Art of Seduction
Chapter 1 Between Two Worlds
Summary: Caught between a distant husband and a magnetic attraction of Pedro Pascal, [You] discover a love that burns brighter than you ever imagined.
Pairing: Pedro Pascal / female reader
Tags ⚠️: Adult content, MDNI, reader is married (husband is jerk), no detailed description of reader, cheating, emotional neglect, strong language , violence, angst, oral sex (fem. rec.), dirty talk, unprotected sex, PinV, cream pie, aftercare, fluff, SMUT.
Word count: 9k
The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminated the scattered pages of your manuscript, the words flowing effortlessly from your fingertips. You were lost in the world you were creating, a world of intrigue and passion, much like the one you secretly craved. The rhythmic tapping of your keyboard was the only sound in your quiet office, an escape from the often chaotic world outside.
Suddenly, the chime of your phone broke the spell. "Darling,," your husband's voice boomed through the speaker, a touch of impatience lacing his tone. "We're expected at the restaurant in an hour. Time to put down the pen and paper, and put on something… dazzling."
"Alright, Harry," you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice. "I'll be ready."
You knew Harry was eager to impress his new client, and that meant you had to play your part. You rose from your desk, and walked towards your closet. You chose a dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, a deep crimson that accentuated your hair and intense eyes. A touch of red lipstick, a spritz of your signature perfume, and you were transformed.
The restaurant was a dimly lit, exclusive establishment, the kind where hushed conversations and clinking glasses created an atmosphere of understated elegance. Harry was already seated at a secluded booth, his eyes lighting up as you approached.
"Darling, you look exquisite," he said, pulling out your chair. "Just the way I like it."
Then, you saw him. Pedro Pascal. He was even more striking in person, his warm brown eyes and charming smile radiating an undeniable magnetism. He rose to his feet as you approached, his gaze lingering on you.
"Pedro, this is my wife, [Y/N]," Harry said, gesturing towards you.
"It's a pleasure, [Y/N]," Pedro said, his voice a low, captivating rumble. He took your hand, his touch gentle and warm, "Harry has told me so much about you. But he didn't mention you were so… breathtaking."
You smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Pascal. I'm a big fan of your work."
"Please, call me Pedro," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. "And I have to admit, I'm equally surprised. In a good way of course."
You could feel the undercurrent of unspoken attraction, a spark that ignited between you. Harry, oblivious, launched into a discussion about their upcoming project, but your attention was drawn to Pedro's lingering gaze, his subtle smile, the way he seemed to hang on your every word, even when you weren't speaking.
Harry's phone buzzed, a sharp, insistent tone that cut through the low murmur of the restaurant. He glanced at the screen, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Excuse me," he said, rising from the booth. "It's my office. I need to take this." He gave Pedro an apologetic look. "Won't be a moment."
"Please, take your time," Pedro said, his eyes already shifting back to you.
The moment Harry was out of earshot, the atmosphere in the booth changed. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent acknowledgment of the attraction that lingered between you.
"So," Pedro began, his voice low and intimate, "Harry tells me you're a writer and art collector. That's quite a fascinating combination."
"It keeps me busy," you replied, your voice soft. "And out of trouble, usually."
He chuckled, a warm, resonant sound. "Trouble? I can't imagine you being anything but… delightful." His eyes, warm and captivating, held yours. "Tell me about your writing. What kind of stories do you create?"
"A little bit of everything," you said, taking a sip of your wine. "Romance, with a touch of drama and tragedy. Some psychological stuff. The kind of stories that make you think… and feel."
"Feel," he repeated, his gaze intense. "That's important. To feel deeply. I imagine your characters are quite…passionate."
"They are," you admitted, a small smile playing on your lips. "They often find themselves in situations that test their limits."
"Limits," he mused, leaning slightly closer. "I'm curious, [Y/N]. What are your limits?"
His question hung in the air, charged with unspoken meaning. You met his gaze, the intensity of his eyes sending a shiver down your spine.
"That," you said, your voice barely a whisper, "depends on the situation."
He smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips. "I look forward to finding out."
"And what are you working on currently?" Pedro asked, his voice low, a hint of genuine curiosity in his tone. He leaned slightly closer, his gaze fixed on your face, as if he were trying to decipher the secrets hidden within you.
"A drama," you replied, your voice soft, "a romance, but with…complications. The kind that leaves you wondering if love is worth the pain."
"Intriguing," he murmured, his eyes sparkling with interest. "Do you have a favorite line? Something that captures the essence of your story?"
You paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing your face. The line you were thinking of was…provocative, to say the least. But the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken challenge in his eyes, spurred you on.
"There's a scene," you began, your voice barely a whisper, "where the two characters are finally alone, after a long, drawn-out conflict. They're both… wounded, emotionally and physically. And one of them says,
'Tear me apart, then put me back together. I want to feel every scar, every phantom limb, every ghost of what we were. Make me yours, completely, until there's nothing left but the echo of your name in my shattered heart."
The words hung in the air, charged with raw emotion and a hint of something darker. You watched Pedro's reaction, his eyes widening slightly, a flicker of surprise and something else, something akin to desire, crossing his face.
"That's…" he began, his voice a low rumble, "that's quite powerful." He paused, his gaze lingering on your lips. "You have a gift for capturing the rawest of human emotions."
He gave a slight nod, and a small smile played on his lips. It was a smile that made you feel seen, understood, and a little bit… exposed. He liked it.
Harry returned to the booth, his phone tucked away in his pocket, a satisfied expression on his face. "Sorry about that," he said, sliding back into his seat. "Business never sleeps, does it?"
"Not a problem," Pedro replied, his voice smooth, his gaze shifting between you and Harry. "Everything alright?"
"All sorted," Harry assured him, launching back into the conversation, picking up where they left off as if nothing had happened. The topic shifted to upcoming projects, industry gossip, and the intricacies of Hollywood deals. You listened, occasionally adding a comment or question, but your mind kept drifting back to the charged exchange you'd had with Pedro.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of conversation and clinking glasses. As the evening drew to a close, Harry stood, extending his hand to Pedro. "It's been a pleasure, Pedro," he said. "We should do this again soon."
"Absolutely," Pedro replied, shaking Harry's hand. He then turned to you, his eyes locking onto yours. "It was a truly delightful evening, [Y/N]. Thank you for your company."
"The pleasure was all mine, Pedro," you said, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Perhaps you'd join us for dinner at our place sometime?" You were surprised by your own boldness, but the words had tumbled out before you could stop them.
A flicker of surprise, then a warm smile spread across his face. "I'd love that," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Just name the day."
"We'll be in touch," Harry said, clapping Pedro on the shoulder.
You and Harry walked out of the restaurant, the cool night air a welcome change from the warm, intimate atmosphere inside. As you climbed into the car, a sense of exhilaration washed over you. The evening had been… electrifying. You were amazed and thrilled by the connection you felt with Pedro, the unspoken promises that hung in the air. You couldn't wait to see him again.
"Darling, I have some news!" Harry announced, bursting into your study, his face flushed with excitement. "I've invited Pedro Pascal for dinner this Friday."
You looked up from your manuscript, a flicker of surprise crossing your face. "Pedro Pascal? Here? For dinner?"
"Yes!" Harry exclaimed, pacing excitedly. "It's a fantastic opportunity. He's really taken with our… connection, and I think this could solidify things beautifully. I need you to pull out all the stops, darling. Make it an evening he won't forget."
"Of course, Harry," you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice. "I'll make sure everything is perfect."
"Excellent!" Harry beamed, clapping his hands together. "I knew I could count on you. This is going to be huge for us, [Y/N]. Absolutely huge." He then rambled on about the potential business deals, and how this dinner would ensure his success.
The rest of the week was a whirlwind of planning and preparation. You meticulously selected the menu, chose the perfect wine, and ensured every detail was in place. You wanted everything to be flawless, a testament to your hospitality and a subtle message to Pedro.
On Friday, you transformed your dining room into an intimate haven, soft lighting casting a warm glow on the elegant table setting. You dressed in a gown that accentuated your figure, a subtle blend of sophistication and allure. You were ready.
Pedro arrived on time, his presence filling the room with an undeniable charisma. He complimented your home, your dress, your efforts with genuine warmth. "This is lovely," he said, his eyes lingering on you. "You've outdone yourself."
"Thank you, Pedro," you replied, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Please, make yourself comfortable."
As you began to serve the first course, a sense of unease settled in. Harry was late. Very late. You glanced at the clock, your frustration growing with each passing minute.
"I apologize," you said to Pedro, trying to maintain your composure. "My husband seems to be running late."
"No worries," Pedro said, his voice reassuring. "We can enjoy the evening regardless."
And you did. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a continuation of the connection you'd felt at the restaurant. You talked about art, about film, about life, your shared interests creating a comfortable, almost intimate atmosphere. Pedro was charming, attentive, and genuinely interested in what you had to say. He made you feel seen, valued.
"This has been a delightful evening," he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine pleasure. "Thank you for inviting me."
"The pleasure is all mine," you replied, your frustration with Harry momentarily forgotten.
Just as you were about to serve dessert, the front door opened, and Harry stumbled in, his expression sheepish. "Pedro, darling, I am so sorry," he said, his voice laced with forced joviality. "Completely lost track of time. A client emergency, you know how it is."
"It's quite alright," Pedro said, his tone polite but cool.
Harry's belated arrival had shattered the delicate atmosphere you'd created. You were seething, not just with anger, but with a sense of profound disrespect. He'd completely disregarded your efforts, your time, Pedro's time.
"Excuse me for a moment," Harry announced, "I'll be right back." He gave a brief, apologetic nod to Pedro. "Just need to… freshen up."
He disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with Pedro. You took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure, and began to serve the dessert, a delicate chocolate mousse. The silence was thick with unspoken tension.
"Please," you said, offering Pedro a plate, your voice strained but polite. "It's a dark chocolate mousse with raspberry coulis."
"It looks delicious," Pedro replied, his eyes not leaving your face. He took the plate, but made no move to eat.
The clinking of the silverware against the plates seemed deafening in the sudden quiet. You avoided Pedro's gaze, focusing on the task at hand, but you could feel his eyes on you, a silent question in their depths.
"You seem… upset," he observed, his voice low and concerned.
You finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "He's always like this," you admitted, the bitterness evident in your voice. "Always late, always preoccupied with work. He forgets things, important things. Like… our anniversary. Or, apparently, our important dinners."
A wave of frustration washed over you. "I spend hours preparing, trying to create a special evening, and he… he just shows up, as if it's no big deal." You felt a tear roll down your cheek, brushing it away angrily. "I'm sorry," you mumbled. "I shouldn't be venting on you."
Pedro reached across the table, his hand gently covering yours. "Don't apologize," he said, his voice soft. "It's understandable. He sounds… inconsiderate." His gaze held yours, a flicker of something akin to pity in his eyes, but also… something else.
"He's always been like this," you said, your voice a mere whisper. "Ambitious, driven… but he's lost sight of what truly matters."
Pedro's thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, a comforting gesture, "You deserve better, [Y/N]," he said, "Someone who appreciates you, who cherishes your time."
His gaze held yours, lingering on your lips, a slow, predatory smile curving his lips. "Someone who knows how to treat a woman like a queen."
The air between you throbbed with a silent understanding, a shared awareness of the unspoken. His touch, his words, they were a balm to your wounded pride, a subtle seduction that ignited a fire within you.
You felt a sudden, unexpected surge of desire, a longing that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the man sitting across from you. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to burn into your soul. You were lost in the depths of his gaze, the scent of his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something…more.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You are a queen, you know," he murmured, his voice a silken caress. "Magnificent, captivating… dangerous."
The words sent a jolt of warm and chills at the same time through you. You felt a thrill course through your veins, a heady mix of fear and exhilaration. You were in danger, you knew, but you were also… dangerously close to giving in.
"Thank you, Pedro," you whispered, squeezing his hand tighter, the warmth of his touch a comforting contrast to the chill that had settled in your heart. "I… I wish I'd met you sooner. You're an incredible person."
You stood abruptly, unable to bear the weight of the unspoken any longer. "I'm going to my study," you announced, your voice strained but polite. "Please, excuse me."
Just as you reached the doorway to the study, Harry returned from the bathroom. He saw you standing, your back to him, and then watched as you walked away.
"Darling?" he called out, a flicker of concern in his voice. "Everything alright?" He looked from you to Pedro, a question in his eyes.
Harry looked at Pedro his voice laced with a hint of confusion. "What's with her tonight?"
Pedro's voice, low and steady, cut through the air. "She prepared a beautiful dinner, Harry," he said, "You should appreciate her more."
You didn't linger to hear Harry's response. You get into your study, the clink of the wine bottle against the glass a sharp counterpoint to the lingering tension in the dining room. The warmth of Pedro's hand still lingered on yours, a reminder of the connection you'd felt, a connection that seemed to deepen with every passing moment.
Pedro's goodbye echoing softly through the house. A second later, Harry was in your study, looking all concerned.
"Darling, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "Why did you leave like that?"
"Why do you think, Harry?" you retorted, your voice sharp. "I spent hours preparing a beautiful dinner, and you couldn't even be bothered to show up on time. You completely disregarded my efforts."
"I know, I know, and I'm so sorry," he said, his voice placating. "I got caught up at work, a client emergency, you know how it is. It completely slipped my mind."
"Slipped your mind?" you repeated, incredulous. "You invited him, Harry! You asked me to prepare this dinner!"
He approached you, his hands reaching for yours, but you pulled away. "Look, I know I messed up," he said, his voice sincere.
"But Pedro loved it, seriously. He was raving about the food, about you. Said you were amazing."
"So now I'm just a tool to impress your clients?" you asked, your voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that it, Harry?"
"No, darling, that's not what I meant," he said, his eyes pleading. "You're amazing, you know that. I just… I want to make sure Pedro knows how much we value him, how much I want to work with him."
He paused, then a hopeful smile spread across his face. "Speaking of which," he continued, "I was talking to Pedro, and he invited us to spend Christmas with him in Mexico. He said it would be a great opportunity for us to get to know each other better, both professionally and personally."
You stared at him, a mix of disbelief and… well, a tiny bit of excitement. "Mexico?" you said, trying to keep your voice even. "With Pedro?"
"So, what do you say?" Harry asked, his eyes bright with anticipation, like a little kid hoping for a treat. "Mexico? With Pedro? Sounds like a blast, right?"
"Fine," you said, your voice flat, like you were just agreeing to something you didn't really care about. "But I'm still mad at you."
He leaned in and kissed your forehead, a quick peck that felt more like a habit than anything else. "I know, I know, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Just… I'm really tired. Long day, you know?" He gave you that tired smile he always gave you now.
You nodded, accepting the apology for what it was—a lazy excuse. You leaned in and gave him a quick kiss back, just to get it over with.
As you pulled away, he sighed, "Ugh, I'm so wiped," he said. "Gonna shower, then pass out."
That was it. The same old story. Always "tired." Always too busy, too stressed, too whatever. He was avoiding you, plain and simple. No hugs, no kisses, no anything. Just excuses. You felt like you were living with a ghost, a roommate who happened to share your bed. What had happened to him?
"Yeah, sure," you said, your voice a little sharper than you meant it to be. "Go ahead. Tired." You paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Seriously, Harry, what's going on? Why are you like this with me? Why do I have to practically beg you to even look at me? It's like I'm asking for the moon or something. I feel like I'm always chasing after you. Why don't you want me anymore?"
The tension in the room snapped, the unspoken accusations finally spilling out into the open. "Don't imagine things," Harry said, his voice rising, a defensive edge creeping in. "I love you. I just… I don't have time for this right now."
"No time for what, Harry?" you retorted, your voice sharp. "For me? For your wife?"
"For… for drama," he said, his eyes flashing with irritation. "You're always reading and writing those damn books, filling your head with fantasies. I'm working my ass off, and you're making me feel like I'm some kind of… monster." He was twisting the blame, making you feel like the unreasonable one, the one who was causing all the problems.
As he spoke, his collar shifted, and you caught a glimpse of something on his neck. A small, almost hidden mark, like a bite, and a faint smudge of red lipstick.
Your breath caught in your throat. You went silent, the anger draining away, replaced by a cold, numb feeling.
He noticed your sudden silence, his eyes narrowing. "What?" he asked, his voice suspicious.
You didn't answer, your eyes fixed on the mark on his neck. He followed your gaze, his face flushing crimson. "It's… it's nothing," he stammered, his voice suddenly weak. "Just… a scratch."
"A scratch," you repeated, your voice flat. "With red lipstick?"
He didn't reply, his eyes darting away. He mumbled something about needing a shower, and then disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
You stood there, frozen, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. The coldness, the avoidance, the constant excuses and always coming home late… it all made sense now. He was cheating. There was no other explanation. A wave of fury washed over you, hot and intense, but you pushed it down, forcing yourself to stay calm. You couldn't let him see how much he'd hurt you. Not yet.
Your intuition, that sharp, unwavering sense that had never failed you, screamed at you: He's cheating. Find out. And you would. You would find out everything.
You lay in bed, the sheets twisted around you, the silence of the room broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning. The bathroom door opened, and Harry emerged, his hair damp, he reached out to touch your shoulder, a tentative gesture, a silent apology.
You flinched away, turning your back to him. You couldn't bear to look at him, to see the guilt or the indifference in his eyes.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. "Be like that." He turned off the light, the darkness engulfing the room, a stark reflection of the emptiness that had settled between you.
"Just so you know," he said, his voice cutting through the darkness, a sharp edge to his words. "I promised Pedro we'd go to Mexico. So, get ready for a weekend."
"As if I had a choice," you replied, your voice flat and cold. "You make the plans, I follow. It's always been that way, hasn't it?"
"If you don't like it, you know where the door is," he replied, his voice equally cold, the words sharp and dismissive.
You remained silent, your body rigid, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air, to escape the suffocating reality of your marriage. What had happened to you? To your love? How had you become two strangers sharing a bed? The lovers you once were seemed like a distant memory, a faded photograph of a life you no longer recognized. What had you done wrong? Did you deserve this coldness, this neglect?
A wave of anger, hot and fierce, surged through you. He will pay for this. The thought echoed in your mind, a promise whispered in the darkness.
The following week was a blur of icy silence. You avoided Harry at every turn, your words clipped and cold. He tried to engage you, to break through the wall you'd erected, but you remained impenetrable, a fortress of resentment.
You shoved some clothes into your suitcase, not really caring what went in. Mexico. Ugh. But you were going. And honestly? It wasn't about Harry. At all. It was about seeing Pedro.
You were missing him, like, a lot. His voice, that low, smooth thing? Yeah, you needed to hear that. And his eyes? Those warm, brown eyes that made you feel like he actually got you? Definitely missed those. And the way he talked, like he was actually listening, not just waiting for his turn to speak? You were craving that.
Basically, you needed a Pedro fix. Your marriage was a dumpster fire, and he was like… a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate. You just needed to be around him, to feel something other than the ice-cold nothing that had become your life. He was the only thing making this trip even remotely bearable.
"Are you going to be like this the whole time?" Harry snapped one morning, his voice laced with frustration. "You're acting like a child."
"A child?" you echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or am I just giving you the same cold shoulder you've been giving me for months?"
"Don't be dramatic," he scoffed, turning away. "You're making this harder than it has to be."
"Harder?" you said, your voice low and dangerous. "You think I'm making this hard?" You paused, letting the silence hang in the air. "You haven't even touched me in weeks, Harry. You barely look at me. So, don't you dare tell me I'm the one making things difficult."
"Oh, so now I'm the problem?" he retorted, his voice sharp and dismissive. "You're the one who's been acting like a goddamn ice queen. If you're so miserable, do us both a favor and just leave."
As he reached the door, he paused, his voice hard and dismissive. "I'm waiting in the car," he said, his words clipped and rough. "Hurry up."
He slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the house, a final, brutal punctuation mark on their fractured relationship.
You stood there, the air thick with unspoken anger and resentment, the echo of his words ringing in your ears. He didn't love you anymore, and he wasn't even bothering to hide it. The realization was a cold, hard slap, a confirmation of the truth you'd been desperately trying to ignore. It wasn't just indifference; it was outright hostility. He wanted you gone, out of his way, out of his life. The thought sent a wave of icy fury through you. You were no longer just angry; you were incensed. He would pay for this. He would pay for every cold word, every dismissive glance, every moment of neglect. You would find out what he was hiding, and you would make him regret ever treating you this way.
The drive to the airport was a silent, tense affair. Harry sat behind the wheel, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the road. You stared out the window, watching the city blur past, the silence between you a heavy, suffocating weight. At the airport, you walked side by side, but miles apart, the unspoken animosity a palpable presence.
As you waited to board, Pedro approached, his eyes immediately noticing the strained atmosphere. "Hello, you two," he said, his voice warm and welcoming, but with a hint of caution. "Everything alright?"
"Perfectly fine," Harry replied, his voice clipped, his eyes avoiding yours. "Just eager to get to Mexico."
You offered a tight, forced smile. "Yes, looking forward to it."
On the flight, you were seated next to Harry, a fact that did little to improve your mood. He spent the entire flight working on his laptop, his attention focused on his emails, his posture rigid and unapproachable. You stared out the window, watching the clouds drift by, feeling more alone than ever.
Pedro, seated across the aisle, occasionally glanced your way, his eyes filled with a quiet concern. He noticed the coldness between you and Harry, the way you avoided each other's gaze, the tense silence that hung in the air. He didn't say anything, but his presence was a comforting reminder that someone saw you, someone cared.
At the airport, the chaos of travelers faded into a soft hum as you spotted Pedro. He was leaning against a pillar, his expression warm and welcoming. As you approached, his eyes lit up, and he offered a genuine smile. "It's so good to see you," he said, his voice a low, comforting rumble. " I know flights can be draining." He gave you a soft look that felt like a warm embrace.
Harry, coming up behind you, clapped Pedro on the shoulder. "Ready for some fun, Pedro? This place is going to be a blast!" He seemed determined to project an image of carefree enjoyment.
Pedro's gaze shifted back to you, a flicker of concern in his eyes. He tried to lighten the mood, "I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time. The villa is beautiful, and the beaches are stunning. I’ve even found a few very cozy restaurants we can try."
Harry, however, interrupted, "Cozy restaurants? We're here to party, Pedro! Let's hit the bars, meet some people. You know, have a real vacation."
Pedro's expression tightened slightly, a flicker of surprise and disappointment crossing his face at Harry's dismissive tone. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent apology. You tried to keep your composure, but inside, you felt like you were tearing apart.
"Are you alright, [Y/N]?" Pedro asked, his voice low and concerned, his eyes searching yours. "You seem…upset"
Before you could answer, Harry interjected, his tone dismissive. "Oh, she's always like that," he said, rolling his eyes. "A bit of a drama queen. Don't mind her."
Pedro's expression tightened, a flicker of something akin to anger flashing in his eyes. He knew that wasn't true. He'd seen you with him, laughing, engaged, your eyes sparkling with joy. He'd seen the warmth and the light that emanated from you. Harry's casual dismissal didn't ring true. He was wondering what had changed. What had happened to make you so withdrawn, so visibly distressed? He knew something was terribly wrong, and he was determined to find out what it was.
"I'm fine, really," you said, forcing a smile, your voice strained. "Just… tired. It was a long flight."
Pedro looked at you, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity. "If you need anything, anything at all," he said, his voice soft but firm, "you know you can tell me."
"Thank you, Pedro," you replied, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes meeting his. "That means a lot." You wanted to tell him everything, to pour out the pain and frustration that had been building inside you, but Harry's presence held you back. "You're a good friend," you added, offering a small, grateful smile.
He maintained a respectful distance, a gentlemanly courtesy that only amplified the unspoken connection between you. You missed him, his kindness, his calm presence. It was a stark contrast to the coldness you'd endured all week.
Later, at the beach, you watched as Pedro emerged from the ocean, water glistening on his toned physique. He was breathtaking, his muscles defined, his eyes sparkling, his smile radiant. He settled into a beach chair, reaching for a book.
"What are you reading?" you asked, joining him.
"Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead," he said, holding up the book. "By Olga Tokarczuk. Have you read it?"
"Yes, I have read it," you said, a genuine smile lighting your face. "She's an amazing writer. I love her work."
"Which is your favorite?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.
"Flights," you replied without hesitation. "It's so… fluid, so introspective. It captures the essence of human experience in such a unique way."
"Excellent choice," he said, nodding in agreement. "She has a way of seeing the world that's truly captivating." He paused, his gaze softening. "And what about your writing? How is your book coming along?"
"I've stopped," you said, your voice flat.
His brow furrowed slightly. "Stopped? Why?"
You shrugged, unable to articulate the complex emotions swirling within you. You simply didn't have the energy anymore. You sat down next to him, the warmth of his presence a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil.
He reached out and took your hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. He noticed the tears welling in your eyes, the unspoken pain that lingered beneath your forced composure.
You quickly wiped them away, turning your face away. "It's nothing," you mumbled.
"It's not nothing," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I can see you're suffering. What's wrong?"
Just as you were about to answer, you heard Harry's voice.
"Pedro! Let's grab a drink, man!" Harry called out, his voice loud and boisterous. "Come on, time to celebrate!"
Pedro's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eyes filled with unspoken questions. He hesitated, then turned to Harry. "Alright," he said, his voice subdued. He looked back at you. "Are you coming?"
"No, I think I'll stay here for a bit," you said, forcing a casual tone. "I want to read for a while."
"Enjoy darling," Harry said, dismissing you with a wave of his hand. "We'll be at the bar."
As they walked away, Pedro glanced back, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. He was clearly wondering what had happened to you, to your usual vibrant self.
After about half an hour, you decided to find them. You walked towards the beach bar, the sound of music and laughter growing louder as you approached. You spotted them at the far end, Harry leaning against the bar, Pedro standing beside him.
You approached from behind, your footsteps silent on the sand. Harry didn't see you, but Pedro did. His eyes met yours, and a flicker of understanding crossed his face.
You stopped, your breath catching in your throat. Harry was flirting with the bartender, his voice low and suggestive, his hand lingering on her arm. You could hear his words, his practiced charm, the way he made her laugh. Your anger was a cold, sharp thing, a blade twisting in your gut. Pedro watched you, his expression a mixture of sympathy and concern. He knew you'd seen it.
"So, you're here all alone, beautiful?" Harry purred, his voice smooth as honey. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be working behind a bar. You should be on the other side, being served."
He leaned closer, his eyes scanning her face. "Tell me, what does a girl like you do for fun around here? I bet I could show you a good time." He chuckled, a low, suggestive sound.
You stepped between Harry and Pedro, leaning casually against the counter, your eyes fixed on the bartender. "He hasn't shown me a good time in months," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, your gaze never leaving Harry's. "Actually, I don't think he's ever given me a proper fuck." You reached out and lightly slapped his cheek, a playful smile twisting your lips. "He's a little… lame. You'd have to do all the work."
You turned back to the bartender. "Give me something strong," you said, your voice hard. "Something that'll knock me out. When my husband can't even manage that."
Harry's face flushed crimson, his eyes blazing with fury. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
You ignored him, turning your attention to Pedro. "I bet he could give a better fuck," you said, your eyes locking onto Pedro's, a challenge in their depths. You took the shot the bartender placed in front of you, downing it in one gulp, and then turned and walked away. You could hear Harry calling your name, his voice a mix of anger and desperation, but you didn't stop.
Pedro's expression was a mask of disgust. He turned to Harry, his voice low "You shouldn't do that," he said, his words clipped and precise. "Flirting with another woman, especially when you're married? It's disrespectful."
"Disrespectful?" Harry scoffed, his face flushed with anger and a hint of guilt. "Come on, Pedro, lighten up. It was just a bit of fun. She was flirting back."
"Fun?" Pedro repeated, his voice incredulous. "You call that fun? You saw how it affected [Y/N]. You saw the look on her face."
"She's overreacting," Harry muttered, avoiding Pedro's gaze. "She always does."
"No, Harry," Pedro said, his voice firm. "She's not. You're treating her terribly. You're treating your marriage like a joke. You're lucky to have her."
"Look, it's none of your business," Harry snapped, his patience wearing thin. "It's my marriage, and I'll do what I want."
"And what you want is to destroy it?" Pedro asked, his voice laced with disappointment. "To hurt her?"
Harry shrugged, a careless gesture that spoke volumes. "I don't care," he said, his voice flat. "I'm done pretending. I'm done with the charade."
Pedro didn't hesitate. He turned away from Harry, his expression a mixture of anger and concern, and followed you. He ran to catch up, he reached you just as you were about to disappear around a corner, gently taking your hand in his.
"Please," he said, his voice soft, "don't go."
He could see the tears streaming down your face, the raw pain etched in your features. He pulled you close, hugging you tightly, his arms a comforting presence around you.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this."
You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and gratitude. He gently wiped away your tears, his touch feather-light, his eyes filled with a deep, unwavering compassion.
"You don't deserve this," he said, his voice firm, his eyes blazing with a quiet intensity. "Don't take this… this shit anymore. You deserve so much better."
You looked at him, your heart aching with a longing you couldn't deny. His kindness, his gentleness, his unwavering support… it was everything you craved, everything your marriage lacked.
You leaned in, the impulse sudden and undeniable, and kissed Pedro. It was a brief, fleeting touch, but it was enough. Enough to convey the raw emotion swirling within you, the desperation, the longing. Then, without a word, you turned and walked into the ocean, the cool water a stark contrast to the burning heat in your cheeks.
Pedro stood there, shocked, his hand reaching out instinctively, as if to pull you back. His eyes, dark and intense, followed you as you waded into the waves. He wanted more. He wanted you.
Later that night, the tension that had been simmering between you and Harry exploded. The argument was brutal, a raw display of anger and resentment.
"You're making a scene," Harry hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "Just like always."
"A scene?" you retorted, your voice trembling with rage. "You're the one who's been making a scene for months! Flirting with other women, ignoring me, treating me like I'm invisible!"
"Don't be ridiculous," he sneered. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" you screamed, your voice cracking. "Then explain the lipstick on your neck! Explain why you haven’t touched me in weeks! Explain why you treat me like I’m a ghost!"
"Shut up!" he yelled, his face contorted with anger. "You're crazy! You're always twisting things, always making me out to be the bad guy!"
"You are the bad guy!" you screamed back, tears streaming down your face. "You're a liar, a jerk, and a coward!"
"Get out," he growled, his voice low and menacing.
"I hate you!" you screamed, the words raw and filled with a burning rage. "I hate you, Harry! I regret for falling in love with you! I regret giving you everything, my heart, my soul, my life! It was all for nothing!" Tears streamed down your face, a torrent of pain and betrayal. "You're a bastard!"
You slapped him, the sound sharp and echoing in the tense silence of the room. Then, without another word, you turned and fled, the salty air a welcome relief from the suffocating tension inside. You walked towards the beach, the sand cool beneath your bare feet. You needed to be alone, to escape the chaos, to breathe.
As you walked, you felt a presence behind you. Pedro was there, following you.
"Wait," Pedro called softly, his voice cutting through the night air. He caught up to you, his eyes filled with concern. "Please, let me help."
He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms strong and comforting around you. Then, he kissed you again, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of longing and unspoken desires.
You wanted that moment to last forever, to lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, to forget the pain that was tearing you apart.
He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. "I want you," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I want to love you, to cherish you, to show you what you truly deserve. You are a star, and you deserve a sky full of your own."
You placed your hands over his, your heart pounding in your chest. "Pedro, I… I want you too," you stammered, your voice trembling. "But… now… I can't. I'm… I'm still married."
He hugged you again, his arms tightening around you. "Let's talk," he murmured, his voice soothing. "I'm here for you. Always."
You sat on the beach, the sand cool beneath you, the sound of the waves a gentle rhythm in the night. He held your hand, his warm smile and gentle words easing the ache in your heart.
"I think Harry's cheating on me," you confessed, the words a raw whisper in the darkness. "I need to prove it. I feel it in my bones. He wasn't like this before. He's changed so much. He doesn't love me anymore, and I don't understand why."
Pedro, ever the charmer, wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his presence a comforting warmth against the cool night air. "I'll be here for you, always," he murmured, his voice laced with sincerity. "I'm not leaving you, sweetie."
He tried to lighten the mood, gentle touch designed to ease the tension. He hugged you again, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. He kissed you there, a lingering, tender touch, then moved to your cheek, his breath warm against your skin.
"Pedro," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I think… I really like you. I wish… I wish I could be yours."
"And you will be," he said, his voice firm, his eyes filled with a promise.
You leaned in, the impulse sudden and undeniable, and kissed Pedro. It wasn't a chaste peck; it was a deep, searching kiss, a desperate plea for connection. His lips were warm, soft, and tasted of salt and something uniquely him.
Pedro stood there, shocked for a heartbeat, then his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He wanted more. He wanted you, the desire in his eyes a burning flame.
You broke the kiss, breathless, your eyes locked on his. The air crackled between you, thick with unspoken words and raw emotion. "Pedro," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I…"
He cut you off, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. "Don't say anything," he murmured, his voice husky. "Not yet." He leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you. "Just… let me hold you."
He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms strong and comforting around you. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your own, a rhythm that echoed the longing in your soul. His hands moved over your back, soothing, reassuring, promising unspoken things. The silence between you was charged, filled with the weight of unspoken desires and the unspoken question of what would happen next.
He pulled away slightly, his eyes searching yours, his expression a mixture of tenderness and concern. "You must be tired," he murmured, his voice soft. "Let me walk you back."
He offered his hand, his touch warm and reassuring. As you walked back towards the villa, "You know," he said, his voice low, "I enjoy every moment I spend with you. Every word, every glance, every shared silence… it's precious to me."
He paused, his gaze lingering on yours. "I wish… I wish I could be with you all the time. That I never had to leave your side."
He stopped walking, turning to face you, his eyes filled with a sincerity that made your heart ache. "I like your strength, [Y/N]," he said, his voice soft. "Your resilience. Even when you're hurting, you hold your head high. I like your mind, the way you see the world, the way you express yourself. And I like your heart, the way you feel so deeply, so passionately. You are a truly remarkable woman."
He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "And… I like the way your eyes sparkle when you smile. Even when you try to hide it, I see it. It's beautiful."
A soft smile touched your lips, a genuine expression of gratitude that warmed your heart. "Thank you, Pedro," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for being here with me."
He offered a gentle smile in return, his eyes filled with understanding and unwavering support. "Anytime," he murmured. "Always."
You turned and walked towards your room, the warmth of his presence lingering like a comforting embrace. As you opened the door, you saw Harry sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression a mixture of anxiety and regret. He looked up as you entered, his eyes searching yours.
"Listen, I'm sorry," he began, his voice pleading. "I shouldn't have done that. It was a mistake. I was… a little drunk." He reached out, trying to kiss you. "I still love you," he whispered.
"Don't," you said, your voice flat, your eyes cold. "I'm tired. I just want to sleep."
You went into the bathroom, locking the door behind you, and changed into your pajamas. When you emerged, you climbed into bed, turning your back to Harry, ignoring his attempts to speak to you. The silence stretched between you, a chasm of unspoken words and broken promises.
You tossed and turned, the sheets a tangled mess around you. Sleep was a distant dream, a luxury you couldn't afford. Harry's betrayal was a constant, gnawing ache in your gut. Every action, every word, screamed "cheater." The lipstick stain, the perpetual "tiredness," it was a cruel charade. Why couldn't he just confess? Why prolong the agony?
And then there was Pedro. That kiss, that tender embrace, ignited a fire within you, a forgotten warmth you desperately craved. He made you feel seen, cherished, special. It was intoxicating, a heady rush of emotions you hadn't felt in months. You wanted it, needed it, more than anything.
But fear, a cold, insidious dread, crept into your thoughts. What if you were making another mistake? What if you were simply trading one heartbreak for another? Could you endure another betrayal? What if Pedro's affection was fleeting, a mere spark of passion that would soon fade? Was he truly sincere, or were you simply misinterpreting his kindness, his touch? Was it real, or just a beautiful illusion? The uncertainty gnawed at you, a relentless tormentor in the quiet darkness. You were a mess of conflicting desires and paralyzing fears.
The morning light, unwelcome and harsh, filtered through the curtains, stirring you from your restless slumber. Harry was there, a cup of coffee in his hand, his expression a carefully crafted mask of remorse.
"Here," he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. "I brought you coffee. I wanted to apologize for last night. I made a mistake."
You sat up, your body stiff, your eyes cold. You took the coffee, but didn't drink it, your gaze fixed on him. "A mistake," you repeated, your voice flat.
"Yes," he said, his eyes searching yours. "I was… I was out of line. I'm sorry."
You wanted to believe him, to erase the pain, to pretend that everything was alright. But you couldn't. Not anymore. Not after everything. You forced yourself to remain calm, to maintain a facade of indifference. "Okay," you said, your voice devoid of emotion. "Thank you."
The journey home was a tense affair. Pedro's eyes were on you constantly, filled with a silent concern and a burning desire that was impossible to ignore. He watched Harry with a barely concealed loathing, his gaze hardening whenever Harry dared to touch you or speak to you. Harry, meanwhile, acted as if nothing had happened, his demeanor casual, almost carefree, which only fueled your suspicion.
The next day, you were determined to find answers. You cleaned the house, meticulously searching for any evidence of Harry's infidelity. You went through his drawers, his pockets, his laptop. You were a woman on a mission, fueled by a burning need for the truth.
That day, of all days, was your birthday. A cruel twist of fate. As you rummaged through Harry's drawers, you found a hidden phone, a cold, hard piece of evidence. It was a second phone, one he never used around you. Inside, a torrent of messages and explicit pictures painted a clear picture of his infidelity. The woman in the photos was his assistant. The betrayal was a sharp, agonizing stab.
Fury, a white-hot rage, surged through you. You stormed out of the house, adrenaline pumping. You found a baseball bat in the garage, and then, you headed to his office, a storm of vengeance brewing inside you.
Outside the office, you unleashed your fury, a primal scream erupting as you began to demolish his car, the crunch of metal a fleeting release from your pain.
They were there, just as you suspected, in his office. You burst in, a whirlwind of fury.
"You bastard!" you screamed, your voice raw with rage. "How dare you!"
"What the hell are you doing?" Harry yelled back, his face contorted with anger and fear.
"I know everything!" you screamed, throwing papers and folders at him, shattering a glass paperweight against the wall. "You think you can just lie to me? Cheat on me? Making me a fool?!"
"You're crazy!" he shouted, trying to grab you. "Get out of here!"
"Crazy?" you shrieked, grabbing a framed photo and smashing it against his desk. "I'll show you crazy!"
"You're a psycho!" his assistant yelled, stepping forward.
"Shut your mouth, you whore!" you screamed at her, grabbing a stapler and throwing it her way. "You two deserve each other!"
Just then, the door swung open, and Pedro stood there, his expression a mixture of shock and concern. He was early for his appointment.
You lunged at Harry, the baseball bat raised high, but Pedro intercepted, grabbing your arm, his grip firm but gentle. "Stop!" he said, his voice a low, urgent command.
Pedro's grip was firm, pulling you away from Harry, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Please, [Y/N], stop," he urged, his voice low and urgent.
"Let me go!" you screamed, struggling against his hold. "I'll kill him! I swear, I'll kill that bastard!"
"You're making a fool of yourself," Harry sneered, his voice laced with contempt, his assistant standing behind him, looking terrified. "Get her out of here, Pedro. She's completely lost it."
"You're a coward!" you screamed at Harry, your voice raw with fury. "A lying, cheating coward! I gave you everything!"
"You're the one who's crazy!" Harry yelled back, his face flushed crimson. "You're always jealous, always paranoid! You drove me to this!"
"Drove you?" you shrieked, tears streaming down your face. "You pathetic excuse for a man! You're the one who ruined everything!"
Pedro, his expression grim, pulled you out of the office, your screams echoing down the hallway. You thrashed and kicked, desperate to get back to Harry, to inflict the pain he'd inflicted on you.
"Let me go!" you screamed at Pedro, your voice hoarse. "I hate him! I hate him!"
Pedro didn't say a word, just held you tightly, guiding you towards his car. He opened the door, gently pushing you inside, then climbed in beside you.
"I wish I could kill him," you sobbed, your body shaking with rage and grief. "I wish I could make him suffer like he's made me suffer."
"I know," Pedro said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "I know."
Pedro kept a steady grip on your hand throughout the drive, his touch a silent anchor in the storm of your emotions. He glanced at you occasionally, his eyes filled with a deep, unwavering concern. When you arrived at his house, he gently guided you inside, his movements slow and deliberate, as if handling a fragile thing.
"Here," he said softly, offering you a glass of water.
"I need something stronger tonight," you replied, your voice hoarse, your eyes red and swollen.
He hesitated, then nodded, retrieving a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured generously, handing you one of the glasses.
You sat on the couch, the wine a burning comfort in your throat, tears streaming down your face, your body shaking with sobs. Pedro sat beside you, his presence a silent, unwavering support.
"Did I deserve this?" you asked, your voice broken, your eyes filled with a desperate plea for answers. "How could he do this to me?" You paused, a sudden, chilling realization dawning on you. "Now I understand… why he never wanted kids with me. He never wanted a real future with me at all."
He leaned closer, his voice soft and filled with conviction. "No, you didn't deserve this," he said, his eyes searching yours. "You are an incredible woman, [Y/N]. You deserve all the love and care in the world."
He set his glass aside and pulled you into a warm, comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry you're going through this," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But… I'm not going to lie. I'm a little bit happy you left that jerk."
He gently cupped your face in his hands, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "You are so beautiful," he said, his voice a low, husky whisper. "Any man would be lucky to have you. I know I would be."
He paused, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "I… I have feelings for you, [Y/N]," he confessed, his voice soft but firm. "Feelings I can no longer ignore. I've wanted you for so long." He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, a tender, reverent touch.
"I'll be here for you, no matter what," he whispered, his voice filled with unwavering devotion. "I want to love you, to cherish you, to show you what true happiness feels like."
You kissed him then, roughly, desperately, a raw expression of your pent-up emotions. "I want you too, Pedro," you breathed against his lips. "I really like you."
"Then let me show you how much," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Let me show you a love that heals, a love that lasts. Let me be the one who makes all the broken pieces whole again."
He took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring, and pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. He then gently led you towards his bedroom.
As he reached the bedroom door, he paused, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice soft, "I'm a little bit nervous."
You smiled, leaning in and kissing him gently on the cheek. "Me too," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.
He took a deep breath, then grinned, a playful light returning to his eyes. "Though, if I mess this up," he added, his voice low, "I'm blaming the butterflies. They're doing a tango in my stomach."
A soft laugh escaped your lips, a genuine, warm sound that filled the quiet hallway. "You're impossible," you murmured, shaking your head, but your eyes were bright, and a genuine smile lit up your face. That man is incredible, you thought, he is something else, a warm feeling spreading through you. He just had this way of making everything feel...lighter. Like, even when everything was a total mess, he could still crack a joke and make you laugh.
You sat on the edge of the bed, the soft fabric cool against your skin. He sat beside you, his arm gently wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace.
"I know," he murmured, his voice soft against your ear, "maybe this is too fast. But I really want you, [Y/N]. I really want this. I feel so… happy with you. Seeing you smile, even after everything… I don't want to leave you. Not ever again."
You looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Pedro," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for being here. For caring." You leaned in and kissed him, a soft, tender kiss that spoke of unspoken feelings.
Then, with a newfound sense of confidence, you stood up and began to undress, your shirt and pants falling to the floor. He watched you, a playful amusement in his eyes, mixed with a growing desire.
"Well," he murmured, his voice husky, "I always knew you were a woman of action. But I must admit, I wasn't expecting a private striptease. Not that I'm complaining."
He quickly shed his own shirt, his eyes never leaving yours, and pulled you close by the waist, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He began to kiss your neck, his lips trailing down to your shoulder, then back up to your mouth, his kisses growing more urgent. He gently unhooked your bra, his breath warm against your skin. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.
You unbuckled his belt, your fingers lingering on his skin. He quickly removed his pants, his movements eager, impatient. Then, he lifted you into his arms and gently placed you on the bed.
He leaned over you, his lips brushing against yours, a gentle, teasing touch that sent a shiver down your spine. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the delicate curve of your cheekbones, then moved to your hair, gently stroking the strands, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin behind your ear. He kissed your neck, his lips lingering on the pulse point, then traced a path lower, his kisses teasing the peaks of your breasts, his hands warm and gentle, yet firm, against your skin, kneading them softly.
He slowly pulled your panties down, his gaze never leaving yours, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your sweet, beautiful pussy was exposed to him. "Fuck baby" he breathed, his voice thick with awe, "you are so beautiful."
He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your hip, then lower, his touch feather-light against your sensitive skin. "So perfect," he murmured, his eyes filled with adoration, "I could worship you like this forever." He leaned closer, his breath warm against your folds. "I want to taste you," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, "to savor every drop of your sweetness."
He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, as he gently placed his fingers on your clit, rubbing it slowly, rhythmically, building the tension. Then, he leaned down, his lips parting, and licked your clit, teasing you with his tongue, sucking and swirling, his tongue delving into your wet heat, lapping at your swollen folds. "You taste like heaven," he groaned, his voice thick with lust, his tongue swirling and teasing, making you squirm.
He was so good, his tongue a masterclass in pleasure, driving you wild. But you wanted more. You wanted to feel him inside you, the heat of his cock filling you completely, stretching you, possessing you. "Pedro," you whispered, your voice a desperate plea, "I need you inside me. Now."
"Anything for you, mi reina," he growled, his voice rough with desire, his eyes blazing with lust. He stood up, pulling down his boxers, revealing his thick, impressive cock, the tip swollen with pre-cum, glistening in the soft light.
"Damn," you breathed, your eyes widening, your gaze fixed on his impressive length, "that's bigger than anything I've ever had. I want it."
He climbed on top of you, his eyes locking onto yours, a predatory gleam in their depths, and with his right hand, he guided his cock to your entrance, his fingers teasing your wet folds.
Slowly, he pushed his hot, slick tip inside you, your tight walls clenching around him, making him pause, his breath catching in his throat. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained, his cock throbbing against your entrance, "let me in, mi amor."
"Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling, your body arching beneath him, "yes, please. Fill me." You grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down for a deep, passionate kiss, your lips meeting his in a hungry embrace, as he slowly, inch by inch, filled you completely, stretching you, possessing you.
You could feel him pushing against your inner walls, a delicious, agonizing pressure, a stretching fullness that made you whimper. "Oh god," you moaned, your breath catching in your throat, "you're so big. So good."
He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, filling you to the brim, his cock burying itself deep inside you with each powerful stroke. You could feel him pushing against your internal organs, a sensation that was both overwhelming and incredibly arousing, a delicious, stretching fullness.
He kissed you roughly, his hands squeezing your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples, his movements growing harder, faster, deeper. The pleasure was intense, a wave of pure sensation washing over you, making you cry out. You hadn't felt this alive, this desired, this completely consumed, in so long.
You looked up at him, his brown eyes like melted chocolate, dark and intense, his warm breath ghosting across your lips, his gaze possessive. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes filled with lust. "So perfect my darling."
He kissed you passionately, his thrusts growing faster, harder, deeper, his cock pounding against your clit with each stroke. You moaned, your body arching beneath him, your hips meeting his thrusts, every thrust of his hips sending waves of pleasure through your slick, wet heat, making you scream his name. His full weight pressing you into the bed, the feeling of him inside you a symphony of pure, unadulterated lust, a raw, primal connection that made you feel utterly possessed.
He moved inside you, his rhythm a slow, seductive dance, each thrust a delicious friction, a promise of the pleasure to come. "You're so slick," he groaned, his voice thick with desire, his eyes locked on yours. "So hot and wet, just for me."
"Yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his back, your hips meeting his thrusts with a desperate urgency. "Just for you, Pedro. All for you."
He picked up the pace, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, each stroke a delicious invasion, his cock slamming against your clit with a satisfying thud. "I want to bury myself inside you," he growled, his voice rough, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you closer. "Fill you up completely."
"Do it, I'm on the pill." you whispered, your voice hoarse, your body slick with sweat. "Fill me, Pedro. Make me yours."
He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to make you scream my name," he whispered, his voice a low, seductive growl, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "Again and again."
"Yes," you begged, your voice trembling, your hips bucking against his. "Scream for you, only for you."
He obliged, his thrusts becoming a relentless onslaught, his cock pounding into you with a primal force, his hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing it rhythmically as he fucked you, his fingers teasing your swollen folds. "You're so close," he groaned, his voice thick with lust, his thumb circling your clit. "So close, I feel it baby."
"Please, Pedro," you whimpered, your body arching beneath him, your core clenching around his cock, your pussy throbbing with need. "Take me there."
He leaned down, his teeth nipping at your neck, his lips tracing a path down your collarbone. "Come for me, mi amor," he growled, his voice thick with lust, his eyes blazing with desire. "Let me drown you in pleasure."
His fingers found your clit, teasing it relentlessly as he pounded into you, pushing you over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing around him, your orgasm a raw, primal scream, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vise, milking him dry. "Pedro!" you shrieked, your voice echoing through the room, your body shuddering with wave after wave of pleasure, your legs wrapping around his waist.
He followed close behind, his own orgasm a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his hot, thick cum, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his vum flooding your womb. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice hoarse, his body collapsing on top of yours. "You feel so fucking good, mi vida."
He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his arms tightening around you, holding you close. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice possessive, his lips brushing against your skin. "Completely mine."
After the waves of pleasure subsided, he remained nestled inside you, his hot, sweaty body a comforting weight against yours. He kissed you gently, his lips lingering on yours, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He caressed your skin, his touch tender and reassuring, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, the line of your spine.
He was so caring, so sweet, his presence a soothing balm to your soul. "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice husky, his eyes filled with adoration. "Absolutely incredible."
He slowly pulled out, the sensation a bittersweet ache, a longing for the connection to remain. "I want to feel like this forever," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "To have you like this, every night, every day. To wake up with you in my arms."
You kissed him, a soft, tender kiss that spoke of unspoken feelings, a silent promise of more to come. Later, you showered together, he was playful, goofy, his laughter echoing in the steamy bathroom. He gently cleaned you, his touch reverent, his eyes filled with tenderness.
After you emerged from the shower, he offered you his purple Lakers shirt. "Here," he said, his eyes twinkling, "you can wear this." He paused, a playful smirk spreading across his face. "Or," he added, his voice low, "you could sleep naked. I do rather like the feel of your warm skin against mine, the way you smell… intoxicating."
You laughed, leaning in to kiss him. "Your shirt is perfect," you murmured, pulling it over your head.
Wearing his shirt feels like a warm hug, a little piece of him close to you, It smells like him, warm and a little musky.
You climbed into bed beside him, the warmth of his body a comforting presence in the darkness.
Pedro, nestled beside you, gently traced the curve of your shoulder with his fingertip. "You know," he murmured, his voice soft, "you never told me why you stopped writing."
"After that night," you said, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes fixed on the shadows dancing across the ceiling, "it was like… everything just vanished. My inspiration, my drive, everything. I just couldn't."
He kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours. "I care about you, [Y/N]," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "More than you know. I want you to feel loved, cherished. I want to bring back the light that Harry stole from you."
His words, his touch, his unwavering devotion, stirred something deep within you. A passion, a love for him, a renewed sense of inspiration. You wanted to capture the essence of his love, to show him the way he made you feel. "Pedro," you said, "give me something to write on."
He smiled, reaching into the nightstand drawer and pulling out a notebook and pen. "Here," he said, handing them to you.
You began to write, the words flowing from your heart, a love poem inspired by the raw emotion you feel in the moment.
"You are the breath I didn't know I was holding, the warmth that chased away the cold. My soul, laid bare, belongs to you. Every beat of my heart whispers your name. I am yours, completely, utterly yours. Don't give me back to myself."
You handed him the notebook, your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of vulnerability and hope. He took it, a soft smile gracing his lips, and reached for his reading glasses, sliding them onto his nose.
Gosh, he's so cute with those reading glasses on, you thought, a wave of affection washing over you. He began to read, his eyes scanning the page, his expression softening as he absorbed your words.
A warmth spread through you, a feeling of contentment you hadn't experienced in a long time. You realized, with a startling clarity, that you could write only for him. Every word of love, every poem, every expression of your soul, would be dedicated to him. You wanted to capture the depth of your feelings, to show him how much you needed him, how deeply you cared.
He finished reading, a soft smile spreading across his face. "This is… beautiful," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He looked up at you, his eyes shining. "Really beautiful. Nobody has ever written a poem for me before." He leaned in, showering you with kisses, his lips tracing a path across your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. "Thank you," he whispered to you.
You looked at him, your heart overflowing with love. "I'm going to write a book for you," you say "Dedicated to you, to your name, and to the unconditional love you give me."
He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. "I'm going to read it a thousand times," he said, his eyes twinkling, "until I remember every single word you wrote. And then, I'll read it a thousand more."
He leaned in, kissing you softly, his lips lingering on yours. "Goodnight, mi amor," he murmured.
"Goodnight, Pedro," you whispered back, snuggling into his arms. And then, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you both drifted off to sleep.
Thank you for the reading, I hope so you enjoyed. Send me your thoughts and request if you have one. 💜
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that.
