Summary: Your little backwater home is flyover country for most of the galaxy. Galactic Republic? Empire? New Republic? It’s all the same to you. Strangers fighting over your home. At least, it is until a very familiar ship with a not-so-familiar pilot makes an emergency landing, and needs your help. The mystery man, covered in beskar, so desperate to return to the stars, finds something unexpected on his unscheduled detour.
Warnings: SMUT, PIV sex, oral (m and f receiving), helmetless Din, never-been-kissed Din, things escalate quickly u guys, more body warming, soft!Din, domestic things… let me know if I missed something
A/N: A certain Vanity Fair article had me spiraling back into Din-land once again… My beloved @ezrasbirdie came through with the beta help as always. We’re both In Too Deep with our love of this metal man and we’re happy about it.
Din takes to farm life with an enthusiasm that leaves you breathless.
It starts the morning after your first night together; you wake, cradled against Din’s warm chest, fingers spread over his stomach. It’s muscular and strong, with a layer of softness that feels good under your palm. Din must like the way you’re absentmindedly stroking the flesh, dusted in dark hair, because he makes a little hum of pleasure and kisses your hairline.
Summary: Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American. Except Javier Peña never met a damsel he didn’t want to rescue, a small penance for the woman he left behind at the altar all those years ago. He can provide occasional comfort, and if that means taking a bit for himself - well - that should be enough to get by.
Warnings: SMUT, PIV sex, oral (f receiving), creampie, Javi being tender but also not, it’s the early years this man is A Mess Emotionally
A/N: Javi in Season 1, man. It’s just a Whole Thing. Thanks as always to my beloved @ezrasbirdie for lookin’ this baby over. This is a stand-alone but could also be a prequel to something else still formulating in my brain.
She’s beautiful.
It’s the first thought that occurred to Javier Peña as the door to his apartment swung open, and he found himself face to face with a dark-haired woman, her soulful brown eyes shining with a plea for help.
He didn’t say it, though.
“Well, what have we here?” He asked, his glance flicking back and forth between the stranger and Murphy’s wife Connie, both women clad in blue scrubs from the comuna.
“I’ll explain later. I’ll be right back,” Connie said, waving the dark-haired woman inside. “Go,” she added, and then Connie turned on her heel, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her, leaving Javier as bewildered as he was the moment he opened the door.
Marcus Pike/named f!reader OFC, Tina Delacroix [Magic Mike AU]
Rating: E (Explicit)
Summary: The year is 2013. A lonely FBI agent gets assigned to an undercover mission, far out of his comfort zone: as an exotic dancer at a local nightclub. Marcus has a lot to learn before he can become “Magic Markie,” but he will have help from a few good men - Jack the bartender, dancers Frankie, Din and Dio, and owner Javier Peña. Visitors to the club include businessman Maxwell Lord, who’s developed an affinity for Dio, and of course, you — Tina Delacroix. Tina’s just gotten a divorce, and her best friend has decided to treat her to a spicy night of entertainment, but Tina gets a little more than she bargained for — and Markie discovers his not-so-hidden talent may have helped him find true love after all.
A/N: A birthday gift for my beloved @ezrasbirdie with lots of beta help from my darling @danniburgh! A Pedro boy buffet, with oodles of crack and theft from the likes of Magic Mike, Hung, Pretty Woman, and Coyote Ugly. A crack fic with a heart of gold, much like yours. Many happy returns, my love!
Summary: Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American. Except Javier Peña never met a damsel he didn’t want to rescue, a small penance for the woman he left behind at the altar all those years ago. He can provide occasional comfort, and if that means taking a bit for himself - well - that should be enough to get by.
Warnings: SMUT, PIV sex, oral (f receiving), creampie, Javi being tender but also not, it’s the early years this man is A Mess Emotionally
A/N: Javi in Season 1, man. It’s just a Whole Thing. Thanks as always to my beloved @ezrasbirdie for lookin’ this baby over. This is a stand-alone but could also be a prequel to something else still formulating in my brain.
She’s beautiful.
It’s the first thought that occurred to Javier Peña as the door to his apartment swung open, and he found himself face to face with a dark-haired woman, her soulful brown eyes shining with a plea for help.
He didn’t say it, though.
“Well, what have we here?” He asked, his glance flicking back and forth between the stranger and Murphy’s wife Connie, both women clad in blue scrubs from the comuna.
“I’ll explain later. I’ll be right back,” Connie said, waving the dark-haired woman inside. “Go,” she added, and then Connie turned on her heel, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her, leaving Javier as bewildered as he was the moment he opened the door.
Closing it, he turned to see the woman pacing anxiously in his kitchen.
He hadn’t even made coffee yet. Damn, but he was going to be late to the office.
“Uh, can I get you some coffee, miss-?”
“Elisa,” the woman replied, sighing and wrapping both arms around herself, as though she could force her body to hold still. Kinetic energy raced through her, nerves rattled, and she seemed to be on the verge of bursting.
A human hand grenade, Javi thought, shaking his head. But who was this woman? And why had Connie unceremoniously dropped her off at his door, as though he were running a daycare?
“Elisa,” Javi said, her name a low, delicate song on his lips, “why don’t you have a seat and tell me why you’re here? I promise, no harm will come to you.”
Elisa took a deep, steadying breath before sinking onto the sofa; seated, but not relaxed.
“Connie says I can trust you. She says you are a good man,” Elisa said, the question implied in the statement. A flicker of hesitation ran through her, but she took another breath and continued.
“I have information about Pablo Escobar and M-19. They are- they are working together. They’re planning something big. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s bad, and-” her words sped up, and Javi placed one large palm on top of her hands, twisted together on her lap.
“It’s all right. Take your time. Tell me everything you know, and I’ll make sure you’re protected.”
Elisa winced.
“How can you do that?”
Javi placed a hand on her shoulder, in what he meant to be a calming gesture, but the warmth of her through the scrubs made his heart race.
He shouldn’t like this part so much, but it never gets old.
“I’m a DEA agent, Elisa. The U.S. government has the power to make a lot of things happen. And one of them is making sure you stay safe, if you’re my confidential informant. That means your identity stays a secret.”
Elisa scoffed.
“They are really going to protect a communist?”
Javi pursed his lips.
“How communist are we talking? Like, are we seizing power for the people or just some light organizing?”
Elisa gave him a deadpan stare.
“My boyfriend - well, former boyfriend - is the leader of M-19.”
Javi sat back, blowing out a breath.
“Shit,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.
“Yeah,” Elisa said, watching him light it. “Shit is right. Can I have one of those?”
Javi pulled a second cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and handed it to Elisa, who took a long drag and leaned forward, her forehead cradled in one palm.
“Okay,” Javi said at last, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Actionable intel. If you help me give them specifics - names, meeting places, routines, things like that - we can make sure it gets to the right people. I won’t bring you down to the Embassy for now; I don’t want to take the chance someone on Escobar’s payroll gets wind that you’re helping us.”
Elisa nodded, tucking her leg underneath her body on the sofa. It made her look smaller, and Javi had the absurd urge to pull her into his lap and hold her.
What was wrong with him?
Javi’s instincts were right on the money; no sooner had Elisa arrived at his apartment, than absolute chaos broke out in Bogotá.
The attack on the Supreme Court, ostensibly a blow dealt by communists seeking to overthrow the current regime, had a deeper purpose - to seek out and destroy all the evidence gathered against Escobar for a trial.
Javi had to hand it to him; Pablo lived in a world without limits. If he didn’t want to face a trial, why not just eliminate the court altogether? The concept made his head spin, and yet it was almost poetic in its simplicity.
The end result, aside from a torched court system and several dead justices, was that Elisa was more important than ever. The evidence was gone.
All of it.
Which meant that she was the only person (alive, and willing) who could give evidence tying Escobar to M-19, and to the attack they had just carried out on his behalf.
To make sure she got that chance, however, Javi had to keep her safe. He had to keep her hidden away.
Which meant her whole world was suddenly the inside of his apartment, and the solitary bachelor pad wasn’t so solitary anymore.
Elisa didn’t have much stuff; Connie had dropped her off with essentially the clothes on her back, then returned later with a small bag of essentials - a change of clothes, toiletries, things like that. A tiny bottle of perfume - Connie’s gift to Elisa, he was sure - ended up on his bathroom counter, and his eyes settled on it every time he went in there.
Eventually, he gave in and uncapped it, sniffing the bottle.
Big mistake.
It smelled sinful.
Warm and sweet, a hint of florals and vanilla, with a light musk that Javi had already noticed anytime he stepped into a space where Elisa had stood a moment earlier. The scent was subtle, but unmistakable.
He was hard in seconds.
Javi put the bottle down and flattened his palms on the formica, sighing.
This was going to be more difficult than he thought.
Ayala was dead.
Gunned down in a hail of bullets, surrounded by his comrades, and that could only mean one thing: Escobar was cleaning up after himself.
Javi stared at the photo of Elisa, pinned to the center of the corkboard in the meeting room at the Embassy.
Blurry, sepia tone, with a cap on her head - she barely resembled the rumpled, sleepy woman he’d encountered in the hallway that morning.
Shit, he’d had to beat one off in the shower just to be able to walk straight - and that was after he’d spent the night wrapped around her softly curved body. She was lithe and strong, with just enough of a curve to her ass to make him think about her hours later, in the meeting room, a shadow of uncertainty washing over him.
She didn’t know about Alejandro’s death, and Javi was reluctant to tell her. She’d already made her choice; nothing was going to save her former boyfriend now. What good would it do to make her feel sad?
Instead, he could comfort her, protect her, like he’d been doing. He could get her out of this country, away from the narcos. He wanted that almost as much as he wanted to catch Escobar and stop him for good.
“You may have run from your country, but I’m not running from mine,” she’d said.
Javi had leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her lips that was far too tender for their fleeting affair. He brushed her cheek with his nose, then kissed her forehead; the gesture almost worshipful, a gift of praise for her bravery.
She was fierce, and bold, and she saw right through him. She wasn’t counting on him to save her, which made his desire to do so all the more urgent, burning in his chest like a lit stick of dynamite.
Javi bit his tongue throughout the briefing, as the CIA scoffed at the intel he’d gathered and charged on with its own ill-conceived plans. He wasn’t about to let Elisa’s name slip or reveal her whereabouts.
Murphy’s accusation made his stomach twist. Did Steve judge him for sleeping with Elisa? He didn’t really care much what the newbie from West Virginia thought about his sexual activities; it was the thought that something about the way he carried himself made it too obvious that bothered him. What if someone else caught on?
After poking at paperwork for a couple of hours, Javi made an excuse and clocked out for the day, anxious to check on Elisa. She needed round-the-clock protection, and he couldn’t do it from the office. He swiped an interesting looking novel from Noonan’s secretary’s desk on the way out, sliding it inside his tan jacket.
As he’d trained her, Elisa answered the door with a gun in her hand.
“Good girl,” Javi said as she closed it behind him, folding his arms. “Figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.” He handed her the book, and she barked out a laugh.
“Javi,” she said, grinning widely, “this is a romancenovel.”
Javi shrugged.
“I figured it must be pretty good, Noonan’s secretary has had her nose buried in it all day when she thinks no one’s looking. Don’t lose her spot, by the way. There’s a bookmark in it.”
Elisa chuckled, flipping to the marked page.
“Oh, my,” she said, mock-offense on her face, “Dirk is plowing Sophia already, his big, pulsing member making her writhe with pleasure,” she read aloud, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. “You thought this was about my speed?”
Javi smirked.
“It’s not that far off what happened last night,” he said, loosening his tie.
“You hoping for a repeat performance, Agent Peña?” Elisa asked, setting the book aside and unbuttoning her shirt.
Shit - not her shirt. His shirt. How had he not noticed? She’d tucked it in and rolled up the sleeves, but the fabric stretched around her body was unmistakably his white button down.
“Easier to protect you when you stay close,” he murmured, his fingers sinking into the hair just above the nape of her neck as he pulled her in, crushing their lips together.
“Did you come home just to fuck me?” Elisa asked, and Javi nearly growled.
Had he? He wasn’t sure anymore. He craved her, his nostrils filling up with her scent as she led him to the bedroom and let herself fall onto the mattress, crawling backwards up to the pillows. He followed her, peeling his clothes off as he went.
Both of them were naked by the time she reached the headboard, wrapping one hand around the cool metal of the frame, arching her back as Javi buried his nose in the soft patch of curls between her thighs. Lifting one leg up over his shoulder, he spread her wider, the slick folds between her legs glistening under his gaze. Elisa moaned, her fingers clutching at his hair as he lapped at her, the scent of the perfume detectable even at her hips - had she rubbed a little on them? - and his thick, strong fingers dimpled her thighs under his grip.
Elisa wasn’t very vocal in bed; she didn’t babble or praise his prowess. It was her grip that gave her away. The way she held his body, the way she let herself cling to him for the brief time their bodies were joined.
Javi couldn’t get enough. This fierce, fearless, independent woman letting go for a few precious moments with him made him feel like a god.
He knew he didn’t deserve her, that he wasn’t worthy of her love. But being trusted with her body, even for a little while, allowed him to pretend for a few minutes that the intimacy they shared was something more.
Sweat covered their bodies, a light sheen of it making them glow in the afternoon light filtering through the closed yellow curtains. Javi had made her cum twice, his jaw aching, before he climbed the rest of the way up her body and kissed her, a messy union of lips and tongues and wet, sticky skin. She crossed her ankles behind his slim hips, palms pressed to his broad shoulders as he eased up and in, sinking easily into her soft, pliant center - already pulsing with waves of pleasure.
Javi wasn’t good at comforting words; he couldn’t guarantee much, once they’d given her the papers to attempt an escape from Pablo’s men.
But he could fuck her like she was the last woman on earth, and he the last man, with the singular goal of repopulating the planet.
He was pretty sure she’d left the little circular pill pack on the bathroom counter as a message to him, so that last part wasn’t going to happen.
He could still pretend, though.
And Elisa - brave, strong Elisa - seemed to enjoy driving him to it.
“Fuck, Javi,” she’d purred in his ear when he was close. “Fucking fill me up. Cum in me,” she growled, and he snapped like a rubber band left in the sun, his restraint vanishing in an instant. His hips rocked and plunged and pounded against her, and Elisa’s moans urged him on until he shuddered, his release spilling out of him deep inside her, her back arching in delight as she felt him, heat blooming in her core.
The pair of them fell asleep, still joined, in the middle of the afternoon, the city sounds filtering in the windows along with humid, tropical air.
Elisa woke first, shifting until Javi was behind her, his chest rising and falling slowly.
She hadn’t planned on any of this.
The last thing she’d expected when Connie dropped her at Javi’s doorstep was that she’d end up in his bed, but the more she thought about it, the more inevitable it felt.
He clearly had some deep, unresolved issues; she could feel it in the way his playful touches turned serious, in the way he lavished tenderness on her - a stranger - vacillating between frenzied fucking and gentle lovemaking.
He was gifted, that much was clear, and Elisa had her fair share of men of all skill levels. She wasn’t about to miss out on the kind of sex she might never have again.
But she knew, deep down, it wasn’t really about her.
That’s why she had no illusions about sticking around to make a life with Javier Peña.
Not that he was offering anything of the sort.
Elisa packed up her things that very last night at Javi’s place, certain that she wouldn’t be missed; a man like Javi would move on, find comfort where he needed it.
And she was right — at least for a while.
Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs always appreciated!
Summary: Frankie’s work as co-owner of Wild Things involves making sure the books run smoothly. He’s content to have Max help with them, but only if they’re audited, just to be on the safe side. He’s hired the best in town - you - based on reputation alone. When he meets you to go over the final report, sparks fly - and Frankie decides to give you a little show off the books as a thank you for all your hard work. That escalates quickly.
Warnings: SMUT, PIV sex, oral and fingering (m and f receiving), facesitting, I’m in a lil bit of a trance so sry if I forgot anything
A/N: More from the Magic Markie ‘verse! Will still basically work as a standalone, if you like. This one goes out to my dear @wordsnwhiskeywho will hopefully enjoy a very special insert, with thanks as always to @ezrasbirdie for looking it over!
Frankie adjusts his tie in the elevator as it rises higher and higher, opening to the 30th floor of a gleaming office building downtown. He feels so out of place, so uncomfortable in the business attire.
He’s traded in a military uniform for a more casual look (and sometimes, nothing at all when he was on stage), and he can’t wait to get out of the suit when he gets home.
First things first: getting the report on the audit of Wild Things’ finances. After the debacle with Max and the club next door, Frankie isn’t about to take any chances. The club is his livelihood now, and he’s going to make sure everything runs smoothly, with not a dime out of place.
“Client’s here,” your secretary, Lisa, says through the intercom, her voice mildly irritated. “Same guy who’s been calling all week.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose wearily, opening a messy file. You’d been trying to get the club’s books organized, but a few months with Max Lord in charge of them before the audit had led to some confusing entries.
You’re pretty sure he’s overpaying this “Dio” character.
“Send him in,” you say with a sigh.
“Mr. Morales, I’ve been working hard on your case, I can assure you,” you say as he walks in, and stops in his tracks.
“Oh- hi,” he says, the hard set of his jaw softening as he sees you. “I- you’re the accountant?”
You purse your lips, an amused smirk crossing your face.
“Careful, Mr. Morales. You surprised that a woman is in charge here?”
Frankie licks his lips and shakes his head once.
“Not what surprised me,” he says, reaching out a broad hand over your desk. You shake it, rising from your chair.
“You don’t have to get up for me,” Frankie says, suddenly far less anxious to rush the appointment.
“I think it’s best I show you in detail what I’ve been doing,” you say, “since you’ve been so keen on calling for updates.”
Frankie’s cheeks and neck flush red, the sight sending a rush through you.
This man? The part owner of a very sexy nightclub is blushing around you? Over a little flirting?
You glance down at your top and bite your lip. It’s a poly blend, a little on the sheer side, and the office is chilly enough that your nipples are standing at attention. They likely have been since Frankie walked in. You look up and catch him staring. Then he reallyblushes.
“Have a seat,” you say, your voice a little husky. Frankie sits with a respectful “yes ma’am” and you walk around your desk, settling comfortably in the chair next to him. He listens to you, looking over the notes you’ve made on the account. He gives a little grunt of frustration when you show him where Max has been funneling a little extra money into Dio’s pocket, but you quickly show him Max has been making deposits to match. It’s not factored into the club’s overall profits, so it looks like Max is just eager to make sure Dio earns more money - or appears to be.
“He can’t use company accounts for this. He needs to talk to the kid - you said he’s young, right? - and make legal gifts to him if he wants to give him money.”
“Thanks,” Frankie says, running a hand through his curls. “Glad we’re sorting this out before tax season,” he adds with a wince.
You place a hand over his.
“Seems like this has been weighing on you,” you say. “It’ll be alright.”
“Can’t remember the last time someone said that to me. But you know what? I believe you,” Frankie says, a hint of a smile on his face. He tugs a little at his tie.
Your intercom chirps.
“Need anything before I head out?” Lisa asks. You grin. She’s not one to stay late unless absolutely necessary.
“All good. See you tomorrow,” you reply. You turn to look at Frankie. “Guess it’s quittin’ time,” you add with a chuckle. You stand and walk around your desk, opening a drawer and retrieving a bottle of whiskey.
“Care for a sip?” You offer, his eyes widening with interest as you set out two small glasses.
“I’d really like that, actually. Been a long day.” Frankie fiddles with the tie again.
“You don’t have to wear that on my account,” you say, pouring the glasses and handing one to him. Frankie smiles, releasing the knot and easing his tie out from his collar. Heat blooms through you at the sight, and you remember this man used to work for the club he now runs. Guess some things don’t change, you think, knocking back the glass.
Frankie swallows his own liquor and then sets the glass down, nodding when you offer a little more.
You pour, your eyes trained on him.
“Seems like all this has been weighing on you,” you say, setting the bottle down. You take a seat next to Frankie, crossing your legs. He nods, sighing.
“Things always ran smoothly with Javi in charge, I just didn’t wanna see the place start to have problems on my watch.”
You place a comforting hand on top of his.
“I can already tell this place means a lot to you. You’ll manage it right,” you say, smiling. Frankie’s shoulders seem to relax slightly.
“So,” he says, sipping his drink, “how did you come to be this brilliant and gorgeous businesswoman?”
You falter, and Frankie’s face falls.
“Shit, that sounded like a come-on – I meant no disrespect,” he says quickly, eyebrows furrowed together in concern.
A smile creeps over your face.
“Aw. Not even a little bit?” You ask, smirking properly at him. Frankie grins, relieved.
“Only if I knew it would be, uh. Welcome.”
You nod, biting your lip.
“It would. I might want to look at you disrespectfully, Mr. Morales,” you whisper. His lips part around a sigh of need and your eyes blaze with interest.
“I might want to give you something to look at,” he purrs, unbuttoning a couple of buttons on his shirt. “And please, call me Frankie.”
“Mm. Frankie?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Lock the door.”
He rises from his seat and does as you ask, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair. When he unbuttons his shirt, you notice his belly has a layer of softness on it and your fingers itch to touch him; to press your palms to warm flesh and feel his body.
“This show,” you breathe, eyes locking with his, “it’s…?”
“Off the books,” Frankie replies with a grin, reaching for his zipper.
“Oh— I was going to ask if it was interactive,” you say, and he grins.
“Sure thing, bonita. Come closer to me.”
You rise to your feet and step into his space and oh god that was a mistake because you can feel heat radiating off his body. You shiver at it, craving his warmth.
“Cold, baby?” He asks, taking your hand in his and guiding you to the chair. “I can warm you right up.”
You drop into the seat, eyes raking up Frankie’s body; taking in the open shirt, the light dusting of hair on his chest. His pants are unbuttoned, but still on - the zipper halfway down, looking as though he’s ready to strip them off, and oh- the thought of him naked right here in your office sends a thrill through your body, from the back of your neck down to your toes, curled tight inside your shoes as you watch him undulate just inches away.
“See, the secret to a good lap dance - when the woman is under you - is not to be too aggressive,” he purrs, a gentle thumb ghosting over your cheek. “She’s in control. She decides when we touch.” Frankie leans down, his face inches from your neck, and breathes deep.
“Damn, bonita, you smell divine,” he murmurs, and you squeeze your thighs together, eyes fixed on Frankie’s thick fingers, splayed across his own abdomen and chest.
You chase his fingers with your own, touching his bare skin and holy fuck he’s on fire.
“You weren’t kidding about warming me up,” you whisper, scooting closer and nuzzling his waist. You press your lips to his stomach, and he moans, a low, needy sound.
“Christ, woman,” he pants, and you’re close enough to feel the hot swell of him in his pants, hard and insistent against your collarbone, and you slip one hand up to cup his length.
He hisses in delight.
You whimper as you lean forward, letting Frankie’s broad, strong body support you. Your nipples, hard in your thin top, are pressing against his thighs, but you don’t care. He feels heavenly.
“Need you, Frankie,” you moan, and then you’re rucking your skirt up, and Frankie’s hauling you to your feet and kissing you, mouth crushing against yours, all pretense of a sexy little show abandoned in one heart-stopping instant.
“Tell me what you need,” Frankie pants, breaking away for a breath.
You lock your eyes with his, burning into his own midnight gaze, and shove your panties down, turning to lean over your desk.
“Fuck me, please, Frankie. I want you to fuck me,” you beg, arching up for him at just the right angle.
Then his hands - those big, broad palms - are cupping the globes of your ass and he’s pressing them apart and looking - god - staring at your most intimate place. He swipes a finger between your folds, feeling wetness there, but apparently not as much as he needs, because a moment later he spits into his hand, smearing the saliva between your legs and making you cry out at the sheer debauched shock of it.
He rubs his fingers between your legs again, satisfied that you’re soaked, and then you hear clothing rustle and the head of his cock is there and it’s pressing against those wet folds and you cry out in pleasure as he sinks in, deeper and deeper, until his hips crash into your ass.
He starts thrusting, then, and you moan with each one, whimpering desperately when he snakes a hand between your hips and the desk to reach in front of you, wet fingertips finding your clit in seconds, and then he’s working you over, and you’re grateful for the desk beneath you to hold you up because you feel like a ragdoll, pliant and molded to his body as he fucks you into oblivion.
He’s leaning over your back, kissing your neck, when he grunts a low, thready “where do you want it?” and you take a beat to understand his meaning.
Gently nudging him away, you turn and flop down into your chair, pulling his hips closer to your face and opening your mouth for him, tongue poking out in a lewd display of desire.
“Fuck, that’s my filthy girl. Where you fuckin’ been all my life, huh?” He asks, panting and sweating as he strips his cock, racing to his peak and finally spilling with a shout, ropes of his hot release landing on your tongue, dripping down your chin, and falling on your skirt.
Catching his breath, Frankie leans down to kiss you, not hesitating to plunge his tongue into your still-messy mouth, his own cum making his lips shine.
“God,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Wanna take you home, let you ride my face, bonita. “We need a nice comfy bed for that.”
You nod, your body still buzzing with unfulfilled need.
You’re not quite sure how you get there - Frankie clearly drove - but when you do, he lifts you into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom and peeling your clothes off with a tenderness you hadn’t expected.
Far from the frenzied sex in your office - Frankie’s manner is slow, tender, and methodical; he seems to be enjoying working you up, and the delay only serves to rile you more.
“I believe you promised me a seat,” you pout, and Frankie nearly growls with delight as he all but rips your panties down, the last article of clothing on either of your bodies, and nudges your thighs up until you’re straddling his face.
“Sit, bonita, go on. Let me eat that sweet pussy.”
You sink down, and then you feel his tongue swipe up and oh- fuck- he’s going inside and plunging his tongue right where you need it, and his nose is right at the top of your opening, the ridge of it rubbing over your puffy, swollen clit as you shift and bounce, grinding against his face.
You’re soaking him, wetness spreading all over his lips and chin and cheeks, the light rasp of his unshaven face scraping perfectly over the soft, hidden skin of your inner thighs and then he speeds up, fingers working your clit as he fucks you with his tongue and then you hit your peak, fingers clutching the headboard as you scream.
You’ve lifted off just slightly, and you feel Frankie taking big gulps of air, the breath rushing in and out between your legs, making you shiver. You dismount, wiggling down next to him and humming in sleepy delight.
“Time for a nap, bonita?” Frankie asks, and you nod drowsily, arm draped over his chest.
He kisses your forehead and the pair of you drift off, the books long forgotten.
