safe.

He's magnificent, and she rises with him, her climax bright and sharp and fleeting by comparison, but no less sweeter for the feel of him coming undone in her arms. He's glorious, and she strives beneath him, wanting to share in that rush, wanting to make it good.

Eventually he gentles against her. Her fingers comb through his hair, and she breathes with him, quietly crooning against his temple, pressing gentle kisses against his hair. She won't move to let him go until he wants to move. Every move sends another slow wave of pleasure burning through her, and she doesn't want it to end just yet.

Another difference she'll see; the Ramon she knows would drop his head to her shoulder until he got his breath back, kiss her, smile. This one - well, who knows what he'd do under normal circumstances? All he can think is that he showed himself up and his face is blank, bordering on angry. He can't look at her and when he can breathe normally again, he eases himself up (pressing a small kiss to her neck first) and sits on the edge of the bed. A cigarette is lit and he smokes quietly, looking at the floor.

He'll make it up to her in a few minutes. That won't stop him wishing he'd done better this time around.

Her hands again never leave his skin. He's moving away from her, and that's the exact opposite of what she wants.

"Hey."

She moves behind him, her palms smoothing over his back. She presses a kiss to his shoulder, her eyes falling shut as she nuzzles him.

"We have all night."

She needs him now, in ways she can't begin to explain. Ways that have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with a basic human connection.

It's almost worse, her trying to placate him. It just confirms his suspiscions that he was rubbish. And it's not like he can do what he would with another woman, namely, throw her out. Hell, he doesn't even want her to leave.

By the end of the cigarette, he's come to the conclusion he can sulk or he can do it again and prove to her that he's good. One choice means no sex, the other means a lot of sex.

...it'll probably come as no surprise to anyone that after stubbing the smoke out, he turns his head and kisses her gently.

'I know. We're going to use it too.'

All. Damn. Night.

If he'd stop to think about it for a moment, he'd realise, he couldn't have been all that rubbish if she's still reaching for him, if she's kissing him like she's kissing him now. Soft and insistent, hands moving on his skin, exploring his chest, his shoulders, his neck, like she can read his thoughts with her fingertips.

All night. She has all night to navigate this labyrinth, this minefield. But he's present with her now, she can feel that in the way he's touching her. He's present in ways she never thought she'd ever feel from him. It's intoxicating and she only craves more.

There's a soft moan in the back of her throat as he pulls her close again. All night.

Her hands feel nice and so does her kiss. He turns and sits back on the bed properly, kneeling again and holding her tight against him. Her small frame and the way he can envelop her in his arms turns him on, her obvious desire for him just heightens it - and hell, it's not like he's really gone soft at all. He was wound up too tight for it all to disappear after a single climax.

His hands find her butt and squeeze, then travel again so he can caress her ribs and breasts, one eventually landing in her hair. The other strokes long lines up her spine, navigates her shoulderblades and rests on the back of her neck as he keeps kissing her, letting her pull him high again. He's not rushed now. There's time.

One of the things she's always loved about him is the way he uses his hands. It's exciting to feel that touch with him all over again. She melts into those glorious kisses, and for the first time, she can feel that they're the same man. The years have taken their toll in so many ways, but beneath the layers, the spark that drew her to him in the first place burns bright.

She yields to him, lithe and supple in his arms. Her breath quickens, and she echoes each touch back to him with a litany of soft sighs, quiet hungry moans. (It's better when you're into someone. Really into them.) Her touch roams over his skin, nails grazing lightly, her entire awareness focused only on him. Nothing else in the world matters but tonight, and being here with him.

It's good to be able to touch her without desperation clouding his senses and he takes his time, exploring the nuances of her flesh, the way her skin pulls over her ribs when she stretches over a little, the curve from waist to hip, the swell of her perfectly rounded breasts. And eventually, the hollow at the juncture of abdomen and thigh, the line of pelvic bone that runs to her centre, showing the way for his fingers as they slide between her legs.

Somewhere in the house, a door bangs and maybe there's a voice or two. He notes it almost subconsciously, unfocused on anything that isn't her. The universe outside this bedroom can wait, for now.

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