Work Text:
He’s fucking you sixteen stories up.
Against the paved roof, your knees threaten to falter beneath you, aching from the pressure he provides each time he slams himself against your ass. As he does, you can feel the presence of rocks digging into your flesh, making you cringe as you dig your palms further into the ground, trying your best to balance out the movements.
“Hey, Miguel can we—“
Miguel’s always been rough but never like this. For some reason his greed is at an all-time high tonight —you can feel it in the way he ignores you by pressing your clit with his fingers, rubbing rough circles that fail to match the speed at which he fucks you.
You open your mouth to repeat your question. You want to ask him to stop, to give you a break so you can readjust but all that comes out is a breathy moan.
Usually, his movements are calculated and precise —rough in a way that feels almost deliberate— but tonight is different. Messy, you decide. A disarray of pushes and pulls that rush through your system in a wave of reluctant pleasure.
It’s different but not unwanted. His grip, which has remained painstakingly tight the entire time has started to make you feel slightly raw. The constant pinching of his fingers leaving you with little reprieve.
“I’m sorry.”
His mouth is pressed against the centre of your back and as he speaks you can feel the motion of every letter contained within his apology.
“You should be.”
“I am.”
“I know.”
Your responses to each other are quiet —hushed and rushed. Every time he pushes into you it’s like another wave of distortion. Your body weakens with every thrust and as you shake under the build up all you can wonder is what he’s apologizing for.
Is it the sex —the way it is? Is he apologizing for the roughness and how he refuses to stop even for a second? Or is he apologizing for something else entirely?
You want to know but find yourself unwilling to ask once you feel his index finger curling inside your cunt, distracting you from the thoughts that run through your mind. Slowly it creeps in, rubbing against that spot he knows you love before it’s pushed further in, replacing his suddenly absent cock.
By that point, your vision is blurry and filling with spots of white that dance between the lights of the New York skyline. Your face is hot and heavy, your mouth falling open in an attempt to breathe under the intense circumstances and you’re tired.
“You’re so good to me. Always so good.”
He’s never this talkative. Usually, he only grunts or groans. Sometimes throwing in the occasional good girl here or there, so it’s off-putting. Strange in a way that makes you moan with excitement because he’s right. You are good to him. Always.
Whenever he needs you, you’re there. Whether it’s work or this, you’re always there waiting and he fucking loves it.
You can tell because after your mission tonight —regardless of the pain you endured fighting, the moment he dragged you onto this roof to fuck you, you let him. You didn’t pause or ask questions, you merely let him pin you to the ground with his needy hands, ready for anything.
His finger is replaced by his cock again, brushing against your edges as he slowly moves in. The change in pace and pressure instantly makes you want to cry out, the sensations of everything becoming almost too much as you mindlessly arch your back.
“C’mere.”
He wraps an arm around your torso and pulls you up, steadying your back against his chest so that he’s fucking into you. As he does you feel a sense of relief, sighing into the air just before his other hand takes hold of your chin, directing it towards his own.
“Tell me you love me.”
You can’t. Not because you don’t but because all you can focus on is how full you feel —how every move made inside of you is slowly building and threatening to overflow as you reach to grip his forearm.
“Say it.”
You inhale, pressing your fingers into his flesh, feeling the way his arm flexes under your touch as he continues to grind into you. His muscles are tense —unwavering in a way that makes you clench around him, causing a plume of air to hit your face.
“Please.”
He’s close, you can tell. His hips are pounding out of time, the feel of your pussy too much for him to bear, and he’s whining; his voice barely audible over the smacking of flesh and gasps of air.
A small smile creeps across your lips as you let out another breath and reach for his face, lightly trailing the back of your hand across his cheek.
He’s never fucked you like this before. Never begged for pleasure in the form of soft-spoken words. Miguel’s always been strictly physical, so to have him yearn for you this way has you melting beneath his touch and desperate for more.
“I love you.”
It’s barely heard. Your voice ghosts against the skin of his chin, the words mimicking the same motion as his previous apology. Against you, you can feel him shift almost immediately, the arm wrapped around you tightening ever further while the hand still resting on your face slides to encompass your neck, acting as another anchor he uses to steady himself as he pushes into you.
Together you both gasp at the newfound pressure, one of your hands moving to grip his thigh as he whispers in your ear, telling you he loves you too as you both come undone.