La Chimba de Tenerte
TW: Cussing, Smut, Jealousy/possessiveness, PDA, rough sex, overstimulation
The heavy, rhythmic thumping of the rhythm to Cual Es Esa by Feid ft Pirlo at Perro Negro vibrated straight through the soles of your shoes, the dark underground club packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people moving to the music.
You had been losing yourself in the rhythm for hours, your hips locked perfectly against Richard’s as he danced behind you, his hands resting heavily on your waist, whispering lyrics in your ear between deep, sweaty kisses.
Suddenly, a commotion rippled through the exclusive VIP section right next to you. Security started clearing a path as none other than Ryan Castro pulled up, surrounded by his crew.
Ryan instantly spotted Richard through the dim neon lights, grinning and throwing up a hand to call him over.
Richard’s eyes lit up, but he didn't just walk away. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear over the loud music, his warm breath sending an instant shiver down your neck. "Nena, mira quién llegó. Voy a saludar a Ryan un segundo y a pedirnos unas copitas de guaro, ¿sí? No me demoro nada, quédate aquí" (Babe, look who arrived. I’m going to say hi to Ryan for a second and I’m going to order us some shots of guaro, ok? I wont take that long, wait here).
He gave your hip a firm, lingering squeeze before disappearing into the Ryan’s group huddle.
You leaned against a nearby concrete pillar, catching your breath and watching the strobe lights cut through the darkness while Richard and Ryan shared a brotherly hug across the rail.
You didn't even notice the stranger approaching until he was standing directly in your personal space, blocking your view of the VIP section.
"¿Estás sola, hermosa?" (You alone beautiful?) he asked, a cocky smirk on his face as he leaned an arm against the pillar right above your head. "Que desperdicio que una mujer como tú esté solita en Perro Negro. Déjame pedirte un traguito" (What a waste that a lady like you would be alone in Perro Negro. Let me order you a drink).
"No, gracias, estoy bien" (No thank you, I’m good), you said, keeping your tone polite but icy as you took a step back. "Y no estoy sola. Estoy esperando a mi novio" (And I’m not alone. I am waiting on my boyfriend).
The guy let out a dry, unbelieving laugh, stepping closer until you could smell the alcohol on his breath.
He boldly reached out, his hand wrapping around the curve of your hip. "A mí no me parece que esté muy pendiente de ti..." (I don’t think he’s focused on you…)
Before he could even finish his sentence, the air around you turned completely heavy.
A thick, heavily tattooed arm cut through the space between you, a large hand clamping down onto the guy's shoulder with a terrifying amount of force.
Richard had materialized out of the shadows. The bright, big-tooth smile he had been sharing with Ryan Castro just seconds ago was entirely gone, replaced by a dark, lethal stare.
The guy turned his head, ready to snap at whoever interrupted him, but the words died completely in his throat.
His eyes went wide as he looked up, tracing the sharp jawline and the unmistakable face of Richard Ríos looking down at him.
"¿Hay algún problema aquí, parce?" (Is there a problem here, buddy?) Richard’s voice was incredibly low, a dangerous, quiet rumble that easily cut through the booming reggaeton.
He didn't yell, but the grip he had on the guy's shoulder tightened just enough to deliver the message.
The guy looked from Richard, then over Richard's shoulder where Ryan and a couple of guys from the crew were already looking over, watching the situation unfold.
Realizing he had just touched the girlfriend of one of the most famous footballers in Colombia, right in front of his famous friends, the guy's face drained of color.
"No, no... qué pena, hermano. No sabía, de verdad. Mala mía" (No, no…I’m sorry, brother. I didn’t know, honestly. My bad), the guy stammered, raising his hands in surrender.
Richard didn't say another word. He just stared him down, his jaw tight, until the guy literally backed away into the crowd and vanished.
The moment the guy was gone, Richard turned his attention entirely to you. The protective anger in his eyes didn't disappear, but it instantly shifted into something incredibly heavy and possessive.
He stepped right into your space, pinning you back against the concrete pillar. His hands didn't go to your waist this time, they slid up to grip your hips firmly, pulling your lower body flush against his.
"¿Te tocó?" (Did he touch you?) he whispered, his dark eyes searching your face, his breathing a little heavy from the sudden spike of adrenaline. "Dime, nena... ¿dónde te tocó?" (Tell me babe…where did he touch you?)
You leaned into his chest, while giggling your hands resting on his shoulders to ground him. "Solo me tocó mi cadera, amor. Pero todo bien porque llegaste antes que pudiera hacer mas" (He only touched my hip, love. But everything is fine because you got here before he could do more), you reassured him, running a soothing hand up the back of his neck.
You looked over his shoulder at the VIP section, where Ryan Castro and his crew were still looking over, waiting for Richard to return. "Oyé...vamos con Ryan, que creó que te esta esperando" (Hey…lets go with Ryan, I think he’s waiting for you).
Richard let out a low, rough exhale against your temple. He hated the idea of letting it go, but looking over at his friends, he knew you were right.
He leaned down, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to your lips that tasted like the guaro he'd been drinking, a silent promise of what was to come later.
"Está bien, vamos," (Ok, let’s go) he muttered, his voice still thick and deep.
But he didn't just let you walk ahead of him. As you both headed over to the VIP lounge, Richard wrapped his arm securely around your waist, pulling you so close against his side that your hips clashed with every step.
He was visibly marking his territory, making sure every single person in Perro Negro knew exactly who you belonged to.
When you reached the booth, Ryan instantly greeted you with a huge, charismatic smile. "¡Quibó nena, qué más! Qué chimba que vinieron" (Hey girl, how are you? It’s good that you guys came), Ryan shouted over the music, giving you one of his big hugs and dabbing Richard up.
For the next hour, to anyone else looking in, it just looked like a normal, high-energy night out in Medallo. Richard was laughing, joking with Ryan, and nodding along as the club blasted Ryan’s latest tracks.
But underneath the table, it was a completely different story.
Richard’s hand never left your body. His fingers gripped your thigh with a heavy, possessive pressure, his thumb tracing slow, torturous circles higher and higher up your skirt.
Every time you tried to focus on the conversation or laugh at a joke Ryan made, Richard would squeeze your thigh just a little tighter, leaning over to whisper filthy, low-voiced promises in Spanish right against your ear, reminding you exactly what he was going to do to you the second you walked through the door of the apartment.
For the next hour, you were trapped in a delicious, agonizing kind of torture. On the outside, everything was perfect, you were in the heart of El Poblado, hanging out with Ryan Castro while laughing, and vibing to the loudest, heaviest reggaeton in Medellín.
But under the dim, flashing neon lights of the VIP booth, Richard was making it impossible for you to think straight.
His hand stayed anchored to your thigh the entire night. Whenever a new song dropped and the crowd went wild, his fingers would dig a little deeper into your skin, his thumb smoothing over your hip right where the stranger had touched you earlier, painstakingly wiping away any trace of anyone else.
Every so often, Richard would lean close to take a sip of his drink, but his lips would brush the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he muttered exactly what he wanted to do to you.
By the time the clock crawled past 2:00 AM, your core was aching and you were casting desperate glances at your boyfriend.
Finally, Richard caught your eye, seeing the subtle flare of desire in your expression. A dark, smirk spread across his face.
He leaned over, dabbing Ryan up. "Papi, la pasamos una chimba pero ya nos toca retirarnos. Vos sabés cómo es" (Buddy, we had a blast but I think it’s time we leave. You know how it is), Richard said, a knowing, playful glint in his eyes.
Ryan looked between the two of you, letting out a loud laugh and patting Richard on the back. "Hágale, mi hermano. Cuide a la nena. Nos vemos esta semana" (Go for it, my brother. Take care of your girl. We’ll see each other this week).
The second you both stepped out of Perro Negro and into the cool, damp Medellín night air, the restraint snapped.
Richard didn't wait for the private car to even pull away from the curb before his hands were on you, his mouth slamming onto yours in a deep, bruising kiss that tasted like aguardiente and pure hunger.
The ride back to the apartment was a blur of breathless, muffled sounds in the backseat, Richard’s large hands tangled in your hair, pulling your face up to keep you locked against his lips while his other hand worked its way under your skirt, completely ruining any composure you had left.
Richard kicked the door closed with his heel, the heavy thud echoing in the dark hallway. In one fluid, athletic motion, he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, pinning your back against the solid wood of the door.
You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, letting out a soft gasp as your underwear rubbed heavily against his jeans.
"No te imaginás las ganas que te tengo desde que ese marica hijueputa te puso la mano encima" (You can’t imagine how much I have wanted you since that fucking dude put his hand on you), Richard growled against your lips, his voice thick, rough, and completely stripped of his usual playful demeanor.
He buried his face in your neck, biting down softly on the skin right above your collarbone, leaving a mark that would definitely still be there tomorrow. "Sos mía, ¿oíste? Solo mía” (You’re mine, you hear me? Only mine).
His hands gripped your hips with a bruising force, positioning you exactly where he wanted you. His eyes locked onto yours in the dark, his fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, his breathing ragged and heavy against your mouth.
You let out a ragged breath, your fingers digging tightly into his shoulders as his words sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. "Richard, por favor...ahora" (Richard, please…now) you pleaded, arching your back against the door as his teeth grazed your neck.
He didn't need to be told twice. With a sharp, desperate tug, he pulled pulled your skirt and your underwear down and out of the way, his large hands anchoring your hips perfectly in place.
When he guided himself against you and pushed inside with one heavy, unyielding thrust, a loud, breathless gasp caught in the back of your throat.
The contrast of his heavy jeans and his leather jacket pressing against your bare skin made everything feel incredibly raw, almost chaotic. Richard buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing coming in hard, deep pants as he began to move.
Every thrust was deep and demanding, the solid wood of the front door rattling slightly behind you with the rhythm he was setting.
His grip on your thighs was bruising, lifting you just a fraction higher to get deeper, completely dominating your senses in the dark hallway.
"Míráme" (Look at me) he choked out, his voice incredibly deep and scratched with heat.
You forced your heavy eyelids open, locking eyes with him in the dim light of the entryway.
His dark eyes were dilated, entirely focused on you, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He hit your sweet spot with a punishing angle, making your head toss back against the door, a low moan escaping your lips.
"Así, mi nena... gríta mi nombre" (Just like that, baby girl…scream my name), he muttered roughly, his pace turning fast and borderline frantic as the two hours of built-up tension completely boiled over.
But the angle against the door was turning too tight, the friction and sheer desperation making him crave more contact.
Without breaking the rhythm or letting you down, Richard shifted his weight, he carries you both down the short hallway. He practically stumbled into the bedroom, his eyes never leaving yours as he brought you over to the mattress, the two of you crashing down onto the sheets in a tangled, breathless heap.
The second his chest pressed flat against yours on the mattress, the intensity multiplied.
Richard didn't slow down for a second. He pinned your hands above your head, interlocking his fingers with yours, using his weight to hold you down as he drove into you with a deeper, much heavier force.
The mattress squeaked under the relentless pace he was setting, the dark bedroom filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, tangled sheets, and the low, gravelly Spanish curses whispered directly against your mouths.
He was relentless, driven by the pure adrenaline of the night and the absolute certainty that you were his.
You felt the heavy coil of your climax tightening rapidly, your legs wrapping even tighter around his waist to pull him closer, matching his frantic pace.
"Richard, Richard, papi voy a—" (Richard, Richard, babe I’m about to—)
"Conmigo, nena. Venite conmigo" (With me, baby. Cum with me), he growled, his head dropping to your shoulder as he delivered a series of fast, hard, final thrusts.
The release hit you in violent, crashing waves, your core tightening around him so sharply that it pushed Richard over the edge.
He let out a loud, raspy groan against your skin, his body tensing completely as he spent himself deep inside you, holding you so incredibly tight against him that you could feel the frantic, hammering beat of his heart echoing against your own chest.
For a long time, the only sound in the dark room was the heavy, synchronized sound of your breathing.
Richard slowly collapsed his weight off to the side, though he didn't let you go. He pulled you right back into his chest, his tattooed arm slung heavily over your waist, his skin still hot and slick with sweat.
He leaned down, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to the side of your neck, right over the mark he had left earlier.
"Te lo dije" (I told you), he murmured, his voice sleepy but still thick with that lingering, dominant edge. "Solo mía" (Only mine).
You had fallen asleep first, Richard kept leaving kisses on your forehead until he drifted off to sleep.
