latino_menace | OOM: Finally.

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OOM: Finally.

It has been a long month. A long, boring month of healing and don't touch and being forced to exercise some self-restraint. He's spiked his drinks, taken drugs and painkillers and lately, those pills that Fi got from bar. They seemed to do the trick but left a problem - if his body literally can't respond to desire, how will he know when it's fixed?

He's so bored of waiting. And everything looks practically normal. So after that conversation on the beach and the lazy, intimate day that followed he decided to risk it. If he wakes up hurting, fine, he'll give it a bit longer.

He wakes up...hurting. But not much, not much at all. It's the middle of the night, pitch black because there's no natural light on an island in the middle of the sea, no sound but the waves hitting the beach below them. He's drowsy and hasn't opened his eyes but then, he doesn't have to to know what roused him from sleep.

It aches. But he doesn't know if that's because of the injury or because he's so hard he could hammer nails with his cock. He does know that it doesn't hurt enough to stop him and without even thinking about it, he's turning, sliding a leg between Fiona's and kissing her neck, her jaw, collarbone, chest; small, wet, open-mouthed kisses that are as gentle as they are insistent.

'Fi.'

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Her hands are still moving the pan, slipping the spatula under the pancakes and turning them one by one.

Her heart is racing, and she's breathing shallow. His hand at her breast draws a shudder up her spine, and she can feel the hard length of his cock against the curve of her hip.

She waits as long as she can before she clicks the heat off under the pan, and takes a half step away from the stove, letting her kimono slip down around her waist with a sigh. Her eyes close and her hand slips up to cover his.

As soon as she drops her kimono, he turns her around, moves her to the side so he can lean her against the worktop. He's smirking as he squeezes sauce down over her nipples, dropping a line down the centre of her stomach and letting it works it's own way downwards.

'Doesn't taste as sweet as you,' he murmurs, running his tongue along her lower lip before bending to lap at her tits, jerking himself off slowly as he does.

Her hands weave in his hair, and a soft cry catches in the back of her throat at his words. She bites at his lips as he moves away, her hand fisting in his hair, moaning aloud as his mouth moves on her skin. The chocolate flows with the warmth of her skin, sticky sweet, contrasting with the heat and urgency of his kiss. Her nipples are so hard they could cut glass, and she feels him rocking gently against her.

Her hand skims down his bicep, down his forearm, touching his wrist, gently offering to take over for him.

"Let me..."

He nods and lets go of himself, aching, not taking his mouth off her for more time than it takes to switch from one breast to the other. He moans as he starts on the second, his fingers tweaking gently, but firmly over the one he's just left.

'I want you on my cock so bad,' he comes out with eventually, rocking into her hand, nipping at her with his lips.

Want is such a pale word for whatever it is that has her in its grip right now. She goes gently, still not sure how much he's aching, her hand trembling a bit as he nips at her. Each touch draws another gasp from her lips, and she arches back, drawing him against her.

"Want you, caro. Want you. A cuishle. Mine." Her grip on him tightens at that last sentiment, the electricity of his touch sparking in her body sparking like ten thousand volts.

Edited 2010-05-18 00:58 (UTC)

He snuffs a small laugh against her chest, moving lower, lapping at the line of chocolate down her centre, following it where it leads. His fingers still play at her breasts and he's glad he's too low for her to reach now, glad to remove the danger of peaking too early.

'You'll get me.'

But not yet. He's too busy slipping his tongue into her folds, moaning at the sweetness, licking at her swollen clit with gentle, feather-light strokes.

Her knees actually go weak for a moment, and she's glad he's backed her up against the cabinets. One hand clutches at the counter, the other still strokes through his hair. There's a constant stream of breathless syllables on her lips, and a high pitched soft cry as he reaches her centre.

She's aching and each stroke sends another jolt of white hot bliss searing through her. Her hips rock forward into his touch and another shudder takes her.

Her head falls back and she just tries to remember how to breathe.

He takes one leg and hooks it up over his shoulder; he needs the space to angle his head and slide his tongue up into her, fluttering around the entrance, groaning into her as he tastes her in his mouth.

His touch and the vibration of his voice send her spiralling up and up, and she gasps again, her heel digging into his back. Her hand abandons its place in his hair, and she lifts herself onto the counter, hooking her other leg over his shoulder.

He pushes deeper, the pad of his thumb circling her clit, loving the way her legs pull him into her. He loves feeling enclosed when doing this, like he has no choice but to bring her off, like she's got no way of escaping the flick of his tongue and the pull of his lips.

He spreads her open and starts licking that hard nub relentlessly, slipping fingers into her and sliding over her g-spot. Everything about him says that he's not stopping, not until she's lost it.

She can't move like this, can't do anything but hold on tight and take whatever he gives her, trying to rock against him. His fingers slip into her and she grips him there as well, hot and slick and tight, making him push into her. Her hands stroke through his hair and she keens when he finds that spot on her clit, that spot that makes her go rigid, shivering, coiled tight around him.

As soon as she goes rigid, he moans and hits it again, that spot, over and over, working his hand inside her, not letting up, wanting to feel her break.

He's so hard it hurts, desperate to be inside her but desperate to make her come too, wanting to reduce her to paste under his touch.

Her hand slips, sending the bowl and the whisk skittering across the counter, and he's still coming on strong. She keens, scrambling to steady herself, finally just holding on to him. He won't let her fall. (Too late, oh far too late. Fallen so hard for you, caro.)

He's fucking her hard and fast with that hand now, his tongue driving her fucking insane, stealing her breath and her will, stealing everything and replacing it with white hot bliss. She hears a voice crying out, realising from a distance that it's hers, twisted and tight, raw in her throat. Her hand slams back to the counter and she rises up against him, long hard waves shuddering through her as she comes apart beneath him.

He doesn't stop, not until it seems like she can't take any more. Then he takes his mouth off her, slides his hand free and rests his forehead against her stomach, breathing hard and fast, fighting for control. A glance downwards shows him straining, leaking, balls tight as they can be and he can't wait any more.

'You alright?'

He's standing, pressing his lips to hers hard, turning her in his arms.

'...gotta have you.'

She nods, whimpers against his mouth, her hands brushing his hair back, touching his face. She loves the way he's putting her where he wants her, loves that hungry growl in his voice. He touches her like this and she belongs to him.

Her legs are still wobbly, but she holds onto the counter, another tremor taking her breath away. He pins her with his body, and she leans forward, rocking back against him.

"Take."

He groans as she rubs against his cock, leans down and slides a hand under her knee, lifting her leg until his hand is at the counter top. Then he just grips the edge, letting her leg rest over his arm, keeping her spread wide and open for him.

'Been dreaming about this for a month,' he mutters, voice strained as he guides himself into her. Just an inch. Just a glorious, tight, teasing inch, feeling her heat suck at him like a velevt vice.

Her eyes close and her head tips forward, a low moan on her lips at the sound of his voice. He's so thick and hard, and just that inch stretches her. She's tender from the morning, and the pleasurepain is exquisite. Again, he's limited her mobility, but she can still arch, pressing back against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

She's probably learned by now that he does love trapping her down. He loves her going wild on him too but when it's like this, when it's been so long, when he needs it this much...God, he just wants her to take him. Just wants her to make his whole body feel good, just wants to feel her shaking for him and calling his name.

Her head's on his shoulder and he turns to kiss her, pressing himself deep, slow but steady, filling her up and moaning into her mouth.

She sinks into that kiss, sinks into him all over again, losing herself in the strength and the heat of his touch, not caring how vocal she's being. Her spine arches more, and she can't keep herself from grinding on him, just a little give and take, working him deeper, riding his cock in slow, undulating circles. The liquid heat of her last orgasm is still circulating, and this slow press only drives her higher. She grabs his hand and drags it to her breast, knowing what he likes and wanting to give it to him.

He's almost helpless, drowning in want, letting her work herself on him because it keeps him from going all out and finishing this in seconds, lets him enjoy the feel of her hard nipple under his fingers, her soft flesh in his hand, the unbearable sweetness of her pussy.

'Going to come for me again? Going to ride it, Fi? Going to get yourself off on me?'

His voice is quiet, dark, intense. But she doesn't need him to speak to know that, doesn't need him to tell her much he wants her. It's written in every line of his body.

His breath feathers against her skin, his voice pouring over her like the sweetest, darkest honey, coiling through her like fire. She always thinks she can't go again, until he asks, and she has no choice. His hands hold her where he wants her and all she can do is writhe on his cock. He surrounds her, fills her, overwhelms her.

One more, she can give him one more.

"Please. Let me. Just one more. Please, Ramon."

His lips curl upwards, a slow smile, predatory.

'In a minute. Not yet.'

His fingers trail down the centre of her body and he's pressing his lips to her gently, hardly any pressure at all, just enjoying her slow rolling ass and the way she begs him.

His fingertips brush her clit once more, feather-light, barely there.

'Not until I say so.'

Oh sweet merciful fuck, that gentle touch and his denial light her up like a bonfire. Her cunt spasms around him, and that gentle kiss at her shoulder makes her moan. She continues to plead, a continuous litany of breathless syllables, and when he brushes her clit, her whole body shudders. He can feel the effect he's having on her, can hear it in her voice, feel it in her skin.

He's torn between wanting her to come so that he can feel it and so that he can too, and loving seeing her like this. The indecision drags it out longer and he's smirking, kissing her neck in that same soft way, licking gently at the spot behind her ear.

'Not yet. Not yet.'

He feels like his balls are going to explode, he's tight all over, hyper-aware of her wetness on his skin, the slide of her on his shaft. But he can't stop it, can't finish it. Not yet. So he keeps playing with her clit, a squeeze here, a brush there, circling, circling, a flick and he's moving now too, just barely, working his cock in and out, tiny increments at a time.

'...not yet.'

Her awareness collapses down to this impossibly sweet ache, the gentleness of his kiss balanced with that sweet perfect touch. It's absolute torture, and she loves it. She doesn't have to do anything but move and feel and listen to him.

He starts moving and she telegraphs each penetration back to him with a soft cry, twisting her up until she can barely breathe, let alone think. Higher and higher, past her breaking point and beyond. She hangs on his every touch, waiting, trembling.

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