The Last Night in Lisbon

You struggle to focus, your breath coming in short pants. “I… I want to feel you. Inside me. Filling me. Stretching me.” The words are crude, vulnerable, but Mateo’s eyes darken with want. “I want it to hurt, but only a little. Enough to know it’s real. Enough to remember.”

“Oh, you’ll remember,” he promises, his grip tightening just enough to make you moan. “I’ll make sure of that.” His free hand cups your face, tilting your gaze to his. “But first, we take care of you. Get you ready. Open you up, body and mind.”

He releases you suddenly, standing and holding out his hand. “Come on. Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.” You let him pull you to your feet, your legs unsteady beneath you. As you follow him toward the bedroom, you pause, toeing off your shoes—a silent ritual, a shedding of the outside world. Mateo watches you, a small smile playing on his lips, and does the same, leaving his sneakers by the sofa.

The bedroom is cool and dark, the only light filtering in from the hallway. Mateo doesn’t turn on the lamp, navigating by memory or instinct. He leads you to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you to stand between his knees.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his hands resting on your hips. “No shame, no regrets. Just say the word.”

You look down at him, at the man who’s become your temporary home, your unexpected adventure. The fear is still there, a low thrum beneath your skin, but it’s drowned out by the deafening beat of your desire.

“No,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel. “No backing out. I want this. I want you.”

His smile is a slow unfurling, bright and devastating in the dim room. “Then let’s begin, meu amor. Let’s make some memories.”

The bedroom air cools your skin as Mateo’s hands slide under your t-shirt, pushing it up and over your head. The fabric falls forgotten to the floor, and you shiver—not from cold, but from the intensity of his gaze. His palms skim down your chest, thumbs brushing your nipples, and you gasp at the spark of sensation.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his touch feather-light. “We’re in no rush. Tonight is all about savoring.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your sternum, then another just below your ribcage. His lips trail lower, tracing the lines of your abs, and your breath hitches as he nuzzles the trail of hair leading into your shorts. Your cock strains against the zipper, aching for attention, but Mateo bypasses it, his fingers hooking into your waistband instead.

“Lift,” he orders softly, and you obey, your legs trembling as he eases your shorts and boxers down your thighs. The fabric pools at your feet, and you step out of it, leaving you naked and vulnerable before him. His eyes roam over you, hot and hungry, and you fight the urge to cover yourself.

“Fucking beautiful,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer. “Look at you. All smooth skin and lean muscle. A fucking work of art.”

His words wash over you, warming you from the inside out. You’ve never been looked at like this—like you’re something precious, something to be worshipped. He leans in again, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just above your groin, and you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Mateo, please…” The plea escapes before you can stop it, raw and desperate.

“Please what, amor?” he asks, his breath ghosting over your aching cock. “Tell me what you need.”

“I… I need you to touch me. Really touch me.”

His chuckle is low and wicked. “Oh, I intend to. Every inch of you.” His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing gently, and you jerk forward, your cock bobbing against his cheek. “But first, we need to get you ready.”

He releases you long enough to reach for the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. The sight sends a fresh wave of nerves through you, but Mateo’s hands are steady as he flips the cap and squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers.

“Turn around,” he says, his voice rough with want. “Hands on the bed.”

You obey, your heart hammering against your ribs as you bend forward, palms flat on the duvet. The position leaves you exposed, open, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment warring with desire.

“Relax, Luca,” Mateo murmurs, his hands smoothing over the globes of your ass, kneading the tense muscles. “You’re safe with me. Always.” His thumb traces the cleft of your cheeks, and you shudder, your cock twitching against the edge of the mattress.

His touch disappears for a moment, and you hear the squelch of lube being worked over his fingers. Then his hand is back, slick and cool, his middle finger circling your entrance with aching precision. You tense instinctively, your body clenching against the foreign sensation.

“Breathe,” Mateo reminds you, his other hand stroking your lower back. “Deep and slow. Let me in.”

You force air into your lungs, your eyes still squeezed shut. The pressure against your hole increases, insistent but gentle, and you focus on the feel of his hand on your skin, the sound of his breathing, the scent of his cologne mixed with your arousal. Little by little, your muscles relax, and with a soft pop, his finger slips inside you.

The intrusion is strange, uncomfortable, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. Mateo stills instantly, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“Yellow?” he asks, his voice calm and steady.

You shake your head, your breath coming in short pants. “No… no, green. Just… new.”

He hums, a low, approving sound, and slowly crooks his finger, searching. When he finds your prostate, you see stars, your spine arching as a guttural moan tears from your throat.

“Holy fuck,” you gasp, your knees buckling. Mateo’s arm wraps around your waist, holding you up, his finger still massaging that magic spot inside you. Pleasure zings through you, hot and electric, and you rock back against his hand, seeking more.

“That’s it, amor,” he purrs, his lips brushing your spine. “Let it feel good. Let yourself go.” He works you open with patient care, adding a second finger, then a third, stretching you slowly, thoroughly. Each scissor and twist sends sparks skittering across your nerves, the initial discomfort melting into a deep, throbbing need.

“Please, Mateo,” you beg, your voice ragged, your hips grinding back shamelessly against his hand. “I’m ready. I need you inside me.”

He withdraws his fingers slowly, leaving you empty and aching, and you hear the crinkle of the condom wrapper, the slick sound of lube being applied. Then his hands are on your hips again, his cockhead notching against your entrance, hot and impossibly hard.

“Last chance,” he grits out, his voice strained with restraint. “Say the word, and we stop.”

“Green,” you moan, pushing back against him, seeking more of that delicious pressure. “Fucking green, Mateo. Please, just… just fuck me.”

His laugh is more of a growl, low and feral, and then he’s pushing forward, breaching your hole with a slow, relentless thrust. The stretch is intense, almost too much, and you grit your teeth, your fingers digging into the duvet. But Mateo pauses, his hands stroking your back, your flanks, giving you time to adjust.

“Breathe through it,” he murmurs, his voice tight with control. “You’re doing so good, Luca. So fucking good.” He pulls back slightly, then pushes in again, a little deeper this time, and you gasp at the burn, the fullness, the sheer overwhelming sensation of being taken.

“Talk to me,” he demands, his hips stilling again, his cock throbbing inside you. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Full,” you choke out, your head spinning. “So fucking full. Like you’re everywhere.” You take a shuddering breath, your body slowly relaxing around him. “It’s… intense. But good. Really fucking good.”

He hums his approval, his hands gripping your hips tighter. “You feel fucking incredible, Luca. Tight and hot and perfect.” He pulls back again, then thrusts forward, deeper this time, and you cry out as he nails your prostate, pleasure exploding behind your eyes.

“Again,” you demand, rocking back to meet him. “Fuck, Mateo, again.”

He obliges, setting a slow, rolling rhythm that hits your sweet spot with every stroke. The burn fades, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that builds with every thrust. Your cock leaks against the duvet, your balls drawing up tight, and you reach down, fisting yourself in time with his movements.

“Harder,” you gasp, your hips bucking wildly. “Fuck me harder, Mateo. I won’t break.”

His control snaps, and he slams into you, his hips pistoning with a force that borders on brutal. The room fills with the sound of flesh on flesh, your moans mingling with his grunts, the bed creaking beneath you. He feels huge inside you, splitting you open, filling you up, and you revel in it, in the sheer animal pleasure of being taken, claimed, owned.