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pedrospookie · 4 days ago

Note

Hi pookie 🎀

I always think about what Jack Daniels would be like on a first date with reader after his wife’s death, maybe years have passed and he’s ready to start dating again. I could just imagine how sweet he would be when he flirts with you, trying his best to get you to like him 😭 fluffy fluff please 🩷

Hi friend!

Thank you so much for your patience while I wrote this fic— life got the best of me going into the holidays and I had some unexpected international travel on top of it all. I was determined like hell to get this finished for you today. I hope you like it!

Your Song

Jack Daniels x f!reader

a/n: not canon, jack will never be dead in my world, sorry not sorry! it’s also severely unbeta’d and completed while maxed out on mucinex so please forgive me for any plot holes or spelling mistakes. I also fear I went a lil rogue and made it a lil more sexy than sweet (I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry pls don’t hate me)

tw: mentions Jack’s dead wife & child, otherwise it’s just fluff!

As far as first dates go, this one was special. This was the first date Jack had been on since the passing of his wife and unborn son.

Sure, in his time as a Statesman he spent the night in the company of lovely women, wining and dining, gaining intel, passing the time. But Jack was a lover at heart. Beneath this rugged, suave, confident cowboy exterior was a soft, sensitive man who missed coming home to his wife at the end of a long day. His career exhausted him over time, proving to him that he could no longer run from this empty hole growing inside his chest. What was the point in fighting and risking his life if there was no one worth fighting for anymore?

After many years of service and one faked death later, Agent Whiskey hung up his hat and retired from the service. He was ready to start his life over.

And today was one of the many new firsts in this new chapter of his life. Today he was getting back on the horse and going on a date. You had caught his eye awhile back, both reaching for the last heirloom tomato at the farmer’s market. Through a small, yet friendly exchange, in which Jack let you have the last tomato, you realized that there was something there. The twinkle in his chocolate coloured eyes lit a flame in you. It took Jack a moment to accept his growing interest in you, praying that his angel in heaven would forgive him for moving on, let alone help him find the courage to ask you out. After 45 minutes of chatting in the produce section of the tiny wooden booth, and a short mosey to the cash, Jack finally found the courage to ask you on a proper date. The cool, confident cowboy was now replaced with a sweet, simple boy who wanted to get it right. You found his nervousness endearing, the way he fiddled with his moustache while trying to spit out the words to invite you out. How could you say no to those big brown puppy dog eyes? It was decided. The following Friday, Jack would swing by your place to pick you up for your first date: drinks at the local watering hole. If he was lucky, maybe you’d even let him have a dance by the ol’ jukebox.

At the respectable time of 7pm— sharp —Jack arrived with a gentle knock at your door. The anticipation was slowly knotting in his stomach, him frantically trying to untangle each worry and nerve until his attention turned with the sight of you standing in front of him. Jack could have caught flies with the way his mouth was hanging open, basking in your beauty. The silhouette of your dress flowing ever so gently among the evening breeze, causing his heart to race in his chest and pulse to quicken. The gentle flowers on the fabric trickled down just above where the hem of your skirt kissed your knee. Jack could feel his cheeks redden as he tried to look away, but simply couldn’t.

“Darlin’, you are gorgeous.” He breathes, clasping a firm hand to his chest as he tries to catch his breath, shooting you a look that makes butterflies soar in your tummy and knees buckle softly beneath you. His big brown eyes pooling into you, trying to take you in under the glow of the setting sun and dull porch light.

The hazy bar was filled with the regular crowd. The hum of people murmuring about their day filled the space, loud enough to drown out the music playing the background, but quiet enough to enjoy a conversation with the person in front of you. Jack had grabbed you both a drink, smirking as he asked you to pick your poison and shooting you a cheeky wink from the bar. After a couple of rounds, small talk and a shared bowl of peanuts, influenced by the liquor you’d consumed, you felt brave.

“How ‘bout a lil wager, cowboy?” You chirp, chewing softly on the straw of your drink, eyes focused on Jack’s as his fingers slowly twine themselves in yours, resting on the sticky wooden table top.

He smirks, his moustache following the coiling trail of his lips. Jack had never been one to back down from a bet, he wondered if it was too soon to show his competitive side, this was the first date after all.

You raise a single eyebrow, eagerly awaiting his reply. Jack tilts his head with a crooked smile, intrigued by your proposition and encouraging you to share what plagued your mind.

“If you can figure out how to take these coins off of this bill,” you muse, making the cotton bill taught, “only using only one hand, then the twenty is yours.” You smile, placing the twenty dollar bill on top of Jack’s empty beer bottle and stacking the spare change from the counter on top.

“And if I don’t?” He asks, seduction curling around his tone, like smoke off of a rich cigar. Jack’s dark eyes fall on you, his gazing piercing yours with a focus so intense that it sends a warmth through your belly.

You could feel your mouth go dry, suddenly very aware of your tongue and the words you are trying to choke out. Jack had taken your breath away with this sharp turn, from southern sweetheart to cowboy Casanova. In need of moisture, you clear your throat, averting your gaze from his to try and gain composure over yourself.

“Then the next round is on you.” You murmur, bringing your eyes up to meet Jack’s again, feeling yourself wanting to back away and draw first in this unspoken showdown.

“Hm…I think I could raise those stakes.” he smirks, leaning back on his bar stool. “If I don’t figure out your little party trick, then the next round is on me, darlin’.” Jack says confidently, bringing your free hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate skin. “But if I do, then you can keep your twenty.” He adds, shrugging as if it were a matter of fact.

“Keep my twenty? You don’t want twenty dollars?” You scoff, playfully pulling your hand away from his as you reach for another sip of your drink, using this opportunity to ground yourself during this intense kinetic exchange.

“Nah, you keep it sugar.” Jack’s sly smile creeps up his face as he leans in, resting his chin on his hand, supported by his elbow which was now glued on the sticky table.

“Come on there’s gotta be something you want, something to wager?” You instigate, trying to rev that fire growing in your belly, eyes narrowing as you try to intimidate the cowboy. Proving to him that you aren’t going to back away from him now.

He thinks for a second, pretending to come up with this idea on the spot, snapping his fingers to indicate his little eurika! moment. Little did you know, this is what Jack had wanted from the very moment you made this little bet.

“There is.” His dark, raspy tone murmurs, further coaxing your curiosity. Jack slowly leans closer, his scent swirling off of him; notes of amber, leather, musk and cinnamon, a delicious combination that makes your head feel light and knees weak.

“More valuable than twenty dollars? Cause that’s all I’ve got.” You whisper, the facade fading as you feel yourself slowly submitting to Jack and his dark gaze.

“Darlin’, it’s much more valuable.” He says softly, grazing your ear with his moustache. His calloused finger brushing a piece of fallen hair behind your ear.

“And what would that be?” You breathe, the words barely coming out louder than a whisper.

“A dance with you.” He nods towards the jukebox towards the back of the bar.

This was the one moment in a long time where Jack was thankful for his training. Without breaking eye contact, he playfully tugged on the dollar bill, pretending to pull it out from the side. For a moment, you thought you had Jack fooled— another man falling for your cute bar trick. The feeling of the last few rounds was already making its way up your body, a warm, cozy feeling wrapping itself around you. There was certainly no need for another round, and who were you kidding? Jack had already paid for every round until this point and you had a sneaking suspicion that regardless of outcome, he would insist on paying for another.

Faking a deep sigh, Jack licks his finger and swipes down on the dollar bill, freeing it from the mismatched metal weighing it down. With a smirk and the tip of his hat, he hands you back your twenty dollar bill, trying to repress a chuckle. The look on your face was priceless and all he needed in return for foiling your trick.

“Pick a song, darlin’.” He says, handing you a handful of quarters, leaning up against the fluorescent machine. You press the cool metal in as you try to think of the perfect song, nothing too cheesy or outdated, but just right.

The melodious sound of a piano playing a familiar tune starts to flow out of the jukebox. Jack’s eyes grow wide with pride as he starts to recognize the song. A flushed feeling floods your cheeks, as he reaches his large, calloused hand out, offering yours a spot in his palm.

It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside,

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

You slowly find your rhythm with Jack’s guidance, his firm yet gentle grip guiding you around the jukebox, building your confidence and chuckling softly anytime you would mutter a sheepish apology after stepping on his foot.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance.” You breathe out softly, finally making eye contact with him.

A soft chuckle leaves his lips as he leans in closer to you, your body pressing tighter into his chest. “Then there’s a lot you don’t know about me, darlin’.”

You could feel his smirk against your ear, eyes locking as he pulled away from your close embrace.

And you can tell everybody

This is your song

It may be quite simple but,

Now that it’s done

His gaze was magnetic, dark yet sweet, delicious like molasses with an affinity to coax you in. His thick, rugged hands held yours with a featherlight touch and the gentlest pressure on your lower back as he guided you around the floor. This moment was trance-like, as if you were the only two people in the bar. There was something enchanting about Jack Daniels, his ability to make you feel like the only girl in the world was dizzying. With the faintest touch, or twinkle of his eye, he had you hook, line and sinker.

It was refreshing to be out with a man like Jack — an actual man, one who wasn’t afraid of sharing his feelings with you, a man who was respectful and appreciative of you, a man who found the balance of southern chivalry and the ability to roll with the new age. With every twang of his southern drawl, your heart crept closer and closer to his. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him and those deep brown eyes, the ones that were gazing at you longingly, studying the precious features of your face.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack was drinking you in.

You had kindled something in him, something long repressed from his past and aching to explode to the forefront. The way you smiled at him made him tongue tied, he knew you were beautiful from the moment he met you, but getting to experience your beauty up close was astonishing. He tried to stifle the growing flames in his belly, employing his fear to extinguish these feelings but it only stoked the fire more, sending those flames burning. God, he wanted to kiss you so badly. He had from the moment you opened that door.

You notice a cheeky look across the cowboy’s eyes, his guiding hand slowly pushing you back from your resting place on his chest. Suddenly, the entire bar was spinning around you, once, then twice, and then you were back home in your place on Jack’s firm chest. His eyes asking for forgiveness in a childish, playful way.

I hope you don’t mind

That I put into words

How wonderful life is while

You’re in the world

Completely enraptured by one another until the sound of a wild guitar solo brought you back down to earth, the song you shared long gone and replaced by the sounds of an 80’s hair band.

A smooth Casanova through and through, Jack slowly presses his hand to your back and he slowly lowers you into a dip, your arm gripping tighter onto the back of his neck, using his taught chest as an anchor. Jack’s lips are now inches from yours, his moustache ghosting over your bottom lip, as if he were testing the waters faintly before bringing you back up to your feet.

You couldn’t decipher the soft look in his eyes, the warm brown tone being taken over by the dark pools of his irises as his thumb traces the contour of your full lips. His hot breath skimming the surface of your face, his mouth desperate and hungry for something.

A slow smile grows on your face, grateful for the liquid courage, slowly pulling his face closer to yours, lips inches from yours.

“You know, Jack…this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.” You whisper softly, granting the old fashioned man permission, subconsciously knowing what his eyes had been asking. Within milliseconds, his plush lips crashed onto yours, wrapping you into a passionate embrace. The taste of mint, whiskey and something inherently Jack on his lips. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Jack slowly breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead gently to yours as he catches his breath. His stomach filled with butterflies, dragonflies and ladybugs, anything lovely and sweet that reminds him of you, going absolutely wild from the simple touch of your lips. You were magic, like a drug Jack had so deeply yearned for all of these years, and he couldn’t get enough of you. He said a silent prayer of gratitude, in complete and utter disbelief to have this second chance at love in this life. He wasn’t going to take you for granted.

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pedrospookie · 5 days ago

Text

“a crime scene” — a javi peña drabble

pairing: javier peña x f!reader summary: you get your period a day earlier than expected. javi is not known to miss an opportunity like that, so he takes it and you. a/n: well, well, well... if it ain't me with the period sex again!!! 🤓 this is a drabble that the wonderful @iknowisoundcrazy requested as part of my fundraiser event after making a wonderful donation, so if you enjoy this filth, thank meghan!!!! 😏 this one is for you bby, hope you like it! <3 comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! x tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. filthy smut alert. period sex and descriptions of heavy period blood. doggy style on the couch bc duh, it's javi. boob massaging for pain relief. oral (m receiving) & a big of gagging. 2 accounts of ass smacks. fingering. javi might or might not steal a taste of your bleeding pussy (he can't control it, it's instinct). javi fucks you hard and raw, sorry. unprotected piv. creampie. some aftercare. reader is mexican & afab. translated spanish dialogue mixed with english. w/c: ~3.5k.

Writhing in pain was definitely not in your plans this fine morning, an unwelcome announcement that your period was due soon.

You had barely been able to drag yourself out of bed—one that wasn’t yours—and throw yourself into the shower. The cramps almost had you bending over while the water splattered on your back, an agonizing scream stuck at the back of your throat.

You went about your routine as quickly as you could, but when you directed the showerhead to your belly, you groaned in relief. The hot water was a blessing, reducing the inner swelling of your womb, your tense muscles slacking.

Your eyes shut as you relaxed.

A knock on the door disrupted your peace.

“¿Todo está bien? (Is everything okay?)” Javi’s sleepy voice filtered through the cracked door.

You panicked, having lost track of time. How much water had you used? How long had you been in there just pondering why women would have to suffer through this?

You slammed the tap shut, one hand slithering through the curtain to find the bathrobe conveniently perched on a hook nearby.

“¡Sí! Ya no me demoro más, me tardo un segundo (Yes! I won’t be long, I’ll be just a second)” You raised your voice enough for him to hear while wrapping yourself with the robe and hopping off the shower.

“No hay bronca. No te apures, mi vida (Don’t worry. Don’t rush, my life).”

Even if his tone was relaxed, you didn’t want to be a bad guest, so you toweled down as fast as possible. As you were drying off, you noticed a red stain on the bathrobe. For a second you looked at it slightly confused—then it hit you.

“Ay, no mames, ¡pinche regla! (Oh, no way, fucking period!),” you uttered breathlessly, frustrated and slightly angry with yourself.

Your period had skipped the whole day when you were just miserable and in pain, and had decided to make an appearance a day earlier at the most inconvenient time and place: at Javi’s apartment, after spending your first night together. And what was worst: the first day was the heaviest too.

You hadn’t expected to wake up next to Javi today, it wasn’t in your plans at all. In fact, you thought you both would take things slow after your mutual love confessions yesterday. There were many things you needed to talk about before jumping headfirst into a relationship after years of being estranged.

And yet, here you were—freshly fucked and blatantly unprepared.

You were mortified, that bloodstain was going to be tough to get rid of. In a frenzy, you put your clothes back on and scavenged through your bag. You only had a pantyliner since you hadn’t planned for this. Cursing to the point where all your ancestors would be horrified with your language, you stuck it to your underwear and prayed it would be enough until you got home.

Gathering all your belongings, you put it all back in your bag and then stared at the white bathrobe. You couldn’t leave it behind; Javi would be mortified—you would be mortified if he found it. Deep down you knew there was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of—this was natural, part of being a woman. But it wasn’t something you wanted to discuss with Javi right after you just found each other again.

So you did what you thought was the best option: stuff it in your bag and then sprinted outside of the bathroom. Your bag was so full, the zipper didn’t fully close, but you didn’t have time to fight with it.

“Ya me voy. Recién me acordé de que tengo que… uh, me olvidé de rellenar unos formularios súper importantes en el trabajo (I’m leaving. I just remembered that… uh, I forgot to fill in some very important forms at work),” you offered up the first excuse that came to mind, all the while trotting towards the door as if the devil and not Javi was right behind you.

“¿Trabajo? Es domingo, mi vida. Hoy no trabajamos (Work? It’s Sunday, my life. We don’t work today),” you could hear Javi’s confusion with your sudden need to just disappear before you got discovered.

You stopped, fingers curling around the knob, as your brain worked fast to think of something else, something more believable. But at that precise moment, the zipper gave way, and the bathrobe fell to the floor right behind you—to your fucking dismay.

“¿Por qué te llevas mi bata de baño? ¿Te metiste a delincuente? (Why are you taking my bathrobe? Are you a criminal now?)” He laughed softly behind you.

When you turned around to face him, shocked and embarrassed, all joke vanished from his tired features. The sleepiness clouding his big brown eyes slowly lifted, giving way to even more confusion.

“Ay, no,” you muttered to yourself, running a hand down your face as you struggled for words.

“¿Qué pasó? No entiendo qué… (What happened? I don’t understand what…),” Javi drifted off, rubbing one of his eyes, the bathrobe still clutched on his hand as he turned it around to inspect it and found the cause for your prompt departure. “Ah.”

His brows slightly furrowed before he glanced at you again. His expression softened, the wrinkles around his eyes smoothing out and a lopsided grin adorning his lips.

Well, there was no point in denying anything now.

“It was an accident. Se me adelantó… (It came earlier…)” you almost stuttered out of embarrassment in both languages, dropping the bag to the floor.

“¿Fue porque te cogí demasiado duro anoche? (Was it because I fucked you too hard last night?)” the cheeky bastard replied, too proud of himself, waving the blood-stained bathrobe in front of you.

“JAVI,” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air, but unable to contain the giggle that bubbled up your throat. “Qué vulgar (how crude), for God’s sake.”

“Ven, tengo todo lo que necesitas (Come, I have everything you need),” the motherfucker winked at you before reaching for your hand and pulling you into his naked chest.

Javi wasn’t joking: he was well prepared. Why he was so well prepared though, you didn’t dare ask. You’d seen firsthand how close he was with some of his female informants, and you’d heard enough rumors about him and his… unethical methods, as Steve would label them.

The fact that he seemed to have some sort of womanizer fame didn’t bother you though. You didn’t even know what this was yet, and were in no rush to find out either. Yes, you had told him you loved him, and he seemed to reciprocate, but you were not naive—sometimes love wasn’t enough to make things work, especially after being so many years apart.

In any case, here you were, laying on top of him with your back on his chest in his dimmed living room. A hot water bottle on your belly, a proper pad, a hefty blanket over you both, some ibuprofen and chocolate were remedy enough for your cramps to die down.

Javi had his right arm draped around your shoulders, the tip of his fingers gently stroking your collarbone as you both watched the soap opera playing on the crackling TV. His soft caress was working magic on you; one he probably wasn’t aware of. Any touch was enough to ignite all your nerve endings when you were on your period, and your nipples inevitably pebbled—a sharp, sudden pain radiating from your chest.

You squirmed a little, trying to find a better position, and Javi noticed straight away when you pulled the edge of the blanket all the way up to your neck.

“¿Están sensibles? (Are they sensitive?)” he cooed in your ear, instant goosebumps bristling your skin.

You didn’t have a chance to reply, because his broad hand had traveled down from your collarbone and cupped one of your breasts over your pajamas. The heavy sigh you let out, sinking further into his chest, shouldn’t have been such an obvious sign of relief.

Your eyes fluttered close as Javi carefully kneaded your swollen boob—one first, then the other, working them expertly. He avoided your perked up nipples when you hissed at him for trying; they were too painful to play with right now. Javi kept on massaging you for a while until his hand skidded down your frame and under your pajama shorts and underwear.

Your orbs snapped open at once, looking at him sideways, as he raked his fingers through the curls on your mound—teasingly, provocative, asking for permission.

“Javi… It’s not pretty down there,” you reminded him, in case he had forgotten.

“¿Que no? Estás más bonita incluso (You’re even prettier),” and that, right there, was your undoing.

If he didn’t mind, you were sure as hell you didn’t either.

Your lack of reply was everything Javi needed. Eagerly, his fingers traced invisible circles on your slit, eyes focused on the TV, his warm mouth pressed on your temple. And then he dove in—unannounced, unceremoniously even.

With his index and middle fingers, Javi pried your pussy lips open, your clit caught between the two. He squeezed it slightly—just enough to have you trembling—and then he skidded down your wetness with ease. A second later, he went back up, rubbing your pulsing clit between his fingers, massaging it slowly but with the right amount of pressure.

A moan escaped your lips, eyes shut close to feel everything he was doing. The pace quickly picked up, pinching your clit while his fingers traveled down—the tips stalking your gushing opening every time, but not going in.

You whimpered again, a tight coil forming low in your belly.

“Oh, I know, querida (darling)… Ya sé, tranquila (I know, relax),” he whispered in your ear, the hairs on your neck standing up.

Your little grunts were driving him mad. How you softened under his touch, how you squealed in need when he taunted your entrance again. Javi could feel the stickiness of your period clinging to his fingers, mixed with your own arousal, and that was a calling he couldn’t ignore for much longer.

But he persevered, especially when your fingers curled around his wrist, guiding him to pleasure you. And he did as you silently asked—stroking your clit, squeezing it before he pressed tight, measured circles on it. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably now; he could see the tremors underneath the blanket.

So he insisted, his motions faster as your back arched off his chest, the back of your head resting on his shoulder and your mouth shaping a perfect ‘O’ as you came undone with a strangled wail. Your pussy flooded under his touch, warmer and tackier.

As your breathing stabilized and your precious features softened, he couldn’t help himself but watch you as your soul returned to your body. Seeing your expression completely transformed by pleasure was enough to get him hard. Having you come on his fingers was his definition of purgatory—caught between the heaven of your bliss and the hell of his own lust.

His cock was pulsing now, trapped in those tight jeans with no underwear. With his free hand under the blanket, he pulled down the zipper and freed his drumming erection. With a tight grip, Javi stroked himself a few times, balls heavy with a load he was reserving just for you.

You laughed a bit, relieved, with his fingers still cozy between your labia. He could feel the vibration of your laughter right on his fingertips, just adding fuel to his fire. When your sparkly eyes opened again, you looked down at his lap and bit your bottom lip—then back at him.

You didn’t ask. He didn’t answer. On your own volition, you pulled down the blanket to see him jerking off. The way your tongue peeked out to lick your lips before you leaned forward made his dick twitch on his hand.

Then he was gone—you kissed the swollen tip with reverence, kitten-licked before your devilish tongue swirled around it as if it was the tastiest treat. You poked at the slit with the tip of your muscle, then sealed your lips around his cockhead and sucked.

You both moaned in unison, his head dropping back while his jaw almost locked in place. Your change of position to have better access to his beating cock—curled sideways on the couch—forced him to take his hand out of your panties, but not for long.

When you lapped at his underside, tracing the feeding vein, Javi’s hand smacked your ass before he slipped it under your pajamas again, this time from the back. He squeezed your ass cheek before his palm slid down your round globe and found his own personal fountain of youth.

When your head began bobbing up and down on his lap, your mouth busy working him hard, he sank his middle and ring fingers in your bloodied hole. And when he did, you moaned like a bitch in heat around his girth, swallowing him even deeper. His cock running down your tongue, kissing your uvula, and his fingers buried down to the knuckles in your clenching pussy.

“Reina… Mamas bien rico (Queen… You suck so good). Fuck,” he choked out, his balls tightening as you nipped at his almost-purple glans before you took him deep, pressing your lips around him. “Morrita traviesa (naughty girl).”

Javi couldn’t see your face, but knew you were smiling at his praise. You both soon caught a good rhythm—when you gagged on him, he pumped his fingers in your drenched fold as far in as he could go. Rinse and repeat, until his cock was drumming in your mouth and your inner walls were clutching around his fingers.

So he fingered you harder and harsher, feeling your pussy contracting and fluttering around his fingers like a siren’s call. Your wails were louder now, spilling around his cock along with the drool that was coating his ballsacks.

And there it was again—another climax hitting you, your pussy greedily gobbling his fingers and squeezing them until he almost lost sensation. Trying to let out your pleasure in the form a scream, you choked on his swollen, crying cock—which was almost enough to have him come right there and then, but managed to keep it together just in the nick of time.

The sweet prison of your mouth released his throbbing dick before he completely lost it, and you pressed a gentle peck on his reddened mushroom head before you looked up at him with a sly grin curling the corners of your mouth—a bridge of precum and your saliva connecting his most sensitive skin to your lips.

“Eres mi perdición, mi vida (You’re my downfall, my life),” Javi sighed heavily, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock as the other one popped out of your panties, wet with blood and your slick. “Ponte en cuatro, te voy a romper (On your fours, I’m gonna break you).”

The honeyed promise in such husky tone almost sent you over the edge again—a torrent of slick and menstrual blood soaking your pad. You’d abandoned all decency the moment his fingers flicked your throbbing clit, and you were not about to find it now.

Swimming in ecstasy, you did as told, getting on your fours on the couch while Javi knelt behind you. His fingers curled around the hem of your pajamas and underwear, and, without notice, he pulled them down to your knees.

Javi growled out loud, his own groan reverberating through your chest with a fresh wave of excitement. Although you couldn’t see, you could bet the picture in front of him was raw—your ass up in the air, cunt smeared in red. Just the thought of it made you wild with lust. The initial shame you had felt when you got out of the bathroom was now well behind you, in a past that seemed to be eons away.

Javi didn’t say a word, and you buried your face in the cushions when you sensed him bending down behind you, grabbing handfuls of your ass cheeks and coaxing them apart.

“Estás preciosa (You’re beautiful),” he grunted before his lips met yours.

Whimpering and biting the pillow, eyes watering, you felt him lapping at your entire slit in one smooth motion, stealing a taste of your most primal womanhood, then pressing gentle kisses on your dripping pussy.

“Deliciosa (delicious),” he ruled, voice like gravel. “¿Lista? (Ready?)”

You moaned in agreement—you couldn’t be any readier to have him fuck you stupid.

Javi swiped his flushed cockhead along your sodden slit a few times, tapping your swollen clit. Then stabbed you in one go, sheathing himself in your warmth down to the hilt.

“¡Dios, Javi! (God, Javi!)” you mewled, involuntarily clenching around him, trapping him inside.

Your partner didn’t waste a second—hands holding your hips, he slammed into you so hard your face buried in the cushion even more, almost smothering you. His thrusts were sharp and deep, unrelenting and punishing. He was going so fast, almost pulling out every time, you saw stars behind your eyelids.

He swelled inside you, filling you up in a way you’d never felt before. He was in every nook and cranny, his tip kissing your cervix with every pump, his fingers squeezing the sides of your waist to keep you in place for him. Your pussy was literally crying for him, for his mercy, for his cum. A tightness blooming low in your belly, radiating through your body, making you sweat.

When your pussy started fluttering around him, signing for him, Javi stifled a half laugh, half moan before slapping your ass cheek.

“Taking me so well, you were made for me,” he husked out, leaning forward enough to kiss the nape of your neck before straightening his back again, strength renewed to fuck you hard and good. “Ojalá pudieras verte ahorita (Wish you could see yourself right now), fuck.”

Curiosity got to you. Looked over your shoulder, body rocking back and forth with his jackhammering brawn, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on—his cock red with your period, the squelching loud and enticing, and you could feel the blood running down your inner thighs.

With your mouth agape and a fucked-out expression clouding your glassy eyes, you then glanced up at him, towering behind you with a fierce expression, teeth bared and gritting. Just to discover his lips and moustache were stained red from kissing you so intimately, his fingers leaving bloody fingerprints on your hips.

That was the last straw—the visuals too much. Biting down on your upper arm, you pushed back every time he impaled you. Matched his pace until both of you were out of breath and moaning aloud, completely uninhibited.

And then the coil finally snapped again. Your nervous system went haywire as a shattering climax coursed through your insides like a tsunami, your toes curling and your fingers almost dislocating while you grabbed the pillow as if it was your lifeline. Your cunt clenched arrhythmically around him, his cue to join you in nirvana.

Javi’s hips snapped unforgivingly against your ass, the clapping of skin-on-skin deafening. A second later, you felt the first spurts flooding your pussy—white rope after white rope filling you up to the brim, claiming you as his in the most primitive way. He sighed heavily as the pace died down, but you still squeezed him hard until he softened inside you.

Javi was the first to let out a breathless laugh, pulling out of you. You’d frozen in place, your muscles unable to react yet.

“Me tienes medio loco (You make me crazy),” he confessed, tone low and husky.

Before you could reply, he grabbed the blanket that had been discarded to the side and began wiping you clean delicately—your inner thighs, your hips, your pussy. The bastard took his time and you enjoyed every second of it.

“¿Crees que la manta es suficiente? (Do you think the blanket is enough?)” you mocked him, sitting up on your heels once your body decided to cooperate again, then turning around to face him.

“No,” he chuckled, hugging your waist to press a kiss to your forehead. “Esto es una escena del crimen (This is a crime scene).”

You cackled—he was right. And you were still bleeding.

“You should investigate what’s happened here, agent,” you winked at him, then broke the hug and stood up, making your way to the bathroom, your hips swaying in invitation.

“Oh, I intend to find out… and make it happen all over again,” was a promise he kept.

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