derecho y honrado

Nadia kissed him. He smiled lazily against her mouth. This was their new norm. They could be just like this, always, if they wanted to.

"I'm so fucking ready for bed. I'm excited to fall asleep and wake up and realize you're next to me."

God. That's right. They could wake up together now. When he opened his eyes in the morning, she'd be the first thing he saw. How lucky was he?

What a blessing Nadia was. The courage she'd mustered to run after him that night — it changed everything for the both of them, forever.

"I already can't wait to see you in the morning."

A gentle kiss atop her forehead. He found a way to throw the comforter haphazardly over their bodies. It was crooked and didn't cover his feet, but oh well. He wrapped an arm around Nadia, pulled her close.

"Good night, Nadia. Sweet dreams."

Joaquin closed his eyes, and it didn't take him very long to drift off into the best sleep he'd ever had.

#001 #SOBSSS #FIN!!!!

She likes that smile on him. Practically smug— it suits him, and it certainly suits him after how well he's just brought her to orgasm.

Twice.

Harder than she's ever fucking experienced.

'Well, I'll shave it if it ever bothers you. Wasn't sure how it'd feel between your legs.'

Nadia chews idly at her lip, flutters her eyes at him. It makes her abdomen heat— the memory of those sensations, the pleasure, the tingle. That perfect mouth.

"It won't. Felt fucking incredible. Like all of you..."

Like. His hands. His cock. His eyes, whenever they studied her, making Nadia feel like some blushing girl.

Another giggle erupts from her when he shifts a bit, rubs the bristly beard into her palm, the sensitive skin that strokes there— almost like a cat butting it's head into a pet. When had a man ever made her feel like this? Never.

'Are you going to that thing on Friday?'

Ah, yeah. The thing at her cousin's place. The closest of their circle. And ironically, somewhere Nadia will need to be extra mindful.

'I used to drive myself crazy wondering if you'd show up. Now I can just ask you.'

Her lip curls into a smile, and Nadia dares to snuggle close, tucking herself right up against his chest as if it were made especially for her.

"Now you can just ask me!" she echoes. She used to wonder too— used to devise plans, to extract the information out of Raf without raising suspicion. Now they can just talk! Another new thing she's grateful for.

Her finger taps at his nose.

"I had planned on it. Whenever I wasn't able to get an answer about Raf or Sam about who was going ... I would just show up. In case you do."

It did feel so incredible. Electric. Joaquin had never experienced something like this before — such a vibrant, intense connection with another human soul. And he never wanted to now. He was meant only for Nadia.

They'd still have to hide, in a way. Around her cousins, until Joaquin figured out the right way to approach it. He'd have to corner Rafael on a good day, with no alcohol around. Maybe he'd time it perfectly so that Phoebe was there, too. Level-headed and kind, and one of Nadia's closest friends. She'd understand, and in turn, Rafael would, too.

"I did that too. I'd just show up, hoping you'd be around."

He smiled at Nadia, rubbing at her side gently.

It must've been … late. Two in the morning, if he had to guess? Maybe later? And all of the physical exertion was catching up to Joaquin now. His breathing slowed. His eyes felt impossibly heavy. And as much as he wanted to fool around some more, he was too exhausted to do a good job, he thought.

He yawned, attempting to blink the tired away. No luck.

"I'm fucking exhausted," he admitted. He pulled her closer to him. "Are you ready for bed? You wore me the fuck out." He laughed. It wasn't a bad thing.

'I can't wait to make up for lost time with you,'

The smile on Nadia's face only stretches wider— so wide, that it begins to hurt the apples of her cheeks. Funny, that it was like this. Nadia, oftentimes, wore her smiles with some level of teasing, or irony, or a shade of something flirtatious, but with Joaquin it was all very .. bare. Naked excitement. Naked pleasure. Stripped down, just like them, nothing to hide behind.

There was something about Joaquin that had just coaxed it out of her. The prospect of spending all her time with him.

'You liked that?'

The thing in the elevator— that gripping orgasms that had shocked her body, Joaquin and those fingers that brought her to the gates of heaven?

Nadia nods so hard it nearly wrenches her neck.

'That was fun. I wanna do it again. I wanna do all of this again, all the time. I wanna make you come so hard you can't walk.'

Oh? That makes Nadia perk up visibly, brows raising, something sharp and interested in her eyes.

"The elevator was so fucking hot. That's so fucking hot— the idea of, ugh, you making me come so hard I have to hold on to you for support because my legs are just fucking jelly."

Ugh. Yes. Joaquin having to carry her again, she's so spent from her orgasm.

A grin, Nadia's eyes drifting over Joaquin, drinking him in like an exquisite wine.

It makes— well. More sparks, light up inside her, when Joaquin shifts over and stares at her directly.

'I wanna kiss you all the time, too. I don't know why we didn't before tonight. I wanna kiss you until you get tired of my beard.'

A noise.

"I fucking love your beard. It looked so hot when you were eating me out.... no way I would get tired of it when kissing."

And to prove it? Nadia's hand releases from his hair, drifts down to his beard, stroking along the wiry bristles. It tickles, and her smile hitches with a huff.

The elevator was now their own sacred, special place. The first orgasm he'd given Nadia. The first of many, he hoped. If he'd been more patient, more controlled, he was confident he could've given her another orgasm with his mouth.

She apparently thought he looked hot with his beard when he was down there.

"Yeah?" Joaquin grinned, self satisfied and smug. "Well, I'll shave it if it ever bothers you. Wasn't sure how it'd feel between your legs."

God. Between her legs. His mouth there, sucking and licking. He had to stop thinking about it or … well. He'd want to try it again. There was plenty of time for that. So much time. He stared at Nadia — the perfect shape of her nose, her smile, her cheeks.

She was running a hand through his facial hair now. He smiled, rubbing the bristly hair into the palm of her hand on purpose. He couldn't have imagined it felt very nice, but maybe she liked it.

"Are you going to that thing on Friday?"

And by thing, he was referring to Rafael's get together. Just their inner circle, at Raf's home. Raf liked hosting them often. He cooked, they stayed late, drank, smoked, did blow.

"I used to drive myself crazy wondering if you'd show up. Now I can just ask you."

Fuck, Nadia loves that— the feel of Joaquin's body atop her, muscles relaxing, hot skin that cools as their flush evaporates. He's solid, and firm, and grounding, and it just makes her play with his hair all the more desperately, luxuriating in the physical sensations.

'So much better,'

Words punctuated by a press of lips to her shoulder. It warms her right down to the bone.

'Infinitely better.'

Yeah. That was fucking right.

Nadia exhales when Joaquin pulls out, shifts to the side of her, though not by far. Good. She wants him close. Needs him close. Ever since the confession outside his truck, the elevator, they've maintained close proximity. And it would be painful, for Nadia, to change that.

Joaquin, perfect, thoughtful-eyed Joaquin, already felt like he was hers.

When his hand begins to massage her thigh, she makes a little noise of contentment, an animal sound, and hikes her like up into the touch, tensing and relaxing her muscles as he works.

'I hate that we waited so long to do this,'

Nadia rolls towards him further.

'I'll never make that kind of mistake again. I'll never make you wait for anything again, Nadia. I promise.'

Nadia can only smile. Let her pinky nail trace at the skin by his ear. They'd both suffered those six months, hadn't they? Six months of aching want. Six months were Nadia occasionally wondered if she got it all wrong, and Joaquin wasn't actually interested. Perhaps those interpretations of signs were misguided by her own desire.

But now they were here.

Now Nadia is playing with his hair, and Joaquin is vowing to never make her wait for anything, ever. She exhales, gently. Shifts forward, kisses him long and slow, assurance.

"I know. We ... can just spend so much time together to make up for the six months."

And, yeah— parts of it might be tricky. The logistics. The planning, a certain amount of secrecy required. But Nadia would topple world orders if it meant she could be with Joaquin. They would find all the time they needed. They would fucking make it! Joaquin was a man of quiet, powerful will. She knew it was a promise he would always keep. And Nadia was.... well. Obsessive, or perhaps the more generous term is determined. They would find plenty of time together.

Her smile curls, a little wicked.

"Honestly, I'm kind of glad my first orgasm from you was in an elevator. That was— fucking wildly hot. Felt like one of those smutty romance novels."

Nadia rolled against him. He kept his hand at her thigh, gently rubbing, massaging the tired muscles there. She was smiling at him, tracing a nail along his skin. He wanted to live there forever and ever.

What would she do? If Joaquin simply decided not to go home? It was too soon for that, he knew, but ... what if? Wouldn't it make things easier?

"I can't wait to make up for lost time with you," he said, grinning. If tonight was any indicator ... well. They would be very, very busy.

Nadia remarked on her first orgasm from him. It was unforgettable — he ensured that. The two of them, pressed up against the wall of an elevator, fingers curling inside of her desperately.

Yeah. Already, he wanted to do it again.

"You liked that?"

Joaquin was grinning. She compared it to a scene out of a smutty romance novel. Joaquin didn't read those kinds of books, but maybe he should.

"That was fun. I wanna do it again. I wanna do all of this again, all the time. I wanna make you come so hard you can't walk."

He turned to face her, sliding a hand across her abdomen this time.

"I wanna kiss you all the time, too. I don't know why we didn't before tonight. I wanna kiss you until you get tired of my beard."

It was so easy to be with Nadia. It felt so simple whenever it was just the two of them in her room. Their own little sanctuary.

There was no thicker, all-encompassing bliss like this. Joaquin laying atop of her. Inside her. A comforting weight and warmth, something solid to keep her from floating away in the daze of her orgasms.

God.

The way he had kept fucking them through the reverberations of their pleasure.

It makes her feel all tingly, the way he had drawn out that bliss.

Now, she settles back into her body, vision clearing, breath slowing as her heart thuds against her breastbone.

God. Could anything ever feel this perfect again? Nobody would ever feel this perfect again, that was for certain– only ever Joaquin. And Joaquin was the only one she wants. The only person she can even fucking think of, the only person she wants in her brain.

As she pants, she feels a kiss from Joaquin.

'Nadia,'

'Holy fuck, Nadia.'

Holy fuck indeed. Her lips curl happily, goosebumps prickling from the vibration of his words.

'My God, you're so beautiful.'

And that makes her smile soften— melt into an expression where her brows are furrowed, mouth pursing to reflect the sudden pang of emotion in her chest.

"Fuck, Joaquin."

Fuck. She'd never have anything like that effect her in that way before— a pulse, a squeeze to her heart. But she'd spent six months wanting him. It makes sense, laying beneath him, body lax in bliss, heart content ... that it would strike her so.

Joaquin effect. If only she had kept a running tally of that tonight. If only she could shut the door to her bedroom and keep him here forever, with promises of kisses and her mouth and pleasure and anything Joaquin wants.

He kisses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, and Nadia giggles, turns her body towards his mouth with a happy shiver.

"Am I okay?"

Hmmm. Nadia stretches a leg, reveling in the delicious, satisfying ache of her muscles.

"No. I am ... fucking exquisite."

Her hand relaxes in his hair— now softened, she strokes, gentle pets and caresses, odd moments where she lets her nails trace soothingly along his scalp, another hand raising to stroke along his back, gentle touches, before her fingers begin to push into the muscles at his trapezius, a soothing massage.

"And you're so fucking perfect," she purrs, breath still trembling and low with pleasure. "That was fucking— crazy. I probably imagined what it would be like about... a thousand times. And this was."

A beat. Her voice softens.

"Somehow better than all the hours I spent dreaming about it."

Nadia was exquisite.

Yes, she was.

Joaquin laughed at that, relaxing at the sensation of her hand in his hair. It was soft and perfect and it really felt like it belonged there — because it did. Then, her fingers, miraculous fingers, massaging at his back. He relaxed even more, putting his whole weight onto Nadia now.

He was heavy, so he wouldn't stay there for long, but just a few more moments of closeness. That's all he wanted.

"So much better," Joaquin agreed, kissing her shoulder. "Infinitely better."

His heart was still racing like crazy. His skin was on fire, alive, burning. His dick was overly sensitive, so he finally pulled out of her, rolled off to the side to give her a little bit of space — but not much. He stared at the ceiling of her room.

Oh, right, he was in her room. He'd never been in here before. The comforter beneath them was a rumpled mess. His hand rested on her thigh, massaging the flesh there, tender and slow. He turned his head to look at her.

"I hate that we waited so long to do this," he admitted. Could he go back? Start over? Tell Nadia how he felt the minute that he laid eyes on her? It didn't have to be this complicated. They didn't have to endure so much suffering, and yet, they had. For no reason.

"I'll never make that kind of mistake again. I'll never make you wait for anything again, Nadia. I promise."

He squeezed her thigh.

For the third time, Nadia can feel her body trembling eagerly before Joaquin indulges her need.

But not before kissing her first.

A rough, wild, unfettered kiss— tongue and desperation, spit, human need.

It makes his hand parting her mouth feel all the more sweet.

She swallows, again; savors the slide of it down her throat.

But there's barely any chance to focus on that now, not when Joaquin is fucking her so exquisitely. Hard, hard, harder. Cock hammering away. Driving deep, skin slapping, the pleasure seeming to reverberate through every single one of her nerve endings.

Fucking bliss.

She can't really think though. Can't do anything except take his thrusts, grab at his hair, snap her hips upward to receive the hard drive of his hips.

But that's all she needs to do.

That— and hear Joaquin groan her name.

Nadia.

She's never liked the sound of it more than coming from his hot, groaning mouth.

Pleasure, taut heat, it crests, crests, it builds so high that Nadia think it may crash over her and cover her forever.

A hand at her breast, pinch at her nipples, delicious contrast, pressure at her jaw again, and when Joaquin groans her name, she stares at him with hazy eyes, mouth lax, receiving the syllables of her name once more.

And when he begins to spill inside her, Nadia loses it— her pleasure crests, climaxes, and she clenches and shudders around him, nails scrabbling, thighs tightening around his middle, voice strained and wobbling.

"Joaquin," she moans.

"Fill me up. Fill me up completely, use me, use me, I'll right here for you, please."

He's so perfect. Is there anyway Nadia can keep him here forever? She wants to stay underneath Joaquin always, she doesn't want this night to end— six months, and they're finally here, and the pleasure is so perfect it's an overwhelming bliss. Joaquin belongs here. In her. Six months, and she's always known that, and now it's never been more apparent.

She gasps, nearly blind with pleasure, and buries her face into his neck. Kissing it, probably. Panting. Who knows. All Nadia knows is that she wants to live in this forever.

#001 #idk hes the king of after care ^_^

There was no better feeling in the whole world. Nothing that came close. Nothing that would ever come close. Just the two of them there, connected, entwined, in such a perfect moment.

The pleasure tore through Joaquin's body. He'd never felt an orgasm this good, this intense, and it was only amplified whenever Nadia moaned his name, urged him to fill her up and use her. She tightened around his cock, warm and wet, and he continued thrusting relentlessly through both of their orgasms.

His movements only slowed whenever the sensation became too much. Nadia was gasping, kissing his neck, and Joaquin felt like the whole apartment building might hear the beating of his heart. Rapid and heavy, just like his movements had been.

Only seconds after his orgasm, Joaquin's body became very much aware of the overexertion there. Still, he remained on top of Nadia for a few moments longer. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. He stayed there, still inside for a few more selfish moments, and kissed her.

"Nadia," he mumbled against her mouth, sighing, breath shaky. "Holy fuck, Nadia."

Joaquin had never felt something this intense before in his life. Every single bit of him felt overwhelmed. Every body part felt sensitive and exposed, but he liked it. Every bit of him exposed to Nadia, for Nadia.

"My God, you're so beautiful."

There was more that he wanted to say. More that he felt, honestly, but he was still catching his breath.

And there was so much time to say it now, wasn't there? They had forever ahead of them.

Joaquin kissed the side of her face, her neck, her shoulder.

"You feel okay, baby?"

Nadia watches, with wide, fascinated eyes, as Joaquin grabs her jaw again, fingers pressing gentle into flesh, and spits directly into her mouth.

Again.

Just as she begged for.

The sensation of it, sliding to the back of her throat while he fucks her? Exquisite. And exactly why Nadia prolongs her swallowing, just to savor the feel.

Joaquin groans. The resonating vibration makes her clench hard.

'I'm gonna fill you up, baby. You want me to come inside you?'

Fuck. Please. Please. Yes.

Fucking mind-reader, Joaquin was.

Nadia keens, hips bucking at the thought of being filled by Joaquin in that way as well. Mouth wet with his spit. Her insides hot when he finishes inside her.

Fuck.

'Tell me what you want right now, and I'll give it to you. I'll give it all to you.'

His hand at her jaw is a two-fold pleasure; the idea of him holding her to his liking, the comfort it brings as well, his fingertips on her face, another hot point of contact. Hand. Cock. Mouth.

Fucking perfect, a crescendo of pleasure barreling towards the peak.

Again— it takes a moment for Nadia to re-wire the circuits of her brain into something capable of speech. For a minute, she lays beneath him, panting hard. Smiling to herself a bit dazedly. Fucking Joaquin effect. But the tension between her legs is too hot and too perfect, enough to snap her out of her haze.

A whine, a hand shooting up to grasp his hair. Desperate. Very much his. Nadia has never belonged to anyone as much as she does in this moment.

Joaquin .... willing to give her anything.

"Spit in me one more time," she begs.

"Please. I want you to come in me too. And I want you to fucking use me, I want you to use me however you want, I want you to use me like all the ways you've thought of for these last six months, I want you to let go and just fucking use me."

Finishing inside of Nadia Dahar, no fucking protection, had only been a fantasy before tonight. And it was about to become a reality.

Nadia smiled, and it made Joaquin wonder about what words might leave her mouth. He waited, both patient and impatient, whenever she finally said it.

One more time.

She really liked that, huh? Joaquin fucking loved it.

But he wasn't quite prepared for what came after. She wanted him to finish inside of her. She wanted to be used, however he wanted, all the ways he'd thought about for the last six months.

She wanted him to let go and just fucking use her.

Oh.

A moan escaped his throat.

He leaned down, kissed her hard, rough, desperate. Whenever he pulled away from her lips, he squeezed her jaw again, parting her mouth, and spitting inside of her one more time.

He watched, again, amazed at the sight. She looked otherworldly. Perfect. Perfect everything.

His thrusts grew jagged and desperate, hard and rough, his cock slamming into her rather wildly. The banging of the headboard only grew louder. He felt a drop of his own sweat trickle down his arm. How was it that everything felt and looked so fucking good in that moment? Even the sound of the headboard, their skin smacking against one another, their breath, all sounded absolutely fucking delightful. A perfect symphony of sounds.

He wanted to capture this moment, live in it forever. The night Nadia Dahar became his.

He wanted to reply. He wanted to tell Nadia how he'd fantasized about this, night after night. How his cock had ached fiercely in his hands whenever he thought about her. How he'd dreamed about using her, just like this, spitting in her mouth, her legs folded around him.

But instead, only one word came out.

"Nadia," he groaned, voice strained, hips aching and desperate for relief. A clumsy hand found her breast, squeezing, pinching, until he felt ecstasy begin to wash over him.

Another desperate groan as he buried his cock inside of her as deep as it would go. He squeezed her jaw again, lips pressed against hers.

"Nadia," he moaned into her mouth. He kept his eyes open, eye contact searing as he began to empty himself inside of her.

Something about her open mouth— that made Joaquin's next thrusts even harder, made her eyes flutter when he drove his cock even deeper inside her, opening her up just for him.

Fucking. Unreal. Nadia didn't know every inch of her body could be so taut with pleasure.

She didn't know just exactly what it would do to her, to watch Joaquin spit into her fucking mouth.

What the fuck.

The minute it pools upon her tongue, Nadia feels herself clench, nearly fall over into the crest of an orgasms.

Wordlessly, she swallows. Runs her tongue around the bottom of her lip for good measure, in case there's anything she missed.

'You're so perfect, aren't you?'

She was perfect? Didn't Joaquin know how he was? Perfectly muscled, dark eyes, hair, beard, a cock that drove into her in perfect strokes, making her body twitch and tense and strum with pleasure like it had been made for him to use?

A hand finds her ass. Nadia, of course, tries to shift into the touch even more, a hard squeeze and then gentle manipulations with his fingers.

'Perfect ass. Perfect mouth. Just fucking perfect.'

She stares up at him. In awe, breathless, brain almost useless, right now, that's how lost she is in him. All she can do is angle her hips up to meet his thrusts— even though they're already pressed so tight. Kiss at his neck, suck at it, flushed skin, the delicious salt of exertion, fucking nectar. She loved kissing on his neck. Nadia thinks about quitting her job to focus on doing that full-time.

"Do it again."

She inhales, desperate.

"Spit in my mouth again. Please." A hitching breath, her hand scrabbling at his back as the heat between her legs tightens and glows.

"Please. You're perfect. Please. I wanna be full of you."

Nadia liked it. She'd opened her mouth to it, swallowed every drop of his spit, tightened around his cock. God. He wanted her even more now. Wanted her in every way possible. He wanted to finish inside of her, and then start all over again.

He could do this forever. Live in this special fucking moment, just the two of them, for an eternity.

She had her mouth on his neck, kissing, sucking, and Joaquin was trying like hell to keep it together. His muscles didn't feel exhausted; if anything, he just felt revitalized, eager to keep the same demanding pace that he'd set. It felt really fucking good. Why would he stop?

And then Nadia said something that made his movements stutter, just slightly.

"Do it again."

Did he hear that correctly? There was hardly even a second for him to doubt whenever she was asking again.

"Spit in my mouth again. Please. Please. You're perfect. Please. I wanna be full of you."

How could he deny her of anything? She wanted to be full of him; he had to give her exactly what she wanted, all the time.

He grabbed her jaw, applied a gentle pressure there, and spit in her mouth again. He watched as the line of spit slid down her tongue, all the way to the back of her throat, and he groaned.

"I'm gonna fill you up, baby. You want me to come inside you?"

He was getting close — especially at this rate. Nadia saying please, Nadia asking him to spit in her mouth yet again, asking to be filled up. Who could fucking resist that? He kept his mouth there, gentle but heavy at her jaw.

"Tell me what you want right now, and I'll give it to you. I'll give it all to you."

A thud, repetitive, again, again, again.

That was the sound Nadia's headboard makes against the wall, jolting from Joaquin's thrusts, the deepening drives of his cock.

He's groaning again.

Opening her up— making Nadia feel every inch, making her writhe, making her pant desperately and wonder how the fuck it was possible, that she didn't know someone could fuck her this way?

She didn't know it was possible, because she hadn't met Joaquin.

And now she's had.

And now she's a new person.

A new person with sweat rolling into her clavicle, thighs twitching, legs crossed at the ankle to secure herself to him more solidly.

And she needs that— Joaquin is fucking her so good, she needs every bit of muscle to remain in place against him.

'You take my cock so good, huh? So fucking good.'

The hot, wet heat of his tongue there at her collarbone.

Nadia moans. Yeah. Fucking yes. Praise was hot, typically, something she enjoyed, but never something she needed from a man— except she does now. Except, of course, with Joaquin, it's as necessary as oxygen.

The fucking Joaquin effect.

If she wasn't so drunk on his cock, so lost in his haze, she could reflect on the effect he was having. Making her feel new. Making her feel like she's the first person in the fucking world to discover pleasure, making her chest burn with need, with the desire to feel Joaquin, every inch of skin, the desire to commit his face to her memory, the way his eyes blazed with he fucked her.

Joaquin, Joaquin, Joaquin.

What wasn't about him?

'You're mine now,'

A stuttering, gasping inhale.

"Yours," she says, blinking hard, eyes hazy in pleasure.

Well— of course she was. Of course she belonged to Joaquin. He was fucking her like this, of course she belonged to him.

When he grabs her jaw, thumb and forefinger pressing into flesh, a thrill shoots right down to her clit.

'Open your mouth.'

Oh, fuck.

Nadia complies, instant, obedient, tongue lolling, mouth stretching just for him, whining at the feel of his hand on her jaw, pleasure between her leg building, glowing white-hot. Fuck. Joaquin could do anything he wants and Nadia would thank him.

Joaquin was going to break the headboard, or the bed, or he was going to seriously damage the wall — but he didn't care.

He was too caught up in the moment, too focused on making Nadia his. Finally, finally after six long months, six excruciating months, she was his.

His cock finally buried deep inside of her. Body lathered in thin sheen of sweat, working tirelessly to bring them both to an orgasm.

But not yet. Selfishly, not yet.

Nadia instantly opened her mouth for him. He thrusted extra hard, extra deep, because the sight drove him crazy. He was so turned on watching her like that — so quick to be obedient and perfect for him. And for a moment, that's all he did — watched her while he thrusted, mouth open, savoring Nadia.

Finally, he leaned forward, hand still resting at her jaw. He opened his own mouth, still thrusting, still moving, as a line of spit fell from his mouth and into hers.

This was Nadia Dahar. He'd just spit into Nadia Dahar's mouth. And he fucking liked it. Adored it.

"You're so perfect, aren't you?"

He was burning up for her. It was dizzying. And he never wanted it to stop.

Her legs were still hooked tightly around him. Joaquin reached over, hand trailing behind her thigh until he found her ass. He squeezed, hard, then soothed the roughness with a gentle massage from his fingers.

"Perfect ass. Perfect mouth. Just fucking perfect."

Joaquin— did he know how he sounded? When he groaned, low and deep, did he know the way it seems to rumble through every one of her nerves, lighting up all the pleasure at her clit?

'I'm gonna fuck you forever, just like this, you won't have to live without it, baby. Never again.'

Fuck. What the fuck? Is that possible, can that happen? Nadia whines, ruts upwards to meet his thrusts, wondering, with her scrambled brain and thudding heart, if he really can keep fucking her forever.

Joaquin sounds convinced. And he's fucking her so well too— driving his cock deeper, as if claiming more of her, striking pleasure in her belly like sparks beneath an anvil.

Skin on skin. Panting breaths, the rustle of fabric slipping beneath frantic bodies. The comforter is no doubt rumpled to hell. And who fucking cares! Joaquin was going to fuck her forever— that was only thing that matters.

Joaquin's hands, hot palms, squeezing at her breasts. A whine. Her spine bends to arch up into that squeeze, nipples pebbled.

'You look so pretty getting fucked. You know that?'

Nadia has nothing to say to that. Or, rather— she can't say anything. The sensation of those squeezing hands, his cock driving into her, it's too much— too much pleasure, too many sensations rushing through the circuits of her brain.

She was made for this. Joaquin was right. She was.

She just whines, broken with her bliss, eyes rolling to know Joaquin loves her like this— loves flushed, trembling mess of her while he fucks her.

'I never wanna stop fucking you.'

At last Nadia finds her voice again.

"Please," she says, nearly gasping.

"Was made to take your cock. Was made to take you, need you to fuck me forever, need you to fuck me so I don't even know my own name, just yours, just Joaquin, only you."

She rolls her hips into his next thrust, and nearly cries at the taut pleasure between her legs, overwhelming as an ocean wave slapping against her.

Joaquin is the only thing she wants to know. Joaquin is the only thing worth knowing.

Nadia, in an effort to just fucking keep herself close to him, permanently, shifts upwards again, manages to wrap both her legs around his middle.

"Fuck me."

Nadia agreed — she was made for this, made to take his cock, she needed this forever.

She wrapped her legs around him, tight, and only had one request from Joaquin.

Fuck me.

There was a groan that escaped from his throat because it sounded so good when she said it. It sounded like the most perfect request in the world, the simplest one.

When she hooked her both legs around Joaquin, there was no slowing down, no backing out, nothing besides giving her exactly what she wanted.

The bed was shaking.

Joaquin's thrusts increased in strength, in rhythm, he was plowing into her now, faster and deeper than before. Joaquin was fucking her harder now, faster, because he could tell that's what Nadia needed. That's what his baby needed, and he was going to give it to her.

He was fucking her.

He buried his face in her neck, sucking, tongue rolling over the flesh at her shoulder.

"You take my cock so good, huh? So fucking good."

He licked at her collarbone next, greedy and eager to taste every bit of her.

His cock was on fire in the best possible way. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. That's all that Joaquin felt in that moment. Everything else came second, besides maybe all of the affection that he had for Nadia — but the pleasure was a result of that.

"You're mine now," he told her, pulling away from her chest, finding her mouth. His tongue swiped at her lips. This is what he'd been missing for six months. She felt so integral. How had he ever survived without this?

It was overwhelming. He grabbed her jaw.

"Open your mouth."

#001 #FREAKED #TF #OUT

'I am,'

'I'm fucking you.'

That was all Nadia needed.

Not food, not water, not even oxygen for the cells in her brain.

Quite simply— she just needs Joaquin to fuck her. She needs him, needs his cock, needs him to fuck her with that big perfect cock.

And he does.

Thrusting, slow, exploratory, his hips jutting up into hers, Nadia finally exhaling, sweet relief coursing through her nerves.

Yes. Yes. Finally. Six months, finally now, and it's perfect. It's so beyond perfect her brain is short-circuiting, how can Joaquin and his cock and his everything be so perfect? It's not fair.

And then he leans forward, captures her mouth in a kiss. Nadia has no choice. She has to moan into it. Especially when his thrusts pick up, especially when he's talking to her like that— talking to her in a way that sends bolts of heat right to her clit.

'Let me hear you, baby. I wanna hear what my cock does to you. Been waiting to hear those pretty noises from you.'

The ache between her leg sharpens, clit pulsing, and Nadia has no choice but to buck up to meet this thrusts. No choice but to tug at his hair, spine lifting off the bed, comforter already hot beneath her.

"Please," she moans.

Nadia's other hand finds his back— nails zigg-zagging down his spine, hips snapping up to meet his.

A high, breathy keen, when she snaps her hips at just the right time, feels a deep thrust from Joaquin, a skillful roll of his hips, pressure at her clit, pleasure that seems to burrow a thousand feet deep.

"Can't live without this," she pants. "Can't live without you and your cock, need this, can't even fucking breathe without your cock in me."

Desperate, she tugs at his lip with her teeth. Stares up at him, blinking dazed.

Was it like how Joaquin imagines? When she pants, whines as she writhes, when her breath exhales in a shaky huff, was it how he imagined?

Joaquin swallowed Nadia's moan, stifling one of his own. Fuck. She sounded so good like that, so heavenly and delicate and sexy. It turned him on like crazy.

She was moving against him, meeting his thrusts halfway, begging. Nails trailing down his spine, all while she moaned please. It was sensory fucking overload. She was going to fucking kill him, and it'd be the sweetest fucking death known to man.

"Can't live without this. Can't live without you and your cock, need this, can't even fucking breathe without your cock in me."

Joaquin groaned, cursing beneath his breath. Fuck. She knew exactly what to say. And he believed her.

"I'm gonna fuck you forever, just like this, you won't have to live without it, baby. Never again."

Never. Fucking never again. He'd quit everything, abandon every responsibility in his life, to keep doing this with Nadia. When Nadia grazed his lip with her teeth, his eyes rolled shut temporarily, focusing on the movements of his hips.

Everything she did was unbelievably sexy.

His hands roamed over her body, up her stomach, resting on her breasts. He gripped them both tight, squeezing while he fucked her. God. They were perfect.

"You look so pretty getting fucked. You know that?"

He wished he could show her. Maybe, one day he would. He'd film her, photograph her, show it to her later so she could see what he saw.

"Think you were made for this, baby. For me. So I could fuck you just like this."

His cock was buried deep in between her legs, right where it belonged. He squeezed her tits again, hard, because fuck, she turned him on. Unbelievably so.

"I never wanna stop fucking you."

'God, I need you. Right now. Right fucking now.'

She's nodding, mouth slack and panting, eyes fixed on him.

It's hard to top those words— it's especially fucking hard when Joaquin's hands are on her, skimming at her sides, yanking her dress up and over, tossed on the floor, another barrier that needed discarding, just a few bits of fabric stopping them from even more perfect bliss.

Nadia shivers, exposed to air. Bites at her lip watching him discard the panties too, ridding himself the rest of his clothes.

Fuck.

Look at all of him.

All that muscles. It makes her clench. To study his abdominal muscles, the harsh cutting line at his hipbones, disappearing downwards, her breath hitching to follow the line and— there. His cock. Big and perfect and hard for Nadia.

The ache between her legs is a powerful thing. A need she's never known until him, a desperation to be filled. A desperation to be joined.

When he kisses her, she can't help the whine. She especially can't help the needy roll of her hips when Joaquin takes his cock, drags the head between her folds, blunt pressure, a touch that makes her clit throb, makes her clench, makes her spine arch in fantastical angles.

"Please," she whines.

And then he's pushing in, and Nadia is writhing, grabbing at his back, desperate, wrapping a leg around his middle, welcoming him in, savoring the fucking stretch, dizzying and arresting and perfect, the way her body has to accommodate such a length.

So. Good. Six months she's built this up in her mind, and fuck, how her imagination is laid bare as woefully fucking inadequate.

'You feel that? I know you do. I'm right here.'

That makes her tighten. She nods, blinking, inhaling sharply, hanging on to Joaquin's every word.

"Can feel you," she manages. "Need you."

And she does need him. Nadia doesn't think she's ever needed anything more. With all the force her abdominal muscles can manage, she arches up off the bed— arches deeper onto his cock, breath wobbling, lip trembling again as her other hand finds his hair, fisting dark strands to secure herself.

Her lashes flutter tremulously.

"Please fuck me," she says.

Please.

It sounded so fucking pretty whenever she said please. Joaquin couldn't deny her that. He couldn't deny her anything. She arched for him, hooking a leg around his body.

God, yes. He could feel her tighten around his cock — warm and wet. He could still taste her on his tongue.

Please fuck me.

Another set of words that bypassed his brain and went straight to his dick. He felt himself twitch inside of her. He liked hearing her say please. She sounded very sweet when she did.

"I am," he replied, nodding once. "I'm fucking you."

Well, he wasn't quite yet — but he was about to.

There was no use in waiting. She was warmed up, thanks to his fingers, and Joaquin had been ready since they'd stepped foot in that elevator.

His first thrust was slow and shallow, testing the waters, before finally pushing further into her. He'd never felt so connected to another person before. Not like this.

Joaquin leaned forward, mouth finding hers. His hips moved against hers, steady, deep movements. She felt as good as she tasted.

"Let me hear you, baby. I wanna hear what my cock does to you. Been waiting to hear those pretty noises from you."

#001 #theyre sick

Joaquin's grin is the hottest thing she's ever seen– she drinks it in, breathless, tongue lolling as she surveys his perfect face, that glistening, dark beard.

'You're fucking hot,'

That makes her grin too.

She grins even wider when Joaquin suddenly hoists her up, shirt discarded in the process, which allows Nadia the opportunity and privilege to stare at his chest, nip and lick lightly at his pectorals. Fuck.

Perfect, like the rest of him.

They make it to the bedroom. In a haze of panting and want, Nadia secure against him until as he pauses to kiss her intermittently, making her giggle and gasp and slip her tongue against him, a hand finding her breast.

What a perfect detour.

They eventually make it to the bed. Nadia, spread out for him alone, six months of imagining what it would look like to watch Joaquin crawl atop her, eyes dark and focused, eyes pinned only on her.

Was this really happening?

'You're gorgeous, Nadia.'

His lips. Her sensitive throat. Two bodies, bleeding heat into each other.

'I need you right now. Right this second. I'll fucking die if I don't.'

It's almost crazy— how instantaneous it is. Nadia, spreading her legs beneath him, bucking up, breath shuddering as her body tries to welcome him, tells him, wordlessly, that it was waiting just for him.

Six months of thinking of this. Six months of clenched thighs, six months of worshiping him in her head, mouth and hands welcoming him home, breathing hard whenever she thought of how right this would be, together. And she was right— this was so fucking right.

"Have me this second," she pants, a needy, dazed smile. "We're both about to fucking die,"

Her hand manages to snake down between them— finding the outline of Joaquin's cock, hot and hard and large, and she squeezes, rubs her palm against him needily. She's clenching around nothing. She's aching bad, because he's not inside her.

Her lips starts fucking trembling, that's how bad she wants him, that's how bad she wants Joaquin, the only person who fucking exists right now.

"Need you. Need you inside me, now, please, Joaquin, you belong there,"

Joaquin could have her right this second. They both deserved it. Waiting all of that time. She reached down between their bodies, finding his cock, squeezing, and Joaquin shivered and sighed and wanted to fall apart at the mere touch.

Holy shit.

"God, I need you. Right now. Right fucking now."

His hands wandered at her sides, pulling up at the fabric of her dress, pulling it over her head and tossing it onto the ground. If he hadn't wanted her so badly, he would've been stuck like that — staring at her perfect body, in awe of the way she looked at him.

Her lips were quivering, and it fucking killed him. It killed him so bad.

He finished undressing her, then tore his own clothes off, too.

He climbed back on top of her, both of their bodies totally bare.

She really did look so gorgeous. The prettiest thing Joaquin had ever laid eyes on.

He captured her mouth with his own, a long, deep kiss, as he spread her legs. He repositioned Nadia, ensuring her perfect head was on a pillow, before reaching for his cock. It ached for her. It'd been aching for her, for months now.

He positioned himself right at her entrance, dragging his cock slowly between her folds, applying pressure at her clit. A gentle sort of teasing, before finally pushing inside of her.

Holy shit. It was the greatest thing he'd ever felt.

He pulled away from Nadia's mouth so that he could stare at her, get lost in those big, brown eyes of hers.

"You feel that? I know you do. I'm right here."

The noise Joaquin makes reverberates right through her clit, making her spine bend, making her gasp and twitch.

Fuck.

It had never been like this before— she'd never felt her body with such hyper-awareness, every inch of skin flushed and tingling, every muscle clenching and releasing and tightening again with whatever Joaquin did.

The fucking Joaquin effect.

Again.

His tongue works slow, lapping gently when it approaches her clit, stoking her coals into a fire, soft, until—

Until his mouth latches around her and sucks. Her head snaps back and a ragged sort of noise escapes her, pleasure, a dazed sort of intensity, nerves that had already been brought to orgasm, now being worked again, and it was Nadia whining and whining.

There was no way her hand could achieve this. There was no way a toy, made in a lab only for her, could even come close. The idea of another man making her feel this? Laughable! This ability, this achievement was only Joaquin's.

His tongue pushes deeper. Nadia swears and strains in ecstasy.

Joaquin detaches.

"Which one's your room?'

Hmm? What?

Nadia stares at him for a moment, blinking slow, mouth panting, admiring his face. Admiring the way his fucking beard shone, wet from her, the eager way he'd buried himself there.

"You're so fucking hot," she mumbles.

But. Oh? Bedroom. Hers. Right. That big bed, perfect for this, silken comforter.

"It's—" God, that hungry look on his face was stoking her fire and need, fuck. "The one right at the end of the hall, fuck."

Joaquin was between her lets for purely selfish reasons. He really just wanted to taste her. And she tasted even better than he'd ever imagined. Sweet, like honey. He'd done that. Him and his hands.

Nadia didn't respond right away. Instead, she remarked on his looks. He was hot. Joaquin grinned.

"You're fucking hot," he countered. Now that he knew the general direction of her bedroom, he stood yet again, removing his shirt because he was fucking burning up. He lifted Nadia with ease, wrapping her legs around his torso yet again, and walked down the hallway toward her bedroom.

Along the way, he lost his shoes, kicking them off somewhere in the dark hallway. He also kept ineffectively stopping to kiss Nadia. He'd press her against a closed door, hands squeezing her breasts, before his cock reminded him of where exactly he needed to go.

Finally, Joaquin pushed the bedroom door open. There. A big bed, right at the center of the room. He placed her on the mattress. And things slowed down for just a second because this was really happening. Nadia, who he'd waited so patiently for, was finally his.

He leaned in, kissed her again, deeply and desperately.

"You're gorgeous, Nadia."

So gorgeous. His mouth trailed down to her neck.

"I need you right now. Right this second. I'll fucking die if I don't."

'That's it, baby. Just like that.'

There was no orgasm like it, and there was no afterglow like it— all because Joaquin spoke in her ear, the one thing that kept her tethered in the midst of overwhelming, perfect pleasure.

She whined, and sighed, trembled and twitched and fell apart with his fingers inside.

And then Joaquin, with urgency— 'yes'.

That's all he said, and their bodies spoke the rest— her hot, needy pants, the strain against Joaquin's pants, their bodies melded together, him securing her legs around his middle, the chime, the grind of elevator doors, frantic press of the keyboard, they're in the foyer now, desperate, and—

Nadia, now deposited on the entry way table, sleek walnut, polished, gleaming under the low light.

'Wait. I need to do something first.'

Oh? Nadia's brain, scrambled and needy with pleasure, watches in awe as Joaquin kneels. Then buries his face at the apex of her thighs. "Fucking—" the gasp that tears out of her is shaky. "Joaquin!"

Pleasure, tight as the chord of a harp, thrumming, her thighs, twitching, one leg raising wrap atop. his shoulder, another hand finding purchase in his hair, what the fuck—

She had to be so wet down there. So wet, only because of him, his hand, now that perfect mouth and nose and face buried there. Her thighs tighten and twitch.

There's something prickling at her eyes, and though she's wracked with pleasure, almost delirious with it, she can't help thinking how fucking good he looks like this, kneeling atop the amber marble of her foyer. She squirms. Holds on to him tighter, petting and tugging at his hair in equal amounts. Her other leg raises and wraps around his neck.

"What the fuck," she breathes. "You're perfect, you're perfect, what the fuck—" her voices pitches upward, strained, wobbly.

Joaquin was drunk, which explained his inability to focus on just one thing. He could've waited until they were in the bedroom, but also, he couldn't. He needed to taste her now.

Nadia quickly hooked her legs around him, and he buried himself between her thighs. She was soaked.

Joaqiun made a noise buried somewhere in his throat, lapping at her center, slow, dragging his tongue up to her clit. Probably still sensitive from her orgasm, so he was careful, and soft, until he couldn't be anymore — he wrapped his lips around the tender flesh, sucked gently for only a few seconds, before releasing.

His tongue slid back down, and holy shit, he was doing this. He was tasting Nadia Dahar. Woman of his dreams. Woman in his dreams, for the last six months. He couldn't think of anyone else. No one else made him hard.

He'd tried before. Mindless hook ups. Nothing worked because they weren't Nadia.

He pushed his tongue inside of her briefly, testing the waters, and God, he really didn't want to wait anymore.

"Which one's your room?" He asked Nadia, looking up at her, eyes dark and hungry, beard glistening from all of his hard work.

Oh. Joaquin makes a noise now, and it shoots right down to her clit, shudders throughout her body and makes every cell hum, makes her clench around his fingers even tighter.

He sounded so fucking good.

It makes her buck her hips mindlessly.

'Oh, baby, I wish I could've helped you.'

And that makes her keen.

Baby.

He— Joaquin — wishing he could have helped her. Wished her could have been there, talking to her like this, hand over hers, fingers pressing in, perfect, so Joaquin—

A third finger, and she whines in pleasure, feels her muscles tighten and lax and tighten again and she squeezes his wrist, trembling—

'I'm right here now. You feel that? I'm here.'

Nadia nods against his neck, mouth dragging at the hot skin of his throat.

"Feel you," she whines. "There, right there, need you right there, Joaquin—

That's what was missing— the night that Nadia had spread herself out on her bed, face hot, thinking of Joaquin, dark brows drawn together while he talked to Eli, and Nadia staring, Nadia needing him, going home, skin burning, thighs clenched tight — she couldn't finish properly because there was no Joaquin. No warm fingertips, no palm brushing at her clit, no steady, commanding voice in her ear to guide her.

But now?

With Joaquin here, holding her up against the cool panel of the elevator, Nadia knows what's building in her will burn up every cell in her body with pleasure.

'You take it so well, baby. God, you drive me so fucking crazy.'

That makes her pulse and tighten. Her taking him well. Doing well, for him, she wants to do it for him, needs him, finds herself bucking against the three fingers, nipping at his neck, kissing them there, needing to do something with her mouth as the pleasure builds to an overwhelming intensity, tipping right at the edge—

"Joaquin," she whines, blinking without seeing, gasping into his neck, vision white, pleasure drawn back like a bow and then released in a shuddering reverberation, an orgasm that crashes through her whole body.

Nadia inhales, hard. Leans against him. Wet, tight around his hand, still thrumming with pleasure, still hasn't descended from the last throbs of her orgasm, and already she's whining in his ear, six months of want, a hot ache, burning desire for Joaquin to feel this good, to feel him lose himself in pleasure in her body, the two of them intertwined so tight they could never be separated.

"Joaquin," she pants. "Need you inside me. Need your cock, need to make you feel this fucking good, fuck, please."

Right there, right there, right there.

He kept going, same pace, same rhythm, not daring to disturb the moment. He held her firmly in place, in case she fell or lost her balance, but Joaquin would have never allowed that to happen.

She whined his name. His cock twitched again. That was the most beautiful sound in the whole fucking world. She was gasping, grinding against his palm, when she finally let go. Joaquin's mouth was open, amazed, watching intensely as Nadia let go.

"That's it, baby. Just like that."

He guided her through it, slowing his movements. She fell apart right there, right against him, tightening around his fingers.

And only moments after her orgasm had passed, a new desperation hit. She needed him inside of her. He nodded.

"Yes," he simply said, and for a brief second, he considered doing it there. Unbuckling his pants, pushing into her, fucking her right against the wall.

But it was better to go to her place. Joaquin turned away from her for a second, desperately hitting the elevator button to her floor. It opened within seconds. Joaquin turned to face her, lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his torso.

He helped Nadia open the front door, slamming it shut behind them. Her bedroom. He needed to find her bedroom.

But first —

He placed Nadia down on an entryway table. Maybe it was decorative, and not meant to withstand a person's weight, but he didn't care.

"Wait. I need to do something first."

More selfishness. He kneeled, burying his face between her legs. He had to taste all of his hard work, didn't he?

Another finger, and it's like all the air leaves her in a rush, body tightening around him, shivering, mouth widening, pulse thudding harder.

More.

More of Joaquin, she needed more of Joaquin. His hand moves now, slow, exploratory, deep, and again her hips roll in time with the motion, desperate, starved for the steady rhythm of his fingers, that perfect touch, clever hands that moved as if directing a symphony.

'How much can you take, baby?'

And that just makes her moan. Nadia can't even answer at first. Her clit is throbbing, walls clenching hard around him, brain scrambled with pleasure. She blinks up at him, rapid, panting, dazed.

And then his fingers curl. Her legs really do buckle then, and it's only the solid weight of Joaquin that keeps her upright at that deepening pressure. So perfect he was. So skilled.

'Can you take more?'

'Tell me what you can take. I'll give it to you.'

She keens, leans her weight against him.

"All of you," she pants. " 'M so wet for you. I can take it— fuck, please, Joaquin."

Her head falls against his shoulder, and she licks at his neck, nips, shivering as she does, bucking up against his hand, that clever hand.

If this is what his hand felt like— what about his cock? Imagine how she'll tighten around him, imagine how the length of him will feel?

A hand shoots down. She grabs his wrist desperately, pleasure in her belly pulled tight and taut as she bucks, eyes, as she looks at him, hungry and awed, he was so perfect—

"Need you. Tried— touching myself, thinking of you, but it's not this, I need this."