#ufc

Alexa Grasso stops Maycee Barber in the 1st | UFC Fight Night Seattle

your husband ilia is just too tired to do all the work himself..

your husband worked harder than anyone else you knew. so determined and dedicated to his goals, his hopes and dreams that drove one of the greatest purposes for his life. you admired that work ethic. now that his efforts extended to almost every day of the week, there were moments when ilia was too tired to keep his head up.

tonight, ilia didn’t even bother with clothes after his shower. he collapsed into the king bed immediately, skin still warm and damp from his shower. with a huff of air he buried his face into the blankets and pillows scattered around messily. you whispered a soft greeting to him, meeting him as he shifted just enough to be able to reach you. his left hand disappeared beneath the fabric of your top, over the soft and delicate skin he worshipped with such reverence.

he knew something that could shoot some life back into him. or rather, more accurately, possibly shoot life into you.

he groaned at the simple thought, turning his head to look at you thoughtfully. had he been more energized, he’d surely have you folded in half by now, big thick cock drilling into your little hole. you caught that look on his face, something caught between pleasant memories and desire to make new ones. if not for the look, you’d have figured it out by the way his fingers traced the soft skin under your breast.

“papi, you need to rest.”

oh, he was planning on it.

“c’mere, cariño.”

he wasn’t asking, not really. your husband’s hands tugged at the thickness of your thigh, wrapping around the back to pull it nearer. he turned over onto his back with a tired determination only a need like this could drive into him. after spending his entire day training and sparring, surely he earned this moment of reprieve.

“come ride me.” he muttered into the air between you and him, shoulders rolling back achingly against the mattress.

the only problem was ilia spoiled you. he never made you work for anything anymore, never made you beg or even ask nicely. he gave you everything you wanted without hesitation. only now did he realize how entitled you’d become when your eyes went wide and you laughed?

“just rest, ilia. you’ll have more energy later if you’re still in the mood.” he was stunned for a second, utterly shocked—eyes wide, lips pursed, brows furrowed deep. he only blinked once you planted a falsely sweet kiss on his cheek.

since when were you so entitled? how had he not noticed sooner?

“i wasn’t asking cariño.”

silence lingered between the two of you for a moment. you stared at him expectantly, a look he returned with even more intensity. you shifted, thighs pressed together when that familiar heat thumped between your legs. your eyes danced over his bare figured— chest rising and falling in rhythm with the heavy breaths he let out through his nose, abs tightening when he moved his arms, his length hard and waiting for you. his right hand dropped over his length, stroking slow and lazy while his other hand busied itself with your ridiculous sleep shorts.

“but papi,” you started, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, “i’m tired too. can’t you just—”

“my beautiful wife.. you do nothing all day. deberías darme las gracias. don’t be ungrateful.”

he moved sluggishly, shifting until his back was pressed against the large expanse of the bed frame. he motioned you forward, no room for argument. and you didn’t argue, not yet, but your pout lingered when you kicked off your shorts and panties. ilia had to fight the urge to roll his eyes when you didn’t speak while settling yourself over his lap.

he could tell you were purposefully holding back the usual moans and whimpers you made when you started grinding your wet heat over his cock, soaking him in your arousal. he wished he could relax, but your bratty pout was making it difficult. he watched your movements for awhile hoping to distract himself. your pussy lips glided over him with ease, making obscene noises, but his eyes always drifted back up to your face.

eventually he couldn’t help himself anymore and stubbornly thumbed his cock head into your tight hole. finally, happily, he sighed with relief. you nearly choked on your moan, holding your own tits tight in front of his face.

“was that so hard?”

he asked, annoyed tone, snarky even. you rolled your eyes, actually rolled your eyes right in front of his fucking face. what happened to not biting the hand that feeds you?

maybe don’t roll your eyes at the man stuffing your cunt full of his cock, either.

“fuck you,” you finally muttered out, voice shaking and breathless when you started grinding and moving your hips.

“fuck me?” ilia laughed at that. you’ve gotten bold. “you’re the one riding my cock, cariño.”

for some help and support, you begrudgingly reached for his sounds. despite the exchange of words your hips kept moving. not once did ilia help you, he didn’t want to. he was gonna make you do this one all by yourself. his hands, known for carrying enough power to knock a grown man out, help your hips in a lazy grip, pushing you down each time you raised your hips.

“you’re so mean.” you whined, pathetically. ilia ignored you.

he watched his dick get coated in your slick. watched the inches disappear into your dripping pussy. for someone with such harsh words, you seemed to be enjoying it.

“you’re a big girl.. sabía que podías hacerlo.”

you couldn’t help the way your core clenched around him at those words. so demeaning, teasing, meant to rile you up. your head dropped in a moan and he just smirked. he felt that flutter of your walls around him, tightening and constricting. he always knew how to get to you. he noticed when his words really sunk in and you started moving faster. your hips lifted and slammed back down in a delicious rhythm.

you could feel his tip kiss your cervix; prodding low in your tummy, ilia cursed quietly under his breath and a gruff groan followed. his rough thumb ghosted over your clit with reverence but stopped quickly—he couldn’t make it easy for you.

you brought this upon yourself.

you’d been switching between grinding and bouncing for awhile. head thrown back, brushing your swollen clit over his tufts of hair since he refused to help you. at one point, you almost gave up, whimpering a small ‘m’tired’. your husband almost broke—almost helped his sweet angel. but he realized seeing you like this, worn out and desperate, was his new favorite thing.

ilia could see the sweat bead between your breasts and watched as it trailed down your tummy. he could see your legs quivering, could feel it too. his weak fatigue made everything feel so much more intense. he wanted to suck your pebbled nipple into his mouth, wanted to lick up the sweat and tug your clit between his fingers but he just couldn’t. your sweet, tight cunt proved to be exactly what he needed. a relaxant.

he banged his head back against the headboard, squeezing the plush on your hips with a nearly pornographic noise slipping past his throat. your husband looked at you with heavy lidded eyes and pulled you down with hard finality. his thighs twitched, his hips bucked, knuckles turning white.

white danced across his vision and his white seed painted your walls like a masterpiece. he felt like it would never stop.