I rlly hope you guys liked the last chapter I worked oh so hard on it and it's so important to the plot!!!!! /s

Okay but genuinely make sure you've read chapters 19 and 20 because I posted them back to back and already I've seen people not noticing chapter 19's up lol

Chapter 19's an important one! 20 is... fun I guess, it was just me having a troll haha

anyway enjoy this fucking monster it's 6,300 words and I wrote all of it in less than 24 hours (I am diseased)

TW: smut (finally 😌), 18+ only - no minors allowed‼️ blood, blood drinking, bloodplay, temporary paralysis

  Just when I thought I'd seen the last of the soccer parents for another year, Mirilla's daughter invites the entire team over for a slumber party.

  I hang my head and groan when I get the text from my daughter. Jess, Peter and Miguel glance over from the station in concern as I slip from the seat and crumple to the floor in despair.

  "Dude, I think your girlfriend's malfunctioning," Peter says to Miguel.

  Ignoring them, I type furiously on my phone from the floor.

Me:
pay attention in class 😠
Read

Papita:
ok >:(
9:54am

  "Y/n? Cariño?" Miguel drops to the floor, places his hands on his hips and approaches my slumped figure. There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he stares down at me. "Are you alright?"

  I send him an annoyed scowl. "We have to see Mirilla again."

  Miguel scrunches his nose. "Oh." He bends down and helps me to my feet. He brushes my shoulders and smoothens my hair as I glare at the spider symbol on his chest. "That's still not something to fall to the floor over."

  "Easy for you to say," I mutter. "You're not the one she's trying to shove aside."

  "Hey." He taps the bottom of my chin. I grumpily meet his eyes. "What do you have to be worried about? You think I'd move dimensions for you just to dump you?"

  "I'm not worried," I clarify through gritted teeth. "It's just the principle of it."

  "Hey-" Peter interjects from where he's sitting on the edge of the elevated platform, legs swinging. "Is anyone gonna point out the fact that neither of you denied the whole 'girlfriend' thing, or is this just something for me to mull over by myself?"

  Jess swipes Peter's shoulder and shakes her head. He raises his palms in defence.

  "No, seriously, Miguel," Jess calls down, "we've got a whole case of anomalies that need your attention."

  Miguel sends them a glare. "I'll just be a minute."

  "They're totally dating, right?" Peter murmurs to Jess.

  Miguel exhales in disbelief before returning his attention to me. The entire interaction managed to pull a smile to my face. I'm still pissed, though. Definitely pissed.

  "Can we talk when this whole thing is sorted?" he asks with a nod of his head at the platform.

  I sigh through my teeth. "Yeah, I guess."

  Miguel tilts his head with a soft smile. That alone has my irritation eroding away. How can I be annoyed at anything when I get to be the recipient of a look like that?

  He brushes his thumb over my cheek, and I melt. "That's my girl," he murmurs. And then I don't just melt - I eviscerate.

  "They're totally dating!"  

  Miguel growls in frustration and sends daggers up at Peter. "Would you shut up!"

  "Go," I chuckle, and push his chest away. Miguel turns his focus back on me. "The multiverse needs Spider-Man 928."

  He reluctantly steps back. His mask slips up and covers his face. "Lyla, put in the coordinates to Earth-825 and open a portal."

  "Thank you," Jess sighs.

  A red hexagonal rip opens up at the end of the station. Jess and Peter leap down from the platform. Peter ruffles my hair as he passes and I slap at his arm with a snicker.

  I lean against my desk and watch the three most capable Spideys in the multiverse walk towards the portal. But something inside pushes me forward.

  "Wait, Mig!" I cross the floor towards him.

  He turns and tilts his head at me. I'm still not used to him wearing the mask, but there's something endearing about the way the defining stripes of red that outline his covered eyes act as visible expressions. They widen at me in confusion as I approach.

  "¿Que pasa?" he asks. I tap his cheek, and the mask folds away in white glitches. He's just as confused beneath it.

  "Goodbye kiss?" I quietly request with a pout.

  Miguel glances back at Jess and Peter, who are still impatiently waiting for him to join them at the portal. He looks unsurely back at me.

  "Here?" he asks.

  A gentle smile grows at his uncertainty. PDA isn't his strong suit in front of colleagues. It's a hilarious contrast to when we're with literally anybody else - then he couldn't care less who watches.

  It's the teasing, I'm sure of it. He prefers his colleagues to respect him than poke fun. It's understandable. He's always been a professional kind of man.

  "You don't have to-" I say, but I'm cut off by him placing his hands on either side of my face.

  "No, I want to," Miguel quickly says before leaning down and kissing me. My heart stumbles beneath his hasty but gentle smooch.

  Peter gasps in the background. "I knew they were dating! God, yes!" He pats his stomach proudly. "It's all gut feeling, Jess, I'm telling you. I have a seventh sense for these kinds of things."

  "Oh, for-" Jess groans. "Can we get a move on, please? I've got places to be and my own husband to see!"

  Miguel pulls away with a flustered, enamoured smile. He kisses me again, just quickly, a simple peck, before letting his mask cover his face and turning back to the portal.

  "Let's go," he says, all serious once again.

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Lover Man!" Peter says with a salute.

  He yelps when his face gets covered by a splattering of webbing. Jess shakes her head and follows Miguel through the portal. Peter, still clawing off the webbing, offers me a wave good-bye before tagging along after the others. The portal vanishes, and the station is dark once more.

  It's eerily silent now that they're gone. I pick up my laptop and go to move to a less desolate, dark spot.

  "Hey, Lyla?" I ask. She pops into the air beside me. "Do you know Duran Duran?"

••🕷️••

  "-which is crazy, because a few months ago I didn't even know dimensional travel was a thing," the purple-suited avatar gushes before me. "And now I'm part of this massive society of people like - well, not like me, exactly, but with the same goals as mine! Don't you think it's insane?"

  "Honestly, Margo, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that there's hundreds of Spider-Men here and I'm the only normal human." I chuckle and lift my coffee to my lips for a sip, before pausing in thought. "I suppose you're somewhere in between."

  Spider-Byte tilts her head with a considering smile. Her afro pixels in and out of focus. "I guess I am! Hey - what's your home like?"

  I hum in thought and try to think of a way to describe it in a way that a teenager from a completely different reality would understand.

  "It's loud," I say. "And chaotic. It's messy and volatile and a little bit dangerous. Some people think it's ugly, but I don't."

  Margo leans closer. "Do you think it's beautiful?"

  "I do." I nod. I look around the cafeteria where we're sitting in - where I was meant to be working but got distracted when a teen Spidey approached me with a million questions for the only normie here. "Look at all of these people, Margo. What do you see?"

  She looks out over the crowd. Some Spideys are eating lunch. Some are bent over homework or lab reports. Others are lounging and chatting with their counterparts.

  "I see a lot of Spider-People," she answers.

  "Exactly," I say. "You're all fighting for the same cause, and because of that, you make a community. My home's like that. There's little distinct communities that make the big issues seem a little less daunting to tackle head on - like the explosion that gave me these." I hold out my scarred arm for her to see. "It knits people tighter. It brought Miguel and I closer, and it brought me and my coworkers closer together, too." I shrug. "Long story short, I guess I just love my community, so I think it's beautiful."

  "Woah." Margo's purple gaze turns up to me in awe. "No wonder why you're the de facto leader."

  My eyes widen. "I'm sorry?"

  Margo's brows knit. "Did you not know? That's what everyone's calling you. The human de facto leader."

  "I'm not a leader," I splutter. I gesture to my laptop. "I'm just here to do my journalism work."

  Margo sends my laptop a strange look. "Oh. But you're in Mr. O'Hara's room all the time? That's where all the decision-making's done."

  "Yeah, because..." I struggle to find the right label. "We're... dating..?"

  Margo's confusion deepens. "I thought you were married?"

  "I mean... in a way, I guess?" I'm starting to regret opening this topic of conversation.

  Our confusing talk is saved by Miguel himself approaching us. Margo brightens when she spots him and her holographic form zips to his side.

  "Morning, Mr. O'Hara!" she greets. "Did you see my training last week with Jessica?" She appears at his other side and punches the air. "Did I kick butt?"

  Miguel grins in amusement. "You did great, kid. Your training's really coming along."

  Margo pumps the air. "Yes! Where's Jessica?"

  "In the anomaly room. She's sending home the recent batch we caught." He nods his head at her. "You can join, if you want. I'm sure Jess will appreciate the help."

  "Okay!" Margo agrees. She sends me a smile. "Bye, Mrs. O'Hara!" Her avatar disappears with a blip.

  Miguel sends me a tired smile. "I see you met Margo," he says.

  "She's chatty," I say. "I like her."

  "She's passionate," he corrects. "Don't know how she has all that energy."

  Miguel collapses into the booth beside me and drops his head back with a sigh, stretching his arms along the back. He closes his eyes. My gaze travels his slumped, sculpted body and my stomach twists at the ideas I'm getting. Of how it would be so easy to slip my leg over his lap. Of how if there wasn't anyone in this room-

  I take a sip of my coffee and force those thoughts into the back of my head.

  "Tough mission?" I ask. Miguel hums in agreement. "Everyone okay?" Another agreeing hum. "Can you tell me why Margo just said everyone's calling me a de facto leader?"

  Miguel's eyes open. "Oh..."

  So, he's aware. I turn on my seat to face him completely. My stare's expectant.

  Miguel drops his arms to cross them. "I thought you'd prefer it to the alternative."

  My brows raise. "Which is?"

  He shrugs a shoulder. "That they think you're just my alternate-reality normie wife who sometimes wanders around the Spider-HQ." The look he sends me is meek. "At least the leader one gives you more respect."

  I smile gently. "I don't care what people think about me."

  "I do." Miguel sits up with a frown. "I care - I care a lot. These are my people. They should respect you."

  Well, when he puts it like that. "Mig, you're adorable."

  "Shh." He presses a hand over my mouth gently and looks around for eavesdroppers. "I have an image to uphold."

  I roll my eyes and pull his hand down. I link my fingers through his. "You look tired. Do you want me to get you a drink?"

  Miguel sends me an appreciative smile. "Yes, please."

  "You got it." I kiss the back of his hand and stand. "Be right back."

  I smile to myself as I walk up to the vending machine to grab him a sports drink. De facto leader. Even if it's not true, it's still nice to hear. It makes me feel powerful. I glance over my shoulder and find him watching me, gaze dark and locked.

  The lewd thoughts from before slam themselves back into the front of my brain. My gaze cuts to the ground before me. My chest warms, and my stomach spins, and I'm suddenly feeling oh-so-empty between my legs.

  I run a hand down my face as I wait in line for the vending machine. Sometimes it'd be easier if I wasn't able to think at all.

••🕷️••

  "Hey!" Mirilla swings open her front door and greets me with a smile that's just a tad too bright.

  Mirilla's daughter pokes her head around the door. She grabs Rosalina's hand and drags her inside. They both gasp in excitement.

  "Bye, papita," I call before she's out of hearing range. "Have fun!"

  "Bye, mom!" she replies, before giggling with her friend as they disappear down the hall.

  I go to make a quick getaway. Mirilla talks before I can.

  "How are you?" she asks. Her gaze jumps to the car on the road behind me, where Miguel is waiting inside upon my demand.

  "Good, thanks." Great, now I have to engage in parent-to-parent conversation. "How-?"

  She cuts me off. "And how's Miguel?"

  Kill me. I glance over my shoulder and find him watching me. 'Hurry up' he's trying to say. I send him a frustrated look back.

  I turn back to the woman before me with a thin smile. "He's good."

  "And you guys are still okay?" she asks with a frown. "I've noticed that you've been having trouble."

  I'm sure you have. "We're good. Really good." I point my thumb over my shoulder. "We actually have a date to get to, so I better get going. Bye, Mirilla."

  I depart from her doorstep and speed walk down her driveway before she can answer. I slide into the car with a deep-suffering groan. Miguel grabs my hand in support and squeezes it, and I send him a grateful smile.

  Mirilla's left a bad taste in my mouth. I miss Elle. If my college friend wasn't half-way across the world, I'd call her up for drinks and laugh about the twists and turns my life has taken. And then probably drunk-cry about it.

  Miguel and I decide to eat out since Rosalina's at a slumber party. It's not often that we have the night to ourselves. We find a pub, sit at the bar, and order burgers and fries. I offer to be the designated driver. He gets a whisky.

  My shoes sit on the footrests of his stool. The music that's blaring from the overhead speakers are classic rock songs from my youth, and I hum along with them. Miguel sometimes ask me the names of them between bites.

  "How are you not tipsy?" I ask when he sips his third round. Our food has long been finished, but we're in our own private bubble at the bar and don't plan on leaving soon.

  He shrugs. "Spidey metabolism. Can't get drunk."

  My eyes widen. "Ever? Then what's the point of drinking?" I know Miguel's always liked it, but I could never get past the taste of straight whiskey. I'm more inclined to cola with a shot of rum.

  Miguel smirks and finishes his drink. The ice tumbles, clacking against the glass when he places it back down on the bar. The shadowed, sly look he sends has me straightening in my seat, my insides turning into knots.

  He leans toward me and I subconsciously meet him, drawn into his axis. His breath holds the tantalising smell of whiskey, but he's as level-headed as ever. My head spins just from the scent.

  "I like the burn," Miguel murmurs. His gaze darkens when my breath hitches.

  I sit back and try my best to seem normal. "You're such a player."

  "Only if you're the game."

  My blush worsens. Miguel chuckles and picks up his glass to spin the ice inside. Condensation gathers against his fingertips and drips down the side of the glass, dropping onto the table. His fingers on the rim are strong, lithe. I want them elsewhere.

  My stupor is broken when he places the glass onto the table and pats my thigh. "I'll go pay."

  I watch him leave and can finally breathe. My thigh stings, burns. The empty, hollow feeling that's been bothering me more and more recently returns with vengeance. What had Miguel said before? Hands can only satisfy for so long?

  I'm finding that one out myself.

  I turn my gaze to the table with a despairing sigh and close my eyes. I don't want a repeat of that night on the beach, but I need him. The conflict of it all has me slumping into my hands.

  "Hello," a voice greets. I look up from where I'm hiding my face and frown at the tall man before me. "You alright, hun? You look like you could use some cheering up."

  My brows raise in shock. Cheering up? I don't need cheering up. I need to be wrecked by Miguel until I forget my own name. Way to misread me, random stranger.

  I look him up and down. I'd once consider him handsome if I hadn't met Miguel. He probably thinks he's handsome, too, if his self-assured smile is anything to go by.

  Maybe I should give this guy Mirilla's number. They seem like they'd be a perfect match.

  "Um-" I look over my shoulder for Miguel and then falter when the guy slides into his seat. I blink. "Oh- you're sitting, now. Cool."

  He smiles at me. "Tell me what's on your mind."

  I shake my head with wide eyes. "No."

  The man hesitates, like he's not used to getting this kind of reaction. I take an awkward sip of my fizzy drink and gather my coat. I haven't been hit on like this in fucking years. I'd forgotten just how awkward and disconcerting it was when you're not wanting some rando's attention.

  "Hey, pal." I look up just as Miguel plants his hand over the guy's shoulder. He squeezes hard. His smile is livid. "She's taken."

  The man looks up at him with a shitty scowl before paling at the fury that rolls from him. He mutters an apology and quickly departs. Miguel watches him go with a venomous glare. When his gaze turns to me, it doesn't soften. It hardens. It grows darker.

  My lips part beneath his fury. My heart thrums. I don't just feel empty, anymore. I'm a painful, gaping chasm.

  "You okay?" he asks. At my nod, he closes his eyes and forces the tense line of his shoulders to relax. "Coño. I know what you mean now about Mirilla."

  My eyes widen. "Right?!" I shake my head in disbelief and grab his hand. "Let's go home."

  The night's still young, so when we get home I pop on a movie that Miguel doesn't recognise. His grip around me hasn't softened since the pub.

  "Miguel?" I hum. Both of our eyes are trained on the tv, but my focus is on his hands clasped low on my stomach. "Did you ever... date again after your Y/n? Two years is a long time."

  It's a question that's been on my mind for a while. Miguel exhales long and slow. His thumb brushes my skin from beneath the hem of my shirt, and my nerves tingle with each swipe.

  "Yeah," he answers, and I can't tell if the ache of my heart is from jealousy or pity. "Nothing ever stuck, though. Jess kept trying to set me up with people she thought I'd match well with, but..."

  I trace my fingertips over the tendons of his hand. "It never worked out?"

  "They weren't you."

  My eyes jump to empty space. My fingers pause. I tilt my head back to stare at him, and I find him already watching me with a complicated expression of hesitation and want.

  I'm breathless. The need for him is an uncontrollable desire that erases all sense of uncertainty. It has me sitting up and pressing my lips to his with desperation, and he kisses me back just as wretchedly.

  My Miguel. My Miguel from another universe.

  I kiss him until I can't breathe. I kiss him with everything I have. My Miguel that I love just as ferociously, just as gutwrenchingly as my own.

  I'm panting against his lips by the time he pulls me onto his lap. We both know where this is headed. We both know this is the perfect night for it - Rosalina's not here. There's no concern of being caught. And when Miguel kneads his hands almost painfully into my ass, my whine into his mouth is shrill and unbridled.

  The emptiness between my legs drives my hips to roll into Miguel's crotch, searching for what I need. His breath stutters. He lurches with each rock, flinching with the sharp pinch of ecstasy. His hands slide down to my thighs and pins me against him.

  His name falls from my lips like a mantra. My hands explore his chest, sweeping over the hard planes of him that heave beneath his shirt. My fingertips trail over the scorching skin as I kiss him, and he forces my head back when my touch lingers on his belt. My lips slide from his.

  "You're starting something I won't be able to stop myself from finishing, cariño," Miguel warns breathlessly. He presses his lips to the wound on my neck and my breath comes out shaky. One hand rises to his hair and curls tightly within his locks.

  "Then don't stop," I whisper. At his unsure glance into my eyes, I press a kiss to the spot between his brows. "Don't stop."

  Miguel stares at me with a knot between his brow. I kiss him sweetly, enamoured by his concern. But it's not needed. Not anymore.

  "I'm ready," I promise quietly, lovely with warmth. "I'm yours, Miguito. I'm ready."  

  Miguel's breath expels deeply. My hand continues its task. This time, he doesn't look worried. He just watches me.

  I unlatch his belt slowly, and his dark, magnetic gaze is locked on mine. He doesn't look away when my fingers pull down the zip. He doesn't look away when my hand edges its way beneath his pants. But he can't stop the way his eyes roll back with pleasure when my palm leisurely slides against the boxers covering his dick.

  He hangs his head on the backrest of the couch and spits a line of curses. I kiss his neck, each glide of my hand slow, languid. I ache to sink onto him, but I'm enjoying the way he melts beneath my touch too much to stop this just yet. His hands on my thighs will leave bruises come morning.

  My body's trembling. His shakes harder, his breath broken with whimpers. I trail kisses along his jaw and wonder when the last time he had sex was. Did he find someone to fuck out of his failed romances? Or has it been two years since he's been treated to something like this?

  With the way he's so reactive to me, with the way he's been reactive to me, my bet is the latter.

  His poor hand. My poor Miguel.

  I want to make him feel amazing.

  "Does that feel good, amor?" I whisper against his ear.

  His dark, red glare on me is one of feverish pleasure and agony. My grip softly squeezes his cotton-covered base, and his answer is lost with a low, erratic moan. The sound of it sends my brain into orbit. I swallow his next whine with a kiss.

  His dick strains against his boxers, arching between the pulled apart fly of his pants. My fingers roll across his clothed tip, and his hips buck into my hold. I press myself tight against his thigh in hopes that the pressure would ease my discomfort. It does not.

  "Y/n-" Miguel gasps my name into my mouth. "Oh- fuck, baby, porfavorporfavor."

  "I know." I kiss him sweetly as he writhes beneath me. "I know."

  My pace is still slow. Still so easy and lazy, allowing me to savour the way his face twists with each stroke, the way tears bead against his lashes. He's so beautiful like this, struggling on the precipice of pleasure-induced-insanity. And I feel powerful for being the one to guide this protector of the multiverse to his atomic end.

  But he likes to be in control.

  His hand snatches my wrist and halts me. I'm on my back before I know what's happening.

  "So fuckin' perfect," Miguel snarls between gasps of breath. He straddles me with a wild look in his eyes, ragged, animalistic. His hands trail my sides and leaves my skin burning in their wake. "Verga. Fuckin' look at you."

  The movie's still playing. It's completely forgotten.

  I preen beneath his praise and pull him down for a kiss, and our tongues clash when he yanks my mouth open with his thumb. I was gentle with him. He will not be gentle with me. He knows exactly how I like it.

  "Mig-" I wrap my legs around his waist and urge him down. He obliges, digging his crotch into mine hard enough to rock the couch and make me gasp with shock, with the bolt of pleasure that destroys me. My fingers scramble for purchase against his neck. "Fuck- Mig-"

  "Yeah, amor," he hums, and rocks into me again, "right here."

  "I need you," I whisper. I hold his cheeks and look him in the eyes. His nose touches mine. Our hot breaths mingle. "I need you, Mig. Take me."

  "Bueno." He sits up and pulls off his shirt. It drops to the floor, and my eyes eat his half-naked glory up. His abdomen quivers with each shudder. "How do you want to be fucked, cariño?"

  I grow impatient. I don't care how he makes love to me, I just need him. His dick stands before me, still confined in his boxers. I reach for him and my hand gets shot back by web, stuck to the arm rest. I groan with despair.

  "So needy," Miguel hums. He unbuttons my pants and, tantalisingly slowly, pulls them down my hips. I arch up to assist, and he hooks my underwear as his fingers glide past their strap and down my thighs. His eyes lock between my legs and his breath hitches. "Muy bonita."

  The clothes fall to where his shirt is discarded.

  My hand finds his cheek, and his gaze lifts to my face. I pull him toward me to kiss him. This one's a little slower, a little more calm. He slides his fingers against my core and I whimper against his lips. I'm already soaking for him.

  "You sure you're okay?" he murmurs shakily. "We can still stop."

  "Don't you dare," I breathe. I force my thighs further apart, and his hand alone sparks vermillion behind my eyelids. I throw my head back with a sigh. "Don't you dare."

  Miguel slowly smiles against me. "Si, señora."

  He continues his ministrations with vigour, dragging me towards my peak with each caress of his fingertips. Miguel knows exactly where to press, how hard to roll, to make me see stars. He knows me intimately, and it doesn't take long until I'm arching into his touch with needy whimpers. My arm yanks against my web shackle.

  "You gonna cum for me, amor?" He speaks against my neck. At my frantic nod, he kisses my throbbing pulse. "I can't wait to watch."

  He doesn't have to wait long. My cry of relief is broken and shaky when the knot inside me abruptly snaps, and showers me with bliss that sparks within my body. Behind the ringing of my ears I hear Miguel's content sigh. But I still feel so fucking empty, and I swing my legs around his waist only to have them shoved back down.

  "Miguel," I groan in frustration and open my eyes when I feel him step away. I stop my complaint upon seeing him shucking off his pants, and I lift myself up on one elbow to stare hungrily.

  He catches my gaze and licks his bottom lip, and the movement is so simple but so lewd that my thighs push together. The corners of his mouth twitch with smug amusement. I don't have the dignity to be bashful. I continue to stare at him.

  He's naked. Miguel is entirely naked, and he's going to screw me until I see god. There's nothing for me to be bashful about.

  He crawls over the top of me again and uses a finger beneath my chin to turn my head up to his. My gaze snaps from his dick and jumps to his eyes. His hand rubs my hip. My breathing is short with anticipation.

  Miguel bends down to press a gentle peck to the corner of my lips. "Ready?"

  I can't speak. I nod instead, and hope he can see the desperation in my eyes. He does. It's not hidden.

  He lifts my leg over his waist and kisses me deeply. The hand that was stroking my skin guides himself inside me. There is a little resistance, I'm so ready for him - but he's big. And I know I'll never get used to his size, because I never did.

  I'm stretched out entirely, and it stings but it stings so good. My nerves fizzle and fray at his welcome intrusion. The emptiness is gone - my aching is slowly satisfied, and then another need arises. For him to wreck me.

  My breath shutters as Miguel continues to slowly sink in, and my head digs into the couch. He follows, chasing my lips with a ragged gasp. The fabric beside my head rips beneath his talons.

  "Coño," Miguel whimpers. His other hand returns to my waist and grips me hard to keep himself slow. "Coño. Tan apretada."

  Miguel presses his forehead against mine when he reaches his hilt, and then he stops. Tears spill from my eyes. He kisses them away, and he just stays there, stilled completely.

  My hand slides down to his cheek. I can barely take it anymore. "Move, Mig, please."

  He doesn't need telling twice. Miguel slides himself back and then thrusts into me so firmly that my breath is knocked from my lungs. He holds my knee in place against his waist as he rolls his hips, setting a brutal rhythm that has a whine escaping my throat with each hit of his dick.

  The sounds Miguel makes are heavenly. I need to brand them into my soul. My nails dig into his hot skin, dragging across his flesh, and he groans at the sensation.

  I won't last long. He knows where to hit, and he aims for it perfectly, sending fireworks of nirvana bursting each time. Sweat beads on my forehead as I raise my hips to his. I can feel the threads of my mental state unravelling. All I need is him, right here, like this.

  "Me estas volviendo loco," Miguel breathes against my neck. I clench around him and drops his head to my neck with a shuddering exhale. His talons dig through the couch.

  "You feel so good," I whisper into his hair, and tighten around him again. "Te amo, te amo, te amo."

  That does something to Miguel. He moans, and his fangs unsheathe and sink into the crook of my shoulder. My eyes flutter with surprise. The agony sparks wicked and deep, stoking my impending orgasm, and it makes me hook my leg tighter over his hip with a whimper.

  Miguel releases me abruptly. He stops moving, and his expression is one of dazed horror as he stares at the blood beading from the new wounds on my neck. His body is glossy with sweat. His lips are red with my blood.

  I gaze up at him like he's the embodiment of the universe. So beautiful. My Miguel is so beautiful.

  "Fuck-" he breathes raggedly. "Fuck, sorry, that was habit-"

  His venom works fast but I move faster. I grab his arm and haul him back down to me for a kiss. The taste of iron dances on the tip of my tongue.

  "Again," I whisper. "Amor, do it again."

  Miguel stills in shock. He gives a breathy, stunned laugh and shakes his head. His rhythm continues, and it drives my sanity away with each glide of him against my sensitive walls. My moan is muffled by my teeth biting my lip.

  "Verga," he sighs. "Me estás matando."

  He drops his head to my neck and kisses me. I wrap my other leg around him, and I feel my movement slowing, the numbing sensation of my limbs. But the heat inside my core - that burns only hotter.

  His fangs snap through the thin skin of my throat and my cry is strained and agonised. He drinks deeply, his thrusts uninhibited, and I feel my end coming twice as fast as I expected, and then I shatter.

  It heats through me, a cascade of fire and electricity and words that fail to describe how good it feels. It burns white-hot and I lose my vision to it, I lose my head, I lose my sense of self. I float in the ether as my body is shorn away and remade; better, brighter, clarity, clarity.

  I can't scream or moan or sob. My orgasm is quiet, my voice stolen. But inside, it feels amazing, and it's like Miguel's singlehandedly walked me right into heaven itself and declared it mine. The ecstasy of it is the sweetest torture, and it wrings me, it ruins me completely.

  Miguel groans when he feels my walls flutter around him, the gush of my orgasm. He chases his high faster, now, needing it desperately. He kisses me, and the taste of blood drives me wild.

  "Tomalo," he gasps into my mouth. "Tomalo, bonita."

  The paralysis doesn't last as long as last time, which I'm immensely grateful for. I dig my sluggish fingers into his hair and yank. "C'mon, Miguito," I whisper, my tongue heavy. I sound drunk. I feel drunk. "Fuck me harder."

  He does just that; dragging me against him and pistoning into my pussy with the slapping of wet skin like he'll die if he slows. My second orgasm is a bright flash - quick and surprising, and leaving me breathless.

  "Where-?" he asks against my cheek.

  "Inside," I whisper pleadingly. "I want you to fill me, amor."

  His answering groan is the sweetest of sounds.

  The rock of his hips stumble as he crawls the final hill to his high. And they stutter when I lick the blood from his lips, when I squeeze my legs tighter around him. And his cascade of gasps and whimpers as he spills his warmth inside me is something I need to hear viscerally for the rest of my life.

  Miguel closes his eyes and struggles to regain his breath. He heaves for it just as I do, and the bliss of sex leaves me boneless and limp. My neck begins to ache a little more now that the raging desire has been subdued. For now.

  Miguel exhales heavily. He wipes the hair from my sweaty forehead and slips from me. I wince as he falls away, and the emptiness returns. But it's not a bad emptiness; it's a satisfied one. He kisses me softly. I'm too tired to return it.

  Not wanting to crush me, he drops to the floor with a heavy thunk and rests his arm over his forehead. The room is suddenly so quiet. It'd been so loud in here. I stare at the ceiling and cycle through what just happened.

  "Holy shit," I whisper. I turn my head to Miguel on the floor and he tiredly meets my gaze. He's dazed with post-sex bliss. "Holy shit."

  A weary smile pulls at his lips. "Yeah?"

  I stare at him in disbelief. I knew sex with him was going to be good, but I didn't expect it to be this fucking good. Jesus Christ.

  "I'm going to be so sore tomorrow," I realise. I'm already starting to hurt now; a deep, throbbing ache in my muscles that won't go away for a while.

  Miguel chuckles and forces himself to sit up. "I'll take care of you, cariño, don't worry." His eyes wander down to the mess between my legs. He stares for a minute before clearing his throat. "We need a shower."

  "Oh, god." I drop my head back and close my eyes with halfhearted misery. "I don't think I can stand."

  He pats my thigh in sympathy. My skin still sizzles beneath his touch despite the thorough dicking down I just received.

  "Gimme a minute," Miguel murmurs foggily. "I'll help you when I get feeling in my legs back."

  His utter weariness is amusing - he's usually so high in stamina and fit. But I'm too tired myself to laugh. I settle on a weak smile.

  "Thank you." My arm begins to grow numb and I tug on it, only to find it still restrained by Miguel's web. "Oh. A little help?"

  "Shit," Miguel breathes. "Yeah." He reaches over and slices it away with a talon. I rub my shoulder with a wince, and then falter upon seeing the damage we made to the furniture.

  I stare at it in shock - it's been completely ripped open by his talons, destroyed enough that repairing would cost more than buying a new one. What a shame. I really liked this one.

  "Oh, Mig," I sigh. I look over at Miguel's slumped figure. He glances at me and then the fabric and widens his eyes. "We're gonna need a new couch."

  He hangs his head and curses.