Summary: Being a father is not easy, and even less so when he is single. This is Miguel O'Hara's life, who has raised his daughter Gabriella alone after her mother's abandonment. Everything has been extremely difficult and challenging, especially now that they have to start over in a new neighborhood. Miguel barely has time for anything else besides his daughter and his job⌠everything changes a bit when he meets his daughter's teacher: you.
CW: different POV, distress, mild angst, not use of Y/N, only last name, Miguel being sweet with Gabi, kinda OOC (Let me know if I forgot something, pls)
Divider by: @cinemabeans
A/N: Hello there! It's been a long, long time since the last time I was there 𼲠I've been through a lot of things, and I was drained of... well, everything HAHA! First of all, thank you to all of you that you kept giving likes or reposting :') today, the third chapter is ready and I really hope to be more frequent from now on :'D Take care and I'll see you next time!
And before to proceed, I have to express my gratitude to @miss-tarja, who has been helping me all this time to get this chapter doneâit was incredibly difficult for me to write. And yet, she was there, being very patient and offering me encouragement and advice <3
5:25 am...
He was dreaming... dreaming of something sweet.
No, it wasnât a dreamâŚ
Miguel opened his eyes abruptly when he caught a faint smell of something burning. As he had a spring in his butt, Miguel jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs âwithout even putting on his slippersâ where he saw the kitchen light on⌠and Gabriella standing on a stool before the stove and with her back to him.
âGabriella?â
The little girl flinched at the sudden sound of her fatherâs voice. When she turned around, Miguel couldnât help but smile tenderly at the sight: her face dusted with flour, wearing a flower-embroidered apron, and her hair tied in a messy ponytail.
âHola, papitoâŚâ
Miguel shook his head softly with a smile and walked over until he stood behind her.
âCare to explain what you're doing?â he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
âWell⌠I wanted to make pancakes for Emily, so we can stay friends, butâŚâ
She glanced beside her, where a plate of oddly shaped pancakes sat âsome undercooked, others completely burnt.
Miguel let out a small chuckle and gently stroked her head.
âWhy didnât you wake me up? You couldâve burned yourself, sweetheartâŚâ
Gabriella sighed and nodded. Her cheeks were red from the heat of the kitchen⌠and a little from embarrassment.
âI didnât want to bother you⌠I know youâre really busy, and I didnât want to be a botherâŚâ
Miguelâs heart sank at her words. The last thing he wanted was for his little girl to think she was a burden. On the contrary, he always wanted to be there for her.
âGabi, you will never be a bother to me. Yes, I have a lot of work and I get home tired, but Iâll always have energy for you. And what youâre doing is a beautiful gesture,â he said, smiling warmly.
His little girl was growing up so fast.
She smiled brightly, showing all her teeth.
âGracias, papitoâŚâ
Miguel sighed as he looked around the kitchen: dirty bowls, eggshells, flour on the countersâŚ
âHow about you go take a shower while I give you a hand in here?â
The little girl gasped and looked up at her father with her big brown eyes, full of hope.
âReally?â she asked, her voice bubbling with excitement, eyes sparkling with joy.
âOf course. Now go get ready for school. You have to make a good impression today, especially after what happened yesterday, seĂąorita,â Miguel said, his tone a mix of seriousness and teasing.
Gabriella puffed out her cheeks in mock protest, but quickly dashed out of the kitchen, leaving behind her apron⌠and the culinary chaos.
Still, he shook his head with a small chuckle. Though yesterdayâs incident was still fresh in his mind, it made him genuinely happy to see her so eager to start a new day at school. Gabriella was truly a wonderful girl⌠and that other little one, the one with the braids and slightly sad eyes, seemed just as special.
With a sigh, he started preparing a fresh batter of pancake mix.
âNow⌠do they prefer blueberries or chocolate chips?â
In contrast to the cheerfulâ albeit earlyâ atmosphere at Miguelâs place, on the other side of town, an alarm shattered the silence inside a modest apartment. Your eyes flew open at the sound of your phoneâs abrupt, jarring ring. It was already 5:30 amâŚ
Youâd barely slept a couple of hours and you were exhausted⌠you turned off the damn alarm and, after stretching your limbs, got up with no enthusiasm at all.
Your morning routine always began the same way: opening the curtains. From your room, you could see the other buildings in the complex and a few lights on.Â
What all those people were doingâŚÂ
Ordinary people getting ready for work, students just going to sleep after studying for an exam, restless souls unable to fall asleep. Who would have thought that each little illuminated square was a completely different world under the same sky.
You still had an hour before Emily woke up, therefore the next thing on your busy to-do list was a hot shower. You've had that habit since you were very young. Cold showers were unbearable for you, even on the hottest, most stifling days in New York. As the water ran over your body and the steam filled the air, you went over in your head all the things you had to do, like a child studying for a history exam.
After your shower, you decided to put on something comfortable. Comfy shoes and clothes that allowed you to move around easily were essential for a job where you spent most of the day on your feet. A pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a light cardigan, and matching sneakers.
Once you were ready, and with your hair still damp, you walked to Emilyâs room. Her door was decorated with drawings that sheâd made over the time. You opened it softly, and once inside, you opened the curtains.
âGood morning, sleepyhead!â you said, and all you got in response was a muffled groan from the little girl, who pulled the pillow over her head.
An amused chuckle escaped your lips as you pulled off the pink blankets, making Emily let out a high-pitched scream.
âYouâre so mean!âÂ
âI donât care, little miss! Go and wash up â breakfast will be ready soon,â you replied, placing your hands on your hips.
With pouty lips, Emily got up. Her long hair was messy, and yawning, almost dragging her bare feet, she walked to the bathroom of the apartment.
âYou have fifteen minutes!â and you only got a grunt from your sister.
Breakfast was almost a sacred ritual in both of your lives.Â
While you waited for the water to boil in the kettle, you started preparing Emilyâs breakfast and lunch. A soft smile touched your tired face as you picked up her lunch bag â a lovely pink one decorated with her beloved My Melody. Your little sister had bought it with her own money, which she earned by taking care of the neighbour's cat while the young woman rushed her mother to the hospital after a minor household accident.
Thatâs why she carried it proudly.
For breakfast? Toast with raspberry jam, some fruit, chocolate milk for Emily, and berry tea for you. While you set everything on the small kitchen table, you made a mental note to stop by the supermarket after work.
For lunch? Sandwiches made with yesterdayâs leftover chicken, a bit of salad, and a big red apple for dessert â all neatly packed inside the pink lunch bag along with a box of orange juice.
âEmily? Are you done?â you asked aloud, placing the lunch bag next to her backpack.
âComing! Coming!âÂ
You sighed and sat on the stool while you took a sip of your steaming mug. You reallyâd hoped for a better day than yesterdayâs. Even though you tried your best, you had gained enemies.Â
The sudden buzz of your phone brought you to reality. Taking another sip, you picked up your phone and focused on a specific notification â last night's live show had raised almost $200, which would be sent to your account at the end of the month.Â
You couldn't help but smile. It was money raised to make ends meet and give Emily everything she needed and the occasional treat.Â
Bzz bzz*
Behind the wheel, Miguel glanced briefly at his phone over his sunglasses. It was probably a message from work. He looked in the rearview mirror, but he had already dropped Gabi off at school âboth before walking her to the very entrance and telling her he loved her very much.
He felt nervous, like he was about to throw up the coffee and toasts.
âFocus, you idiot. She's fine. She knows she can trust you, and you have to trust her,â Miguel told himself, without letting go of the steering wheel.
As he stopped at the red light, a few blocks from the massive, modern building, he glanced briefly at his phone. He had a message from Lyla, the receptionist.Â
âMr. OâHara, you have an important meeting at 10am. Please, bring something to take notes and donât be late.â
Great.Â
The man hadnât even had the pleasure of meeting his colleagues âhis new colleagues. Because of yesterdayâs incident, heâd had to leave early and hadnât been able to meet them or try the cafeteria food.Â
Finally, Miguel arrived at Alchemax. When he saw it yesterday, he thought it was a building from another dimension or time, as if heâd taken a journey through space and time, like those movies Gabi liked to watch.Â
Parking the car on his stop in the parking lot, he grabbed his things. His day had officially begun, and he hoped it would be better than yesterday.
Once he had clocked in at work, Miguel sat down at his desk and reviewed the emails and documents he needed to read. There were only a few minutes left before the meeting Lyla had mentioned by message âand once he arrived as well.
As Miguel made a mental list of the things he had to do that day, his eyes glanced at the framed photo of Gabriella beside the screen. It was a picture from her sixth birthday, wearing a princess crown in front of a white cake with blue details and soccer balls made of fondant.
A soft smile relaxed the tense muscles of his face.
âEverything will be alright soon, mi amorâŚâ
The clock in the corner of his screen announced 10 a.m., and he left a Post-it note that read, âIN A MEETING. BE BACK SOON.â with bold letters. Steady steps headed him toward the meeting room, with his glasses on the bridge of his nose and his tablet in hand.
The meeting room wasnât far. According to Lylaâs instructions, he had to go to the third floor, in the genetics department. Miguel took the elevator, and once he arrived on that floor, he looked for the room. The hallways were white and lit with cold light, giving them a clean appearance.
Finally, Miguel reached the room. A glass door with large letters indicated that it was the room he was looking for. He pushed it open and went inside.
In the middle, a long table was already occupied by three peopleâ a black woman, a blond man with his blue eyes focused on some documents, and finally, another man with a bit of one- or two-day stubble and noticeable dark circles under his eyes. Apparently, they were some of the many scientists working in that enormous building.
Clearing his throat, he greeted them.
âGood morning.â
The three looked up and returned the greeting with a welcoming smile.
âHey there, partner! Are you Miguel OâHara?â greeted the man with the stubble.
Miguel nodded and sat down next to the woman, who greeted him in a more⌠âdistantâ way, yet not cold.
âItâs a pleasure to have you join the genetics department. My name is Jessica Drew. This is Peter B. Parker, and Ben Reilly,â Jessica introduced the team.
Miguelâs first impression was that they werenât very serious people compared to him. He had always considered himself a serious person, with little desire to share information outside of working hours. It would only be a matter of time before he could tell whether these people, so âdifferentâ from him, truly wereâ or if it was just his own prejudices.
And, of course, his problem with trusting peopleâŚ
His colleagues, his new neighbours, youâŚ
âAll right, gentlemen, letâs begin this meeting,â Jessica started, lowering the blinds and blocking out the light. Then, her fingers pressed a button of a controller, the curtain lowered and pressing another, the projector turned on.
On the curtain, appeared the Alchemax logo along with the phrase âSchool of Scienceâ.
âOver the next few months, we need to carry out a recruitment process for students in their final year of school who are interested in a future related to science and genetics,â the woman explained, while the slide changed and showed previous photographs of different activities of previous years. âThe goal is to offer them a scholarship to attend university and, later on, to complete their internships at Alchemaxâs facilities.â
Miguel nodded and, adjusting his glasses, began to write on his tablet. Ben did the same, only on his computer. Parker followed suit, with the difference that he used a paper notepad and a pen.
âI was thinking we could organize events to attract these studentsâ attention and showcase their potential. Any suggestions?â
A silence fell between them, and Miguel stopped writing to look at the photos. Children and teenagers were lined up for the picture, holding diplomas and smiling brightly. It reminded him a little of his own school daysâ except he didnât have any photos or records from those momentsâŚ
Of course, his mother hadnât even bothered to show up for the school events that mattered to him⌠and he wouldnât have asked his little brother, Gabriel, to take a photo or skip class just to see him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of that Peter man, who scratched his chin with the back of his pen.
âWhen I was in school, my teachers always had us do the typical âscience fairâ. It could be a good option,â Parker said in a relaxed, yet still serious tone.
Miguel raised an eyebrow, surprised that Peter had mentioned something similar to what himself had been thinking. But the idea was good and interesting, he had to admit it.
Jess nodded. âHow would we go about it?â
This time, Ben spoke up. âWe could make it a kind of competition. The most creative and innovative experiments of each school would have the opportunity to submit their rĂŠsumĂŠ.â
âAnd eventually be selected to receive a scholarship,â Peter added.
Miguel rarely intervened. He saw himself as an attentive listener rather than someone who needed to speak. However, he missed no detail: he took notes on everything, preparing to offer comments, ask questions, or contribute when the right moment came.
âYes, that could work. That way, we would have several applicants competing for the scholarship,â Jessica commented while taking notes on her computer, which was decorated with a motorcycle sticker. âBut to make it happen, we need everything to be well organized. That way, we could start the events before winter break at schools.â
The group worked throughout the entire morning, exchanging ideas and drafting an outline of the possible activities. They had a lot of work ahead of them.
And Miguel had a lot to learn about his colleaguesâ and how they would work together throughout that time.
Gabriellaâs second day had begun quite normally, far more peacefully than the previous one. Emily seemed genuinely happy to be doing her assignments alongside her, carefully following your instructions and listening with attention as you taught the lesson.
Despite having slept only a couple of hours, your energy was almost endless â whenever it came to your students. You moved around the classroom with ease, thanks to your comfy sneakers. Explaining concepts, answering questions, and being kindly patient with those who were still struggling to understand was part of your routine.
A few minutes before class ended, you stepped in front of the whiteboard. Its surface was already covered with notes and little drawings you had made throughout the morning.
âAlright, students. One, two, three, all eyes on me!â you sang out, clapping for each beat.
âOne, two, all eyes on you!â the children replied in unison, mimicking your claps.
A smile spread across your face. They had remembered the little call-and-response chant you had taught them the day before.
âVery good!â you praised before pulling a stack of flyers from your bag. âBefore we head out for recess, Iâm going to give each of you a pamphlet. Itâs important that you take it home and show it to your parents or guardians,â as you spoke, you began handing out the colorful sheets of paper. âRemember that these activities are part of your school year.â
Gabriella glanced at the flyer she received. Across the front, large letters read âSchool Fairâ, surrounded by doodles representing different activities: a paintbrush, a basketball, a ballet shoe, a musical noteâŚ
And her eyes immediately lit up when she spotted a soccer ball.
âAs many of you already know,â you continued while distributing the last few flyers, âall students are expected to participate in extracurricular activities in addition to their regular classes and assignments.â
Once everyone had received one, you returned to the front of the classroom and held up a copy.
âThis fair will take place on Friday after the school day ends. Make sure to tell your parents or guardians so they can come with you. Talk to them at home and think about which activity interests you the most.â
The moment you finished speaking, the bell rang throughout the building, announcing the beginning of the long-awaited recess.
But you still had one thing left to do.
You needed to speak with Gabriella and Emily.
After all, they still had to receive their âpunishmentâ.
âEmily, Gabriella, could you come here for a moment, please?â
You sat down behind your desk and watched as the two girls slowly approached.Â
A small ache settled in your chest when you noticed how the bright smiles they had worn only moments ago faded from their faces.
Still, while you couldnât simply ignore what had happened, you had no intention of being harsh.
Interwinding your hands on the surface of the desk, you cleared your throat.
âYou both know that what happened yesterday cannot happen again. And to help you learn from it, the two of youâŚâ
A pause. You noticed the girls reaching for each otherâs hands.Â
âWill be organizing the books on the classroom shelves after school. For a week.â
You tried to sound stern though the gentleness in your voice softened the words. And of course, the girls blinked in disbelief, like they were waiting for something worse, like cleaning the playground or helping the janitor to clean the bathrooms. With a toothbrush.
Unable to help yourself, you let out a small laugh and relaxed your elbows atop the desk.
âDonât worry. Iâve spoken with the principal, and she agrees that you were only defending yourselves. However, it still canât happen again. We have rules to follow in this school. And I know youâre both good, well-behaved girls. I believe in you. Understood?â
Gabriella and Emily nodded at the same time.Â
The weight they had been carrying all morning seemed to vanish from their small shoulders in an instant.
âYes, miss,â Gabriella replied, feeling Emilyâs hand against hers.Â
âThatâs what I like to hear. Now go and enjoy your recess. Iâll be nearby just in case.â
With your head, you gestured toward the door. Without wasting a second, Gabriella gently tugged Emilyâs hand and led her out of the classroom, eager to share the pancakes that Miguel made for them.
It lasted only a moment, so brief like a blink of an eye. Yet, just before stepping through the doorway, Emily glanced back over her shoulder at you. When her sweet eyes met yours, a smile appeared on her face before she followed her friend.
Then, the room fell silent. The only sounds left were the distant laughter and shouts of children playing outside, muted by the concrete walls covered in colorful posters.
A tired smile crossed your face. It was only the second day of school, and you already felt exhausted.
In nearly five years of working at the school, you had never had a serious problem with a parent of someone in charge of your students. You had always been careful, handling conflicts with diplomacy, patience, and respect.Â
The title of 'teacher' is too big for you.
You took a deep breath, just as you had been taught.Â
Then, you stepped out of the classroom and locked the door behind you.
One step at a time.
The long-awaited Friday had finally come to an end. It was nearly one oâclock in the afternoon, and you knew it the moment the bell rang.
Your students, buzzing with excitement, quickly closed their books and began stuffing everything into their backpacks, eager to attend the highly anticipated school fair and head home to begin the almost sacred weekend.
âRemember to take all your belongings and line up by the door so we can head to the schoolyard together,â you instructed.
Several children were already waiting by the classroom entrance. As always, Emily took her time carefully packing everything into her pink backpack. Gabriella did the same, neatly slipping her notebooks into hers. Waiting for each other seemed a new ritual for the both.
Once everyone was lined up, you slung your tote bag over your shoulder and, taking your place at the front of the line, guided the group toward your destiny.
Along the way, you crossed paths with your other colleagues doing the same. The younger students shuffled along while holding onto the backs of each otherâs sweater, forming an adorable little human chain. The older classesâmore teenagers than children at this pointâ laughed and chatted about trivial things as they walked.
Students from every background, color, and culture came together to form the identity of the school.
Eventually, all of you reached the schoolyard.
The sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly, offering some of its summer warmth before the leaves turned shades of yellow and orange, and the autumn winds began to blow.
Colorful booths decorated with banners and themed displays filled the yard. Cheerful music played in the background, inviting students and families to explore the different extracurricular activities available for the coming school year.
And Gabriella could hardly contain her excitement.
She had played soccer at her old school in Mexico, and now, she would finally get the chance to play again.
Little by little, the fear and uncertainty she had carried with her were beginning to fade away. She had her Papito by her side, and Emily as her new friend.Â
âWait here until your parents or guardians come for you!â you had to raise your voice, due to the music and noise from outside.
You and your colleagues had their hands full, making sure the more energetic students didnât bolt across the yard the moment they spotted their mothers and ensuring that every child was picked up by a responsible adult.
Little by little, parents and adults came for the kids. And after saying goodbye to you, and sometimes receiving a hug from some of your students, they left.
âÂĄPapi!â
The moment Gabriella spotted Miguel, she took off running. Her backpack bounced wildly against her back as she stretched out her arms. Miguel, wearing black pants and his shirt rolled up to the elbow, immediately opened his own and caught his daughter in a warm embrace.
âHow was your day, mi amor?â he asked, settling her onto his hip.
âGood! Come on, come on, let me down! I want to be the first one to sign up for soccer!âÂ
The excited girl kicked her legs excitedly, silently demanding to be put down so she could race toward her goal. And it was impossible for Miguel to hide his laughter.
Understanding both her motivation and her obvious body language, Miguel set his daughter down and slipped her backpack from her shoulder, carrying it over one of his own instead.Â
It looked ridiculously small against his broad frame.Â
For a brief moment, your eyes met his. Then, he looked away, following Gabriella toward the rows of booths.
You hadn't noticed before just how beautiful Miguelâs eyes were. A rich mahogany color that seemed almost red beneath the afternoon sunlight.Â
They were⌠stunning. You had to admit it.Â
And perhaps it was only your imagination, but the anger you had seen there before⌠was gone. So was the irritation that had flashed between you during your first meeting after the incident. What remained was something else entirelyâŚ
Something you couldnât quite identify.
âEhem.â
A small, gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts. Your beloved sister stood beside you, patiently waiting for your attention.
âOh, right, sweetheart. Sorry. Letâs go to the painting booth. Thatâs the one you wanted, isnât it?â
A radiant smile immediately brightened Emilyâs delicate features, revealing the small dimple in her right cheek. It was so hard to see her smiling genuinelyâŚ
Holding out your hand, she took it without hesitation, and together, the two of you headed off towards your own.
âYou have to apologize to her!â
Gabriella declared it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, pausing only long enough to take another bite of her afternoon snack. The two of them were sitting in a small cafĂŠ downtown, and in front of her sat a generous slice of apple pie and a glass of fruit juice.Â
âWhat?â Miguel asked, after taking a sip of his coffee. âAnd who exactly do you think you are, telling me what I have to do, enana?â
âBecause itâs what you always tell me,â she replied matter-of-factly. âYou should own up to your mistakes.â
Miguel stared at her in disbelief.Â
Since when did the little girl who was afraid to go to the bathroom alone at night started sounding so mature?
Gabriella was only eight years old, yet she sounded more like a fifteen-year-old lecturing him.Â
Even the frown on her face and the stubborn pout tugging at her lips looked familiar.
They were his features, andâŚ
No.
Miguel mentally slammed a door shut before the thought could go any further. Some memories were better left untouched.
âYouâre awfully bossy, you know that?â he said with a laugh, taking another sip of his coffee.
âAnd youâre grumpy,â Gabriella shot back immediately. âYouâre like Grumpy from Snow White, except for your height.âÂ
Miguel rolled his eyes and laughed again. Godâ or whoever happened to be up thereâhad better not let His grand plan involve turning this kid into a teenager who was twice as bossy and just as grumpy as he was.
âAnd what exactly am I supposed to say to her?â Miguel asked.
And Gabi simply shrugged.Â
The matter was apparently no longer important enough to deserve her attention. Instead, she returned her full focus to her apple pie.
It had cinnamon on it! Yummy!
Time passed.
Most of the students and their parents or guardians had already left the school grounds, while a handful of stragglers remained behind to join the extracurricular groups that would soon become part of their weekly routines.
Emily held a piece of paper in her both hands, carefully reading and rereading through everything she could look forward to during the school year.
Her eyes sparkled with such pure excitement that you couldnât help the fond ache that tugged at your heart.
After school, Emily would finally get to attend the painting classes she had been looking forward to. There would be museum visits, shared art supplies, creative projects andâŚ
âEmily!â
Both of you turned toward the source of the shout.Â
Gabriella was running across the yard, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her and bright grin lighting up her face. Behind her, Miguel followed at a much calmer pace, still carrying Gabiâs backpack over one shoulder and a blue folder tucked beneath one arm.
The moment Gabriella reached her friend, the two girls threw their arms around each other as if they hadnât seen one another in weeks rather than less than an hour ago.
âGuess what?â Gabriella exclaimed. âIâm finally going to play soccer again!â
Emily gasped and you smiled.
âAnd Iâm going to painting classes!â
The girls were an endless source of energy, and seeing his daughter so excited filled Miguelâs chest with warmth. For weeks, she had been withdrawn, quiet and uninterested in the things she normally loved.Â
Seeing her smile againâseeing her find a place where she belonged so quicklyâwas more than he could have hoped for. Meanwhile, you watched them with a smile of your own, completely unaware of the bittersweet thoughts passing through Miguelâs mind.
And then, once again⌠your eyes met.
You felt your heart stumbling inside your chest, giving a sudden, traitorous leap that made you feel as though it might escape entirely. And instead of listening to the irrational part of your brain and fleeing like a complete coward, you simply inclined your head in a small greeting.
A simple gesture. A polite acknowledgement.Â
Unfortunately, Gabriella and Emily might have been young, but they were far from oblivious.
âDad, arenât you going to say âhelloâ to Miss Hayes?â
Miguel immediately wished the ground would open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. On the other hand, you had to cover your laugh with a cough.Â
Taking a slow breath, Miguel stepped forward and extended his hand.
âItâs a pleasure to meet you properly, Miss Hayes. I apologize for not introducing myself the other day. My name is Miguel OâHara, and Iâmââ
âGabriellaâs father,â you finished for him with a polite smile. And you accepted his hand, giving it a gentle shake. âThe pleasure is mine, Mr OâHara. Iâm (name) Hayes.â
Both girls giggled. And then, as expected, Gabriella immediately took matters into her own, small hands.
âYou said you needed to talk to Miss Hayes, Dad. So⌠weâll leave you two alone!â
Before either of you could protest, Gabriella grabbed Emilyâs hand and took off running toward the grassy area of the schoolyard, where the two girls immediately began playing together.
You could practically hear Miguelâs internal screaming. The view was amusing enough that you had to fight back another smile.Â
It was obvious how close he and Gabriella were. She was a very sweet, well-mannered girl. A little stubborn, perhaps. But sweet nonetheless.
âMiss Hayes,â Miguel began. His voice came out rougher than intended, prompting him to clear his throat before continuing. âThe truth is⌠Iâd like to have a word with you before Gabriella and I leave.â
Oh.
Of course. Now what?
You nodded politely and glanced around the schoolyard, already searching for somewhere suitable to continue the conversation. However, before you could suggest anything, it was Miguelâs turn to read your thoughts.Â
âIf it isnât too much trouble,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck, âIâd rather not talk out here. Would you mind?â
The classroom where you taught was empty, so you suggested they speak there.
As soon as he stepped inside, Miguel paused. His eyes swept across the roomâ the small desks, the cubbies now decorated with colorful stickers, the bright posters covering the walls. It looked more like an art studio than a classroom.
âPlease, have a seat, Mr. OâHara,â you said, gesturing toward the chair beside your desk. Meanwhile, you perched yourself on the edge of one of the studentsâ desks.
Without a word, Miguel sat down. He was tense. Painfully tense. His heart beat a little faster than usual, and he hated that he was suddenly aware of it. How hard could this possibly be?Â
Clearing his throat, he finally began. âWell, Miss Hayes. First of allâŚâ he paused, searching for the right words. âI thinkâ no, I know I owe you an apology.â
Your eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. If you were being honest, you had expected excuses. Maybe even another argument. Your imagination had already prepared you for a dozen unpleasant possibilities.
An apology had not been one of them.
âI truly am sorry for how I reacted on the childrenâs first day,â Miguel continued. âThe way I spoke to you wasnât⌠fair.â
But you remained silent, allowing the nervous man to continue.
âEverythingâs been⌠complicated. For both Gabi and me.â
Miguel let out a frustrated grunt and ran a hand through his brown hair, pushing it back from his face.Â
âThe thing isâŚâ exhaled slowly. âAs you probably know, we only moved here this summer. Itâs been⌠so hard for her to adjust to this new life.â
His gaze dropped briefly toward the floor.Â
âAnd well⌠I guess part of me was scared too.â He cleared his throat again and glanced back up. You were still listening.
Still maintaining eye contact.
Still treating him with far more patience than he probably deserved.
"When I got that phone call, I swear, all I wanted to do was hold her and make sure she was okay. There's nothing I wouldn't do for Gabriella. We're justâ"
"Mr. O'Hara," you interrupted gently, lifting a hand. "It's alright. You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable sharing."
His words died immediately.
"I accept your apology."
For a moment, Miguel simply stared. Then the tension drained from his shoulders. Just a little and you noticed it instantly.
"To be honest," you continued with a small laugh, "I would probably react the same way if I were a mother," the lighthearted comment softened some of the heaviness hanging in the room.
"As I explained before, situations like that are often beyond our control. And I should apologize as well." You intertwined your fingers in your lap and offered him a warm smile. "But please don't worry. The principal and the rest of my colleagues take our students' well-being very seriously, especially those who may need a little extra support."
Miguel bit the inside of his cheek. Guilt settled heavily in his chest again.
He had been unfair. Far too harsh.
And, damn it, Gabriella had been right.
Miss Hayes really was kind, patient, and far more understanding than he had expected. Not to mention...
He quickly forced that train of thought to stop.
The pink cardigan suited you, though.
"I appreciate that, Miss Hayes," he said quietly. "And... thank you."
He hesitated before adding, "It's been hard. For both of us, but especially for her. I'm raising Gabriella on my own, and some days..." He let out a tired breath. "Some days I feel like I'm making it up as I go."
The reaction was subtle.
So subtle most people wouldn't have noticed.
But your eyes widened so slightly.
A single father.
That explained a great deal, the fierce protectiveness, the exhaustion hidden behind his stern demeanor, the way Gabriella spoke about him with so much affection.
Questions flickered briefly through your mind.
What had happened to Gabriella's mother? Was she gone? Had she left?
But those questions weren't yours to ask. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Instead, you chose compassion.
"Mr. O'Hara," you said softly, "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I think you're doing a wonderful job."
Miguel froze.
"Iâve only known Gabriella for a week. And during this week, Iâve seen an energetic little girl with a good heart. She's kind to her classmates, she's brave, and she clearly loves her father very much."
The knot in Miguel's throat appeared without warning.
For eight years, he had lived with the constant fear that he was failing her. No one had ever looked him in the eye and told him he was doing a good job. No one.
"Thank you, Miss Hayes," he said quietly. The voice came out rough. "Yeah... she's a good girl."
The best thing that had ever happened to him.
Slowly, he stood from his chair and slung Gabriella's sky-blue backpack over his shoulder once again.
"With your permission, Miss Hayes, we'd better get going. Gabriella needs lunch, and I should get back to work."
You slid off the desk and stood as well.
"Of course."
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. The silence no longer felt uncomfortable. Then, the tall man headed to the doorway, but he stopped.
"So," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess we'll be seeing each other again on Monday."
A smile tugged at your lips.
"I imagine we will."
A faint smile answered yours.
Almost imperceptible.
But there.
"Have a good weekend, Miss Hayes."
"You too, Mr. O'Hara."
With that, he turned and headed back toward the schoolyard, where Gabriella's laughter could already be heard in the distance.
You remained in the doorway for a moment, watching him go.
Then you shook your head and laughed softly to yourself.
The first week of school had certainly been more eventful than expected.
One step at a time.
Tag list: @imamexican , @chubbyhedgehog, @ryk-mt (if you want to be tagged, let me know <3)
Thank you very much for reading this farđâ¨ď¸
Any comments or feedback with respect will be welcome â¤ď¸
WARNINGS: Introductory short chapter. Toxicology involved, graphic depictions of death by poisoning, suspense at the end, criminal activity, depictions of poisoning symptoms.
Summary: El Diablo has found a problem. Nothing a problem solver like himself can fix, right?
Chapter 1: Business Meets Personal
Nueva York, his kingdom, came alive as soon as the sun died on the horizon. Lighting dreams and crowded streets with that unceasing and lively buzz, that announced the continuity of the never ending night life.Â
The faint honks and screens announcements through Madison Square crowded his sight, distracting him momentarily from a modern-looking building his eyes had been staring at for the past minutes.
A faint wisp of vanilla and tobacco vanished in the cool air, leaving a tinge of sweetness in his already tart tongue.Â
âSoâŚâÂ
El Diablo placed the cuban cigar in between his plump lips and took a long drag, savoring it. The smoke burned his lungs with a familiar heat, barely matching the anger simmering underneath his calm facade.Â
Bad news were never welcomed in his presence. In fact, he despised them. Especially when said things arrived unannounced and unplanned to retaliate, and much to his apparent bad luck streak, the same information met his ears yet again.Â
Another cargo shipment, missing, and some of his men found in daunting conditions.Â
The pictures forensics provided were everything but what his mind needed, as they often came back to haunt him in the least expected of times.Â
The ecstatic and borderline blissful look were the most prominent trait in his menâs photos. Looking at the ceiling, as though heaven called and awaited right before them.Â
And if honest, Miguel didnât know what unsettled him the most. If the lack of expected but nonexistent gore, or that stoked appearance that became regular in the evidence his insiders in forensics sent him. He knew his men and kept them as happy as he could. But never with this sort of joy.Â
Sure, he indulged his subordinates' whims from time to time to keep the morale active and soaring, but this, his brain could only translate it as a pattern. Something that took him a considerable amount of productive members of his organization to realize.Â
A mistake that now cost him the little calm his lifestyle provided.Â
A little too late he noticed the dryness in the victimâs eyes and mouth. Dry as a rock, that if he wanted to, he could crumble them into fine dust. Their flushed skin, red as a beet. Their pupils wide and their lower bellies full as a drum.Â
âHow many theyâve found this time?â The question had been reformulated a couple of times during the span of four months. Going from âwho did thisâ to âhow manyâ. But the effect it left in him was always the same. Absolute powerlessness and an anger that could boil hot, if not hotter than hell.
Because, no matter how many forensics paraded before him with thousands of pictures, none of them offered the real answer. Just clues that led him nowhere, with his cargo still missing and an upcoming headache not even the strongest of whiskeys could tame.
And missed cargo meant lost money and resources. His credibility became teetering among those in the same position of power as him. And although his men didnât question him, sometimes their skeptical gestures as he spoke of catching the bastard hunting them, spoke for themselves.Â
Miguel knew it was a matter of time that his reputation as the King and Soul reaper of Nueva York fell apart.Â
âThree.â Said the fearful man behind him, unlucky enough to be selected as the scapegoat for todayâs debrief. âAll the same as the others.â
But as long as there was none fool enough to try and usurp that crown away, heâd make sure to find the culprit, and teach them why only he was capable of carrying it.Â
âExactly the same?â El Diablo turned and the man behind him nodded while swallowing a gulp. His trembling hand pulled a small sachet from his blazerâs inner pocket.Â
Maybe an important offering, or not. His boss was unpredictable like that when it came to things that pulled him to the uneasy and worried side of the story.Â
Miguelâs eyes followed his subordinateâs motions as he offered the only valuable piece of information he might've come across in a long while. All packed in a coke-dose sized bag.Â
âMiss Drew found this in one of our agentâs upper gums.â explained the man, while his eyes struggled to meet him for more than two seconds. âApparently there was more in his stomach.âÂ
Miguel pulled a handkerchief from his pockets and took the satchet, seizing its insides with clinic and undivided attention. Unmistakably it was a berry, or part of what used to be one; half chewed, black and shiny.Â
A single quirk of El Diabloâs brow urged the man to speak further.Â
âAnd⌠one of them survived, sir.âÂ
And his red eyes gleamed. Finally, one of his men that knew the true meaning of loyalty would put him in the right direction to end this targeted hunting, once and for all.Â
âTell Ben to get the car ready.âÂ
The man wasted no time and disappeared from his presence as soon as the king turned his back on him.Â
Miguelâs lips pursed in a thin smile, and gave his cigar a last inhale before crushing and throwing it at the void underneath him. The smoke escaped through the tiny gaps of his teeth, surrounding his head in a fragrant smog. Like a demon awaiting for his playground to be ready.
âShowtime.âÂ
Hospitals sure held the last position in his list of places he wanted to be at the moment. Not only were they his least favorite of hideouts, but the humanity constantly lacking in the crowded halls, only reaffirmed his decision to target some of the board members inside.Â
Security knew better than to attempt and pull an heroic show for the rest. As soon as they saw him, their eyes became blind. They looked everywhere but in his direction as he made his way through the stairs, since elevators were always crowded.Â
His mind thought about the several questions he had for his employee. That if he was conscious and lucid enough to answer them.
The designated room soon appeared around a corner he turned, and the sterile stench nearly suffocated him as soon as he crossed the threshold. The door closed with a soft click behind him, making the bedridden man move his head towards the door.Â
And an icy chill ran down Miguelâs spine upon seeing the manâs irises completely dark.Â
His pupils had devoured any trace of color in it, giving him this possessed and void sort of gaze.
âBoss?â Whispered the man as his eyes searched for him in the entrance but found nothing but a hulking and blurry shape approaching. That was enough answer for him.Â
The machine beside him beeped, counting the irregular heartbeats and fluctuating with numbers Miguel could only make out as danger.Â
El Diablo sat before him, but the man wasnât afraid. In fact, the machine registered the decrease of beatings for a couple seconds.Â
âIâmââ The man coughed, and Miguelâs head tilted, examining his body.Â
Flushed skin, blown eyes, dry mouth and swollen belly. The man hadnât much left, he knew. And still, he stayed, observing the last moments of his collaborator with impersonal wonder.Â
The morbid in him had assimilated the wrongness of just watching this man's ongoing passing before him, right after Jessicaâs results readings. But the analytical curiosity on his other side wanted to witness up close how these deaths occurred. He wanted to see what caused his men to look so blissed out as they left this world.
âWhat happened, Allen?âÂ
âCâŚClub.â he sputtered in restless sighs after a minute of struggle with his tongue. âI⌠celebrated with others.â A difficult gulp made him groan. The machine beeped faster and Miguelâs brows pinched together. âThis⌠âmanâŚâ He slurred.
âA man? A woman?â El Diablo pressed but all his employee could do was to gasp and grab the collar of his own robe, pulling from it as though the thing would choke him to death despite hanging loose around his neck.Â
The room filled with slurred syllables and soon unintelligible sobs joined the more Allen stared at him, or rather the monstrous silhouette his troubled mind created, sitting right beside him, with two burning red dots as eyes.
Blind as a bat.Â
Miguel thought as the man kept shaking his head, and gasping for air like his lungs were ripped apart from the inside. What had him stepping in, was Allenâs flailing arms trying to reach for him.Â
Miguel grabbed his hand with a grip so strong it momentarily stilled the raving man.Â
âNâŚNightâŚââ His ears perked. âNightshade!â Allen groaned as his free hand slammed against his chest, trying to knock some air into whatever was left from his malfunctioning organs.Â
Miguel shook with him, trying to calm Allenâs panicking rage. But little could be done as the machineâs beeping skyrocketed in a matter of seconds. Shooting his readings from normal, to critical without warning.Â
âCâmon, Allen! Stayâ Miguel held tighter but the man sobbed as no air filled him. His boiling hands delivered a couple of smacks and slaps on his bossâ head, trying to escape. âWho is Nightshade?!âÂ
The name alone caused the man to stare at the ceiling, while his dry mouth mumbled it over and over. The machineâs beeping slowed, as Allenâs cardiac rate was nothing but a rollercoaster. Going from critical, to deathly, to decreasing in such a span of time Miguel barely had the chance to get a proper answer.Â
But what could he truly do, when the man was condemned from the very beginning? He was poisoned, and so were the rest of his men. Him making an act of presence was nothing but an excuse to confirm this wicked hypothesis.
The beeping stopped altogether. Echoing in a deafening and monotone key. And so did Allen, whose face stared right at him, or past him, he didnât know for sure. But there it was. Heaven had called his subordinate, and like the obedient man he had been, Allen attended the call.Â
Miguelâs eyes stared at the long gone man, hoping that there would be a last symptom manifesting in his corpse, but there was nothing but an empty death. And before the nurses could rush in, he turned his phoneâs lamp on and passed it before Allenâs eyes, mouth and hands.Â
The toxin had worked as expected. Twelve to fifteen hours later, just as Jessicaâs apprentice had told him.
Poisoned.Â
His men were all poisoned by the same treatment over the span of four, almost five months. But now, vague as it was, he had a name.Â
Nightshade.Â
With careful hands, Miguel untangled himself from Allenâs grip and left the room, letting the medical staff deal with the mess behind.Â
His fingers searched Jessicaâs name on his contacts, typed a brief message and pressed send.Â
[Miguel 2:44 p.m.]
Allen died.Â
Call me when you get his body. We need to talk.Â
His steps echoed faster as he descended through the stairs, dodging whatever person coming in his way. His long strides made him reach quicker to the door, only to collide in a sharp dodge against a masked nurse.Â
His hands quickly grabbed her, preventing her from falling entirely.Â
Some people stared at the commotion, others at the unusual placement of his hands, as they secured the woman by her neck and torso while her clipboard fell on the floor with an unnecessarily loud rattle.
Shit.Â
Her pulse quickened when he pulled her upwards, with such ease the nurseâs eyes just stared both in awe and discomfit at the choice of places his hands held onto. And of course, the force exerting in each muscle tensing under the sumptuous fabric.
âDisculpe.â His hands picked up the clipboard and handed it back to the woman.
Before the nurse could even thank him or someone else bumped into him, Miguel darted towards the door, leaving the place once and for all.Â
The king had been deep in thought enough to ignore the raring stare the masked nurse regarded him with.
A satisfied smile crept under her mask. Her fingers thrummed and clutched at the clipboard, right where his touch had been, absorbing the faint heat those gorgeous fingers had left behind.Â
I owe you an apology... these last months have been a roller-coaster of emotions. Lots of things happened in my life...
I moved to another country, it didn't work and I had to return mineđ once here, I moved again but to another city because I got a new job... besides, my family has other problems like psychiatric issues, my grandfather has cancer, my mother has depression... sigh*
Now I'm living alone, with a part-time job and working in other personal projects. Therefore, I haven't had enough time to work on the 3rd chapter. But now, I think I'm feeling ready to start again and bring a Lessons of the Heart very, very soonđĽš
I'm very thankful that all the support that this fanfic has been receiving... and I promise to be more constant with these ideasđĽšâ¤ď¸
WARNINGS: Emotional distress, subtle pining, emotional slow burn, class division, scheming, victorian era traditions, royalty, smut, oral & rimming (F! Receiving), Sex in public spaces, implied exhibition kink, transactional sex, riding, implied voyeurism, murder interrogation & investigation, banter, No use of Y/N (Alter Ego Violet).
A/N: Been a while with this story. Hope you like c: It's longer than the rest so far.
Masterlist Previous
How long has it been since you had a nightmare? Months? Years? you didnât know. All you had experienced in bad dreams happened so long ago, when innocence still clung to your features. Leaving you with the faint and distant remembrance of your motherâs passing as the only one so far. Until, the gruesome imagery of Madam Lewis, stared back from the very back of your mind. Engraved âa bit too raw maybeâ in your brain. Jolting you awake right before the royal Villa came to life.
Unable to go back to bed, you stretched on the mattress, going through last nightâs events. DukeâNo. Miguel waking you up just to let you know dinner was ready, a small talk that turned into a subtle battle of keeping oneâs secrecy that you lost fair and square.
A surge of something, (concern on his end perhaps?) right after that sharp exchange with Lady Felicia, and his fingers pulling and disarming that linen contraption while his breath tickled the back of your neck, as he talked about dumb activities you had to partake in, stretched your lips proudly.
Much to your surprise, there were a few questions you itched to know, just for the sake of satisfying your curiosity of course. How did a man like him end up betrothed to a woman like Felicia? What tore them apart? And why did she seem so set into getting herself acknowledged not only by you, but Miguel as well? You had seen the way people shushed amongst them when Miguel avoided her.Â
But maybe those questions were reserved for a deeper level of trust, something you still debated into conceding the Duke. Not out of protection of your interests and yourself, but rather pondering if it was actually necessary, considering heâd pay you once the getaway ended and that would be the end of it. Youâd return to your usual clientele and heâd bury himself into work until another event surged.Â
A workaholic to the bone.Â
So far he and everything had been exactly the way heâd told you things would be. Nothing but business despite the small licks of playfulness and borderline philosophical and flirty conversations wading seamlessly between you, both matching and outmatching your tongue, not caring in the slightest the filthy âfucksâ you threw in here and there.
If anything, those amused them, you noted. Talking so earnestly about something in particular made his eyes settle on you, as if his eyes were weighing how much more he could give before deciding it was enough and put the employer-employee facade on.Â
Duke OâHara was everything but what you had initially thought. Despite his royal title there were some things that stood out from a man like him, aside from his obvious height.
To starters, his persistence, often mistaken as perseverance by those around him. He had refused a no for your final answer, and unlike the other clients that acquired angry and violent tints, Miguel offered solutions rather than adding himself like another problem. Pragmatic at best.Â
He actually heard what you had to say, and not out of making the most out of his bought time, but genuine interest. It amused you to believe a royal showed sympathy in your misfortunes, and far from mocking them or minimizing, he tended to them.
Although your wounds werenât physical, he sure did know how to manage (in his own way) the aftermath. And with death roaming around your life like a stalking and starving vulture, he made sure to make some things easier for you.Â
The fact he hadnât initiated something remotely sexual with you, flared the concern alarms. You had heard from the source itself the myriad of rumors shrouding him. He favoring men one of them, just because he was never seen with company but Peterâs, Prince Harryâs or King Osbornâs.
Or the most preposterous youâve heard so far; that he had a family outside New York but his mother Duchess Conchata, had sent them away because of them being commoners. Rejecting the supposed bastard child and humble woman. Causing a rift so irreparable between them that he was forced to go to his own motherâs funeral.Â
But heâs a royal. You never know with them.Â
Was your initial thought, until you experienced first hand what it was like to be around him. Small talks irked him unless they were for anything business related. Marquis Peter was the only one he seemed to fully trust, to the point of leaving you behind in that maze because of him, and sending the aforementioned to fetch you back then.
But the winner of all, was his little to no mingle with other royals unless it was absolutely necessary. He dreaded being here, surrounded by people he wasnât keen on entertaining in the slightest, but orders were orders you supposed.Â
The sound of the door creaking open and some hushed voices perked your ears immediately. Quietly, you pussyfooted to fetch a robe and drape it around your frame. It was a feminine voice replying to Peterâs. They seemed too enraptured in the conversation that quickly escalated in volume, until a firm 'quiet' hissed by Miguel, silenced the sudden agitation. The steps approached and your door shook softly with three knocks.Â
âViolet?â The man himself called from the other side of the door. His voice nearly whispered, as if fearful and regretful of interrupting your slumber. But the early bird in him and the company prevented the duke from going back to sleep.Â
Without much delay, and alarms slowly rising in the back of your mind, you opened the door and saw Miguel in his own robes as well. His hair remained in a sleepy and messy pattern, giving his short, soft and loose strands a moment around his face. Making him look endearingly unkempt.Â
âSorry to wake you this early, but I need you here for a second.â Â
âIs everything okay?â Your brows furrowed and your hands were already clutching the robe, which didnât go unnoticed by his eyes.Â
âOf course.â Miguel nodded without his gaze leaving you, âI just need your help with something.âÂ
Unsure, but without a choice you nodded. âJust gimme a moment.âÂ
Miguel closed the door and a âsheâs getting readyâ echoed behind the door.Â
You, however, scurried to the bathroom and washed your teeth then combed your hair in the most presentable way you could, before securing for the third time the robe and finally stepped out of the room. Much to your surprise, a woman; short with mid-neck length caramel hair with a too-curious-for-her-own-good look and dressed up in police clothes, awaited behind Miguel and next to Peter.Â
âWhat is this?â You frowned and Peter clenched his jaw almost by reflex, the woman just gave a lippy smile in response.Â
Miguel approached and cleared his throat. âI know itâs still too soon for you, but Itâs about Susan Lewis.â Your hand clutched tighter on the fabric, âYou see, Lyla hereââ The woman waved as she held reports in her other hand. âIs in charge of the investigation. Sheâll just ask a few questions and leave you be.âÂ
Your eyes settled on the woman that far from being uncomfortable, just stared back now with an unreadable expression. Malice and the ill-intentioned curiosity that made you mistrust any authoritative figure, lacked completely on her whole countenance. And if Miguel had her here, it meant she was another person he trusted in.Â
âRight.âÂ
âDo you wish us to leave?â Asked the duke
âOh! No need for that.â Lyla shook her head and stepped closer to you. "Let's get to your room if that makes you feel more comfortable.â Her hands clutched the documents.
âIn the slightest, but youâre already here so letâs get this over with.âÂ
Lyla followed you and closed the door, just in time to see how Peter gave her a thumbs up as if wishing her luck, and Miguel to cross his arms across his chest. Silence stretched for a chip longer until the officer started to unpack and lay some pictures on the coffee table, one more gruesome than the other. All of them were the different angles of Susanâs maimed neck. But none of them compared to what you had seen, now another core memory carved in another wrinkle of your brain.Â
The officer pulled a paper and pencil, as she took a seat, inviting you to do the same.Â
The first few questions were routinary. Personal data, which sure put surprise all over Lylaâs face upon knowing your real name wasnât Violet, that the only real thing about that stage name was your last name. Then, the interrogation began.
Where did you meet Madam Lewis, for how long you had been knowing her?, what was your relationship with her?, did you know if she had any enemies? Where were you when the murder happened, how did you find out about the murder? In what position did you find her body? Hence, the pictures and so many other questions that filled your heart with that sorrow you were trying so hard to forget and bury for good.Â
Each of your answers and cracking voice as you talked only added another ounce of sympathy in Lylaâs face the more she wrote an official report. To your awe, the investigation had been tracing back the other two prostitutes found dead, and the testimonies kept growing.
You were sure that in no time a manhunt would start once the police, the good kind, gathered enough evidence to catch the killer that now menaced your compeers.Â
âWeâll catch the bastard doing this.â Said Lyla. More like a promise to you than to her own duty. And with the dukeâs help, a little hope bloomed in your chest. Not for your fallen colleagues, as each of you knew what kind of risks a licentious life ensued, but for Susanâs children.
They deserved to see their motherâs murderer rotting in jail. That for once, a womanâs life mattered despite her status and profession and that justice was not blind to those deemed unworthy and filthy by society.
Lyla thanked you and left the chambers in the same secrecy she had arrived with Peter trailing behind her. The other royals remained asleep, the birds werenât chirping in unison yet, meaning that you still could have some more hours of rest.Â
Miguel settled his eyes on you once you stepped out of the room again with your arms crossed against your chest with a sharp and hardened look in your eyes.Â
âWhy didnât you warn me about this?âÂ
His hands raised in defense of your tone and sighed. âBecause I knew you wouldnât want to talk to them. And Lyla-â
âI have a good amount of reasons to not talk to them, Miguel.â You lashed and his brows furrowed the more your shoulders tensed and your breath quickened.
âThatâs why I brought Lyla. I trust her.â It was his turn for his tone to turn as reproaching as yours. âThat should say a lot on its own.â
âOne good apple among the rotten ones, eventually gets ruined too.â You scowled and his eyes twitched almost imperceptibly. Seizing you in that impromptu staring contest you didnât seem in the mood of losing.Â
But a few seconds too long of lips pursed and a healthy dose of venom in your eyes aimed at none else but him, Miguel just sighed and once again raised his hands in surrender, granting you the victory. âI donât wanna fight.âÂ
Your eyes rolled, âWeâre not.â Your lips pursed and your shoulders loosened some of the tension, âI donât like nor trust the police. That 's all. And this⌠ambush,â your head shook, âI donât appreciate things like this.âÂ
âI know I canât convince you to suddenly trust them, Violet. But believe me, sheâs helping.â He paused to pick his words carefully. âI didnât say anything because sheâs acting with some incognito agents on their own. No higher ups supervising, you know how it is.â Your brow quirked at his words, âAnd if I could have a little more control on the police force like the prince does, that killer wouldâve already been caught. But I don't, so I do whatever I can to help.âÂ
âJust⌠donât do it again. Iâd rather have you asking me directly.â
âOkay. Iâm sorry. It wonât happen again, I promise.â He gestured your room, âNow go back to bed. Iâll wake you up for breakfast.âÂ
With the thousandth sigh, you turned around and left. But stopped under the doorframe and seized him. The weight of that look of yours pinned him in the spot.Â
âItâs an essential rule of my profession to not let people get too close, as itâs dangerous. Trust is sacred for me, Miguel. So don't make the little Iâve given you, disappear over something like this.âÂ
His breath hitched, and when your door closed, it came out as a shaky exhale. Completely stunned. Maybe he shouldnât let those words affect him, but unavoidable as it was, they had.Â
âDame fuerzasâŚâ (Give me strenght) he prayed to none in particular as he returned to his own room.
As much as you wanted to stay in Miguelâs chambers to eat, the act of being present during meals after a full night of rest, was mandatory. There were no more chances of reclusing yourselves since the prince ordered through the servants to have his guests join him for breakfast.
Neither of both were too keen on coming down the stairs and partaking in what Hobie had mocked when you arrived. Nosy questions about the dukeâs life. And the mere thought of sharing a table again with Lady Felicia almost had your anger surpassing your hunger.Â
The bath was rather the easy part, as you had requested Miguel to not have servants helping you, in order to avoid them seeing the tattoo on your skin. Even though Miguel said that they wouldnât utter a word about it, you didnât want such information falling in Feliciaâs hands.
For the way she spoke about sharing companions and visiting the princeâs room, and those other boorish comments she gave you about your social pedigree status, you wouldnât doubt the tattoo would be a gold mine in her hands that she wouldnât wait to exploit publicly.Â
But your attention drifted to the outfit. A dress you didnât like, but neither opposed wearing as it was too light in colors. Pale pink wasnât something people would find in your closet, but given the circumstances, the choice was rather ideal, since you often saw New Yorkâs royalty wearing pale tones.
The skirt, poofed as one would expect, had a red, vertical lines design with ruffles adorning the trim. The outer bodice just hugged your curves in the right places, making the buttons to properly adjust to your form, redirecting âwithout even intending toâ the attention of anyone towards your discreet cleavage.Â
The only bold color you flaunted was the dark turquoise in your boots, matching the delicate flowers on top of your hat. Makeup was always natural, like the delicate perfume of roses you had bought.
Everything breathed poise and elegance, despite your cheeks missing that lovely but scandalous blush on them, your lips that creamy rouge you had finally managed to master when it came to mixing lipsticks, and your eyes, that kohl around them to enhance that sultry look that had given you this chance.Â
Ironically as it was, innocence wasnât a virtue, but a look some had mastered to wear regardless of the crooked thoughts and feelings nesting within their hearts. And you could only hope to survive their deathly charades of pretension.Â
Finally, after a couple of hours of preparation, you and Miguel were now sitting next to each other, giving polite smiles and brief acknowledgements to those respectful enough to recognize your existence back. Most of them, by the royalâs companions .
After the stunt he pulled at four am with Lyla, tension became denser than a black hole, and even if your pride dictated to not entertain him too much with conversations to make a point on how much his sudden actions had affected you, all of your training resumed into this very moment.Â
The silverware was a show in itself. The tools were so polished you could see your reflection in them, the table donned with the finest of linens and lace. And of course everyone dressed up like there was a portrait day scheduled. And even so, you ignored Feliciaâs not so subtle glare from across your seat. Or the questioning looks your way from some of the other women in the table given to each other, awaiting for your next moveâor mistake.Â
All eyes were on you despite the apparent mindless laughs and conversations. Your gaze met Felicia for a fraction of a second and her lip curled as if she already knew all of your secrets, but yours tightened while your brow furrowed.Â
Bitch.Â
But little it mattered when the kitchen gates were open and trolleys after trolleys full with a hearty breakfast rolled in. Their smell alone turned heads and a few cheers here and there were given while the staff served.
For a moment you were thankful that their posh laughs and cheers were so loud, that it drowned the ill-timed growl rumbling in your stomach. When was the last time you had one of those? Possibly years ago with that british man that paid more for company than sex itself.Â
Miguel chuckled as you continued to eye the plate, as if unsure where to begin. The tip of his shoe bumped against yours, snatching your attention as he pointed with the knife the sausages, and his nose heaved an amused huff when surprise took over your features once you took the first bite.Â
The frenzy eventually died, leaving nothing but the tinker of forks and knives as the only indicator of activity in the hall. Someone occasionally complimented the prince and his staff for the good food, others cracked some jokes here and there to not lose the amiable ambiance.
Some women asked for more cream for their teas as breakfast approached its end. An eerie feeling bloomed in your chest when none looked your way or asked questions, neither in Miguelâs direction. They were all too busy being hungry, you supposed.Â
But you preferred it that way, and hopefully the universe was listening to your demands to keep it like that forever. You knew how invasive royals were, and with a group of them under the command of Prince Harry seemed like a perfect recipe for disaster. Said man stood with a golden chalice and a triumphant smile as soon as his eyes landed on Miguel.
âI must thank you all for coming. Especially to a certain duke that is now staring at me like heâs about to commit a regicide before all of you, and would be proud about it after.â The laughs and looks followed Miguel, who just crossed his arms and heaved with a tiny crooked smile.Â
âWouldnât say proud, more like relieved.â That erupted another wave of laughs, some a tad uncomfortable upon Miguelâs audacity.
âYou wound me so, OâHara. But unlike what you believe, I do appreciate your presence. And the person who made it possible. Miss Cain.âÂ
Great. Fucking great.Â
The attendees seemed to not care, until all pretension jumped out the window the moment the prince focused the attention spotlight on you. You were sure that if looks could kill, Feliciaâs icy glower wouldâve been the cause of your death. Probably by crushing you with those pale blue icebergs she had for eyes. The nape of your neck suddenly grew warmer, like the treacherous flush crawling your cheeks as the room seemed to collapse withinâwith everyone in it, suffocating you.Â
âThanks for convincing him to come, my lady. Youâre a saint.â uttered the prince to then drink from his chalice without removing his stare from Miguel, who just stared back with a deadpan and a shake of his head, so slight that only Harry could understand as a very clear âoff limitsâ.Â
A saint? Far from that but, okayâŚ
âNow, weâve rested, weâve eaten, so letâs go all outdoors and enjoy ourselves, shall we?â Prince Harry quickly dismissed his guests, giving the staff a perfect chance to clean up and prepare the next meal.Â
âCome.â Miguel instructed, leading you through halls and doors until you reached the porch.
The rest of the guests scattered as soon as the sun hit them, taking some to the rose maze with mischief in their eyes and smiles you knew too well to go by as inoffensive exploration, others retreated to the greenhouse, to the chairs adjacent to the gazebo to read or play croquet, but Miguel, reserved and aloof as he was, lead you to a part of the garden you hadnât seen before. Out of the public's ears, but still within their eyesight. A little forest clearing in front of the artificial lake.
âYouâve survived the first round, Violet. Congratulations.â chuckled Miguel, looking for the perfect spot to lay down, while the world around him remained silent. Passively watching how he helped you avoid a protruding root before you could give another step. Or how he seemed to consider the spot before the lake or the refreshing and private shadow under the weeping willow.Â
âBarely. Royals sure are scary. You think theyâre minding their business, but here they are, laughing in between lines because my fork slipped a couple of times, or that count staring too long at my face like if he knew me from somewhere, glad my tits served a good distraction.â your tongue clicked with disgust.
âDo you know him?â Asked Miguel, as he removed his jacket and placed it under the willowâs trunk, then offered you a seat.
âNo. Should I?â You sat on the fabric while his hand held yours, letting the bold heat permeate your gloved skin. âNot because Iâm a courtesan means I must remember every client I sleep with.â your brow quirked.
âYouâre still mad. I get it.â With a graceful move, Miguel sat next to you on your right. âBut you know damn well thatâs not what I meant at all, Florecita.âÂ
You scoffed âWhat does that even mean anyway? You keep calling me that.âÂ
âIf it bothers you, Iâll stop then, Violet.â He shrugged and pulled a small pocket book. The name âDraculaâ printed on the weathered hard cover.Â
âThatâs notâŚâ Your mouth clamped shut for a moment in a mild scowl at the way his own lips curled up in mockery. âTouchĂŠ. What activities will we do anyway?âÂ
His nose flared triumphantly as he pointed to the book. âWeâll read so we can have something to talk about during dinner. Have you ever read this one?âÂ
âRead? I thought we would be doing some sort of sport since you told me to wear something sport-like.â Your hands straightened up the wrinkles in your dress, your sleeves brushing against his. âAnd kinda, parts of it really. MyâŚbest friend used to read a lot. Though, she got a bit too excited when Mina kissed Lucy and wanted us to recreate that scene.âÂ
Miguel couldnât help but cough a laugh and shake his head. âAre you sure you read the right version? Because, that sounds like another excuse for your best friend to kiss you, Violet.âÂ
âMaybe she did.â you teased, âAvy was everything but tame and old-fashioned.â A wistful and fond smile stretched on your lips for a moment. âShe wouldâve loved it here and would definitely reprimand me for not being bolder with you.âÂ
It was Miguelâs turn to grant you an airy laugh. âBolder? Is that even possible?.âÂ
âIf you want me to, but thatâd be an extra fee.â you smirked and he chuckled
âCan I ask what happened to her?âÂ
âLetâs not⌠ruin the mood, shall we?â The sudden drop on your voice and the way your eyes tore from him, made his throat swallow, especially when your eyes seemed to turn glossy for a second, but quickly dissolved in a sigh, âStill canât get over the fact that Prince Harry did that. I feel like he just put a giant mark on my back. And it didnât help that Felicia kept staring at me.â
âIgnore her. She loves causing trouble, but I am curious though.â Miguel straightened up his back against the tree to put away the book back in his pocket, âWhat was she talking about before I arrived?âÂ
âNothing I've heard before. Insults for being a commoner and invading this place and that sort of thing. She also implied that I was to be shared with the prince and the other noblemen. I think she suspects somethingâŚâ your nose scrunched in disgust. âI might be mistaken but Iâm starting to understand why you hate it here. Itâs all a buffet for Prince Harry⌠isnât it?âÂ
âAt all. Despite his penchant for risky situations, pretty women and sex, business is also discussed. So if I am gone for a couple of hours in future days, Iâm likely in a meeting with him.â
âRight.â You dragged the 'i' longer than you should've as your eyes rolled. "As long as you don't leave me out to the wolves, you can take your time."Â
âScared?â A thick brow of his rose, questioning with mirth in lush lips. âThey wonât eat you, Violet.â His fingers smoothed a wrinkle close to your chest, his warmth dragging along his fingers. âThat's my job.âÂ
You bitâno, chomped your inner cheekâas if suddenly forgetting a retort that vanished as soon as he spoke. A sharp scoff echoed past your lips at his nerve. How dare he outmatch your tongueâ and worse, enjoy it? For the second time in a day, Duke OâHara had managed to keep you speechless.Â
âWho is that woman?â Asked one of Feliciaâs acquaintances as the groupâs eyes glanced in yours and Miguelâs direction while preparing a Ludo's playboard.Â
âIâm telling you, thereâs something odd about her. I havenât seen her in other gatherings before.â commented another.
âOh, dear. You speak as if youâre intimate friends with everyone and have been everywhere!â Giggled another noblewoman, âSome of us are here for the first time as well. Donât think too much about it. Maybe a distant friend.â She shrugged her shoulders.Â
âFriends? Duke OâHara with friends?!â The woman squeaked, more amused than disbelieving. âMaybe sheâs bribing him. I mean, remember that scandal with Duchess Conchata and the supposed familyââ
âSheâs not bribing him.â Interrupted Felicia as she distributed the tokens with mechanical movements as all eyes fell on her, âBut itâs indeed strange for him to show up with company when the previous times heâs been on his own.âÂ
The group of women stared at her like she had just discovered a secret conspiracy, after all they had been watching you ever since breakfast, and witnessing how the duke himself paraded you within his usual and special spots only made the suspicion levels skyrocket.
âWhat if⌠sheâs his new girlfriend? For real this time?â Asked one of the women and a derisive laugh escaped Felicia.Â
âThen they wonât last much. I know Miguel. Heâs not the type of man that indulges women's whims. If anything, Iâd place a good amount of my fortune into believing sheâs just here for this week and then, goodbye.âÂ
A collective round of surprised gasps filled the table. Some exchanged scandalized looks, others hushed among each other.Â
âIt is scandalous on his end to bring another woman in, I mean⌠It wasnât that long ago since he broke his engagemââ
âEnough.â Demanded the white haired woman and the group shushed instantly. âThe past is the past, I do grant him however that he still has good tastes in picking his women. Heâs always liked them pretty.â She shrugged, âStill, I believe itâs time for us to educate men and teach them to not be this bold. Donât you think?â
None of them replied. Not when the rhetorical question hung in the air, charged with all those ill intentions Felicia tried to pass as righteous anger towards her ex-fiancĂŠ. Her eyes kept watching, learning how you moved, how your face turned in several shades of emotions as he spoke. What was so damn funny anyway? Was he enjoying making her miserable? Perhaps. Things didnât end in the right way between the both half a year ago.Â
âYou're dragging me down!â he had said in a flurry of anger after she tried to understand why he was breaking up the engagement. The scandal didnât wait too much to be spread like a wildfire. Felicia truly had believed ruin would come to her end as nobility no longer wanted business with her. Her boutiques and jewelry shops were in trouble, but eventually, Lady Hardy had managed to recover thanks to the princeâs favor.Â
How Miguel had pulled you out of the mess didnât go unnoticed by her. Neither the way he had trapped your hand against him for you to not escape his grip, had made her blood boil or how he openly threatened her to stay away from his business and you, had been too much for her scorned heart.Â
The parlor games always proved to be an effective way to focus her anger and spiraling thoughts. And as the hours kept coming and waltzing through the sky, changing its colors through the different scenarios, time eventually led you all to lunch outdoors.
The activities resumed once most were finished. Some gathered to smoke, but Felicia felt more inclined into playing croquet with her acquaintances, visiting the movie room, just to get a better sight of you and Miguel walking through the gardens.Â
Your smile revolted Feliciaâs stomach, but Miguelâs mouth kept moving, in fact, it was the most he had seen him interact, while, when he was with her; the duke barely spoke more than three sentences in an hour. A snide comment disguised as a joke from one of her companions made the rest giggle; when she stared too long through the window at the exact moment Miguel removed a few petals off your head.Â
âIâm not jealous. Iâm disgusted.â She hissed to the lady accompanying Ben. âIf I would be doing the same, Iâd be in between everyoneâs talks for ages.â
Her heart only received a break from the constant displeasure flares as Peter joined you both.Â
Felicia engraved every of your features in her mind, how you spoke, how your lip curled in a contained smile every time he said something, probably a compliment that made your eyes bat away in that same sultry move she often did whenever she wanted yet another favor from the Prince. And tired of seeing such arrogance on Miguelâs end, and the promise of a threat he spewed in between lines, her mind resolved into action.Â
When everyone was called once again for dinner, there was a wicked sort of gleam in her eyes. Much to Feliciaâs fortune, everyone seated in the same way as the breakfast service. With none else but the pompous jerk of an ex before her, wearing a lax and reserved smile. And you⌠her stomach flipped in utter disgust. You were just another peasant playing the fancy doll of a nobleman. She wouldnât have it. Sheâll teach you both to not mess up with a woman like her.Â
While the rest paid attention to Harry and his blasphemous way to bless the food, her mind was already scheming. An impish thrill crawled up her spine as everyone started eating.
Despite her mind urging her to spark that mayhem alive, a deep part of her brain reasoned to not poke at a sleeping tiger, as Miguelâs temper was never a good thing to cross. But maybe thatâs what the rest and Harry needed to see, to have him in a different light. For them to see an unlike version of the ever reserved and stoic duke.
 And what better way to do so by poking a still tender spine sunk in his side?
âAre you having fun, Miss Cain?â Felicia questioned and your gaze met hers, off-put to be suddenly called by none else but her.
âI am, yes. Thank you very much.â You nodded politely as some stared your way, unsure of the storm approaching.
âIâm glad to hear that. You see⌠ever since Duchess Conchataâs passing, our⌠beloved duke has been off. Heâs more recluse, barely meets us as heâs always buried in work, so as Prince Harry here said, itâs truly an honor to have him with us again.â She smiled almost too sweetly with eyes that could make anyone fall for the ruse. âYou must be terrific with persuasion, Miss Cain.âÂ
âHardy.â Warned Harry, but it was too late. Once her mouth was open to let her poison spill nothing could stop her.Â
Miguelâs eyes narrowed dangerously to Felicia, unlike you, he wasnât as mindful to hide his vexation or disgust. The silence falling on the table was sepulchral, and much to your surprise, Peter and count Ben looked in Miguelâs direction with concern and horror, while the rest started to drop their forks as the oppressive tension soaked the table. But what made Miguelâs composure snap with his jaw clenching was the added comment coming off those lips he once kissed.
âThe woman was a saint. Duchess Conchata was involved with charity and the less fortunate, like the duke!â Her gaze fell on Miguel. âIâm sure she wouldâve loved you, I mean, she was also quite persuasive whenever she wanted something. Like mother, like son.â she beamed.
Charity? Oh, this cuntâŚ
Your mind growled and your hands tightened in angry fists despite them holding a fork. How dared her to call you that? What Felicia did achieve though, was not only to provoke him publicly and by his reaction, you now understood it was still a fresh wound that was now doused in salt on purpose.Â
âIf youâre done making a spiteful fool out of yourself and making my guest uncomfortable, FeliciaââHis eyes never left hers, pinning her on the spot with all the repulsion his eyes alone carried. âIâd like to ask the prince for permission to leave the table and have dinner in my chambers.âÂ
Said womanâs eyes just widened slightly upon hearing her given name, that sickening sweet grin vanished off her lips. She knew she had provoked enough, and maybe crossed a line that not even the prince himself dared to, as Harry gave him and you permission to leave with an apologetic expression, while the table remained in silence, too fearful of earning even a slightest bit of the dukeâs wrath, watching as you and Miguel left with a couple of maids trailing behind with the mealâs trays.Â
Lady Hardy didnât need to be explained twice when Harry gave her a chuckle that didnât reach his eyes. Her hand shook ever lightly as she grabbed her cup in an attempt to drown the evident anxiety for what might come later upon her head.Â
âLetâs continue, shall we?â The prince ordered in a lighter tone, despite appetite leaving most.Â
â-------------Â
As soon as the maids closed the doors, Miguelâs shoulders slumped while his nostrils flared, infuriated. His hand, shaky as a leaf, grabbed his snifter from the foodâs tray, downed its contents in a go and hurled the glass to the nearest wall with a growl that made your skin jump.Â
âÂĄMaldita mujer!â (Stupid woman!) His hands tightened in fists so tight his knuckles turned white, â¿¥CĂłmo se atreve?!â (How dare she?) He growled, his chest heaving franticly, pacing like a caged animal about to pounce as soon as he was unleashed, âSabĂa que no debĂa venir⌠Pero ÂĄCoĂąo, cĂłmo chinga Harry!â  (I knew I shouldnât have come, but dammit, Harry!)Â
You on the other hand remained as grounded as you could. You didnât question anything, nor encouraged him to calm down, as you could also get scathed with his lashing words. The glass shards laid broken on the floor, while the walls contained his outburst as best as they could. And once the shake in his body vanished, Miguel crouched to pick up the shards.Â
âYouâll hurt yourself.â You warned as you crouched next to him, offering him a napkin.
But his mind was elsewhereâ in an imaginary court where he was the sovereign and Felicia would have been already punished because of her venomous tongue. His fingers remained intact despite the cutting edges menacing to wound him, as if he had experience picking up the mess.
Upon having your aid ignored, you stood and sat on the loveseat. Your stomach churned, appetite still fighting to prevail despite the discomfort.Â
âYou shouldnât haveââ
âFinish your meal.â He pressed as he threw the shards in another glass. âIâll be right back.â
âBut, Miguel-â
âPlease. Just⌠eat and stay here.â He pleaded, before going through those sturdy doors, leaving you with a knot in your stomach, tighter than the corset you were wearing.
Of course the verbal spar had ruffled your feathers, especially with that charity comment. With that your suspicions about Felicia suspecting on her own about your origins, just grew bigger. But as long as that information lingered on the shadows, you would be fine. Youâd rather have them all believing you were the seasonal dukeâs lover than a prostitute. And not out of shame.Â
Now that Lady Hardy had shown a fraction of her character, threading even more carefully around her was a must. Yet, your mind returned to Miguel and how deeply affected he seemed. How angry and⌠hurt he was. You couldnât help but wonder what had happened between him and the Dutchess.
You had heard rumors about Conchata, how unlike she was upon people describing her. She wasnât a saint as Felicia had said, if everything, the woman had some deep rooted distaste for the less fortunate, charity wasnât her trait but indulged the act out of mere duties. Her aid was exclusive and selective, granting them to those she thought worthy. So unlike Miguel.Â
With a sigh, you followed instructions and ate, not wanting to add even more stress to the situation. Then drew yourself a bath. If you were going to wait for him, the least you could do was to be comfortable while at it, trying to erase the sour tasting experience with rich oils and delicious aromas until the water was cold enough to make you shiver and get changed into one of the nightgowns Miguel packed. Mostly of your clothes were picked and packed by him.Â
The night turned darker, some of the rooms were now lit by their occupants, probably gossiping about what had happened not so long ago. Not that you blamed them, witnessing such a thing would surely keep the slander alive and going for even after days the getaway ended.Â
Your thoughts went back to Miguel once again, as the concern grew. You knew that prying too much wouldnât get you anywhere, but being alone in a room, surrounded with a bunch of people that plotted right under your nose wasnât the way youâd expect to finish your second day in the Villa.
You knew his orders to stay here were absolute, but fear disguised as concern won you over, so after an hour or more of indecision, you grabbed a robe, draped it around yourself and went out the door.Â
A couple of maids came across, but denied seeing the duke. Exasperation grew the more turns you took, ending in places you knew you shouldnât be. For a moment, regret burned deep in your bones as once more you were lost without any company to lead or defend you this time.Â
Another turn, guided you to a narrow hall behind the library, but your feet stopped, frozen in place upon hearing some piano notes. A wistful tune if you might add that eventually turned in this angry and chaotic serenade.
As if someone poured all of his anger in each note. You knew that you should turn around and leave, cause, what if Prince Harry was behind that door? The man already made you uncomfortable, and meeting him alone at this hour of night surely would just target you even more.Â
But a hushed âmierdaâ gave away the secret performerâs identity. Careful steps lead you closer to the room, another you hadnât seen or heard about before, the Villa was ridiculously big after all. Once you opened and closed the door behind you, your eyes adjusted to the room. A few chairs and loveseats âdusty and forgottenâ were behind the enormous dark piano Miguel slid his fingers through to play.Â
Some paintings decorated the walls, and a single bottle of whiskey remained on top the pianoâs cover, right before Miguelâs reach. Curiously, the bottle and the portion served were intact, lingering like performative objects to add to the overall tormented royal aura he oozed.Â
Despite the electrical chandelier hanging on the roof, the room remained dimly lit. Illuminating Miguel and the empty chairs enough for their silhouettes to paint the walls.Â
The creak in your walking stifled him and his head turned to see you, his pupils widened for a moment before he turned his head back to the piano tiles.Â
âI thought I told you to wait for me.â Miguel mused, finishing the ballad in a strident Do.Â
âAnd I thought you already knew I donât get along with authority.â You stepped closer, enough to be at armâs reach.Â
Miguel reached to you by the ribbons of your robe and pulled closer, undoing them on the go. His eyes met the buttons of your lace nightgown, revealing the swell of your breasts underneath the semi-sheer fabric. His hands rested on your waist, holding it while he admired what was before him. His eyes roamed before removing the annoying robe getting in his way.
His lips parted ever softly when the fabric fell in cascade around your hips, framing your body in that plump exquisiteness he still remembered from that first night you shared on his birthday.Â
Your hands roamed his biceps, his neck, until they cupped his face and when he stared back, your pupils were blown wide. Heat crawled at Miguelâs neck, his hands clung to you after slapping the whiskey glass out of the coverâs way, caring little to nothing as to where it landed. His eyes glimmered in something so intense you swore they were red.Â
Yet, nothing prepared you when his head rested against your abdomen, and his hands mapped the lines of your hips, feeling you, anchoring to something before exhaling a gust of hot hair against your clothed skin and hoisting you up, just to sit you ontop of the pianoâs cover. Your feet landed on the tiles, giving him some mismatching notes.Â
But to the duke, the notes only matched his emotions. Jagged, sharp and unavoidable. Like his fingers, that grabbed the meat of your thighs to spread them and place himself in between them. His hands moved like water, as they were now unbuttoning your nightgown, his eyes devoured every inch of the newly exposed skin, until he met the now taut nipples as your thighs squeezed his waist.Â
âWhat if someone gets in?â The question, although valid, was the least of his concerns.Â
He might be selfish in admitting that a distraction was what he needed, and for you to be there, smelling like flowery heaven, eager to finally feel you were earning your money the right way, turned his gears into the right direction, as his hands peeled the nightgown from your sleeves, his mouth followed and showered your bare shoulders with kisses that trailed up your neck, your jaw, but you pulled away when he aimed towards your lips.Â
Right, no kisses.
âThen letâs give them a true show they wonât forget.â He whispered as his hand crawled up to your nape and took a handful of your hair to pull gently your head back, exposing more of that skin that tempted him to bite and mark.Â
As a seasoned professional in pleasure, one of your thighs snaked up to his, pulling him impossibly closer to you, but also anchoring to him as you laid on the pianoâs cover. The hand behind your nape slid down your neck, between the valley of your breast, before unwrapping you like a present, as his mouth made a path of kisses in the places your hands had been.
Descending slowly past your breasts, stomach and navel, to finally backing up as one of his hands guided your thigh over his shoulder and the other hand spread the other wider.Â
Revealing that sweet prize that made his mouth water. His eyes took in as much as they could before dipping his head to deliver a peck in your inner thigh, close to the knee, then another closer to the middle, another one right above the junction of your hips, to finally land in between your puffed folds. If the teasings nibbles had made your lips gasp, the final kiss had your spine arching and contorting, especially when his mouth used your cunt as a playground.Â
His massive hands held you in place everytime your hips jolted away from that wet muscle that dribbled around your clit before sucking it with such force and rythm that your hand landed on his now messy strands, thanks to your fingers that curled and pulled at his scalp with every wet suck.Â
âFuckââ You yelped when both of his hands pulled you closer to his shoulders, his mouth receiving your pussy with open and hungry lips that guzzled remorselessly on your flesh, with all the intentions of tearing louder moans, as if he needed for people (Harry mainly)Â to hear you.
His mouth clicked and his lips pursed against your clit, while his tongue whipped the nub up and down, in circular motions, left to right and in every movement he could think of. And if there were no moves left, he made them up.Â
Just to keep you moaning his name, until the walls and your brain were full of it. The sounds his mouth made could only match the thoughts in his head. Vulgar, vicious, sinful, giving your poor cunt no rest from his assailant mouth. Your thighs trembled, your hands scratched the piano surface, possibly marking the defiled object with your need. He feasted and slurped while his hands urged you to use his mouth and tongue as your personal toy while he sought your cunt wherever you moved it.Â
His tongue fucked once, twice before plunging itself as deep as he could reach, to then twist and drag that wet muscle as if painting your insides with his saliva, to focus on your clit again. Your skin burned and crawled the more those obscene sounds kept flowing, your thighs tried to stop the imminent demise by trapping his head by the ears, but he was sneaky. He found a way by licking a stripe from your cunt to your asshole and then back up.Â
A surprised yelp flew out of your mouth as soon as his tongue licked another stripe but mewled when his teeth bit one of your cheeks before resuming his assault on your pussy, alternating bettwen your clit, that soaked entrance that begged for him and that throbbing ring of muscles. And just before your impending doom arrived, he removed himself, earning one of the sweetest and needy moans he could ever yank from you.Â
âW-Why are you stopping?! I wasââÂ
Miguel didnât let you finish your sentence as he hoisted you up once more, to turn you on your belly, laying flat your upper torso against the piano's lid.
His thigh was already spreading your own while his hands undid his belt buckle, unzipped himself to release his aching and now sprung cock that wasted no time into smearing itself in your juices as he rubbed it in between your folds, earning some sweet whines, before they turned into his name, moaned once again as he sunk in inch by inch to the hilt.Â
âMe aprietas tan bien, hermosaââ (Youâre squeezing me so good)Â
His whole upper frame covered your back, his arms wrapped around you from behind, caging your upper frame, and when he leaned in, your eyes drooped and your face turned into absolute bliss, as he made sure you felt everything, especially that delicious stretch you had forgotten while his weight pinned you on place, making your feet to hover above the floor, trembling and curling.
Each push only inched you closer to nirvana, each drag of his cock tore exquisite mewls and groans that mixed with his in a filthy melody.
âTâThe condomsââ You hiccuped once his hips began that pace that shook the whole piano, making its inner cords to vibrate, going from soft slurps from your cunt, that his cock did whenever he dragged almost all the way out; to rhythmic and filthy wet slaps that pulled muffled and desperate pleas out of you as the duke wrecked you.Â
âDont youââ He growled, plunging deep enough to have you sobbing and gasping for air, ââWorry about it.â His arms released you before letting one of his hands to wrap around your neck. Just to slide out from you with a squelch and pull you toward him, before your legs gave out.Â
His hands handled you like a ragdoll, as he now made you straddle him, then guided his flushed tip back to your soaked pussy, swallowing him greedily as he impaled you on top of his cock. Welcoming his anger, his frustration and everything that had soured the night with powerful and unyielding thrusts, making his pants roll down his ankles, exposing his muscular and flexing thighs with each plow.
You couldnât help but to bite his neck to drown a scream while your hands clung to him, digging your nails wherever they landed or could hold. Your slick coated him the more he fucked upwards, making your cunt slippery enough to plunge easier. Your bouncing hips rolled down, meeting him every time, riding him with that same urge his hands guided you on top of his hips.Â
His moans and sweet filthy nothings echoed in your ear, preaching nothing but how good you felt, how tight your cunt was, how perfect you were at riding. Making that sturdy chair you both were on to creak and moan as well from the rough movements and needy spanks.Â
But as much as he wanted to feel you clenching around him, he couldnât risk bringing your serious self back to the table, not when you had given him that forbidden taste of a bareback experience. He slapped your ass, once, twice as if marking his touch in you and that was enough for an agonizing sob and your spasming walls to milk and trap him like a vice suddenly, unable to hold in anymore, announcing your orgasm.Â
Your insides squeezed so tight his jaw clenched clumsily, stuttering whimpers like a wounded animal, almost overlapping your delicious sobs and mewls. It took him all his willpower to pull away from you just in time as his cock spurted in creamy ribbons of himself, marking the now soiled carpet with his cum.Â
His face buried in the crook of your neck, panting, biting ever softly at your salty skin while whimpering and cursing to then place his forehead against yours. Miguel drank from your breath, but didnât pursue a kiss. He just remained there, in a tangle of heated and sweaty limbs and bodies, taking in the beautiful mess he had left in his wake. Unaware of a pair of icy blue eyes that had witnessed enough.Â
âIâm definitely charging you extra for risky sex in public roomsâŚâ you teased but he just threw his head back, and heaved a tired laugh.
âWorthed it.â He nodded, standing up with jittery legs still with you clinging to him, before you both collapsed on the floor, in between breathless squeals, laughs and pants. His hand had curled around your head to protect you from the impact.Â
âOh my godâŚâ you giggledÂ
âIf you want a round two just say it, hermosa.â Miguel chuckled, and stood first while recovering his breath to then fix himself up and pick up your robe. Satisfaction plastered all over his face.Â
However, the faint voices of the graveyard shift staff echoed closer, possibly heading to the adjacent room. âShitâŚâ His hands quickly dressed you back up as fast as they could, while occasionally glancing at the door behind you, and making sure no evidence led back to both.Â
Yet the world seemed to slow down with every frantic move of his hands, the very same that had held you with something close to reverence, and your eyes remained glued on his face.
The healthy flush splashed around his sharp cheeks, the sweat that still clung to his nape, the unkempt look he sported it all screamed danger. Your alarms flared as he took your hand, and led you away from the now defiled and sex smelling room, towards the privacy of your shared room with a single thought in mind.Â
WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut. Married couple smut, P in V, Rimjob (F! receiving), heavy dirty talk in spanish, a sprinkle of degradation, rough sex, use of toys, heavy touching, anal stimulation, misuse of appliances, dom!/sub undertones, clothes tearing, spanking, mild biting, mating press, doggy style, fluff towards the end, mention of aftercare, needy Miguel, needy Mama, raunchy praising, soft Miguel.
Summary: You get Miguel too busy to fetch the kids on time.
A/N: Hello, hello! First of all, thanks for your patience, life finally allowed me some respite :') and to celebrate we've reched 500+ followers in this wee accocunt, here's this baby for the Soccer Family! Comments, reblogs or whatever much appreciated tehee :> .
Another tick tack from the clock in his wrist only made his knuckles turn whiter. He was sure his nails would leave crescent moon shapes in the steering wheelâs foam cover. But how could he not? The time was stretching far too long for his impatient likings and the ache in between his muscled thighs just turned unbearable by every goddamn second. Yet, despite the biting need clawing and gnawing at his insides, he knew the wait would be worth it.
Saturdays and Sundays were his days off from Alchemax. Weekends were untouchable, an accord the higher ups in the multinational had respected so far, and they better keep honoring their word, or else he wouldnât be here. Waiting in the red light, trying to make some time for you and your Saturdayâs late morning routine.Â
At eight everyone in the OâHara household would be up, At eight forty, breakfast was served by your precious and talented hands. At nine thirty everyone would help to clean up after breakfast. At ten, the kids would be ready to leave for their extra curricular activities. And it was Papaâs turn to deliver the packages safe and sound. First stop was Gabriella at the school league teamâs soccer field for her weekendâs practice.Â
A fond smile drew in his lips upon imagining you getting the tools for Saturday's cleansing, probably youâd finally get to use that spinning mop you recently bought and bragged over before bed. Around ten forty heâd drop Benjamin in his playdate with Mayday.
Bless his best friend for sparing him some mercy and giving some time for himself. Parenthood was a mined battlefield and both men knew it. But who really took the prize as his favorite person of the day was Gabriel, or Uncle Gabe as Benji now called him, for taking his little Rosita Fresita out on a pampering day.Â
Heâd definitely talk to you about the recent shift in Rosieâs preference when it came to Gabriel. His own daughter asked her beloved uncle to take her everywhere whenever he visited with grabby hands, and although jealousy fit him too obvious, right now, he could even buy Gabriel a bottle of his favorite mezcal for the well-timed favor. Â
The clock ticked eleven thirty. Traffic evaded him like the plague once he crossed that red light, as if knowing the endeavour he had ahead. For once, everything around him cooperated into giving him what he wanted. Spoiling him even with perfectly timed green lights.Â
Sheâll start the laundry soon.
His mind repeated and a smirk that promised nothing good stretched wider into his lips, scaring a distracted passenger in their car after they stared for too long his way. Pure wickedness irradiated from every pore, his mind already working like a perfectly oiled machine into bearing the most sinful things a doting husband could do to his ever loving and pretty little wife.Â
An impatient growl heaved through his chest as soon as the familiar neighborhood came into sight. The oak trees adorning the streets were a green and brown blur, same for the houses that were now blotches of abstract shapes the more he pressed the accelerator.
His nails dug once more into the wheelâs foam when his two floored beige and navy blue house finally appeared. His adam's apple bobbed, âa bit painful, like the wait gurgling in his guts, when his car stopped and his trembling fingers removed the keys from the slot. He was home.Â
Like a hungry hound, his nose took a deep whiff in the air. Cleaning products tickled his brain with pleasant sensations as a welcome, he took another whiff and the summer breeze scented air freshener came into his list when he stepped in the kitchen. His nostrils dilated, taking the final inhale he needed.Â
There you are.Â
Those lavender and vanilla Downy beads you always used in the clothes couldnât hide your scent. That flowery and nearly saccharine smell that said its goodnights every day whenever you cuddled him, was now guiding him through the living room, straight to the laundry area.
The soft tunes of a catchy song you hummed just confirmed him you were there, smelling like sin, unaware of his intentions, luring the danger oh too close for comfort.Â
Months without you in his hands, without him destroying your mind and body with caresses and breathtaking kisses almost killed him. Life had been too busy to the point that both were too tired and moody to even get into action. And just when you both thought things would finally go from start to finish, either one of you fell asleep.Â
But now, there were no kids, no mundane tasks, no roles to fulfill, no interruptions from life that stood in his way to have you the way he needed. Pleading for mercy, writhing and-Â
âMiguel?âÂ
Your ever sweet voice called him, and all control snapped. Something so primal and raw that had his groin aching, rumbled through his chest in a needy growl, begging him to be released. Especially when he saw you on your tiptoes, dipping and bending further into the washing machine to reach a rebel blouse stuck around the agitator.Â
Your ass (a mighty one if he added), was before him, dressed in those cotton pants, âhis pants, that sunk in between your ass cheeks a bit too perfect for his already salivating mouth, outlining the perfect globes of flesh he loved reddening with his hands as they bounced against him. But also giving him the only hint he needed to know.Â
You werenât wearing any underwear.Â
But it was when you nearly tipped inside the machine as you cursed, granting him the complete picture of your rear, that all remnants of control abandoned him in a go.Â
Being the behemoth sized man he was, Miguel stood behind you in two strides, his chest rose as if he had run a marathon, gulping and looking like a famished man before the unsuspecting feast presented to him on a silver plate.Â
A little too late you felt a familiar big hand trembling, wrapping around your nape. Tangling ever softly and gently on the chunks of hair in that region. Pulling your head back, earning him a surprised yelp as your back arched and your chin tipped upwards to meet his ravenous gaze.Â
âMig-â
There was no time to even finish his name. His mouth crashed on yours, devouring bit by sacred bit your open mouth, as if his brain urged him to remember the taste of your moans, your breath, how your tongue slid against his in a poor attempt to fight him back. But his coiled, twirled and lured yours out from your swollen and flush lips to suck it.Â
Each moan you gifted him with only made him press his hips impossibly close to yours, pinning you against the metal edge from the washer, trapping you between it, his hips, legs and the growing hard on pressing against the crack of your ass. Grinding in a tortuous pace that only had your hips grating back.Â
Yet a breathless whine made his lips stop, letting a fine, almost imperceptible thread of saliva joining your mouth to his.
âFuck..â you gasped, with droopy eyes staring his way as he licked it clean. There was no need for questions, not when the kiss alone announced his intentions without an ounce of shame. âH-Hey.âÂ
His hand never left your nape, nor his hips abandoned their mighty cornering. His other free limb though, snaked upwards the warm and soft curve of your stomach, reaching underneath your t shirt, earning a pleasant growl when his fingertips trapped the hardening nub of your breast in between them, alternating in between giving soft pinches and squeezing your breast all together.Â
âÂżSiempre eres asĂ de traviesa?â (How come you are always this naughty?)
His hot breath fanned over the crawling skin of your neck, earning him a giggle that melted into a groan as soon as his fangs nipped over the joint of your neck and shoulder.
âWearing nothing underneath for me.â He tugged the nipple in a teasing pull before slapping it ever softly, breathing in your gasp, âYou sure itâs not intentional, preciosa?âÂ
âAnd you notice until now?â You teased, well damn knowing the consequences that would follow back. Yet you didnât care. Not when your body melted in between your thighs, not when your REM cycle had been playing the many scrumptious scenes worthy of an AVN Award that your brain had stored of him, filling you to the brim, over and over. And definitely not when the chance finally arrived, like the hero your cunt desperately needed.Â
âPues quĂŠ maravilla.â He licked a wet trail up to your earlobe as his hand abandoned your tit and yanked the sweatpants down in a firm tug. A proper and stinging slap on your ass echoed in the laundry area, hardening your nipples on the go.
His smirk widened upon gazing briefly at the taut silhouette of the nubs, peeking underneath the shirt, greeting him. âMira que pasearte asĂ, con este hermoso culo al descubierto⌠sĂłlo para mĂâŚâ (See you walking around, with a gorgeous ass like this, just for me...)
Miguel rolled his hips and pressed tighter against said gorgeous ass. Another gasp rumbled through your lungs and your knees trembled.Â
âNo tienes ni una puta idea de lo que me haces, mi reina.â (You donât fucking know what you do to me.)Â
He growled in your ear before holding you still once more and kneeling right behind you. You gulped. Because when he used full on and foul spanish it only meant one thing. He wouldnât leave you until you were a mess. His hand let your head go only to hold with a steely grip your hips, grounding them in a demanding push on his face. Sitting you, cheeks spread, against his mouth and nose bridge.Â
âF-Fuck!â You mewled as soon as his tongue began dancing, lapping and slurping your pussy like it was his lifeline. His tongue curled and tasted, dribbled and pushed, making your toes fold, almost losing balance but that only made you drop all the weight on top of his face. And his mouth did nothing but to welcome it by giving soft and teasing nips around your puffed folds before focusing on polishing your needy cunt with his tongue.Â
The sinful sounds his wet muscle did, were enough for your hands to grip each side of the washing machineâs edges with all you had, your nails almost scratched the paint as your husband ravished your pussy with his mouth. Enjoyed it like an emaciated man tasting his first meal in months, his hunger surpassing his restraint as he groaned and growled in delight with every moan he inflicted.Â
However, nothing prepared you when Miguel grabbed your hips and lifted you off the ground, sending you tipping forward against the machineâs control board. In the sudden reflex and haste your fingers clumsily pressed start and the machine buzzed alive, sending a jolt through your body like a cracking whip.Â
The mechanical humming had you squirming against the machineâs lid, letting your clothed tits to absorb the vibrations that teased your hard nipples. A gasp flew out of your lips as soon as he grabbed your hips and lifted you off the ground, just enough to have your toes hovering above the floor without stopping his finger from squeezing a handful of your ass to spread you further.
And just enough for him to reach a new angle with his mouth as he placed your pussy right above the corner of the machineâs vibrating revestment.
He chuckled, too amused when your cunt sought on its own that so needed stimulation against everything that provided it. His mouth however, proved to be the main purveyor of such sensations. Taking his deliberate slow time to draw a thirsty stripe from your pussy to your pulsating asshole.Â
His smile darkened upon watching you accommodating yourself on the corner, your clit received the first vibrating waves of the staggering machine. Your insides clenched at the powerful hum that rocked you from head to toe.
It reminded you of the way his tongue flicked when he felt particularly hungry after a stressful day, and who were you to deny your husband such alleviation? Another filthy lick had your breath caught in your throat, and the deliciously stinging slap forced you to release it in a trembling sob.Â
Miguel never allowed his tongue to stop exploring in between your cheeks, he was just accommodating his upper body in a position where his devouring would be comfortable enough to just stop to breathe, and go on for hours if he wanted. He had half your body pinned by the nape against the washer, as your lower region hovered, spread, above the floor while he ate, squeezed and toyed your ass like he knew he owned it.Â
The machine however, unintentionally joined the stimulation party as it began the spinning cycle. It quivered, and its tremors did nothing but to echo directly on your clit. The humming, the soft movement that teased your soaked folds only pulled the prettiest moans heâd heard so far. A choked moan lingered in your mouth as your hand pushed his head in its place. An order to not stop.Â
âHmm-fuck!â Miguel heaved, eyes hazed and heavy with need as he stared directly in your soaked holes, quivering and constricting around nothing. Begging to be filled the only way he knew it.
His mouth watered upon the sight of your cunt, clenching the more the washerâs vibrations jolted your clit unceasingly, like an oversized vibrator. Your slick escaped in thin ribbons that stretched and stuck around your folds, your inner thighs and his tongue when he gobbled them down with a desperate whimper.Â
And when his chin glistened with your juices, his fingers reached up to spread you, pulling a vicious groan. âPero mira quĂŠ ricura de coĂąo tienes, mi amor.â (Such a pretty pussy you have here.)
His middle and ring finger teased in slow circles around your clit, making your hips buck and interrupt the machineâs teasing, only to have your hip bone pressed once more against the trembling object.Â
âÂżCuantos de mis dedos quieres dentro, hermosa?â His voice whispered in the shell of your ear, âÂżUno?â He eased one with a moan before pulling it out and licking it clean,âÂżDos?â He slid in both before you could even answer, âÂżO prefieres mi boca de nuevo?â He teased, moving his fingers deeper and faster, drenching them with every pump inside. (How many of my fingers do you want inside?) (One?) (Two?) (Or youâd rather my mouth again?)
Your hands didnât know where to land, his hair was too soft to ruin and he already deducted what you loved, and the machine was too unstable to hold on properly. Your cunt clenched once more around his pumping fingers, announcing the spark of roaring fire that burned from the very tip of your toes, upwards through your shivering legs.Â
âJusto asĂ, asĂ quiero que estĂŠs siempre que me veas, mi reina.â He nodded before swirling his tongue on your ring of muscles and fuck it with his tongue as he groaned. âBien pinche mojada.â Â (Just like this. Exactly like this is the way I want you to be every time you look at me.) (So fucking wet.)
Every dirty syllable was just another log he tossed into the fire, your brain was already rewired for the imminent doom his voice and his mouth alone provoked. One particular quiver from the machine was the right and final finishing move your body needed to burn completely. A dragged mewl slurred out of your mouth as your cunt gushed and pulsated, while your whole body convulsed underneath his firm touch.Â
He was merciful enough to not overstimulate your weeping hole, despite the hunger in him increasing tenfold with the mere sight of you coming undone, begging to be ruined. But you out of everyone knew this was just the beginning. Like a lightweight burlap bag, he tossed you, ass-bared and trembling over his shoulder as he marched like a devoted soldier to the master bedroom where duty called him.Â
For once, Miguel didnât close the door to prevent any alarming sounds to distress your children. The house was all yours. He tossed you in bed and before you could even bounce back, his hands were already taking a proper hold of your yanked sweatpants to tear them with such ease, like if he was tearing paper, leaving nothing but the elastic band around your waist holding the now fabric in shambles together.
âYouâre so buyiââ His hand clasped around your throat, just enough to restrict your breathing and silence you with a deep kiss.Â
âIâll fucking buy you all what you want, preciosa, just shut up.â He heaved, hot against your lips before letting your neck go and finishing the tearing he started by making the rip bigger, leaving the pantâs part useless and haphazardly discarded on the sheets.
He sank in between your thighs again, His hand reached for the front bangs of your hair and pulled your head gently towards him, granting you the unholy and mouth watering sight of his lips pursing in between your folds and sucking on your clit while staring right into your soul, as if teaching you how a man ate. Could it be better?
Absolutely.
He shook his head, his mouth open as his tongue licked in the direction he moved his head, like a paintbrush leaving nothing but pleasurable and burning strokes on your flesh, painting your pussy wetter if possible, but your eyes rolled when he plunged his tongue in that sweet and tight hole he couldnât wait to wreck.
He didnât bother to clean his face from your slick when he pulled out to remove his clothes âalmost yanking them, if anything heâd wear it proudly like he had been marked.Â
âMiguel!â You hiccuped, grasping the sheets until your knuckles turned white, as he pulled you down to his thighs, his hands didnât dally and spread you. His eyes turned glossy, glowing with that feral need piling up to him upon watching your cunt staring back at him with soft pulses.Â
He grunted as his hand circled his already sprung cock, slapping your entrance with his heady and flushed tip. The slaps only pulled mewls and gasp but greedy as he was, he needed more. So he teased you by sliding in between your outer lips, dragging a second too long against your clit, letting a bead of precum to aid him and make it even more slippery, and that almost broke you.Â
âPleaseâŚâ You whimpered, grinding against his tip, trying to swallow him in his righteous place. But his hand around your neck stifled another upcoming mewl.Â
âÂżQuieres esto? ÂżHm? Seguro que sĂ. SĂłlo mĂrate, tan empapada⌠tan lista para mi como una buena zorra desesperada por un poco de tu marido.â (You want this? Bet you fucking do. Just look at you. So wet and ready like a good desperate slut for a piece of your husband.)Â
He smirked, feeling your cunt tremble as soon as those words left him while you nodded dumbly. Heâd apologize later with whatever thing youâd ask him to do for calling you such, but right now he only had one thing in mind. Your absolute ruin. And frankly, you didnât care for sensitivities when youâd finally have your insides full with him again after months of shitty and rushed self-handjobs.Â
And when he sunk in? You nearly cried. Not because of the good olâ stretch his cock alone did as he eased in slowly (a bit too slow perhaps) to feel you clenching and milking him with that obscene sucks your pussy made around him, but to have your husband back.
Both of his hands hooked underneath the back of your knees and pushed your thighs upwards, until they reached the sheets and his cock the hilt inside of you, filling you in bothâs favorite position. A gorgeous mating press.
âFuckâ.â His breath shivered and his voice came like a broken yet relieved whine as yours were reduced into a choked sob, âÂżSabes lo mucho que he querido estar dentro tuyo?â (Do you know how much Iâve wanted to be inside you?)
He snapped his hips gently and ground his pelvis deeper, making his tip to twitch and graze on those spots you had missed feeling, your eyes rolled and your mouth gaped, heaving in burning need.Â
âNo sabes lo preciosa que te ves cuando me sientes hasta el fondo, mi reina.â (You donât know how pretty you look when you feel me going deep.)
Your walls spasming in that rhythmic pattern, only turned his restrain to dust. The bed creaked and moaned underneath you with such powerful shakes it drowned your mewls and groans. Each thrust was harder and intense than the other, as if their only task were to make you forget about everything but his name or yours.Â
The grunts and moans that heaved from his mouth were absolute raw and primal. âJust. Like. That!.â He rammed harder with every word, leaving you with little to no space to breathe, to think or assimilate the unceasing, obscene, loud and wet slap your cunt slurping him did.Â
Each inch punished your insides as if they were resented for not being able to paint your insides white sooner, so they made sure you felt them. But one in particular had your eyes watering and spewing delicious tears as your mouth widened in a shameless âoâ in a silent scream as he ground against that spongy and fluttering spot over and over. Alternating in between making you sob and lose your head.Â
Your mouth only outlined his name, but nothing but broken mewls and grunts came with every shake your bed did. Your husband fucked. Of course he made love, but he didnât want to have you sweetly, and neither did you. The chance was too scarce to waste in romantic gestures he did for you every day. And when your nails dragged down, something snapped in his brain.Â
Both of his muscled thighs caged your folded form as his hand snaked around your damp and sweaty neck, feeling each pulse underneath his squeezing hand. He kissed you like heâd go to war and never taste your lips again, he wrecked you like he was allowed to have only one in a million chance to have you again. Each thrust turned wet, borderline vulgar as you wailed and begged him to not stop.
His name on your mouth, blabbed, broken and moaned, like you were learning it for the first time ever, dissolved into a jumbled wail of words and moans when his tip poked deep enough to have your eyes rolled, overwhelmed with pleasure. Your cunt gushed once more and milked him. Your walls clamped around him in a vice-like embrace, sending a dangerous spark all over his spine.Â
He had to bite his inner cheek with all his might to not cum right there. No. Miguel needed one more out of you. He pulled out with a wet slosh, nearly staggering himself as he turned your belly down. In a few steps he rummaged through your fun drawer and pulled a bullet vibrator and a tube of lube.Â
When you thought you could move and catch your breath, his big hands were already on your hips, lifting them up as his thighs caged them once more. Your mouth could only exhale in a raged tempo that turned into a wheeze when one of his hands abandoned one side of your hips and pressed your face against the mattress. Ass up, face down. Like a good and obedient dog, just for your husband. Just like he loved it.Â
âStay still.â he mumbled while squeezing a good amount of lube in your ass, even if it was already soaked by the previous peak, then grabbed the bullet and turned it on at its max power. The buzzing sent a shiver down your spine.Â
Miguelâs eyes remained glued for a moment while maneuvering the bullet around your ass hole, only to dip the purring toy inside it until nothing but the cord remained out, hooked around his thumb to either pull or push it further if he wanted. His wicked smile only widened when you blubbered at the powerful vibrations inside your ass, it made your toes curl and all air abandoned your lungs.Â
He slapped your right cheek, leaving a red imprint on it before sheathing in with a powerful thrust that made your ass jiggle and your mouth to sob. If you thought the noises your pussy made before were vulgar, the brisk and borderline animalistic thrusts he inflicted remorselessly made them straight up filthy and vicious. And it didnât help that he changed the vibration intensity from the bullet into intermittent waves.Â
âIâm all yours, mi reina.â He husked in your ear without any intentions of leaving your head sunk in the mattress, âMe, my fucking cock⌠Todo tuyo. Only you can take it so well-âHe growled. (All yours)
Each plunge that reached deeper inside your spasming walls, only reminded you how much of a needy devotee your husband was. How lovely and exquisite his fat cock slotted inside, too perfect and snug to leave. It was his forever home. And you cozied him beyond perfection, like he knew you were made for him and only him. Like that gorgeous and soaked pussy of yours, choking on him to death, like itâd do when you wanted another baby.Â
For a moment the regret of having the OâHara factory closed burned mean, cause seeing you pregnant was one of the most beautiful and hottest things life granted him with. But he also knew that three were more than enough. Like the count of orgasms he was about to scratch on his tab. His thumb pulled and pushed the bullet out of your ass, matching the spasms of your insides.Â
Your pleasurable screams and cries bathed the room as he fucked you like he always wanted to whenever the house was alone. Much to yours and his dismay, the windows of your room were open. But that only made him double the efforts with a strained groan.
Fuck the neighbors and their probable complaints. He was fucking his wife the way a husband should. Needed you like he needed air. And when you came and gushed around him, he caved with an agonizing and filthy whimper.
It tore him apart from the inside just as the outside with a hoarse roar of your name in your ear. His labored breath fanned behind your neck and he stifled another moan by biting the junction of your neck and shoulders, marking you and earning him yet another tremble of your already squeezing walls as he pulled out the toy completely out of your ass.
Thick and milky ribbons flooded in, as his hips stilled, feeling your drenched walls sucking the soul out of him. âThat's it, mi amor. Cum for me.â He growled and pumped his load in dragged moves, making sure each bit of your insides received their fair share of him.Â
When the tremors of his orgasm and your insides subsided, his soft cock slid out as he collapsed right next to you, the warm sheets greeted him as he gathered you in your arms with all the tenderness he often professed to you, while showering your cheek in kisses.Â
âI love you.â He panted and your dreamy giggles only stretched that lazy smile.Â
âFuck⌠I⌠I love you too.â You rasped, voice raw and barely there despite him giving you little to no chance to speak, only scream his name over and over.Â
âGod, I missed you.â He turned you in his arms so your head would lay on his chest.Â
âI missed you too but Itâs hot.â You whined, earning a tighter embrace as he licked your cheek playfully, tasting the salt of your skin as you squirmed and giggled. âMiguel, stop!â
He kissed you instead. Miguel kissed your lips and then your forehead while his hand traced lazy and idle patterns on your lower back as if making sure that what you had just shared was real.Â
âSorry for calling you a slut.â He frowned and kissed your hand. âGot too excited.â
You snorted to then kiss his chest âThat was hot. Took me by surprise, sure. But it was hot. Just concerned about the neighbors complaining later. Canât believe we left the window open!.âÂ
He shrugged nonchalantly, âWell, maybe it teaches that guy next door that youâre married and pretty fucking off limits. I saw the way he was staring at your ass the other day.â
âHe literally has wandering eyes, Miguel.â you gestured your eyes, âLike they driftââ
âExotropia.â He corrected with a bored smirk as weariness crawled to his brain.
âThat thing!. The man needs surgery to correct that, he doesnât do it on purpose.â you shrugged while yawning. All the exertion finally catching up with you. âAnd you bit me a bit too hard!â
âStill, he shouldn't have even looked at you anyway. Besides, can you really blame me? I havenât had you in months, mi reina. Just wanted to give you something to remember in the meantime all of this happens again.â He grumbled with his lips against the side of your forehead. âNeed any water? A snack?â
âI already had one, thanks.â you chuckled and he followed, tired. âJokes aside though, I need sleep.âÂ
Agreeing, Miguel took a good stretch before spooning you. It didnât take you or him long to fall asleep.
â---------- â---------------Â
The incessant buzz from your phone died as soon as you woke up, alarmed by it. The sun blazed high in the sky, letting the evening birds to chirp their little hearts away, like in those slow evenings you got on sundays. Your hair remained in a pretty mess and your body still heavy with fatigue. Then Miguelâs phone began buzzing but the call ended abruptly, piling up the thirteenth call from none other than Gabriella. Clock ticked 3:20 pm.
SHIT
âMiguel!â You shook him urgently, and he woke up despite the drowsiness still clinging to him.
âWhat? Whatâs wrong?â He grumbled and frowned, confused, as soon as you jumped off the bed and scourged the drawers for some clothes. Voice still raw and drowsy.
âThe kids!â you squealed and his hand washed over his face, drowning a regretful groan.
âMierdaâŚâ He got off the bed and took whatever clothes he had left discarded, dressed up in a speed youâd never seen before and dashed out the door. You followed while accommodating your t-shirt. âGabi ha de estar enojadĂsimaâŚâ (Gabi must be pissed.)
âUnderstandably so, itâs been two hours since her practice ended!â You huffed, with ideas already running in your mind to make it up to Gabi as you followed him down the stairs. âDidnât you set the alarms?âÂ
âI forgot.â He admitted while combing his hair as best as he could. He still looked like another couple of hours would do wonders for him, but his little girl had been neglected enough. Still he couldnât help but laugh about the situation once you were seated in the car. âWas too busy fucking my wife.â He fasted your seatbelt and then his.Â
âItâs not funny, Miguel.â You pouted in between soft and worried titters. still unable to believe what happened.
âOf course itâs funny. Just relax, okay? Iâll take the blame.â He revved the engine alive and soon drove away.Â
âTechnically it is your fault.âÂ
âI donât regret it. Did you enjoy it?â His smile turned smug as his hand squeezed your thigh on a red light. The image of you absolutely destroyed on the sheets lingered in his mind, engraved into his core memories.Â
âObvio. Just canât help but feel Iâm smelly.â (Obviously)
A squeal and a laugh left your lips as soon as the tip of his nose dragged up your neck, only to leave a kiss in there.Â
âYou do. You smell like me.â He chuckled, proudly. But opened the windows to let the air ventilate the cabin to spare you any further discomfort. âIâm definitely asking Gabriel to take Rosie next weekend.â
Ironically, the soccer field wasnât too far by car, just some miles away from your neighborhood. Sadly, traffic was gone to be used as an excuse.
âThought you didnât like our baby preferring Gabriel?â You texted Gabi, letting her know you were close.Â
âI donât. And she doesnât.â He rolled his eyes, âShe just loves his silly faces but thatâs besides the point. I wonât wait for another couple of months to have you again, understood?â
The tone alone had your cheeks a flushed mess, and it worsened when he gave you that âno nonsenseâ look
âYes, sir.â
Miguel slid his hand in between your thighs and cupped your pussy while squeezing it softly, leaving you with zero time to react. âWe ainât done yet.â He whispered in your ear only to kiss you and leave his seat once he parked and honked in a code only an OâHara knew.Â
Gabiâs uniform soon came around the corner and her expression said it all. Miguel gulped.Â
Shit.
âYouâre late!â She pouted while handing all her equipment to him. In a matter of seconds he was already hands full with her stuff, still he opened the door to his daughter.Â
âIâm sorry, Solecito. Mama needed help with the washing machine and other things around the houseââÂ
And the deadpan Gabriella gave him, quirked brow included, only made him gulp again. âUh huh. Iâm starving!â
âLetâs go get Benji and then weâre going shopping, okay?â you offered, trying to appease her righteous anger. âIâm really sorry for making you wait, mi amor. Wonât happen again.âÂ
âUgh. Just don't forget to set the alarms next time youâre working out, please.â
Miguel choked and you sank deeper into the seat. Neither of you dared to say another word.Â
amandla
germansingergirl
prguitarman
izzy806
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
