desiderium | m. o'hara

twenty-nine*

TW: smut. so much smut. No minors!!!! Breeding kink. Biting. Blood. My very descent into hell itself

If last chapter was the baby chapter then this one is the smut chapter. To the person who commented weeks ago about wanting suit sex - merry christmas

This is the grossest thing I've ever written bye 🏃‍♀️💨

  I seriously don't know how much longer I can wait until this stupid patch stops me from sprouting a foetus.

  It started alright. I thought I could happily distract myself throughout the 144 hours it would take. I thought I could handle it without struggle - it's just six days with no sex. It's fine.

  But I've slowly been descending into madness since.

  It wouldn't be so difficult if Miguel wasn't so good in bed. It also wouldn't be so difficult if the fucker hadn't been whispering lewd, sinful things about what he'll do to me in my ear, all hours of the goddamn day and night, just to see me blush. He won't even touch me to alleviate the struggle.

  Miguel's trying to torture me. He's probably torturing himself too, but finds my reactions too amusing to leave me in peace.

  54 hours blink back at me in the darkness of the night. I groan and drop my wrist with the gizmo onto the duvet. I haven't been this pent up since before the encounter that destroyed the old couch, and that was bad. This, somehow, is even worse.

Miguel's not even here to offer me a brief reprieve by way of hand or tongue - not that he would, anyway. He's off on a mission that's dragged deep into the night. I want to scream my frustration into the nether.

I roll over and bury my face into the pillow. This is horrible. Awful. Excruciating. My thighs itch for something to clench around. The pillow between them is pitiful, does nothing. I have never needed Miguel's dick so badly before in my life.

  This is probably exactly what he wants. He probably wants me to be so out of my mind that by the time the six days are up, I'll be on my knees and begging for it. Hell - I'd be begging for it already if it weren't for the patch not working yet. I'm horny, not stupid.

So, so horny.

A replay of everything Miguel's whispered to me over the past few days cycle through my brain - of him promising to bend me over the kitchen counter and fuck me from behind. Promising to bite me until each limb, each section of my skin is littered with the marks of his fangs. Promising to tie me up with web and have his way. Promising to fuck me hard, deep, until all I can see is him, all I can say is his name.

And still, never touching. Touching is off-limits.

"Fuck," I complain, and shove the pillow away. My hand isn't half as good as Miguel's but it does the job. I need relief - any relief.

A gasp is sucked from my mouth and I jolt, sensitive, needy, when my fingertips brush my clit. I'm so empty that it's despairing, and I rock against an imaginary partner as my fingers slide across the bundle of nerves that Miguel usually treats so well.

  My eyes close. I kick off the covers that restrict my movement and slide my pants down my legs, cotton resting against my ankles. My knees spread, toes curling, gasping. My fingers press and push in the same way I've done all week, and my core churns with growing heat.

  I'm already so wet. I'm ready for a man who won't give me any reprieve, and currently I fucking despise him for toying with me this cruelly, but nonetheless, his name is the only thing that tangles within my moans.