peaking like a mountain range

You told Javi he didn’t have to take you.

You’d said it softly, the night he first brought it up, tracing the lines of his collarbone while his arm lay heavy around your waist. You could tell it was weighing on him, the idea of bringing you home. The hometown. The family. The questions. Not from you, never from you, but from everyone else.

Still, he asked. Told you he wanted to. Told you he wanted them to meet the woman he was with. His words, not yours. The woman I’m with. Like he still couldn’t quite bring himself to say girlfriend out loud, but every time his fingers curled around yours or his lips brushed the corner of your mouth in public, it meant the same thing.

So you said yes.

Now here you were, in a borrowed garden behind a family friend’s wedding venue, ankle-deep in gravel and stares. The sun had dipped low enough to cast everything in a gold-dusted haze, champagne flutes catching light like diamonds, laughter echoing off pergolas wrapped in string lights.

You stood there, half-finished drink in hand, and reminded yourself to breathe. The air was thick with the scent of roses and barbecue smoke, and still, still, you couldn’t stop noticing the eyes. The way they lingered too long. The brief glances exchanged between groups like they were passing a secret around.

A breeze ghosted over the lawn, catching the hem of your dress and brushing it softly against your shins. You smoothed it down with one hand, your fingers trembling just slightly. The music drifted up from the patio, slow and syrupy, a twangy country ballad you didn’t recognize.

Then he appeared at your side. Javi didn’t say anything at first, just rested his hand at the small of your back like he’d been waiting for the exact second you needed it. His fingers splayed warm and wide, grounding you instantly. The scent of his cologne hit you a moment later. Dark, smoky, familiar, and your body responded before your brain had time to catch up.

Javier Peña, in a fitted beige suit that should’ve looked too polished on him but didn’t. The shirt beneath was slightly unbuttoned, just enough to tease the hollow of his throat. His hair was combed back in a way that made you ache a little, like he’d actually tried. For you.

His eyes scanned your face like he could read the tension there, and maybe he could. Of course he could. He’d been watching you all night from across the lawn, you were sure of it. Watching the way the women tilted their heads when they looked at you. Watching the way the men did too.

You leaned into him without thinking. Just a little. And he pulled you closer without hesitation.

“Too much?” he asked, voice low, brushing the words against your temple.

You shook your head, swallowed hard. “Not with you.”

He smiled, just barely. It was a private thing, the kind of smile no one else got. The kind you’d seen in his kitchen at midnight or across his pillow in the soft haze of morning. And for a moment, the noise of the wedding dulled around you. Like none of them mattered. Like the two of you were a secret no one else deserved to understand.

But they were still looking.

You barely heard the man approach.

It wasn’t even someone you recognized, just another sharp-suited ghost from Javi’s past, someone who had probably once shared a beer with him at a high school football game, or nodded to him at a gas station before the war on drugs turned Javier Peña into something to talk about over breakfast tacos.

He said it with a laugh. That was the worst part. Like it was just some harmless joke tossed between old friends.

“Look at you,” the guy chuckled, sloshing beer over the rim of his glass. “Back in Laredo, showing off another knockout. Guess you always land on your feet, huh? One hot mess for another.”

It took a second for it to register. For the words to sink in. Your spine straightened first. Then came the cold flash of disbelief. Another?

You looked at Javi.

He wasn’t meeting your eyes. His gaze had dropped to the gravel like it was suddenly the most interesting thing at the wedding. Shoulders tense, jaw tight. His usual sharp tongue was nowhere to be found. No snide comeback. No smirk. No venom disguised as charm.

You’d never seen him like this. Never seen Javier Peña shrink. And it pissed you off.

This man, this man who held you like you were fragile and made love to you like you were made of fire. This man who touched you with reverence and kissed you like you were a prayer he didn’t think he deserved to say. This man who had lived, who had bled, who still carried ghosts he never spoke about, and some asshole thought he could reduce all of that to gossip and a cheap punchline?

Absolutely the fuck not. You turned, slow and deliberate, facing the man like you were squaring off in a ring.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice as smooth as the champagne in your glass. “Were you saying something?”

He blinked, faltered, maybe realizing just a little too late who he was dealing with.But you didn’t wait for an answer. You didn’t need one. Instead, you turned back to Javi, and without hesitation, cupped his face in both hands.

His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and confused, and you could see it, the hurt, the flicker of something raw that he hadn’t meant for you to see. He looked like he might say something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

You kissed him. Hard.

There was nothing delicate about it. No tentative brush of lips. No polite affection. This was a kiss made for headlines. A kiss designed to scorch.

You pressed your mouth to his like you were trying to fuse your body to his, like you were trying to prove something. That he was yours. That you were his. That every whisper and sideways glance and snide little insult meant nothing compared to the way he made you feel.

His hands found your waist in half a second, tightening as he groaned into your mouth, surprised but not resisting, not even close. His fingers dug in, dragging you closer, chest to chest. You deepened the kiss, parting your lips and letting your tongue glide against his with a slow, teasing stroke that made him shudder against you.

It was obvious how the tension melted from his shoulders and the kiss turned hungry. When his grip turned bruising, when his mouth slanted over yours like he needed it. Like he needed you. Right here, right now, under the fairy lights and the weight of small-town scrutiny.

You kissed him like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, who wanted to be seen, who wanted them to watch. You licked into his mouth and moaned, just a little, just enough, and felt his breath hitch in response.

When you finally pulled back, his lips were swollen. His eyes were blown wide. His hair had come loose at the front from where your fingers had curled into it.

You turned, casually, to the man still standing there with his drink frozen halfway to his mouth. No one said anything. No one had to.

Javi’s hand slid to yours. This time, it was him who kissed you, softer now, but just as firm. Just as certain. And the silence around you was louder than any applause.

You didn’t leave his side after that. Not for the rest of the night.

Javi didn’t ask you to, didn’t need to. He stayed close like he was afraid if he let go, the crowd would close in again. And you weren’t about to let them. So you curled your fingers into his where everyone could see, laughed at all the right moments, and leaned into his side like you belonged there. Because you did.

And God, he felt it.

Every time you touched him, a hand on his chest, a brush of your lips near his ear, he melted just a little more. Loosened up. His shoulders relaxed, the corners of his mouth curled into that trademark half-smirk that made your knees weak. He was back to himself, but… softer.

Still, the comments didn’t stop completely.

“You two want a room?” someone muttered under their breath as you passed near the bar. Javi didn’t even flinch.

He just kept his arm around your waist and shot back, deadpan, “Nah. We’ll just use yours.”

You laughed, unabashed, and watched the man blink like he didn’t know what hit him. There was your Javi.

But even as the hours slipped past and he put on a good face, even as he leaned down to whisper teasing little things in your ear like bet you regret wearin’ that dress now, baby, or you keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna get real fuckin’ disrespectful about it, you could still feel it. The way he held your hand tighter than usual. The way he tucked you closer every time someone walked by too slowly or looked too long. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, not like a man showing off a prize, but like someone trying to memorize a moment he thought he might not deserve.

He needed you tonight, more than he’d ever say out loud.And you were going to give him everything.

The hotel was nothing special, beige walls, scuffed floors, a bedspread with a pattern that hadn’t been in style since the nineties. But to Javi, it was sanctuary. It was privacy. It was you, alone with him and no one else’s eyes on the two of you.

You could’ve stayed at Chucho’s, he’d offered. But there was already a cousin bunking in the guest room, and Javi had leaned into your ear with a low murmur that made your thighs press together: “I need you all to myself this weekend, cariño. No interruptions.”

So when you reached the door to your room, keycard in hand, you barely had time to blink before he had you pressed up against it. His palm slapped flat against the wood beside your head, his body crowding yours, the warmth of him sinking through your dress like fire.

You gasped, but you were smiling, both of you a little tipsy, a little giddy from champagne and lust and the afterglow of shared defiance. Your back hit the door and his mouth hovered just inches from yours, his eyes dark and wild, locked onto you like you were the last thing left on Earth worth looking at.

“You tryin’ to kill me in that dress?” he asked, voice low, almost amused.

“I thought you liked it,” you teased, breath catching.

“Oh, I fuckin’ love it,” he said, his lips brushing your jaw, then trailing lower. “Love it even more thinkin’ about you out of it.”

And then he kissed you. Not on the lips, not yet. He started at your collarbone, his mouth warm and open, peppering reverent little kisses across your skin. He dragged them slowly, one after another, up your neck, pausing to suck softly just below your ear before biting down, gentle but sharp enough to make your breath hitch.

You giggled, flushed and breathless, and he smiled against your skin.

“I can’t believe you’re fuckin’ mine,” he whispered, his voice ragged with sincerity. “Mine, baby. You…Jesus…you stood up for me today like it was nothin’.”

“It wasn’t nothin’,” you said, and he kissed your ear in thanks.

He finally reached for the key in your hand, unlocked the door behind you without even looking, and then you stumbled backward together into the room, lips colliding like magnets. The door clicked shut behind you. And then it was just the two of you, tangled in the dark.

Javi’s hands were on your waist, your ribs, your face, everywhere. Like he didn’t know where to touch first. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You’re too good for me,” he muttered as he kissed you again, deeper this time. “Too fuckin’ good.”

“Shut up and show me how much you want me,” you breathed against his lips, and that was all it took. He backed you toward the bed, mouth never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge. Then he dropped to his knees.

You blinked, dizzy. “Javi…”

He didn’t even let you finish.

“Lemme thank you properly, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with heat as his fingers tugged your dress up your thighs, higher, higher. “Lemme take care of my girl.”

He pushed the fabric up around your hips and buried his face between your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then - God.

His mouth was all heat and devotion, licking long, slow stripes through your folds like he was tasting something sacred. His tongue circled your clit, soft at first, featherlight, teasing. Then firmer. More deliberate.

“Fuck…Javi…” you gasped, one hand tangling in his hair, the other clutching the bedspread.

He groaned against you, the sound sending vibrations through your core. Loving it. Getting drunk on you.

“You hear that, baby?” he rasped, breath hot against your soaked skin. “That’s how wet you are for me. Fuckin’ perfect.”

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking you in place, and didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. He licked and sucked like he had all the time in the world, like this, you, was the mission now. His tongue flicked faster, rhythm steady, sinful, devastating, and when he moaned again, your knees nearly buckled.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. “Could spend the whole night down here, cariño. Just like this. My mouth on your pussy. You let me, baby?”

You could barely breathe, your body already arching into him, heat coiling tight in your belly.

“Javi…, I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. He tightened his grip, sucked your clit into his mouth, and that was it. You shattered, thighs trembling, hips stuttering forward as he groaned into your release like it was his own.

He licked you through it, slowly now, gently, like he was savoring the aftershocks. Like he was proud.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening. His eyes were dark, burning with something more than just lust.

“Look at you,” he murmured, standing, kissing your stomach, your chest, your mouth. “My perfect girl. Took me so good.”

You whimpered, still shaking, already aching for more. And the night wasn’t even close to over.

He didn’t stop touching you.

Even as your legs trembled and your chest heaved from the orgasm he’d just coaxed out of you, Javi kept his hands on you like you might float away without them. One on your hip, the other sliding up your spine, gentle and grounding. His lips found the curve of your neck again, soft, reverent, like he was trying to press all his love into your skin.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Took it so fuckin’ good, baby. You should’ve seen yourself.”

You whimpered, half-laughing, still trying to catch your breath. He was still fully dressed, his beige suit slightly wrinkled, his shirt damp with heat, and you were standing there, clinging to him, panties soaked, heart beating like a war drum.

He stepped back only enough to look at you, eyes flickering over your body like he wanted to memorize it again from scratch.

“Can I take this off you?” he asked softly, fingers already toying with the straps of your dress.

You nodded, and he smiled, a real one, wide and devastating, before slipping it down your shoulders with almost clinical precision. Slow, careful, like peeling open a gift he’d waited all night to touch. The fabric pooled at your feet in a whisper, leaving you in nothing but ruined underwear and trembling anticipation.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, running a hand down your side like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re perfect. You know that? Just fuckin’ perfect.”

You reached for him, fingers slipping under the buttons of his shirt, finally undoing them one by one, your hands greedy for skin. He let you undress him without a word, just watching your face, breathing heavily as your palms smoothed over the warm planes of his chest.

God, that chest.

Golden and dusted with bright hair, soft but strong, familiar from a thousand sleepy mornings and shirtless photos he swore he didn’t like you taking but never actually stopped you from snapping. You kissed just below his collarbone and felt the way his breath hitched, his cock pressing harder into the front of his slacks.

The bulge was impossible to ignore. Neatly contained but straining. A dark, wet patch had already formed at the tip, pressing through the fabric and smearing against your thigh as he rocked into you without meaning to.

You moaned, needy and involuntary.

He grunted, burying his face in your neck. “Look what you fuckin’ do to me,” he growled, rolling his hips against yours again. “This is what happens when you talk to me like that. When you stand up for me. Shit, baby, never knew I could get this fuckin’ hard just watchin’ you be mine.”

“Javi…”

He kissed you, hot and possessive, and kept grinding into you, rutting against your soaked underwear like it was the only thing holding him back. The friction was just right, dragging over your clit with maddening pressure. Every pass of his cock made your stomach flip, your breath catch.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “Feel what you do to me? I could get you off like this, fuck, just keep goin’, let you ride it, get you all messy before I even take it out.”

You whimpered, hips rolling up to meet his thrusts.

But then, finally, he stepped back, hands going to his belt, moving with a desperation that made your mouth go dry.

He stripped in one fluid motion. Pants, briefs, finally gone. And then there he was, thick and leaking and ready, eyes locked on yours like he was about to ruin you. He held out his hand without speaking. You knew the drill.

You leaned forward, lips parted, and spit into his palm. He groaned low in his throat, spreading it over his length with slow, deliberate strokes, eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse pounded in your throat.

“Can I go raw, baby?” he asked, voice like smoke. “Need to feel you. All of you. Don’t wanna miss a fuckin’ thing.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, please.”

He leaned in close again, nudging your nose with his, his cock brushing against your stomach, hot and heavy and so ready it made you dizzy.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet when you beg, baby. Gonna make you beg again once I’m inside you. That okay?”

You nodded.

And then he reached down, lined himself up, and, slow, careful, possessive, started to slide in.

He pushed in slow. Painfully slow.

Like he wanted to savor every single inch, watch the way your mouth parted, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your fingers clutched his arms like they were the only things keeping you tethered to earth.

You gasped, back arching, body trembling, as he filled you inch by inch, dragging the head of his cock along your walls with torturous precision.

“Fucking hell, baby,” Javi groaned, jaw clenched, hips straining to stay steady. “You’re so fuckin’ tight for me. Like you were made for this. Made for me.”

You whimpered, burying your face in the crook of his neck, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

He sank deeper, slow, steady, intentional, until he was fully seated inside you, cock pulsing against your walls, and you swore the air had been knocked out of your lungs.

“I’ll never get used to this,” he whispered. “The way you feel. The way you melt around me like that. Jesus, mami, you’re perfect.”

He stayed there for a second, not moving, just feeling you. His forehead pressed to yours. His hand brushing hair back from your face with something that almost felt like reverence.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice barely a breath.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Move, Javi. Please.” And just like that, something in him snapped.

“Oh, I love when you beg,” he growled, hips rolling forward with a slow, deep thrust. “Say it again, baby. Say it nice for me.”

“Please,” you gasped, voice high and breaking. “Please, Javi, I need you. I need you so bad.”

“Yeah, you do,” he grunted, thrusting again, harder now, his hands gripping your hips like he wanted to mold them to his. “You need this cock. Need me to fuck you nice and slow, let you feel it for days.”

You cried out, the stretch, the drag, the way he filled you completely, it was too much and not enough. The pace was maddening: slow, deep, unrelenting. His thrusts weren’t hurried. They were measured. Devastating. Like he wanted to reach every part of you and leave his name there.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders.

And he loved it.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Hold on to me. Let me take care of you.”

He kissed your neck, your jaw, your lips. He couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop talking.

“You feel what you do to me? How fuckin’ crazy I am for you?”

“God, look at you takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“This pussy’s mine, right? Say it, baby. Say it’s mine.”

You said it. You’d say anything he wanted.

“Yours,” you gasped, voice wrecked. “Always yours, Javi.”

That did something to him. His hips stuttered, his breath caught in his throat, and he buried his face in your neck with a low, broken sound.

“I love you,” he said, like it hurt. “Fuck, I love you. So much.”

You froze, then melted instantly, all your walls crashing down at once. That was all it took to send you spiraling.

“Javi, oh my god, I’m gonna…”

“Do it,” he whispered, hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling just right. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You shattered with a cry, clenching around him, body convulsing as pleasure washed over you in waves. He groaned, a long, desperate sound, and slammed into you once, twice more before spilling inside you with a curse, holding you so tight it bordered on worship.

For a moment, the room was just breath and sweat and the sound of your hearts trying to recover.

Then he kissed your shoulder.

“You think those bastards heard this and are jealous out of their minds?” he murmured, voice rough and teasing.

You laughed, shaky, blissed out, utterly ruined. “Shut up and hold me.”

You didn’t know how long it had been.

Minutes, maybe. Maybe more. The world felt far away now, dulled and quiet, like it had exhaled with you. The room was warm, lit only by the bedside lamp Javi had turned on earlier, casting soft gold across tangled limbs and wrinkled sheets.

You were still wrapped around him, skin to skin. Your leg draped over his hip, your cheek pressed to his chest, damp with sweat. His fingers traced soft circles along your spine, over and over, like he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching you.

Neither were you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gravelly from sex and sleep and everything in between. “You okay?”

“Mmm.” You nodded, breath fogging against his skin. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, you could feel it against your forehead. That lazy, post-orgasm kind of smile that only came out when he was completely at ease. When he let the walls down.

His hand slid down to your thigh, massaging gently, then back up to the curve of your hip. “I wasn’t too much?”

You lifted your head, brow furrowed. “Are you serious?”

He just shrugged, shy in that rare way you’d only seen a handful of times. Like he was still surprised someone could look at him the way you did. Like maybe it still didn’t quite compute.

You leaned in and kissed him. Soft, slow, nothing urgent, just lips on lips, a quiet thank you.

“You were perfect,” you whispered.

He looked at you like you hung the stars. Then he tilted his head back against the pillow and sighed, the kind of long, content exhale that said he could stay here forever.

“When we get married,” he said suddenly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “I don’t want a wedding.”

You blinked, lips parting. “Oh?”

“No guests. No tux. No church. Just you and me. Naked. In bed.” He grinned. “Maybe with cake.”

You snorted. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Tres leches,” he said immediately, tapping your hip. “Keep it cultural.”

You laughed again, heart full and aching. But then something stuck in your mind, the way he’d said it.

When.

Not if.

You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbow so you could really look at him. “When?”

His eyes flicked to yours, a beat of silence passing. Then he nodded, totally serious.

“Yeah. When.”

Your throat tightened.

“Not if?” you asked quietly.

Javi reached up and brushed your hair back from your face, eyes warm and steady.

“Obviously when,” he said, like it was obvious. Like there was never a question.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let your head drop back to his chest, your arm curling tighter around him. His hand found yours and laced your fingers together, thumb stroking the back of your knuckles.

And in that moment, wrapped in him, pressed against skin still warm from love, you knew. Knew he meant it. Knew you did, too.

Eventually, he spoke again, voice soft and close to sleep.

“Let’s stay like this forever.”

And you smiled, eyes closing.