Mae's mouth opened and let out a soundless moan, expression wracked with need and the silent question of how he was making her feel so good.
Ortega continued to roll his hips, making sure his hardness licked every inch of her slit.
His briefs were still on.
He should take them off, but seeing Mae like this…
Disbelieving yet enjoying him… he simply couldn't stop, and the pleasure was too much, trapping him.
He leaned into Mae and their bodies entwined upon the bed.
He held her to him as she held him, and Ortega bit her neck as he ground against her.
Her moans gingered his movements, making them more fluid, more arresting. More...
"Mmmm," she moaned against him.
Her hands were already burning across his back.
Down to his ass, tugging at the hem of his briefs.
He slapped her wrist away.
"Not yet," he breathed against her ear, and kept grinding.
Her breaths went from aroused to pleading.
Her legs wrapped tighter around him, heels pressing into his lower back.
Ortega's eyes sealed shut as his jaw locked.
He was close.
So close. He could feel the dam about to explode.
He pulled back before he embarrassed himself.
Mae released a heavy, frustrated breath.
When his lips found her folds…
His breath alone against her pussy made her whole body tingle.
Though her body seemed to flee, her legs hooked him closer.
Ortega licked her blindly, then sucked, then flicked her clit with his tongue.
It was addictive, how each movement elicited a different, powerful reaction from her.
Ortega relished it, even though the taste of pussy itself wasn't what drove him.
The control.
The way Mae held his head as if pushing him away and pulling him closer at the same time.
She was going crazy because of him.
That only made him hungrier for her.
Ortega ate Mae up like a madman, and when she buckled suddenly…
He was too slow to pull away.
Her splash stung his eyes and spiked his heartbeat.
Ortega wiped his face with the bedsheet as Mae lay breathless.
He wasn't finished. He mounted her and teased her once more.
"Please…" she rasped. "Put it in."
Ortega's smile was devilish.
"Say please."
"I already—nngh!"
Ortega rolled his hips so his tip grazed her slit. That single stroke shattered everything. Pleasure turned maddening. White stars burst behind his eyes as he bucked and groaned. His clenched pelvic floor couldn't stop the explosion. Orgasm claimed him brutally. He grunted as his semen poured out, drenching his already soaked briefs.
He collapsed onto her, body trembling, spasms locking his lower region.
"Shiiiiiit," Ortega cursed inwardly, rolling off her so they could catch their breaths, sweating, staring at the ceiling. Then he felt her gaze burning into the side of his face. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.
"Mae?"
A deep voice rang out. Mae cursed under her breath, covering her mouth, eyes wide with panic. Ortega frowned. What's going on?
"Quick," she whispered, arranging her hair. "You have to hide."
Footsteps.
"Hurry," she mouthed, her face burning with an expression that promised a long explanation later.
Ortega's face darkened, but he didn't hide. He calmly pulled on his jeans, grabbed his shirt, and swept aside the beaded curtain, stepping behind the counter.
"How can I help you?" The words came out raw.
Someone dropped a pack of eggs on the counter.
Ortega looked up to see a dude. A fit, large dude with thick traps and tattooed biceps that looked capable of crushing him. Ortega swallowed. The man's eyes narrowed, and suddenly Ortega felt very small.
"Who are you?"
"Um… I work here." He managed a weak smile. "Nice tat."
The man smirked. "Thanks. I'm Bron."
He offered a handshake.
Ortega stared at it.
"Ortega." He accepted.
The man's grip was powerful, then crushing.
Bron tugged him forward, smashing Ortega's side into the counter's edge. Everything scattered to the floor as Bron dragged him close and took a loud, vicious whiff.
"I knew it!" Bron growled, releasing him.
"What the fuck, bro?" Ortega bellowed.
Bron was already on him, yanking him up by the collar. Ortega's feet left the ground, his back slamming into the wall. A forearm pressed against his throat. The air thinned. He gagged, tapping Bron's arm, but the pressure only increased. His heart outran his thoughts. Bron's face was a map of rage.
"Stop!" Mae's voice cut through.
Bron dropped Ortega who staggered away, gasping. Bron turned to Mae, now fully dressed, though the musk of their passion still clung to the room.
"One week," Bron snarled. "I'm gone one good week, and you're already fucking this piece of shit?"
"Is that why you want to kill him?" Mae shot back. "Are you sick?"
Bron froze. Ortega did too.
A heavy silence fell. Bron broke it with a bitter laugh.
"Does he know?"
Mae ignored him and looked at Ortega, worry plain on her face.
She opened her mouth, then thought better of it.
Bron turned to Ortega. "You're still here?"
Ortega gritted his teeth.
As much as he wanted to retaliate, he knew he'd only get pulverized. Worse, Mae watching him get overpowered burned deeper than the pain itself. Best to leave silently. Partly because he was scared, partly because he wouldn't be caught dead fighting another man over a woman, even if that man jumped him first.
He stood, clutching his side, and shuffled toward the exit, chest burning.
Then he stopped.
He couldn't leave like this.
Anger and embarrassment surged, burning away fear and pain. Damn the consequences! At the door, he pivoted and said,
"I'm still coming back for my pay."
Then he left without waiting for Bron's reaction. Mostly to get a head start. Luckily, the crazy bastard didn't follow.
Outside, Ortega leaned against the wall, breathing hard, licking his wounds.
Then—
"Fack."
He facepalmed.
Thinking back, those were the lamest last words imaginable. He ducked into a chemist, irritated at the cooler variations storming through his head.
Something like, 'I made her come twice without even trying.'
That would've been a nuclear strike to Bron's ego.
***
The moment Ortega got home, he crashed onto his bed. His heart felt heavy as he replayed all the shit that had gone down. And what was that about Bron? Assaulting him like that?
Something about the way the man looked when he attacked him wasn't right. Almost fucking his girlfriend wasn't right either. But neither was Mae lying to him about her marital status.
There was nothing he could do now but stare at the ceiling. And oh boy, did it suck to be powerless. He remembered the man's tattoos, the kind rich people got, and took that as proof he'd done the right thing by controlling himself and walking out.
Then Ortega started thinking back to all the times that woman had shown him kindness. She took him in, made him feel at home at work, when there were better people than him. Far cries from the type she was used to hiring.
Ortega was stumped. He didn't even know what to do next. He couldn't check the time either; his phone was damaged.
He sighed, pissed that their moment got interrupted. They'd had such a good thing going, and this Bron of a dude just had to walk in and ruin the show. Her scent. Her touch. The way she trembled beneath his control. The sense of power it gave him.
He got up, ate something, then lay back down, feeling dizzy as the day replayed in his mind. The ceiling fan spun above him, humming low. He clutched his side, wincing from the pain, but it wasn't serious enough for the hospital. He popped a painkiller.
He looked up again and sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening as the clock ticked on.
He should probably go back to the shop and collect his money, but the whole thing felt too damn hard. He just wanted it all to end already. He rolled in bed, unable to sleep even with his head heavy.
Too many thoughts crashed through his mind at once. Two calamities in under three days.
The thing was, he didn't actually care about the damage. What mattered was the experience gained.
'There's gotta be a reason for all this,' he thought, trying to find something, anything, to ground himself in the absurd mess his life had become.
Sleep came like an assassin, slow and heavy. His eyes drooped as the ceiling blurred above him, and he drifted off with the nagging feeling he was forgetting something.
Kpom. Kpom. Kpom.
Someone knocked on his door.
"Who's there?"
"It's me," came the gruff, unmistakably grumpy voice of his landlord.
'Shit.' That's right. He was supposed to pay part of his rent today, but he hadn't collected his pay thanks to the drama at the store. He should probably head back now, but first—
He opened the door to find the old man's scowling face.
"Mr. Yugo, I'm, uh… gonna get it from work. I promise. By the end of today."
"That's fine," Mr. Yugo said simply, then left.
Ortega blinked. The man didn't even fight him. That was a first. He nodded, thankful.
After the door shut, he spent a few minutes in the shower. When he came out, he felt cleaner. Lighter. Still sour, but better. He changed into fresh undies and did some stretches. The ache in his side had faded to a dull throb.
Before stepping out, he locked his door and jogged to work. It was nearly closing time, the sun dipping low.
When he pushed open the entrance and didn't see Bron, he was a bit disappointed. He'd only lost last time because he was unprepared and overwhelmed, that's all. Though honestly, even if they went another round now, he'd probably still lose. The bastard had traumatized his ribs.
He was ready this time, though. So when he saw his boss behind the counter, his face was a mask of cold indifference.
He walked straight up to her. She looked up, a soft shadow flickering across her face, then gone.
"You… must really hate me," she said.
"Where's my money?"
His abruptness caught her off guard.