Mess You Made

53.*

Malibu.

"Fuck." I stifle a gasp, my head tipping back, "Wait, Miguel—"

"Open your legs. I can't make you come if you keep me in a headlock."

I glance down. Being in a shower way too lavish for my budget in Hudson and Val's house is one entirely strange thing on its own. To have Miguel on his knees in front of me inside said shower— a little mind numbing. I was meant to be alone. He's meant to be downstairs for breakfast. He snuck in like a demon, and I don't exactly know how we got here.

Him naked in the shower with me. Just walked in like he owns the place, as if we can fuck in the shower so casually now and as if my space is his space also. A smile that was taunting, and eyes still red from sleep and him trying to be quiet. And his body— cords of carved muscles and skin always that perfect tan. Miguel stood tall in the shower with me? I was a lost cause.

He kissed me like he was hungry for it and I succumbed.

It's the second orgasm he's dragging out of me with his mouth. He never lets up and everything he does, every touch is so intense that I feel boneless before I've even felt him inside me. My back arches against the shower wall, one leg strewn over his shoulder, heels digging into his back.

The steam rises higher, sticking to my skin. The heat making me feel more light-headed the closer I get to the peak and I pray I'm not about to pass out from him making me come— but it's so achingly hot in here, and he's him.

"Shit." I gasp, my back bowing like a string being pulled taut, starting to push at his head.

But I always tend to fight my orgasms with him— they're too intense, filling every sense, every bit of my skin like he wants everywhere. He knows I'm close now because he roughly cups my ass in his hands, pulling my lower back from the wall and forcing me to ride the wave against his mouth.

Gasping for breath, water sliding down my skin, I drag my gaze down. The muscles in his back and shoulders ripple as he fucks me with his tongue, moving me against him until my hips roll. He dips his head down as if he can't get deep enough. A sharp moan leaves me, echoing against the tall walls of the bathroom— and I swear I feel him breathe a laugh against me. Against me.

I wish I could curse him out, wish I could do anything, but I'm paralysed in pleasure when the orgasm tears through me. I press my leg into his back, one hand fisting his hair, the other to the wall above me, muscles shaking violently— I'd be worried about falling if I wasn't in his strong grip.

My vision blurs for just a moment. My lungs feel like they can't get enough air so I have to suck in deep breaths so I don't pass out when he finally drags his mouth off me.

When Miguel's gaze flicks up to mine, shamelessly, I think I could come from the sight alone. Dark hair strung over his forehead, wet and dripping down his temples. He's under the water, steam rising from the smooth curves of his shoulders— he licks his lips, smirks a bit.

I feel him stand up but he keeps a tight and warm grip on my hips where I stay leant back against the shower wall. I shut my eyes, stay slumped there for a second.

He reaches over, changes the heat and I feel some colder air waft towards me from the shower's stream. Makes it a bit easier to inhale.

"Don't pass out on me." He strokes wet hair from my face, and I peel my eyes open to look up at him— he's as breathless as me, "Fuck. We should fuck in the shower forever."

"Get out now." I still say, still catching my breath, "I'm meant to be showering alone."

His face screws up, attitude, "Comes on my tongue twice and still tells me to get out—"