KeyLimeBeag

one: the oysters.

Harry knew he wanted to marry you the day the two of you met. He didn’t know he was falling in love back then, all he knew was that he wanted you more than he’d ever wanted Lucy or any other woman. With her, it had been a pragmatic decision: He needed a wife, she wanted the money— Lucy was beautiful, poised, and would blend in well with his lifestyle. You are the opposite. You’re loud, and you snort when you laugh, and you don’t smile in that vacant, demure way most socialites do. You have a job in which you make no money, but you stay there because you love it so much; you live your life to the fullest, always pushing uptight Harry to his limits, always testing and challenging him. Harry wants to marry you because he wants you. Not because of his image, not because he’s afraid to die alone or because his mother keeps nagging him about heirs but because he simply cannot imagine a single day in which he doesn’t wake up to your messy hair and frowny face. 

He decides on a different approach than the one he had with Lucy; he doesn’t take you on a grand vacation but rather a lavish afternoon on a yacht he borrowed from a friend — he mentioned buying one once, and you made so much fun of him that he gave up on it —, with a seventeen course tasting menu that is a trip through your relationship: Bite sized meals from every big step of your relationship, from the first night you’ve slept together, from your first date, from a memorable night in Greece with a kleftiko so good it brought tears to your eyes. 

Things go south on the fifth course, when you’re sharing a tray of oysters and caviar canapés that are a memento from a trip to Australia— The two of you had spent just the weekend there, because Harry’s company had a crisis that meant flying back home before the trip was over, but Harry had spent so much time between your legs as an apology that you’d squirted all over his face. 

He’d gotten a lung infection from breathing it in that landed him in the hospital for three weeks, but it was still one of the best nights of his entire life. 

“God, I love oysters.” You say, a little giggly from the champagne, leaning into his side. “Reminds me of that night in Almonta.”

Harry hums, pretending that night isn’t the sole reason for the platter of oysters in front of you. 

“I remember that. Best meal of my life.” He gives you a small, toothy grin when you tilt your head back to look at him. “The oysters were alright, too.” 

You cackle, shoulder bumping against his as you stab the shellfish with your fork, carefully unsticking it from its casing before slurping into your mouth; butter drips down your fingers and Harry can’t look away, picturing what they would look like with the diamond ring he has in his pocket.

“Yeah, the tingling isn’t all that fun, though.” You say, casually, wiping your hands clean. 

Harry blinks. 

“The what?”

“The tingling?” Your statement sounds more like a question, and you frown at him. Something must show on his face because you chuckle, uncomfortable. “You know, the way oysters make your mouth a little numb?” 

“Honey, no—” Harry shook his head, pushing the platter away. “That’s— That’s an allergic reaction. How many of those did you eat? Are you breathing okay?”

You frown, looking at the nearly empty platter before shrugging sheepishly. “Uh— More than in Almonta. By a lot. I feel fine, just the tingly mouth and uh— Maybe a little nauseous?”

Harry jumps from his seat, telling you to stay still before he rushes towards the wheelhouse. They don’t have any epipens on board, which seems like a terrible oversight, but the captain immediately starts barking orders, getting the small crew onto some sort of emergency protocol and promising they’ll get the yacht back to shore as quickly as possible. 

You’re violently retching in the suite’s bathroom by the time Harry finds you; your skin clammy and cold. He kneels by your side, holding your hair out of the way, breathing through his mouth to keep himself from puking as well. He stays there no matter how many times you try to usher him away, thinking of the vows he’ll make as he wipes sweat away from your forehead— In sickness and in health, even if it makes him want to puke too. 

There’s an ambulance waiting for the two of you at the harbor, fully equipped and prepared to handle the allergic reaction that, thankfully, doesn’t seem to affect your breathing or your throat. Harry climbs into the ambulance with you, even as you try to wiggle out of you, telling everyone that you’re fine and that you don’t need a hospital and it takes the paramedic reassuring you that the hospital has a good financial aid for him to realize that you’re concerned about money and not the hospital itself. 

It makes him feel like a failure. Here he is, a man with more money and power than anyone deserves, and the most precious thing in his life is worrying about her financial future. He squeezes your calf, heart constricting in his chest. For richer or for poorer. 

“Don’t worry about that.” Harry says, low enough that you’re the only one that hears it. “Don’t ever worry about that. I got you, always.”

two: the wonder wheel.

The second time Harry tries to propose, he steers away from seafood. He takes you to Coney Island instead for an afternoon of childish glee at the amusement park: Harry hasn’t been there since Peter’s seventh birthday, and he tells you the story of how his mother’s company was just starting, and how the boys had shared a Nathan’s hot dog because it was the most she could afford— He omits the fact that they both fought over it and that Peter cried all the way home because Harry told him their mother only made his birthday special because it was the day she plucked him out of a dumpster and decided to raise him as her own. 

He can’t remember the last time you looked this happy. You’re giggling the entire day, dragging him around the park, outright cackling at him when he drips ice cream on his 800 dollars sweater but your eyes are kind as you try to help him wash it off — it’s cashmere, the whole thing ruined and stretched out where the ice cream had been — and cussing so much as you ring toss that, for a moment, he’s genuinely afraid you might get kicked out of the park before he can propose. 

Harry slips the guy manning the ferris wheel twenty dollars so that he stops the ride when the two of you are at the very top, just as the sun starts to set. It’s romantic, even if a little cliché, but Harry thinks you’ll like it. He’s been taught, from a very early age, that the right way to love is through grand shows of romance. The roses and the private dinners and the lavish vacations— Expensive gifts, big and small acts of chivalry that are meant to show someone that you love them; it’s what women want, his brother told him once, even if Harry couldn’t quite grasp the concept of why. He’d done it all with Lucy because he felt like he had to. It was a transaction, and Harry constantly felt the need to prove that he was well-suited for her. 

With you, it’s different. He does it because he loves the way your face lights up, how you giggle and bat your lashes at him; how you say it’s silly and that he didn’t have to go out of his way for you but there is still a prep to your step for the rest of the day. 

Harry does it to make you happy, and that is an unfamiliar feeling for a man so used to putting himself first. 

He’s shaking all over by the time the ferris wheel finally stops. You turn your head this and that way, sitting on the very top of the wheel; it has a beautiful view, he’ll give you that— The sun is just starting to set, falling behind the skyscrapers in the distance, the entire sky taken over by shades of orange and pink. 

“I think I can see your apartment from here.” You giggle, pointing to the opposite direction of Tribeca but Harry pays it no mind, because it’s the first time you’ve had your back to him all day, and it’s fucking perfect. 

He reaches into his pocket with trembling fingers, grasping the dainty diamond ring he’s been hiding for over a month now; he has a speech prepared, a little story about a boy who never thought he would be worthy of love and the girl that showed up just at the right time but, as he tries to position the ring in the right way, it slips from his sweaty fingers. 

Harry curses so loud it makes you jump. 

“God— Fucking damn it.” He dives forward, trying to catch it before it hits the ground but instead the ring bumps against his fingers, arching through the air and falling directly through the grates on the cart’s windows.

“What was that?” You scoot forward in your seat, trying to peak through the metal squares. “What did you drop?”

“Nothing.” He says, and it sounds so fake he follows up with: “A penny.” 

“A penny?” You raise an eyebrow. “Does the big Mr. Castillo even know what that looks like?”

Harry huffs, rolling his eyes just for good measure— It only lasts for a second, though, before he discreetly starts to peer down below; the view from above isn’t great, but he knows there’s no way he’ll ever get that ring back. 

“Harry?” You call out, your voice so sweet when he finally pulls his eyes away from the ground. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

“I’m okay.” He says, bringing a hand to smooth the little crease between your brows. “It’s alright, just a penny.” 

A ‘penny’, worth two hundred and seventy thousand dollars, lost somewhere between colorful carts and wonder wheel fuselage. 

By the time the two of you go home, your eyelids are drooping, your head on Harry’s shoulder as his driver brings the two of you back to Tribeca; you’re clutching tightly to the walrus plushie Harry won for you, and he can’t stop thinking about how bright you smiled when he did it. The streetlights reflect on your face, and Harry thinks you might be the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. 

“Today was very special.” You mumble, voice clouded by sleepiness. “Thank you.” 

Harry turns his head, ignoring the insistent vibration of his work phone, and presses a kiss to the top of your head, heart aching with the knowledge of just how more special it could’ve been.

three: the waterfall.

Harry is nothing if not an obstinate man. Where others (his brother included, during one late night phone call) might see the two failed proposals as a sign of the universe that, perhaps, he’s making a mistake, Harry sees it as a challenge. He’s a man that is used to high stakes, that thrives off of the thrill of a risky business deal, a shark in the water that smells blood miles away and goes for it. He’s also the sort of man that gets nervous enough to drop an engagement ring down a ferris wheel (which he really never recovered, just as he presumed), but that’s part of why he loves you so much. You make him human. With you, he’s not Harry Castillo, the business mogul that is known for hostile acquisitions and getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it. With you, he’s just Harry. 

After the wonder wheel disaster, Harry takes a different approach. He goes in hard, not with his heart but with his mind, tackling the proposal like he would a difficult client: He starts with the ring, going back to his usual jeweler and designed a custom piece— Not the same as the one he’d lost, because someone would eventually find that ring and he didn’t want a copy of your ring walking around but a brand new one, inspired by several celebrity engagement rings he’d noticed you zoom in on while scrolling through your phone. A gold band, because he knows you always go for the yellow gold when picking out jewelry, twisted and molded in a way that would, eventually, stack perfectly above the wedding band. 

The main difference between the two rings, however, is the diamond. They’re both six carats and pear shaped, but this one is lab grown— His mother would go into cardiac arrest if she ever knew, and even his jeweler had raised both eyebrows when he requested it but, two days after the Coney Island fiasco, you’d gotten into a pretty heated argument on an Instagram post’s comment section about the ethics of natural jewels and the consequences that mining them has on the people who are enslaved and exploited for it. 

Harry had never thought about that. He had never thought about a lot of things before you— The consequences of his wealth, what that meant for other people around him. It shone a terrible light on all the things he took for granted, forgetting his not-so-fortunate past as the years of more money than he could ever need stacked up on top of each other. And he’s both embarrassed for it and thankful that you came into his life, no matter how much his mother scoffs at your antics. 

He had also told himself he wouldn’t do it overseas. He’d planned the trip for Lucy’s proposal, and it felt like a cheap second try but, all things considered, Harry thinks proposing abroad might be the thing that makes it so special. So, after seeing the way you keep swooning at Tiktoks of Phi Phi Island, he takes you to Thailand. 

Truth be told, Harry didn’t expect to like the country as much as he does— He’s never been a beach kind of guy, always preferring the bustling of a big city, but there is something about sitting on the silky white sand of Railay Beach watching you dive into the crystal blue waters that almost has him proposing right then and there.

In retrospect, he probably should have; even if he left the ring back at the hotel, maybe he should’ve dropped to his knees when you finally come out of the ocean in your pink bikini, salt water dripping down your chest. At least, like that, he would’ve proposed at all. 

You plop down on the beach towel next to him and Harry hands you his half-drunk dragon fruit kiwi smoothie; you lean against him, sticky shoulder bumping against his sunburnt one. 

“Don’t think I’d ever get tired of this view.” You say, softly, watching as the blood red sun starts to set. 

“I wish we could live here.” He admits in a small voice, tensing as he waits for your reaction— It’s childish but he’s embarrassed of the admission, afraid of what you’d think of his moment of vulnerability even if, logically, he knows you’d never judge him for anything; not like his parents did, at least, who’d mock him relentlessly whenever he was a kid and cried on the way home after a vacation. 

“We?” 

Harry shrugs, feeling his already reddened face burning even brighter as you shift to stare at him. He keeps his eyes on the ocean, doing his best to pretend he hasn’t just opened his heart to you with a single, small sentence. You press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Me too.”

He waits until almost the end of your trip, when you finally make it all the way up to Tak. For all of Harry’s new-found love for the beach, he’s not a big fan of the forest. Still, he hikes with you all the way to Pha Charoen because he knows that proposing to you in the scenic staircase-shaped waterfall is going to be a thousand times more memorable than the wonder wheel or a borrowed yacht. The private tour guide he hired giggles as Harry wades into the water, cellphone in hand and fully prepared to serve as a photographer during the big moment; you’re in a pretty dress that is short enough so it doesn’t get wet but Harry, for all of his planning, trudges with water soaking into his khakis— He thinks it’ll look bad in the pictures but maybe you won’t care, not with the way you’re smiling so wide, taking in the views of the water that cascades just a few feet away. 

The tour guide, Pranee, gives Harry a discreet thumbs up when the two of you are perfectly in frame and then points to the left. “Look, guys! A monkey!”

You immediately turn your back to Harry, searching for the animal that doesn’t exist. He breathes deeply, takes a small step back and kneels. 

Harry doesn’t even see it happen. One moment he’s lowering himself on one knee, the other he has both feet in the air, his back scratching against the rock formation as he slides down several steps. He hears you screech and then nothing else other than the roaring of the water as he unwillingly somersaults down the current.

He ends up with seven stitches on his bicep after getting caught in a particularly sharp rock, a twisted ankle and enough muscle pain to show that he is, indeed, nearing fifty years old. The ring somehow stayed in his pocket, thankfully, and you’re now using one of Pranee’s pictures of Harry being ass up face down in the water as your phone’s lockscreen, so he figures it wasn’t all bad.

four: the proposal.

Harry doesn’t give up. He is not the sort of man to give up on anything, especially not something this important. He just… Takes a step back. His recovery from the Thailand trip is slow, slower than it would’ve been a couple of years back, and it brings forth a whole plethora of realizations he has been trying to avoid. His age is the main concern— He feels like his body is starting to break down, his stamina dwindling, injuries taking longer to recover from; his mother starts casually mentioning botox every time they have lunch together, the grays in his hair more prominent every time he looks in the mirror. 

Despite that, Harry doesn’t feel old (well, maybe only when it takes him five weeks to stop groaning whenever he stands because of a silly tumble down a waterfall). But then he looks at you, so much younger, still so full of energy and life and he wonders if he’s not selfishly taking away your youth. 

So, yes, Harry doesn’t give up. But he does reconsider. He hides the ring in his office and leaves it there for a couple of weeks, choosing instead to spend his time with you without the worry of the perfect proposal— He still wants to marry you, wants to have the pride of knowing you carry his last name, the safety that comes with his money and his status. He wants you on his bed and his house and his car, wants your name next to his at every event. But it dawns on him that he’s not certain if you want that too: He’s been so focused on making sure to keep the proposal a surprise, he doesn’t even consider the possibility of your answer being no. 

He decides to just ask you. Not in an actual proposal but more of a conversation, testing the waters to figure out if he can pull out the ring or if he should keep it hidden for another year, but there never seems to be a right time for that— Or maybe he’s scared of the answer, even though Harry would never admit to it.

The question slips out on a Saturday evening while the two of you are having a movie night in the shoebox that you call an apartment, sitting on the couch you stole from a garbage pile on the curb. You’d made Harry carry the damn thing for three blocks even though he promised he’d give you all of the couches in the entire world if it kept you from bringing garbage into your home. 

The garbage couch is, perhaps, the most comfortable couch he has ever sat on. 

“Would you ever want to get married?” He asks, watching the way your hand full of Skittles freezes halfway to your lips. 

“What?” You ask. Despite how good Harry is at reading people, he cannot make sense of the emotion that fleets across your face. 

“With me. Would you ever want to get married to me?”

You twist on your side of the couch, your knees drawn to your chest; you’re wearing a pair of sweatpants that you got either from Walmart or Target or whatever other big store Harry hasn’t set foot inside since he was a child, an old t-shirt from his days at Brown University that is ratty and stretched out from age, and a pair of Chanel eye patches. 

This is another little thing that Harry loves about you. Here you are, in a stolen couch in sweatpants that might well be from the Dollar Tree, wearing an eye mask that costs over a hundred dollars. Any other person might’ve seen it as hypocrisy, but Harry knows better than that— He understands that you don’t care about boasting luxury, about flaunting his money or spending it on things that you might consider futile. You’re ambivalent but strong-willed, sticking to your morals and what you think is the right thing. Headstrong. 

“Are you proposing to me, Harry Castillo?” 

“No. Yes.” He pauses, trying to figure out the look on your face when you quirk an eyebrow at him. “Maybe. I mean— I tried three times already, so I figured I might as well just say it, but if you want it to be more romantic I can try again. Fifth time’s the charm or something.” 

You throw your legs over his, swinging on the couch until you plop down on his lap, your chest pressed against his, shins bracketing his thighs. Harry’s hands find your waist all on their own, the weight of you a familiar and welcoming feeling. 

“I would marry the shit out of you.” You say, fingers running through his hair. “So yes, if this is a proposal, I’m saying yes.” 

He kisses you, your teeth clacking against each other as you both smile through the kiss. Harry’s heart thunders inside his chest, so fast he thinks he might go into cardiac arrest— And he’d die a happy man, because the way you press against him and giggle into his mouth brings forth an emotion that he never thought he’d ever truly feel. 

Love. 

It was true when he told Lucy he’d never been in love before, and at some point he truly thought that would never be in the cards for him, but all along he’d simply been waiting for you. The woman that challenges him, that disrupts his world and pulls him away from the trap of his own mind. 

“I love you.” Harry says when he finally pulls back, and he thinks you’ll never understand how much he means it. He kisses your cheek once, twice, thrice. You giggle, folding in on yourself when his mustache brushes against that soft part of your neck where you’re extra ticklish. 

“I love you too.” You say, grinning ear to ear. “Wait, what do you mean you tried to propose before?”

Harry groans, head tilting against the back of the garbage couch. 

“You don’t even wanna know.” 

bonus: the wedding.

The two of you get married in New York City, seven months after Harry finally manages to propose. It was a rocky road, with Harry’s mother trying to take control of the festivities and you slamming your foot down on having the party exactly the way you and Harry wanted it, and he’s never been so attracted to you as he’d been then. 

Well, maybe only when you made your way down the aisle. You wore a shiny satin dress that was more champagne than white, figure accentuated by the corset that tied to your back— Harry had missed his portion of the vows, only snapping out of his trance when the officiant called his name twice; you’d laughed, and he’d blushed, and all Harry could think and say was about how lucky he was to have such a powerful, incredible woman by his side. He worships at your altar that night, trying to convey with his body what his words could not: How much he’d kiss the ground you walk on, how he’d never be able — or willing — to find someone that came even close to make him feel the way he does for you. 

Your honeymoon is in Thailand. You make the same island hopping you’d done the last time — sans Tak, because Harry wasn’t ready to face that humiliation again — and you end the trip on Railay Beach, in a small seaside bungalow that Harry buys for the two of you. You get matching bamboo tattoos one evening after too many boozy smoothies: Your initials on his left collarbone, his initials on your left ribcage. If anyone asked, getting a matching tattoo with his wife at fifty years old while honeymooning in paradise had never been in the realm of possibility for one Harry Castillo, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

Going back to New York City after a month of good food, beautiful beaches and lovemaking is a sad affair and, once again, Harry is reminded of the ten year old little boy he once was, sitting in his parents private jet or the back of a car, holding back tears because he did not want to go back home. This time it’s just bittersweet, your hand in his as you sit next to each other on the private plane. 

“Is it weird that I already want to go back?” You giggle, and Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose. 

“No, Mrs. Castillo.” He says, savoring the words. “Not weird at all.” 

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

wip

Taglist:

His weight pins you into the mattress, thick fingers already buried deep, deep inside your soaked, velvety cunt, stretching you around them in a firm constant motion.

His forearm flexes as he pumps and pumps them in and out with a wet, filthy rhythm, thumb pressing into your little nub and knuckles brushing onto that sweet, sensitive spot that makes your thighs jerk over and over again.

"Shhh, babygirl," Joel murmurs, voice low. "Daddy's got you. Daddy's got his baby. Just let it happen, honey."

You're already crying—soft, small hiccuping sobs that shake in your chest—because it's too much, too fast, too overstimulating for your poor little cunt, and you've never ever felt anything like this. 

Oh and Joel knows you've never felt this way before. 

Your hands can only push weakly at his shoulders, and he won't move. Solid, immovable, pinning you completely under him, every ounce of his strength focused on squeezing another orgasm out of you.

"Daddy—please, I-I think I'm gonna—" Your voice cracks as fresh tears slip down your temples. The pressure in your belly is so unbearable, a hot, insistent throb that presses and presses. "I'm gonna pee, I can't—"

Joel's free hand slides up, palm broad and calloused, and presses firmly right below your belly button. The heel of it sinks into the soft flesh of your tummy, and the sensation makes your whole body jolt against him. 

"S'okey, baby. You ain't gonna pee. That's not what's happenin'." He places a kiss on your forehead. "You're gonna squirt for Daddy, that's all. My messy girl just needs a little help."

His fingers curl again, scissoring them inside you, and the wet sound is obscene—slick, squelching, constant. Your thighs tremble around his wrist, trying to close, but he's wedged between them, hips braced wide so you can't escape the relentless drag of his knuckles. 

Every thrust and rub makes your clit throb oversensitive, swollen and aching, you can feel how puffy your folds are, how they cling to his fingers on every pull.

"T-too much," you whimper, voice breaking. Fresh tears spill, hot, salty, melting into your hair. "Daddy, please, I can't—"

He hushes you again, leaning down so his beard brushes your cheek, breath warm against your ear. 

"You can, honey. You're doin' so good for me." He murmurs, his free hand going behind your head and making you look at his fingers disappearing in your hole. "Pretty cunt takin' my fingers like it was made for 'em. So tight, so wet—fuck, listen to you." 

He punctuates the words with a particularly deep, hard thrust, and a gush of slick spills out around his knuckles, soaking the sheet beneath you.

"Oh—" you gasp, your hands fist into his flannel shirt, tugging, but it's useless. 

He's too damn heavy, too solid, and he knows it.

The knowledge sits in his pretty brown eyes when he pulls back just enough to watch your face; dark, patient, maybe a little amused.

"Push all you want, babygirl. Ain't movin' till you give it to me."

The pressure crests then again, sharper this time, and your back arches hard off of the bed. 

Joel's hand on your tummy presses down firmer and firmer, pinning you, making the overstimulation worse. The combination—his fingers stroking that spongy spot inside you, the weight of his palm, his body lying on top of you—snaps something loose.

"There she goes."

You sob his name as it hits, a sudden, violent rush that sprays out around his fingers in a hot, messy arc. It soaks the sheets, splashes up his wrist, wets his pants and keeps coming and coming in pulsing, squelching waves while your cunt clenches desperately around him. 

Joel groans low in his chest, the sound filthy and approving. "There it is. That's my girl. Look how much you had in ya, so messy." 

But he doesn't stop. 

His fingers keep moving, slower now but still deep, working you through every aftershock until you're a twitching and whimpering mess. 

The overstimulation burns, sharp and electric, every nerve raw and singing. You try to twist away but his body  keeps you caged, your hips shifting just enough to grind the heel of his palm against your clit on every stroke.

"Shhh, I know," he soothes. "Daddy's too strong for you, ain't he? Can't get away even if you wanted to. And you don't really want to, do you? Feels too good, havin' your old man ruin that pretty pussy."

Your answer is a broken moan, hips jerking helplessly as another smaller gush leaks out around his fingers. 

Joel chuckles, low and warm, finally easing his hand free. 

Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty, aching,  slick dripping down the cleft of your ass to join the wet patch beneath you.

He shifts his weight then, one knee nudging your thigh wider, and the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance suddenly. 

He's thick, hot, the ridge catching on your swollen folds as he rocks forwards just enough to tease. 

You shake your head immediately, a whine of protest leaving your lips. "S'too much, daddy..."

"S'okey, honey. You're okay. We're gonna do that again," he murmurs, and your stomach flips. "But this time, i'm gonna fuck it out of you. Fill you up all nice and slow, and make you squirt on my cock, over and over till you can't think straight. Ya hear me, sweet girl?"

You can't do anything but nod, tears still clinging to your lashes, body trembling under him. 

This overstimulation in your body has you floaty, every sensation now amplified: the drag of his cockhead through your slick, the way his chest hair rasps against your nipples when he leans down, the steady press of his hand still splayed across your tummy because he owns it.

Joel pushes in slow, the stretch burning sweet  and so, so deep, making your walls flutter around him, still so sensitive from the earlier release. 

He groans when he bottoms out, hips flush to yours, and stays there for a moment, rubbing your little clit, letting you feel every inch. 

"Theere we go, just take me. You're so tight, honey." he breathes. "Even after all that, still squeezin' me like you don't wanna let go."

When he starts to move—it's long, deliberate strokes that grind against every oversensitive spot inside you. 

Each thrust punches little gasps and pitiful whimpers from your throat, and the wet sound of your cunt taking him is louder now, slick and messy from everything he's already pulled out of you. 

His hand stays on your belly, thumb stroking soothing circles even as his hips snap harder, driving you up the bed.

"Gonna make you squirt again," he promises, voice rough with effort. "Gonna feel you gush around my cock, soak the both of us. And you're gonna take it, 'cause Daddy knows what you need better than you do."

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, but there's no fight left—just the overwhelming rush of sensation as he fucks you through the overstimulation, each thrust pushing you closer to that same unbearable edge. 

Joel's voice stays in your ear the whole time, sweet and condescending, praising and guiding you through every wave until you're sobbing his name again and again while the sheets are ruined completely beneath you.

This makes me kinda want to write a piss kink fic but...I already got so much hate for writing fauxcest im a LITTLE traumatised😭😭

Javier sits hunched over the wooden desk in his dimly lit office. Files and case notes are scattered everywhere, stacks of paper threatening to avalanche off the edges, the smell of cigarette smoke perfuming the air.

His eyes burn from hours of staring at the same documents, working overtime to give the rest of his team a well deserved break.

Then his phone chimes with a new notification… and another one… then another one. The insistency has him reaching for the device with furrowed brows, cigarette dangling from between his lips.

YOU: i got something to show u YOU: come over ;) YOU: [Attachment: 2 Images]

He stares at the lock screen, blowing out a plume of smoke. His thumb hovers for half a second before he opens the text thread.

The first photo hooks into his gut and reels him right in.

Your reflection is captured in what looks like a domed, polished silver platter. It’s shameless, really, your ass pushed out perfectly in black panties, the curve full and inviting, thin fabric disappearing between your soft cheeks. One hand is stabilizing you against the cart the platter sits on while the other holds the phone. 

Javier sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, eyes devouring every detail. 

He can already picture it. You on all fours, looking back at him with that challenging smirk as he grips your hips and buries himself deep in that tight, dripping pussy. And the sounds you’d make—Jesus Christ, Javi swears he hears your sweet, filthy moans echoing around in his head constantly, torturing him. 

He flicks the built-up ash into the glass tray with a tap then swipes to the second photo.

Your silhouette is reflected in the window of your bathroom, city lights glittering before you. He knows how much you love showing yourself off—so he wouldn’t be surprised if you had captured the attention of anyone walking along the street below.

He’d definitely stop if he saw you posing in front of the window naked.

The curve of your body is alluring. His eyes immediately drop to your bare thighs and how the teasing angle of the photo keeps your breasts covered.

Another fantasy swirls around in his mind, this time it’s of fucking you against the large window, the whole damn city an audience to the carnal debauchery that exists between you. 

He’s hard and aching to be inside of you. His fingers move across the screen as he sends you a curt response:

JAVIER: Be there in 20 minutes. 

The door is already unlocked when Javier arrives. He pushes it open and steps into the familiar chaos of the lower floor of your apartment, the space still a glamourous mess just as how he’d remembered it from the night of your birthday.

The main lights are off, leaving only the glow of a feathery floor lamp in the corner of the open space and the warm amber LED strips lining the loft area above.

Javier calls out your name, his deep voice carrying easily over the music playing through the speakers upstairs as he closes the door behind him.

“I’m upstairs.”

He hasn’t seen the loft level yet, but if the downstairs is any indication, he expects the same colorful chaos.

He climbs the stairs slowly, taking in the provocative framed photos of you hung against the leopard-print wallpaper, your body captured in differing sexy poses.

He’s never met anyone as unapologetically authentic as you are.

When he reaches the top, he stops for a second, taking it all in.

You’ve turned the entire top floor into your own private dance studio. One entire wall is lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, reflecting every angle of the space.

Your chrome pole stands in the center. The other walls are lined with your impressive collection of Pleasers in every color and style, displayed like trophies.

You’re stretching in front of the mirror wall in a perfect split, hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing a cropped Baby Phat tracksuit with booty shorts that show your ass off just right and matching pink leg warmers. The basic dancer heels on your feet complete the look.

“This is impressive,” Javier says, hands sliding into the pockets of his dress pants. He didn’t bother stopping at his place to change—he came straight from the office, jacket left in the car, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loose around his neck.

You catch his reflection in the mirror and bite your lower lip, eyes twinkling with that familiar lustful spark.

“Thanks,” you purr.

Javier watches, transfixed, as you rise gracefully from the split, the added sway in your hips from the heels making every step seductive.

You walk straight to him, locking your arms around his neck and batting your full lash clusters up at him with a knowing smile.

“Long day?” you ask innocently, body pressing flush against his.

He instinctively wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you tighter against him, his other hand dropping to grab a generous handful of your ass, squeezing possessively.

“The longest,” he mutters hoarsely. His fingers knead the soft flesh, already imagining how it would feel bouncing against his thighs. “What do you have to show me?”

You flash him a flirty smirk and lean up to kiss his chin, lips brushing against the stubble there. “Come sit.”

You unwrap yourself from him, taking his hand and guiding him over to the chair you’ve placed in the perfect spot. Javier gives you a skeptical yet amused look, but sits anyway, spreading his thighs wide in that casual, masculine way that always makes your stomach flutter.

“What now?” 

“You ask sooo many questions all the time,” you tease, circling him slowly like he’s your prey. “It’s annoying.”

He scoffs, leaning back in the chair, one hand resting on his thigh, his silver watch glinting.

“Yvonne mixed me a tape for my new set,” you continue, walking over to your CD player. “I figured since I have you at my disposal, you’d be the perfect person to practice it on.”

Javier’s brows raise slightly. He knew better than to expect you to summon him here for an intel related meeting. Not that he’s complaining. God, never that.

“How lucky am I?” he murmurs, watching as you pop in the disc and adjust the lighting with a tap on your phone. The room dims to match the sensual mood. 

“Very,” you reply with a wink, pressing play.

The song begins and you move toward the pole in the center, hips moving with finesse, the heels clicking against the sleek hardwood floor.

Javier leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on you like a man watching his favorite sin unravel.

The hypnotic beat of the music blends seamlessly and most definitely adds to the attraction. Your vibe for the entire set is to give off more siren energy—as opposed to your usual lively and upbeat routines.

You swirl your hips at the right time and dance provocatively, showing off your flexibility in the sexiest way. You spin around the pole in different positions and tricks that speak to how naturally talented you are.

The only good thing your mother ever did was force you into doing gymnastics as a little girl, then cheer in high school. It really set the groundwork for your skills today.

The colored lights shift and bleed across your dancing figure in hypnotic waves, turning the entire top floor into a private stage just for him as you grip the pole tightly between your thighs, hanging upside down, blowing a kiss to him.

Javier feels the same pull he felt that first night at Ace. When you stepped onto the stage in that cowgirl outfit, dazzling under the lights as bills rained down around you.

But this is different. More intimate. More dangerous. You’re not performing for a crowd tonight. You’re performing only for him.

It further fuels this selfish entitlement he feels towards you. 

Deep reds and purples kiss your skin, making you look like a wet dream come to life. You catch his eye as you move, holding his gaze with that signature daring look, lips parted, a small, cocky smile playing at the corners.

Javier is rock hard, breathing heavier than he should be. He’s been turned on since your first text, but watching you now is torture of the best kind. His palms are clammy, fingers balled up into a fist as he fights to keep himself sat in the chair.

You approach him slowly but you don’t let him touch. Instead, you slowly unzip your cropped jacket, teasing him more, peeling it off and letting it slide down your arms then drop to the floor, revealing a sexy push-up bra that lifts your tits perfectly.

The sight makes his tongue feel thick in his mouth, eyes tracing down your toned sternum and to the shining gem of your pretty belly button ring.

Then go the shorts. You turn around, giving him the view he’s been dying for—sliding the fabric down your legs with agonizing slowness, bending at the waist to show off the perfect, round curve of your ass in the tiny thong.

The arch in your back is wicked, thick thighs flexing as you step out of the shorts and leg warmers, leaving you in nothing but the heels, bra, and thong.

Javier’s breath catches, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

You fall to your knees and crawl toward him on all fours, eyes locked on his. Your hands slide up his legs and onto his thighs. Purposely, you press your chest against the swollen bulge at his fly, feeling the print of his cock. It makes you hum as you rise to settle on his lap.

You grind your needy core right against his erection. The friction is electric. You smirk when you feel how hard he is, the exact reaction you were looking for, and how his hips twitch up instinctively to meet you.

Large, gun-calloused hands settle on your waist, groping as you reach behind yourself and unclasp your bra. You shimmy your shoulders sensually, letting the straps fall, then toss the garment aside. Your tits spill free, nipples tight and begging for his attention.

Javier’s hooded eyes drop immediately, heavy with lust. His mustache twitches as he licks his lower lip, fingers digging harder into your waist.

“Do you like what you see, baby?” you coo with a tilt of your head, biting your lip as you press down harder, rolling your hips in tantalizing circles against his cock to match the rhythm of the song.

“Fuck yeah. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” he rasps truthfully, guiding the way you move on him.

The giggle you let out is downright salacious. “I know.”

Javier groans, head falling back for a second as you keep moving, your damp arousal leaving a wet spot on his pants. He’s losing his fucking mind.

The mix fades out on a sultry, lingering note. You’re about to slide off Javier’s lap, but his strong hands hold you firmly in place.

He lifts his hips slightly, reaching into his back pocket with one hand. His wallet comes out, and he flips it open, pulling out some cash. The paper is crisp as he drags the edge of the money slowly between your breasts, the sensation puckering your sensitive nipples.

He continues lower, the bills brushing over your stomach until they tickle the sensitive skin around your belly button ring. You squirm on his lap, thighs tensing around him, a soft moan slipping from your lips as heat pools low in your core.

You stare down at him, intrigued and breathless, glossed lips parted.

Javi holds the money up between you in a challenge. You reach for it, but he pulls it back at the last second, an impish glint in his dark eyes.

“Dame un beso.”

The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder. Your clit throbs hard, a fresh wave of wetness soaking your thong. It’s rare when he speaks Spanish to you, but when he does, it always fucks with your head in the best way. It’s so impossibly sexy.

You grab his loosened tie, yanking him forward until your bare tits press against the fabric of his shirt. 

Your nose brushes against his strong, aquiline one, as you cup his jaw in both hands, thumbs stroking over the rough stubble on his cheeks. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean in and kiss him exactly as he asked—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier.

His thick mustache scratches against your skin, sending goosebumps racing down your arms. You bite his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth before slipping your tongue inside, tasting the remnants of whiskey on him. 

Javier loses himself in the kiss. He loves this almost as much as fucking you. The softness of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you melt against him like you were made to fit right here.

Your body is warm and pliant against him. It fuels every dark, possessive feeling he has for you. He’s too addicted to the way you make him feel.

You pull back first, nipping his bottom lip one last time, a thin string of spit connecting your mouths. You snatch the money from his fingers with a playful little smirk.

“Thanks, daddy,” you coo, pecking the tip of his nose before sliding off his lap entirely.

His cock twitches hard in his pants, a fresh surge of lust making his head spin. He’s never been called that before, but coming from you, it stirs something primal and filthy inside him. Though anything you call him makes him react this way.

“So, what’d you think of the set?” you ask as you move around the studio, changing the lights to a softer, warmer glow.

Javier feels a little disoriented. He expected the dance to lead straight into fucking you senseless on the floor.

“It was great,” he mutters, adjusting himself blatantly as he watches you. “Fucking amazing.”

“Think my tips are gonna be good?”

“Your tips are always good, muñeca.”

You laugh softly, a sinful little sound. “Smart answer, agent.”

You slip off your Pleasers and return them to their spot on the wall, then grab your phone. You approach him from behind, leaning down to rest your chin on his shoulder. Your hands slide over his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt.

“I’m gonna change, then I want you to take us somewhere.”

Javier turns his head slightly. “Take us somewhere…? It’s late.”

“And?” You peck his lips. “You’re on Vegas time now, baby. No such thing as it being too late.”

He supposes you have a point. “Okay… where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” You wink, pulling back and walking down the stairs. He has no choice but to follow.

You change quickly, squeezing into a low-rise mini skirt that barely covers your ass and a tight tube top that stretches across your heavy breasts, slipping on your favorite pair of glittery pumps. Throwing on a cropped, bedazzled denim jacket, you let your hair down from the ponytail and fluff it out until it falls exactly how you want it to.

Snatching the nearest designer bag, you scoop a quick bump onto your pinky nail, inhale it sharply, and rub your nose with a sniffle before stuffing your essentials inside.

Javier watches from the doorway, arms crossed, the bulge in his pants still obvious.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” he asks as you meet him at the door.

You pop a lollipop into your mouth, the glossy pink sphere resting between your freshly glossed lips as you spritz on some perfume.

“Nope.”

Walking out into the night together, the city waits with the promise of more chaos, pleasure, and more of the beautiful disaster you two can’t seem to quit.

Javier’s Escalade rolls to a stop at the end of a long, private driveway. Ahead sits a sprawling, Tuscan styled house. It looks like something out of an architecture magazine. 

Palm trees sway gently in the night breeze and the distant lights of Las Vegas glitter far below like a spilled jewelry box.

He cuts the engine and stares at the house for a long moment, brows pinched together.

“Where are we?”

“A mansion,” you reply simply, popping the door open and hopping out, your short skirt riding up your thighs as you adjust the strap of your bag against your shoulder. 

Javier deadpans, exhaling through his nose. He kills the headlights, steps out, and follows you up the wide stone pathway toward the massive double front doors. His eyes scan the property automatically—looking for cameras, motion lights, anything that might scream you’re about to get caught trespassing!

You pause near one of the ornate windows flanking the entrance, then casually step off the path and into the neatly trimmed hedges, careful not to let the heel of your custom Swarovski Louboutin’s sink into the wet dirt below.

“What the hell are you doing?” Javier whisper-yells. He stays on the walkway, glancing over his shoulder like he expects a security guard to appear any second.

You ignore him, rolling the candy around in your mouth as you feel along the underside of the window frame. A few seconds later you make a soft, triumphant sound.

“Score.”

You pull a small metal key from its hiding spot, wipe the dirt off on the side of your skirt, and step back onto the pathway. Using the item, you unlock the front door and step in, immediately going over to the alarm and punching in the code to make sure it doesn’t sound off.

Javier remains in the doorway, framed by moonlight, eyes narrowed into slits.

“Are you just going to stand there looking like there’s a stick up your ass or are you coming in?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“Whose house is this?” he demands.

He doesn’t recognize the property from any of the files on you or the Valentine family. The place is too clean and far removed from the usual circles of Ace and the Ivory Saints.

Granted, it could be under a different account or something, but he sincerely doubts it—especially with the way you’re looking at him right now.

“A plastic surgeon’s.”

His frown deepens in confusion.

You roll your eyes dramatically, popping the candy free from between your lips for a second. “For a federal agent—it really takes you a while to figure shit out sometimes.”

His tone hardens sternly as he says your name, hands settling on his hips.

You sigh, as if taking pity on him. “His name is Neil. He’s a frequent client of mine. Told me I could crash here whenever I wanted. Su casa es mi casa.”

“Bullshit.”

Yeah, complete bullshit. You’ve been here enough times to memorize the alarm code the other man always puts in and where he keeps the spare key. It’s not your fault that these men make it easy for women like you to take advantage of them. 

You shrug, completely unbothered. “He doesn’t even live here full-time. He’s usually off being the perfect, present dad with his family. He only comes here when he’s got a patient in town… or when he misses me.”

For some reason that manages to irk the fuck out of Javi. His jaw flexes, a flicker of jealousy crossing his handsome face before he can hide it.

“I’m not breaking into your plastic surgeon’s house,” he tells you firmly.

“Uh,” you’re almost offended by the statement, “he’s not my surgeon. This body?” You spin in place, showing off your banging figure in the tight outfit, running a hand up your side, over the swell of your hip, squeezing your tit. “All natural. You should know.” You flip your hair over one shoulder with a little smirk.

“Don’t be such a priss, baby. I just wanna have some fun with you.” you push your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout and look at him in that way that always gets under his skin. 

Javier doesn’t think he’s ever been this wrapped around someone’s finger before—not even his ex-wife, whom at one point in his life he truly had loved. Something about you makes him lose every ounce of good sense he’s ever possessed.

He rolls his tongue over his teeth, mutters something under his breath, and finally steps inside the luxurious home without another word, shutting the door behind him.

Your pout melts into a smug, victorious grin. You close the distance between you, kissing him hotly, tasting like sugar and whatever gloss you put on earlier. “I’ll make it worth your while,” you whisper against his lips. “Promise.”

Javier only grunts in response, but his hand finds yours anyway. You lace your fingers through his and lead him deeper into the darkened mansion, flipping on lights as you go, illuminating a path through this maze of house.

Once you reach the main bedroom, you adjust the dimmer slider. Soft light spills across the space, revealing an almost tacky display of wealth.

In the center of the room sits a massive circular bed draped in silk sheets. Glass doors open onto a private patio where a steaming hot tub waits. But what truly pulls Javier’s attention is the enormous mirror covering the entire ceiling. A perfect reflection of the bed beneath it.

Wrapping your candy in its wrapper, you slip it into your purse and sling the accessory onto one of the leather chairs near the small bar area. You shrug out of the cropped denim jacket, letting it fall in a heap next to it. 

“This is really what I wanted to show you.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of Javier’s mouth. He walks up behind you without a word, the warmth of his body pressing against your back as he lowers his face into the crook of your neck.

His hands begin to roam, one sliding up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your top, thumb brushing over the already tight nipple, the other settling on your hip.

“I want to watch you fuck me, agent.” You whisper in the sweetest voice, thighs rubbing together as the pressure at your pussy intensifies. 

He bites down on the sensitive pulse point just below your ear, then licks a wet line up the side of your neck, grinding the hard swell of his erection against the curve of your ass.

With a request like that, he knows he has no choice but to deliver.

“Undress and kneel on the bed.” He orders in a raspy tone, which slithers down the length of your spine and makes you arch your back, pressing yourself against him even more.

He releases you and takes a step back. You inhale shakily, the sudden absence of him leaving your skin tingling, but you do exactly as you’re told.

Your compliance is rare. You don’t usually submit to just anyone. Javier just has this authority about him that makes you really fucking wet.

He watches with hooded eyes as he digs into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He taps one free, lights it in one smooth motion, and takes a long drag. The sweet burn of tobacco fills his lungs while he observes you peel the skimpy outfit from your body.

You kick the heels aside and crawl onto the circular bed, kneeling right in the center. Your hands cross behind your back, back arched, the submission in your posture a thin veil over the bratty attitude that’s embedded in your damn being.

Javier approaches slowly, the cigarette burning between his fingers. His gaze traces every inch of you lustfully: the perfect shape of your breasts, the hard points of your nipples, past your belly ring and down to your delicious thighs. 

You look sinful and expensive, waiting just for him to make you feel like no one else has before.

Doing some ogling of your own, you bite down on your lip.

You’ve never been particularly drawn to the suit-and-tie type, but something about the way the button up stretches across Javier’s broad shoulders and the leather belt cinches his narrow waist really turns you on.

The expensive silver watch further accentuates his toned forearms and thick wrist. His large, veined, capable hands are something that dreams are made of. His fingers feel almost as good as his cock inside you.

You can’t help the way you writhe slightly in place, restless, as you watch him smoke. His dark brown eyes meet yours through the cloudy haze, locked in a silent, heated challenge.

Silent as ever, Javier trails a hand slowly down to the front of his pants. He grips the thick, heavy outline of his cock through the fabric. He’d skipped the briefs today, and the material of his dress pants does little to hide how badly he wants you.

You watch, tongue slipping out to wet your lower lip, as he unbuckles his leather belt with one hand. The metal clinks softly. He pops the button of his fly free, then slides the zipper down with a deliberate rasp. 

You get a good glimpse of his pubic hair and that puts hearts in your eyes.

“Come here.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, the tension in the room so thick it feels like it could choke you. Just like earlier, you crawl across the circular bed on all fours until you reach the edge where he stands. You look up at him through your lashes, waiting for further instructions.

Seeing him in charge like this is really doing it for you.

Holding your gaze, Javier slowly pulls his cock free. The heat of him radiates against your face.

He wraps a firm hand around the thick base, then drags the flushed, leaking head across your lower lip, smearing sticky precum over the soft skin.

The salty-sweet taste hits your tongue the second you lick it, and your mouth waters instantly. He shivers at the contact, eyes darkening further as he takes another long drag from the cigarette, then reaches out to ash it carelessly on the surface of the nearby bedside table.

You part your lips eagerly, leaning forward to take more of him, but he pulls back with a soft, warning tut.

“Not yet.”

Javier begins stroking himself right in front of you. He uses his own precum to slick his shaft, fist gliding up and down.

“Spit on it.”

You gather saliva on your tongue, letting it drop from your mouth and onto his cock with a wet sound that makes your thighs press together. A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest at the added lubrication as he watches you on all fours, eager to suck him off and so fucking compliant.

“So you do know how to follow instructions.” Condescension lathers his statement. “Why do you always act so damn stubborn when I ask you to do something, huh baby?”

“Please, Javi—”

“Nuh-uh.” He cuts you off, taking another drag of the cigarette. Smoke curls from his lips as he looks down at you. “Don’t call me that.”

Your confusion lasts only half a second before understanding blooms right against your clit.

“Please, daddy,” you breathe, soft and needy. “Let me suck your cock.”

A satisfied, dark smirk curves his mouth. He then guides the swollen head back to your waiting lips. This time he gives you what you want, sliding into the perfect damp heat of your mouth in one controlled thrust.

His eyes flutter shut, cigarette dangling between his lips, head tipping back as an expletive in Spanish leaves him.

Your lips stretch wide as you take him as deep as you can. His big, veined dick fills your mouth, the heady taste of him flooding your senses.

When the bulbous tip nudges the back of your throat, you gag lewdly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Spit begins to drip down your chin as you hollow your cheeks and suck, determined to take more.

Javier’s hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, but he doesn’t force your movements. He just holds you there, hips shifting forward in shallow thrusts while he continues to smoke, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you worship his cock.

The ceiling mirror above captures the way your back arches as you push yourself deeper onto him. It’s a beautiful sight, especially when he sees the cute dimples at the base of your spine.

The hand in your hair tightens and pulls you back until only the flushed, glistening tip rests between your plump lips. You look up at him through wet lashes and start to taste it the same way you worked that lollipop earlier; licking and swirling your tongue, sucking on just the head.

The need to feel the rest of you again becomes too much. He guides you forward once more, feeding his cock back into your mouth, controlling the pace with firm, steady pressure.

You love sucking dick, thoroughly enjoying the stretch of your jaw, the fullness in your throat, the way his cock pulses against your tongue. Every time he bottoms out and the head nudges the back of your mouth, a fresh rush of wetness soaks between your thighs.

When he holds you flush against him, the wiry hair at the base of his cock tickles your nose, and your eyes water until tears stream from the outer corners, making your lashes clump together. The look you give him is so fucking inviting.

The lack of air and the relentless desire makes your head spin better than any drug you’re hooked on.

Javier leans over and crushes the finished cigarette against the glass top of the bedside table. With both hands free, he tangles them into your silky hair, gripping tight on either side of your head.

His hips start moving with more urgency, fucking your mouth with impassioned thrusts. The metal buckle of his open belt occasionally grazes your cheek, but you’re too far gone to care. Your cheeks are sucked in for maximum suction, spit bubbling at the corners of your lips and dripping in long, glossy strands down your chin and onto your bare tits.

The entire act is messy as fuck.

He pulls out suddenly, his spit-slicked length bouncing against your lips. He rubs himself all over your pretty face—smearing the remnants of your gloss and the minimal makeup you put on earlier, painting your cheeks and chin with his precum and your own spit.

Your eyes stay closed in pure bliss as you chase him with your tongue, licking and mouthing at the smooth, hard shaft whenever it comes near your lips.

“God, you look so fuckin’ perfect like this, muñeca,” he praises.

You smile indecently, then lean in and kiss your way down the underside of his cock until you reach his heavy balls. You suck one into your mouth, rolling it gently with your tongue, then the other, giving them thorough attention before licking all the way back up and deepthroating him on your own accord. 

The squelchy, rhythmic gluck-gluck sounds of the eager blowjob fill the room as you set out to make him spill down your gifted throat.

Javier catches on to your plan immediately. He uses the firm grip in your hair to pull you off with a vulgar pop, craning your head back so you’re forced to look up at him.

Your lips are swollen and numb, lids heavy, spit still connecting you to him in a thin string.

“Easy there, baby,” he rumbles, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Don’t be such an eager little slut. I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

The degradation sounds so sweet coming from him, sending another pulse of heat straight to your cunt.

“You taste so good. Please cum down my throat.” you stick your tongue out, enticing him to slide in again.

He tilts his head mockingly, mustache twitching at your words. Letting go of your hair, he pulls his loosened tie free and unbuttons the rest of his dress shirt. His pants drop the rest of the way to his ankles, leaving him half-dressed.

Javier maneuvers you into the position he wants you in, flipping you over until you’re bent over in front of him, ass up, face down toward the circular bed.

Pulling your hips up and forcing a deep arch into your back, he grips his cock again and runs the fat head up and down your puffy, swollen folds.

You’re dripping for him, wet and sensitive from just sucking him off.

“Beg for it.”

You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you. The sound earns you a sharp, hard crack across the plump cheek of your ass. The sting blooms hot and it feels so fucking good, making you yelp and push back toward him instinctively.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, half appeasing his command, half appeasing yourself.  “Fuck this pussy. She needs you so bad. I need you.” You roll your hips, trying to catch the head of his cock in your hole to force him inside the heavenly cavern of your pussy.

He doesn’t give in so easily this time. He uses the upper hand he has to tease you the way you’ve always teased him. His free hand gathers both of your wrists and pins them firmly against your lower back, making you collapse onto your cheek, even more at his mercy.

The position leaves you open, exposed, completely under his control. With a tight grip on your wrists, he holds you still and repeats the command.

“Beg for it like you mean it, baby. I know you can do better than that.”

You bite your lip hard, walls clenching around nothing as your tongue loosens.

“I think about you all the time,” you confess with a shaky voice. “When I’m at the club grinding on some small dick asshole who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. When I’m home with my fingers buried in my cunt, imagining they’re yours. I need you so bad, daddy. No one can please me the way you and your cock do.”

Javier’s jaw clenches hard. His cock jumps against your needy pussy at the filthy honesty of your words. He lands another sharp spank on the opposite cheek, making you moan, then—without warning—buries himself deep inside you in one thrust.

“Oh fuck!” you sob, the sudden, burning stretch overwhelming as he begins to ravish you entirely.

Javier braces himself with the grip on your wrists, pounding into you with everything he has. Your arousal splatters wetly against his groin with every hard snap of his hips, the creamy evidence of how badly you want him coating his cock each time he pulls out and drives back in.

Your pussy lips grip him greedily, the wet, filthy sounds of skin on skin filling the room.

“Just like that, baby,” he grunts, sweat beading at his temple, his face stern in concentration. “Take it.”

He leans forward, yanking you up slightly by the wrists and wrapping his other hand around your throat, holding you in that perfect, controlled position while he splits you open on his cock over and over.

The pressure of his fingers on your neck is exact. Not too tight, just enough to make every thrust feel more intense as he holds you in the perfect position.

“Oh my god—ah—oh my god, yesyesyes, just like that. I love taking your cock just like this. So fucking big,” you babble, voice high and a large fucked-out smile on your face. “Fuck this pussy harder, daddy, please. You make me so fucking horny.”

Dirty talk has never been something Javier particularly sought out, but hearing it spill from your mouth in that sweet, pornographic tone makes him fucking feral. He adds more force to his thrusts, adjusting the angle of his hips until he finds that perfect spot that tears those high-pitched, broken cries from your lips—the ones he loves more than he should.

Your walls squeeze him wetly as your climax coils tighter and tighter. Your clit pulses with every deep stroke. Tears stream freely down your cheeks as the pleasure builds to the edge of pain.

“Give it to me, Javi—please—fuck, I’m about to come,” you sob, eyes squeezed shut, body quivering around his shaft.

His gaze drops to the sight of your ass clapping back against his thighs, then lower, to where your pussy lips are stretched obscenely around him and the absolute mess you’ve made together. 

He lets you climb right to the brink of your orgasm, right to that perfect edge where you’re about to shatter wholly, before he pulls out completely.

You gasp loudly, the sudden emptiness leaving you disoriented and teeming with agonizing horniness. Your empty cunt clenches around nothing, desperate for the fullness he just stole.

“Javi… daddy… baby, please—”

He releases you entirely. You collapse forward onto the bed, trying to catch your breath. Your wrists throb faintly from his grip, and your pussy pulses emptily, hips chasing anything that might fill her.

He drops to his knees behind you, in a trance himself, and buries his face between your thighs, mouth opening wide against your used, fucked-out pussy.

The feeling of his mouth makes you cry out into the sheets, the sound muffled and broken. Your lips fall open, drool pooling beneath your cheek as Javier eats you from behind with an intensity that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

His tongue spears deep into your fluttering entrance, fucking you with it in short, wet thrusts while his coarse mustache scrapes deliciously against your swollen folds and oversensitive clit. You drench his face almost immediately, a fresh rush of arousal coating his lips, chin, and mustache as he groans into you like a man tasting something sweet for the first time.

He sucks your clit hard between his lips, the sudden pressure so perfect, and when his open palm cracks across the flushed cheek of your ass at the same moment, you peak.

The orgasm rips through you without warning. Your back arches violently, thighs shaking around his head as you come hard against his tongue, sobbing into the expensive sheets. Spit, tears, and snot leave a wet, messy patch on the fabric.

Your entire body buzzes and twitches in the aftermath, aftershocks rolling through you while Javier keeps licking, sucking, and groping the soft flesh of your ass and thighs like he can’t get enough.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he mumbles against your soaked cunt, the deep resonance making you whimper. He slows his tongue but doesn’t stop, lapping up every syrupy drop. “I’d do anything for this pussy, baby. Anything.”

You’re too far gone to fully register the words. Your mind is white noise and pleasure, limbs heavy and loose. You barely notice when he finally pulls back, stands, and finishes undressing—kicking the pants and shoes away until he’s completely naked, every hard line of his body on display.

Only when the mattress dips under his weight do you become aware again.

“You said you wanted to watch me fuck you,” he reminds you, his voice just barely reaching you over the roaring at your ears.

He moves you easily onto your back, spreading your thighs wide and settling between them. His broad, warm body covers yours as he wraps your legs around his waist and slides back inside you in one smooth motion.

You’re so wet and open that he sinks into the root with almost no resistance. Your back arches hard off the bed, acrylic nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders before dragging down, leaving angry red marks along his back.

“Watch yourself,” he grunts against your ear, pulling back enough to brace himself on one strong arm. His other hand cups your jaw firmly, forcing your face upward so you’re looking straight into the massive mirror on the ceiling.

The reflection is licentious and beautiful all at once—golden satin sheets tangled around your bodies like melted gold, your legs locked tight around his waist, the way his back muscles ripple and contract with every deep thrust.

His ass flexes as he drives into you. Your tits bounce with the force of it. Tears still gloss your eyes, making the entire image shimmer and blur, but you can’t look away.

You’re left completely speechless, lips parted as you pant and moan wildly. Another orgasm builds fast and vicious with the change in position and the visual of him taking you so thoroughly.

Javier feels the way your walls start fluttering and switches from long strokes to deep, grinding circles, pressing the base of his cock and the wiry hair at his pelvis against your swollen clit and rubbing it in intentful circles.

The dual sensation of being stretched full of him and the constant friction on your clit is too much. You topple over with a broken sob of his name, body locking up as you come hard around his cock, gushing in quivering waves.

“So pretty coming all over my cock like this, baby. Bet those other motherfuckers don’t get to see you like this, huh? Tell me. Tell me they don’t fuck you like I do.”

His fingers dig into the soft skin of your cheeks, holding your face steady so you keep watching yourself fall apart in the mirror. He grinds through every pulse of your orgasm, letting you ride it out, relishing the way your cunt grips him like a vice.

“They don’t fuck me like you do, Javier. No one does.” Your words slur, but you tell him the truth. There’s no need to lie. He is the best fuck you’ve ever had. 

Javier breathes heavily above you, satisfied with your answer, fighting off his own release, more interested in drawing every last drop of pleasure from your body than finishing himself. Your vision is blurry, eyes flitting between the mirror and his intense, dark stare.

His expression is focused, almost stern, locked on every little spasm and tremor you give him.

Still holding your face, he leans down and kisses you soft and slow—a stark contrast to the way he’s been fucking you. The tenderness makes more tears well in your eyes.

“Oh…” you whimper against his mouth, the contrast almost too much.

“No llores (don’t cry), muñeca,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.”

You hiss when he pulls out, chasing after his lips as he begins to pull away. Javier rolls the two of you over with ease so that now he’s flat on his back and you’re draped fully across his chest, knees bracketing his waist.

“Turn over on your back. Lean on me.” His curved nose brushes your cheek as his fingers trail lazily up and down the length of your spine.

You hum in response, body still trembling, and carefully rearrange yourself. You sit up to reverse the position, then sink back until you’re lying flat against his broad chest, the hard planes of his muscles warm and sticky from sweat under your back.

Your thighs drape over his, feet planted on the mattress on either side of his legs. In the ceiling mirror the view is erotic—your body stretched out on top of his, tits rising and falling with every breath, the dark trail of his happy path visible beneath you.

Javier spreads his legs wider, forcing yours open in the process. You reach down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his cock and rubbing the head through your swollen lips. The contact makes your head tip back against his shoulder with a soft moan.

You guide him to your entrance and sink down slowly, taking every inch until you’re fully seated on him.

“Ohhh…” you whine, one hand flying up to tangle in his dark hair while the other cups your own breast, squeezing and tugging your nipple as you lock eyes with him in the mirror above.

That nearly does him over. You’re such a sight like this—the memory of this night will be burned into his mind for the rest of his fucking life.

He plants his feet firmly against the mattress for leverage and begins thrusting upward in a steady, powerful rhythm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you steady as he slides in and out of your worked pussy.

Both of you watch, enraptured, as your bodies move together in the reflection. Your tits bounce with every upward stroke, the place where you’re joined glistening and messy, his thick shaft sawing into you over and over again.

“This what you wanted?” he whispers hotly against your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe.

“We look so good,” you moan, the hand on your breast sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit while the other yanks at his hair. “Fuuuuck, you feel so good daddy.”

Javier sucks a dark mark into the soft skin of your neck, uncaring that it might cause problems for you at the club later. Matching bruises are already forming under his fingers at your waist.

The dual sensations—the deep stretch of his cock and the pressure on your clit—make your thighs shake.

You grow more impatient and greedy. You start swiveling your hips in filthy circles, forcing him to slow his thrusts as you take control.

In a position that is much like reverse cowgirl, you let go of his hair and stop touching yourself. You arch up off his chest, flipping your hair over one shoulder, and plant both palms on either side of his stomach. 

Leaning back slightly, you begin bouncing on his cock in earnest—lifting and dropping, taking him deep on every descent. The new angle hits that spongey spot inside you and tears wild, panting moans from your throat. [🅴]

Javier’s molars grind at the feeling. His balls draw up tight as the orgasm he’s been denying himself for so long finally starts to crest. Watching you ride him with such abandon is too much.

“Where do you want it?” he growls, one hand reaching around to play with your clit again, rubbing tightly, then delivering a sharp little smack against the sensitive pearl that makes you yelp. The bright flash of pain mixed with pleasure nearly sends you over the edge.

As much as you’d love to feel the hot rush of him filling you, you want the visual. The mess.

“On my face… my tits… all over this pussy,” you answer in a pornographic moan, swirling and grinding down on him.

“Fuck—I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna make a mess all over your pretty body.” He curses, spanking your clit once more before both hands clamp down on your hips. He takes over completely, bouncing you on his cock like his own personal toy, using the luscious heat of your cunt to finish himself off.

At the last second he lifts you off and comes hard, thick ropes of his spend striping across your stomach, your tits, and the swollen lips of your pussy. Some of it lands high enough to streak your chin.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you shriek like a delirious minx, smirking as he paints you exactly the way you asked.

Before you can even process his release cooling on your skin, Javier shoves three thick fingers into your gaping, cum-slick hole. He uses the fresh mess as lube, curling and pumping his fingers hard and fast, chasing one last orgasm from you.

Your face pinches in pure euphoria as you squirt around his hand, making an even bigger, wetter mess, walls fluttering wildly until your body collapses back against his chest as the final climax rips through you.

“Hmmmm… holy shit,” you slur, completely gratified, body fuzzy and heavy. His cum begins to dry on your sweaty skin in sticky patterns.

Javier’s chest rises and falls rapidly beneath you, breath uneven. “Fuck, I need a smoke after that.” 

His hands leave your hips to stroke slowly up and down your thighs. He looks up at the ceiling mirror, admiring the wrecked, post-coital picture the two of you make, your body marked and satiated on top of his. He reaches up and grabs both of your tits, squeezing them together and smearing the cum that landed there even more, thumbs circling your nipples.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he mutters against your ear, then starts kissing a slow path up and down the side of your neck, inhaling the mixed saltiness of your skin and the sweet florals of your perfume.

You only hum in response, a satisfied giggle escaping when his mustache tickles you.

You clench deliberately around the fingers still buried inside you, enjoying the lingering fullness and the way he keeps touching you like he actually can’t stop.

“I know.”

You sink deeper into the warm water of the hot tub, the heat melting the residual ache from your muscles as the jets bubble gently around you.

You track Javier as he steps into the water with you, the steam curling up around his bare chest and shoulders. He settles beside you with a soft splash, one hand holding a crystal flute of champagne he’d poured from the bottle you found in the bar area.

He reaches for you and pulls you fully onto his lap, your wet skin sliding against his. You settle with your back to his chest, the water lapping at your breasts, and take a slow sip from the glass he offers you. The champagne is cold and crisp, the bubbles fizzing on your tongue.

“Stay here tonight.”

Javier snorts, amused, as he glances around the spacious patio. After the second (or third) round in the bedroom, you’d been the one to suggest the hot tub. A perfect way to unwind and let the heat and water soothe the bruises and bite marks he’d left on your skin… and vice versa.

“And if your sugar daddy decides to come home?” he asks, one arm wrapping loosely around your waist under the water.

You shrug, uncaring, and take another sip. “We can ask him to join us. Not the first time he’s shared me.”

Despite knowing what you do and seeing you indulge in other men at Ace, Javi still can’t help but feel that harsh, jealous sting in his chest at your words. His arm tightens around you almost unconsciously.

“Not sure that I want to share you,” he mutters against your bare shoulder, then presses a slow kiss there before trailing higher up the side of your neck.

You press your lips together, tasting the lingering fizz of the bubbly.

Here he goes again, getting sentimental, letting this turn complicated. Good thing you’re an expert at navigating these types of situations.

What? Javier isn’t the first (nor will he be the last) to catch feelings for you. Or, well, your pussy—to be exact.

“You don’t really have a choice, do you?”

“Guess not,” he grumbles.

“Don’t be a grump, handsome.” You lean back on his shoulder and get a good look at him: swollen lips, flushed cheeks, perpetual frown on his face. “You know you’re my favorite. I wouldn’t just ask anyone to stay the night with me.”

“Not even Sebastian?” he asks, the name dry and pointed. 

Javier had personally arrested him that night out on the airstrip in the desert when his team had busted the event. He’d been aware of your little ‘relationship’ with him—so when he saw the guy there with his pimped-out race car and trunk full of drugs, he was more than happy to cuff his ass.

It had been more satisfying than it should have been.

You let out a loud, genuine laugh and finish the rest of the champagne in one swallow. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard that name.

“He served his purpose until he didn’t,” you say, setting the empty flute on the edge of the tub.

Javier is quiet for a moment. “What’s my purpose?”

You pull away just enough to twist sideways in his lap and look him fully in the eyes. Your own narrow slightly, studying him through the steam.

“Are you staying or not?” you ask instead, ignoring his question entirely. It’s a deflection and you both know it. 

Part of you wants him to stay—craving the feeling of being pressed up against him and the weight of his arms around you while you sleep… and the promise of lazy morning sex that would almost certainly follow. But if it’s only going to make things messier, if it’s going to give him the wrong idea, maybe it’s better he goes home.

Plus, there’s the bedroom to clean before you dip. Can’t have Neil coming home to find evidence of your little Goldilocks moment in his sheets.

Javier mirrors your look and decides not to push. He knows what this is. You know what this is. And for now, he’ll keep playing dumb about his feelings until he can’t, pretending this is nothing more than mind-blowing sex.

“I’ll stay.” His raspy voice concedes.

You flash him a bright, toothy grin and lean in to kiss him, pecking his lips repeatedly then spreading them all over his face.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you add in an overly sweet, teasing tone.

Javier rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirks upward. He pulls your naked body tighter against his under the water and kisses you back wantonly, one hand sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck as the steam rises around the two of you and dawn slowly begins to break through in the horizon.