desiderium | m. o'hara

twenty-two*

TW: smut, yeah you know how it is no minors so god help me

  I haven't slept this well in months.

  It's a nice change to awaken blissfully, stretched out in the mid-morning sun spot of my bed. My slumber was rich and satisfying, fulfilling in all the ways it should be. When my eyes eventually glide open, they're not sore or crusty from a fitful sleep. They're well-rested, alert and bright.

  It's the after-morning glow. It's the peaceful tranquility at the end of getting your brain fucked out.

  Beneath the rumpled sheets my bare legs are tangled around Miguel's, and my back is held to his chest with a grip of steel. His face is hidden in my hair and the warmth between our naked bodies is the right amount of bliss. I was correct last night - I am sore - and it's worse than it would've been because we finally broke down the last of my walls, and Miguel is voracious.

  I have no idea how he recovered so quickly. After our romp on the couch and helping me to the shower, he pinned me against the wall beneath its hot spray and fucked me, and then woke me up in the middle of the night to bend me over the mattress and fuck me again. He's like a goddamn rabbit. I'm struggling to keep up. 

  Not that I'm complaining. I'm not complaining at all.

  I close my eyes and stretch within the confines of Miguel's arms and happily sigh. I'm all stiff and painful, like I've just done a too-extensive workout and I'm paying the price for it. My body yells its displeasure at being treated so roughly, so terribly wonderfully, and I smile at the deep-seated ache. It's such a nice ache.

  Behind me, Miguel's awake. He picks up a lock of my hair and twirls it around his finger. He tugs it gently, and my head turns to him. His kiss is long, soft and sweet. My heart flutters.

  "Morning, hermosa," he whispers. His hands roam my stomach and hips, squeeze the bulge of my breasts, like he can't feel me enough.

  "Morning," I contently hum. My smile drops in disbelief when I feel the poke of his dick on the backs of my thighs. "Again?"

  Miguel's smile is sheepish. "Please?"

  When he asks so sweetly, how can I say no? I lift my leg and slip it over his thigh. I grimace at the pain in my muscles. "You're relentless."

  "Gracias," he whispers behind my ear and slides himself between my legs.

  I groan at the ache of overuse as he seats himself inside me. "Ow."

  "Sorry, mi vida," Miguel murmurs, and kisses along my sore neck. God, every part of me hurts. He slides his fingers down to my oversensitive clit and forces me still when I gasp and give a full-body flinch. "I'll be gentle."

  "You're a sex-crazed maniac," I grumble. My irritation fades when he begins to carefully pump his cock inside me, slow and soft, and pain is suddenly the last thing on my mind. I arch back into him. My sigh is one of bliss.

  "Love you, too," Miguel says, already breathless.

  With the hand that's not rolling perfect circles over my clit, he grasps tight onto my hip bone, keeping me deep in his lap. He spears me utterly and whispers dirty, sinful words into my ear, ones that make my already warm cheeks burn hotter. What a way to wake.

  His palm pushes over my lower belly to feel the bulge of his dick moving inside me. But then he holds down hard, and I whimper with drawling pleasure. I feel every ridge, the accurate curve of him, perfectly fitting inside me like we were made for each other. My pussy gives a despairing ache. I ignore it.