The Last Night in Lisbon

“Fuck, Luca,” he growls, his hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “You take me so well. Like you were made for my cock.” He punctuates his words with a particularly deep thrust, and you see stars, your rhythm faltering as your orgasm builds at the base of your spine.

“Close,” you choke out, your hand flying over your cock, your thumb smearing precome over the head. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Come for me,” Mateo snarls, his pace becoming erratic, his cock swelling inside you. “Come all over the sheets, Luca. I want to feel you clenching around me, milking me dry.”

His words send you over the edge, and you cry out, your body seizing as your release crashes through you. Your cock pulses in your hand, striping the duvet with thick ropes of come, your hole clamping down on Mateo’s cock like a vise. He follows you over with a guttural roar, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you, his cock twitching with every spurt.

You collapse forward, your chest heaving, your legs trembling, and Mateo follows you down, his weight warm and solid against your back. His lips find the nape of your neck, pressing a tender kiss to the sweat-damp skin.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You were fucking perfect, Luca.”

You hum, too boneless to form words, a goofy smile stretching across your face. The world narrows to the feel of him inside you, around you, the scent of sex and sweat and him, the sound of your ragged breathing syncing up. For this moment, at least, you are exactly where you’re meant to be.

You lie there for long moments, your breathing slowly steadying, Mateo’s weight a comforting pressure against your spine. But the night is far from over, and soon you feel him stirring, his softening cock slipping from your hole with a wet squelch. You whine at the loss, your body already craving him again, but he shushes you with a kiss to your shoulder.

“Easy, amor,” he murmurs, his hands gentle as he helps you turn onto your back. “We’re just getting started.” He rises from the bed, padding naked to the en suite bathroom, and you watch him go, admiring the play of moonlight on his skin, the powerful lines of his body. He returns with a warm, damp cloth, cleaning you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from moans and cries.

He smiles, tossing the cloth aside and crawling back into bed, his body aligning with yours. “For what? Taking care of you? That’s my pleasure.” He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tastes like satisfaction and promise. “But I’m not done with you yet,” he says when he pulls back, his eyes dark with intent. “Not even close.”

He rolls you onto your side, your back to his chest, his cock already hardening against the curve of your ass. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close, while his other hand skims down your chest, your stomach, your thigh, leaving trails of fire in its wake. His lips find the sensitive skin behind your ear, sucking and nibbling, and you melt into him, your body pliant and eager.

“Again?” you ask, though it’s not really a question. You can already feel yourself quickening, your cock twitching against your belly, your hole clenching with renewed need.

“Again,” he confirms, his voice a low rumble against your neck. He reaches for the lube, slicking his cock with quick, efficient strokes. “I want to take you like this,” he murmurs, his cockhead slipping between your cheeks, notching against your entrance. “Slow and deep, so I can feel every inch of you.”

He pushes forward, and you gasp at the stretch, the burn, the exquisite fullness. Even after your first time, it’s intense, overwhelming, and you can’t help the moan that spills from your lips. Mateo’s hand finds yours, twining your fingers together, his other arm tightening around your waist.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he breathes, his hips rolling in a slow, languid rhythm. “Just feel it. Feel me.” He thrusts deep, his cock rubbing against your prostate, and you see stars, your breath catching in your throat.

“Fuck,” you groan, your free hand fisting in the sheets, your body arching into his. “How do you always know…?”

“Because I pay attention,” he says, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. “Because I listen to your body, your breath, your heart.” He punctuates his words with another deep thrust, and you cry out, your head tipping back against his shoulder. “Because you’re mine, Luca. At least for tonight.”

His words ignite something primal inside you, and you push back against him, meeting his thrusts with a hunger that surprises even you. The pace builds, faster, harder, your moans mingling with his grunts, the bed creaking beneath you. He feels huge inside you, a hot, throbbing presence that fills you up, stretches you open, remakes you from the inside out.

“Fuck, Luca,” he growls, his hand slipping from yours to wrap around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so hot, so…” His words dissolve into a groan as you clench around him, your body responding to his touch, his voice, his very presence.

The world narrows to the slide of his cock inside you, the tight, wet heat of your hole, the rough stroke of his hand on your cock, the harsh symphony of your shared breaths. Pleasure builds at the base of your spine, hot and heavy, a tidal wave waiting to break. You’re close, so close, your balls drawing up tight, your cock swelling in Mateo’s grip.

“Come for me,” he snarls, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, the sharp sting sending you soaring. “Come all over my cock, Luca. Let me feel you lose control.”

His words are the spark to your tinder, and you shatter, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami. You scream his name as your cock pulses in his hand, striping your chest and the sheets with thick ropes of come, your hole clamping down on his cock like a vise. He follows you over with a guttural roar, his hips snapping forward as he empties himself inside you, his cock twitching with every spurt, filling you up until you can feel it leaking out around him.

You collapse back against him, your chest heaving, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your release. Mateo’s arms tighten around you, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his breathing harsh and ragged against your skin.

“Fucking hell, Luca,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe. “You undo me. Every fucking time.”

You hum, too boneless to form words, a goofy, sated smile stretching across your face. The world is a blur of sweat and sex and Mateo, and you never want it to end.

The next time you surface, the room is cooler, quieter, the frantic energy of before replaced by a deep, languid contentment. Mateo stirs behind you, his softening cock slipping from your hole with a wet squelch that makes you both chuckle. You turn in his arms, your bodies aligning perfectly, your legs tangling together, your foreheads touching.

“Hey,” you murmur, your voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.

“Hey yourself,” he says, his lips curving into a lazy smile. “You okay?”

“Better than okay.” You lean in, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Fucking perfect.”

“Good.” He nuzzles into your touch, his hands stroking idle patterns on your back. “You were incredible, Luca. So brave, so open. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

“Thank you for… well, for everything.” You blush, your cheeks heating at the memory of your wantonness, your complete surrender. “For making it so good. For taking care of me.”

“Always,” he says, his voice soft but certain. “Always, amor.”

You lie there for long moments, basking in the afterglow, in the simple perfection of his presence. But eventually, reality intrudes, and a different kind of need makes itself known. “Water?” you ask, your throat dry as sandpaper.

“Water,” he agrees, disentangling himself with a reluctant sigh. “And maybe a snack. I’m starving.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you watch him slide out of bed, his naked body a work of art in the moonlight. “Sex as cardio, huh?”

“Exactly,” he says, tossing you a wink over his shoulder. “Gotta refuel.” He holds out a hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. You wobble slightly, your legs still unsteady, but he’s there to catch you, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.

“Easy there, tiger,” he teases, his lips brushing your temple. “One step at a time.”