summary: When you're dating Javier Peña, and sex hurts.
"It’s all too much—you and all your baggage trying to date. Your little skirts and slinky dresses were false advertising. Hot tears of embarrassment pool at the corner of your eyes, spilling over the sides of your cheeks. God, what was he going to tell his friends? How soon would the total population of Laredo, Texas, know you were damaged goods, too?"
rating: E [SMUT; ETA: implied SA, painful penetration which can obviously be triggering, anxiety, POV shift, 🚨extremely soft Javi alert🚨]
pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader
word count: 7.2k [this is so long i'm so sorry]
note: Thank you @starlightmornings for assuring me this wasn't complete garbage and that maybe some people would identify with it. So this isn't my standard smut, but it IS extremely personal to me. This was my experience with sex for a long time before I knew I had something called vaginismus and found a partner who wanted to help me work through it, and i don't feel like it's talked about very often. Also, Javier Peña is the man to help you through something like this. AND I did something a little different with the POV, which I think I like.
masterlist | read on ao3
You’ve heard so many stories about the former DEA agent-turned-ranch-hand on his father’s farm, he's starting to sound like some kind of local legend. He’s been through half the women in the town; he can’t commit; he left Lorraine at the altar for no reason; he has PTSD from his time in the DEA. You don’t know what’s true and what isn’t, and so you believe none of it. You don’t know Lorraine, Javier Peña is twelve years older than you, and you left this town the minute you could. Your paths never had a chance to cross.
You moved back just a month or so ago to care for your ailing mother. It’s been a tough month, and you just started your new job as a bank teller. In a town this size, it’s dull work, but it was nice getting to know the residents. And it’s nice to get out of the house. You love your mom, but caring for someone is hard. The nurses come during the day, but most evenings, it’s on you.
Recently, though, your mom had been telling you to get out and see some of the town; meet some new people. You know she means “find a man,” even if she doesn’t say it out loud.
“I’d like to see you married before I die, darling. It’s important,” she said earlier this morning. You just sighed and left the house. It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and even longer since you’d been in a relationship. But Laredo isn’t a huge place, and everyone you know is either married or had moved away.
And you don’t want to fuck just anyone. You need someone understanding and patient, and there aren’t a lot of men out there like that. So you resigned yourself to a life of celibacy until you could move somewhere else, and that was that.
Of course, after you reassure yourself of this decision, Javier Peña walks into your bank to open a savings account. He is, in fact, just as gorgeous as everyone says. Strong nose, sharp jaw, thick mustache, broad shoulders, and big brown eyes hidden behind yellow aviators. You sigh at the gorgeous combination of features, lost in a daydream until he swaggers up to your counter, knocking you out of the fantasy and forcing you to put on your customer service face.
“Can I help you, sir?” You ask, your voice a few octaves higher than your natural pitch.
“I’d like to open a savings account,” he says. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask how you’re doing, doesn’t try to start a conversation while you pull out the forms he needs. It’s a wonderful change from the small talk generally forced on you.
“Do you have anything you’d like to deposit today, sir?” You ask after he completes the paperwork and you photocopy his identification. He even looks good in his driver’s license picture.
“Yes,” he says. “This.”
He hands you a stack of bills, looking around warily as you count them out.
“Something the matter?” You ask.
“I, uh...old habit,” he says.
“I don’t think there are any drug traffickers in here today,” you say dryly, then cringe. The residents of your hometown do not often appreciate your sense of humor. You’re about to apologize when he chuckles under his breath.
“No,” he says. “Doesn’t look like there are.”
You finish depositing his money and tell him to have a good day, and he walks out of the glass doors while you ogle after him.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor, missy,” your co-worker, Ellen, says. “Shouldn’t get mixed up with him. He’s a heartbreaker.”
“Does anyone actually know anyone other than Lorraine that he wronged?” You ask. You aren’t sure why you’re defensive, but he’d been so polite. Ellen shakes her head and goes back to her work.
He comes back the next week to deposit more. And then he wants to open a checking account the next week. The week after, he brings in some neatly rolled coins to exchange. Javier seeks you out, always. More than once, you notice him letting other people go ahead just so he can get you.
“Can I take you to dinner?” He asks, quite abruptly, just as you finish counting out his withdrawal. You lay the last bill on the stack. He’s really interrupting your celibacy plan, but the puppy-dog eyes draw you in.
“I’d like that,” you say.
“Friday?” He asks, looking hopeful.
“Yeah, that should give me some time to find a sitter.”
“Oh,” he says, “You have kids?”
He doesn’t seem upset, just curious.
“No, God, not at all. It’s my mom. She can’t really be left alone for too long.”
He frowns, and you realize you might have divulged too much information. Who wants to date a woman with baggage? You’re just about to tell him it’s fine if he wanted to cancel, but he speaks before you can.
“That’s pretty expensive, huh?” He asks. You shrug and nod, because it’s the truth. “Hm.”
“It’s really okay; I don’t mind,” you say, mostly to fill the silence.
“Can I do another transaction?” He asks.
“Oh, um, of course,” you say, taken aback at his sudden shift, and a little embarrassed that he moved on so quickly.
“I wanna take out a hundred dollars from my savings.”
You hand him a one hundred-dollar bill, and he hands it back to you.
You look at him, confused, and a grin spreads across his handsome face. “For the sitter.”
“It’s part of the date. I’m paying, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” you murmur. You give him all the details—your phone number, your address. He’ll pick you up at seven.
He walks out of the bank with a little spring in his step, and you smile to yourself, clutching the bill.
Javi’s nervous. When’s the last time he went on a date? A proper date, with dinner and drinks and flowers? This is Steve’s fault. When Javi came back stateside, Steve told him to settle down during one of the monthly phone calls that had become routine.
“Connie and Olivia are the only things keeping me going. I don’t know what I’d do without them. Find something to hold on to and cherish so you can get your bearings. It’s tough out there alone,” Steve said in that West Virginia drawl.
Javier rolled his eyes at first, but after a few months, he’d started to feel it. His dad was good company, but they’d gotten on each other’s nerves enough that Javi had gotten his own place not far from Chucho’s.
The little ranch house felt huge, and that girl from the bank—she’s cute. Gorgeous, even. The joke she made the first time they met? The same undeserved hero-worship marred his interactions with everyone else in this town since he came back, and she took him down a peg. He liked that in a woman. Why not take her out?
Javi rings the doorbell to her place—a modest craftsman bungalow tucked off into a neighborhood just off the main highway. She opens the door in a little black dress that reminds him of Julia Roberts wears in Pretty Woman. He doesn’t watch a lot of movies, but he loves that one. Not that he’s ever admitted it to anyone. She wears black pumps and a sparkling necklace, and he drinks in the sight of her, feeling very under dressed in his blazer and jeans.
“You look great,” he says, kissing her on the cheek. She smiles and tells him he does, too.
He does all the things he’s supposed to do, all the stuff he remembers doing when he dated a million years ago. He opens doors, pays for her meal, orders nice wine (he thinks it’s nice, at least—he’s always preferred whiskey). And at the end of the night, he takes her home and kisses her good night.
As she shuts the door, wobbling a little from the wine and her heels, he takes what feels like his first breath all evening. He wonders if calling her tomorrow is too soon.
Javier invites you to his place for the fourth date, offering to cook. You’re a little suspicious because from everything he’s told you about himself (which, to be fair, is not a lot), he doesn’t seem like much of a cook. But it doesn’t matter. At this point, you’re more interested in getting a full sentence out of him. It’s not that he’s rude or shy, even. He just doesn’t seem to have much to say.
Instead, he listens to with an intent you’re not used to from a man. He asks you questions about yourself, and doesn’t use them as a springboard to talk about himself. Sometimes it’s more of an interrogation than a conversation with those big brown eyes trained on you.
You’d like to pull him out of his shell just a little.
When you arrive at his place, he opens the door wearing a white apron. Oh, God, he’s adorable. You wonder if he cooks a lot, or if it’s a recent purchase. He invites you in, looking quite handsome in a plaid button-up and jeans. His hair is a little messier than you’ve seen it, and when you enter the kitchen, you see why.
It’s a mess. Propped on the counter is a cookbook turned to a recipe for chicken parmesan with angel hair pasta. For you, it’s a simple dish, and one you’ve ordered out with him. He must have noticed. For him, though, it seems to have upended his life. The scent of burnt meat fills your nose. He turns to you with an apologetic smile.
“You burnt the chicken, huh?” You ask.
“I couldn’t tell if it was cooked,” he says gruffly, a little defensive. “Didn’t want to give you salmonella.”
You quirk your mouth at him, surprised at his thoughtfulness. You lay a hand on his shoulder and his eyes flick to it. Wondering if you’ve overstepped—there hasn’t been much physical contact between the two of you yet—you make to withdraw your hand, but he brings his own up to his shoulder and laces his large fingers in the spaces between your own.
“...You have stuff to make huevos rancheros?” You ask. The tension in his forehead melts and he breaks into a wide smile.
“You’re not mad?” He asks.
“Why on Earth would I be mad?”
Javier parts his lips in surprise. He’s not sure why she’d be upset with him, exactly, but he’d been sure he’d screw this up somehow.
“Yeah,” he says, “I have that.”
She slides her heels off and moves past him, gathering up the soiled dishes and making her way to the sink. He tries to stop her, to tell her she doesn’t need to do that, but she slinks out of his reach and shakes her head.
“I didn’t want to have you cleaning,” he says, and she laughs.
“It’s no big deal,” she shrugs. “Get all the stuff we need out while I do this.”
She moves quickly, making short work of the mess he’s made. The second attempt at dinner is a success—simple, but delicious. She asks him questions this time, drilling into him the way he’s drilled into her. She dances around his time in the DEA, asking about what he liked to do in Colombia, if he had any places he missed. Javier, for once, doesn’t dread answering questions about his past.
She teases him about his reputation, and he can only sigh. You leave one woman at the altar, and you’re a womanizer for life.
“And what do you think about it, sweetheart?” He asks. He means it to be flirtacious, but it comes out like a plead.
“I think...I think your past is none of my business,” she says, choosing her words with care. He finds, though, that he might want it to be.
“I didn’t date, exactly,” he admits. “Just had a couple of girls I knew well.”
She sits back and nods, waiting for him to go on. Normally he might hesitate, but she has kind eyes. In some ways, she reminds him of Connie—strong, open, opinionated, and caring. He never coveted her, exactly, but he told himself if he ever found a woman even a little like that, he’d hold on to her. It was like he’d told Steve when Connie went home—there are women worth fighting for, and she was one of them. He thinks the woman in front him might be one, too.
And here she is, carving shallow fissures into his past to see if he’ll meet her halfway. He can do that.
“They were informants. Prostitutes, mostly,” he said, waiting for the inevitable, but she breezes past it.
“Anyone special?” She prods. He thinks of Helena, of Gabi, even Elisa. They were special, but not how she means. He shakes his head.
“Must have been lonely, all those years,” she says, reaching her hand across the dining room table to stroke his knuckles with her thumb. He clears his throat and shakes his head, because this fissure is too deep for now.
“Should we watch a movie?” He asks.
You notice the abrupt change of subject, but say nothing.
“Sure,” you agree. “What movie?”
A hint of embarrassment washes over him as he picks up the Blockbuster case. “Uh, it’s...it’s called Fools Rush In? The lady said it was a romantic comedy.”
Your eyes light up. “With Salma Hayek?”
His embarrassment gives way to subdued delight, and he nods.
“I’d been wanting to see that!” You say, sitting delicately on the couch, curling your legs to your side. The dress you chose is a little much for a night in, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to look as close to gorgeous as you could for this man. He’d kissed you a few times, and you’d held hands, but he’d so far been physically reserved. And it wasn’t that you were dying to have sex—because that’s where the complications come in—but you did want to know that you were desirable. That he wants you. Because despite the complications, you really, really want him.
He turns off the lights and sits next to you, his denim-clad thigh pressing against your bare leg, and rests his arm behind your shoulders. You scoot a little closer and lean into his torso, head resting on his chest. He pulls you in even more, placing his hand on your shoulder and tracing light circles on your arm with thick, calloused fingers.
The movie’s funny, and plenty romantic, he supposes, but he can’t stop looking at her in the dark. She’s never been this close for this long, and he wants to tilt her chin up to press his lips against hers. He wants to push the straps of her dress down and kiss her bare shoulders. It’s been a while since he’s been with a woman, and she’s always so stressed. Caring for her mom or working. He wants to lift some of that off of her in the best way he knows how.
So he leans down and kisses her neck. Softly at first, to see how she reacts. She doesn’t stiffen, but melts into him, and he takes it as a good sign. His lips travel further around her neck, nipping her chin with gentle teeth and eliciting a soft moan from her.
She leans back to give him better access to explore her with his mouth. He slips her dress straps down and nibbles her bare shoulders, kissing his way down to the top of her breasts. He’d like to taste those, too, but he leans up instead, capturing her soft lips in a wet kiss. She moans straight into his mouth and his half-hard cock strains against his jeans.
Javier leans back and pulls her on top until she’s straddling his thigh. He rubs her soft hips, fingers digging in lightly as she rocks back and forth on him, grinding herself into his thigh. She whimpers slightly as he rucks her stretchy dress down to reveal a lacy black bra, which he unclasps with ease. Her breasts bounce as he unveils them and he lets out a groan.
“Baby,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to cup her and swipe a thumb over her nipple. “Look at you.”
He is laser-focused, listening to your body’s needs, watching the way you react to each touch and lick and nibble. His mustache tickles you as he takes your nipple in his mouth, suckling softly. The hand that cups you is huge—thick, long fingers and a wide, meaty palm. You whimper at the size of it.
Your instinct is to be quiet, but he pulls moans out of you like it’s his life’s purpose. Every noise you make, he answers with his own. A groan, a pant, a soft word of praise. He puts his hands on your hips and rocks you back and forth, the friction of his clothed thigh rubbing against your cunt. You’re so lost in how good it feels, how safe you feel with those big hands running up and down your arms, you forget to worry about what comes next.
“Do you want to go to the bedroom, baby?” He asks. And here’s where you make the decision. To have the conversation, or hope for the best. To decline, even if you don’t want to decline, or say yes and see if things go differently this time. The heat between your legs and the heartbreakingly beautiful man underneath you wins out, but just as you’re about to nod, he asks if everything’s okay, like he picked up your hesitation.
And, you remind yourself, he probably had.
“All fine,” you assure him, but you’re not sure how you’re going to do this. He kisses you again, deep and hard and messy, his tongue sliding lazily into your mouth. He nudges you backward, tapping your thigh to signal he wants you to get up.
On the short walk to the bedroom, he kisses the back of your neck and you shiver at his warm breath dusting over your skin. You let the sensation ground you as you walk into a pleasantly neat room, bed made and all. Most men could barely manage to pick up all the empty beer cans, much less make the bed.
He stops here for just a moment to unbutton his shirt and pull it off, revealing a smooth, bronze chest, muscled arms, and an age-softened belly you wanted to kiss. You wonder, maybe, if you can just give him a blowjob, and then postpone anything for you until next time. If there was a next time.
Javier closes the gap between the two of you and strokes your cheek. You decide to go for it, peppering kisses on his neck and down his chest, dropping to your knees to unbuckle his belt and kiss his stomach, palming the bulge in his jeans. If it’s as big as it feels, this is going to be even more difficult for you. You focus on your task, but he cups his hand under your chin and tilts your face up to look at him.
Javier doesn’t like receiving first. He likes exploring a new partner, finding what they like, learning their body. He isn’t a hard man to please. His talents lie in making the person he shares his bed with scream his name, and he wants it just as much, if not more, than their pretty lips around his cock.
“Not yet,” he whispers. He pulls her up and undresses her slowly, taking note of the places that make her whimper as his hand traverses her skin. Once she’s fully bare, laying naked in front of him, he takes in her form under the low light and groans. Her breathing comes out in soft pants as he takes her nipple into his mouth again.
“Like this?” He asks when she moans at his touch, loving the frantic nod she gives him. Javier’s hand moves over her body, down her stomach, squeezing her ass and nudging his knuckle through her damp folds. He groans at her arousal and brings his fingers up to his mouth for a taste. “You taste so fucking good.”
Javi knows he’s good at this part. He’s a quiet man, preferring to speak only when he has something to say, but his voice is his favorite toy to pull out during sex. And she’s especially responsive. He wonders if this is new, if no one’s spoken to her like this before.
“You look so fuckin’ pretty for me, baby,” he murmurs, circling her clit as she whines underneath. “You know how often I think about this? About making you come?”
She shivers underneath him, opening her mouth and closing it again, and he smiles against her chest. Yeah, this is new for her. He nibbles on her neck and soothes the teeth marks with his tongue as she grows wetter by the second, dripping between his fingers.
Javier leans up and kisses her softly as he slides a finger inside of her, freezing when he feels her entire body tense up. She gasps, but not in a good way. He pulls back from her lips to search her face and finds her looking away from him, biting her lip with her face screwed up in something too much like pain.
You knew he’d do it soon, and you knew those fingers would be too much, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. He feels so good against you, so soft and warm and firm. Strong. So you let him inside, praying this time it’s different, and, of course, it hurts. Your heart stutters, dropping with disappointment. It burns, like always, and you don’t know why. It’s always been like this. You’ve asked doctors, and they wave it off, telling you to try more lube or just tough it out. It always hurts a little at first. It’ll feel better, eventually.
But it never does. And you think, maybe, this is just what sex feels like. Maybe everyone else just has a higher pain tolerance. Or maybe your body is just broken. If this man can’t make you enjoy it, you’re positive it’s impossible.
He pulls back and looks at you, and you realize the sharp gasp has given you away. You’re close to ruining an almost perfect night, so you try to rearrange your face; to turn the gasp of pain into something that sounds vaguely pornographic. You want him to have a good time, at least.
“What is it?” He asks, his brown eyes soft with curiosity and concern.
“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you murmur, but he’s just not that easy to fool. He pulls his finger out of you quickly and you yelp with pain. He looks panicked now, and you’re not sure you’re ready to explain any of it. “Sorry,” you say, looking away again.
“Hey, hey. Come on, baby, what’s going on? Did I hurt you?”
And how to explain that it wasn’t him or his gentle fingers that hurt you? How to explain it was your own body that decided penetration was not in the cards? That you could barely stand to put in tampons? That you’d never enjoyed a man’s cock inside of you because you were too busy breathing through it? That your past boyfriends had called you damaged goods when they couldn’t get you off?
It’s all too much—you and all your baggage trying to date. Your little skirts and slinky dresses were false advertising. And then, of course, hot tears of embarrassment pool at the corner of your eyes, spilling over the sides of your cheeks. Would he ask for the sitter money back? God, what was he going to tell his friends? How soon would the total population of Laredo, Texas, know you were damaged goods, too?
It happens so fast Javier doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know what he’s done. Moved too quickly, maybe? Misread a signal? Panic and dread grow inside of him—flashes of Helena laid on a mattress, bruised and broken for someone else’s amusement—as he tries to piece everything together. What has he done? She pushes him away as he struggles to react, reaching for her clothes.
“Wait, please, sweetheart,” he says softly, “Please tell me what’s going on.”
She turns to face him, still bare and beautiful as ever, covering herself awkwardly, and he pulls the blanket off the bed to wrap around her shivering figure. “It’s really not a big deal,” she says.
“It seems like it is,” he points out, leading her back to the bed. “I’d like to know.”
“It...hurts. It hurts when...ugh, it hurts when I fuck, okay? Or put anything in there. It’s always hurt. Nothing has ever felt good. I usually just...get through it,” she admits, wiping her eyes. “No one’s ever noticed enough to stop.”
Javier’s quiet for a moment, processing the information. The way she clenched and gasped and tensed up, the look of pain on her face. “No one’s ever stopped?” He asks. She shakes her head. He moves forward to put his arm around her and thinks better of it. “Can I touch you?”
“..Yes,” she says. He pulls her close and kisses her deeply. His instinct to retroactively protect her from every piece of shit who’s violated her without caring pulses within him, but he pushes it down.
It’s not about him.
“Let’s slow it down, huh?” He asks. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”
“I wanted to, though,” she says. “I wanted it to be you.”
His eyes drop to her lips, and he looks back into her eyes. “Maybe you just need to relax,” he says in a husky voice. She laughs.
“Well, yeah. But I’m too...I just don’t think sex is good for me.”
Javier feels his own sense of pride claw at his chest. “What about if I kiss you down there? What if we just start with that?”
She rolls her eyes, then looks horrified at herself. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I’ve never come from that.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, “Has a man ever made you come at all?”
She looks at him shyly. “No.”
His lips curl into a smirk. “If you want me to show you something, lay back.”
You’re skeptical. You’ve gotten this speech before. They last five minutes and get tired, looking up from between her legs and asking if you’ve come. So you lie and say sure, and get it all over with.
And that’s what sex has been, always. Getting it over with. So you lay back and take a deep breath. Javier crawls between your legs and leans up to your mouth, kissing you so, so softly it makes you want to cry. There’s something tender there that you can’t explain, and you think fleetingly, that maybe he loves you.
He makes his way down your body, kissing every single inch of you he can reach, talking to you the whole time.
“Preciosa,” as he reaches your collarbone. “Hermosa,” to the crevice between your breasts. He moves to your pussy, still slick from his earlier ministrations. Javier nudges your lips open with his nose and you gasp as he grazes your clit.
“She likes that?” He asks.
You nod and whimper. And then he inhales. A deep, shuddering inhale followed by a long groan—like he’s never smelled anything so sweet. You’ve just gotten over the noise he made when he licks a long, lazy stripe along your seam until he reaches your clit. You gasp as he runs his tongue over it, flicking it softly at first.
Javier’s fingers dig into your thighs, gripping you hard. He’s concentrating, you realize. This wasn’t just a way for him to get you ready—he likes it. Wants to make it feel good. Feel great. And, oh God, does it ever. He presses the flat of his tongue to you, the firm pressure driving you wild as he breathes you in. You can hear him moaning between your legs, whispering praise into your cunt, and your eyes roll into the back of your head at his sweet words.
Javier senses her getting closer. He can always tell, but it’s trickier with her. Usually he can feel slick walls contracting and pulsing, ready to coat his fingers or cock in her juices. But this isn’t a usual situation. So he works twice as hard, uses his other senses—feels her thighs start to tremble under his large hands as he kneads her soft flesh, hears her breath coming in short gasps and whimpers, sees her eyes squeeze shut and her hands scramble for purchase on the bed as she bucks into him.
And there she goes. She cries out, gushing beautifully onto his greedy tongue.
“Javi,” she whines, “Javi, Javi, Javi—”
He smirks to himself as she babbles his name. Javi wants to talk her through it but he can’t; his lips are sealed over her pussy and he won’t leave it until he’s pulled a second one out of her, so he moans into her instead. This is a woman who wants to know he’s present, he’s there with her.
The second one comes faster, almost immediately after. He licks and licks and licks until she pushes his face away from oversensitivity. He leans back on his knees, still wearing his jeans. His cock strains against the rough denim as he watches her recover. She looks so beautiful and wild like this, stretched on his bed, far away from that self-conscious uncertainty from before.
As she recovers, her eyes grow wide with it again and she bites her lip—a habit he’s starting to love. But before she can get too far into her own head, she looks down and sees his cock bulging in his denim pants as he palms himself for relief. For the second time that night, she dives towards it.
“Please let me suck your cock, Javi,” she pleads. This time he can tell that she means it. Before it was a flimsy offer, one he realizes she made to satiate him for the night. His chest burns with guilt, but her eyes sparkle as she cups him and he’s so fucking hard. He resists.
“Next time, sweetheart. I promise.”
“Let’s take a shower,” he offers. She wilts a little, her eyes less shiny with the perceived rejection. He cups her face in his hands and brushes her lips with his. “This is about you, sweetheart.”
She nods, seeming to understand what he means.
In the shower, he touches her again with his fingers, whispers filthy things in her ear, making her come so hard on shaking thighs he has to lower her to the shower floor while she sobs his name.
You blush at the way Javier talks to you, filthy and sweet at the same time. But it’s not only the physical side of the relationship that blossoms over the next few weeks. He meets your mom, and she loves him. You’re not sure if it’s because she really loves him or if she’s just ready for you to be married, but it’s nice that she approves. Her health, for once, is improving. You’ve been able to leave her alone at night with no issues, and she keeps pushing you out the door.
“He looks like Burt Reynolds,” she observes when he leaves one night after dinner. Your mother leans conspiratorially toward you. “Does he have chest hair like him?”
You only laugh and shake your head. You think she’d be disappointed if she knew the truth.
He hasn’t brought up the subject of penetration with you since you’d told him it hurt, but the longer the two of you go without talking about it, the more nervous you became. Sure, it’s fine now, but what happens six months down the road when he decides he wants someone he can fuck easily. And Javi’s been so good to you, it feels bad to even think about it. You need to know.
This is the spiral you’re stuck in when he picks you up from work one day. He’s clearly just left the ranch with his grass-stained jeans and damp pink t-shirt. His sweaty throat glistens and he grins at you over the top of his yellow aviators as you slide into the passenger side of his truck.
“Evenin’,” he says, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “My place or yours?”
And then you burst into very noisy tears. His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Baby?” He asks, putting his hand on your shoulder as you sob in the bank parking lot.
“What are we doing?” You ask. He frowns.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this? How long are you gonna keep dating me until you get bored with not being able to fuck me?” You ask, lip trembling, your stomach clenching in fear now that you’d brought it up. Maybe he hadn’t thought of it, and now he will. Javier’s quiet for so long you think he’s mad at you.
“My place, then,” he says, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other lacing his fingers with your own. “We can talk about this there.”
He strokes your hand with his thick thumb and brings it up to kiss it softly every now and then. The drive is less tense than you imagined, but quiet. He pulls you into the house, and there’s very little talking as he leads you to the shower to rinse off the day, washing you from head to toe. You sink into him, finally relaxing.
Javier spreads her out on the bed, still wet from the shower. He wonders how deep this goes for, how much of a scar this has left. He has his fair share of pain and secrets, but he thinks she carries some shame with this, too. Javier is bad at talking, bad at expressing himself verbally, bad at making himself understood without using his body—but for her, he’s going to try.
“What do you need from me?” He asks. She bites her bottom lip again.
“I guess I just...don’t understand.”
She sighs. “You could have anyone. Anyone in this town, or in a million towns, and you’re wasting your time with me. And I’m broken.”
It frustrates him when she says that, when she talks so poorly of herself.
“You’re not broken, sweetheart. I wish you’d stop saying that.”
She looks away from him and swallows thickly.
“The truth is, I can do just fine without ever going inside of you. The last month has been...something I never thought I’d get,” he says. “But we can try something. And we can go slow—as slow as you need.”
She looks at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
His fingers are thick and long. A pinky first, after you’ve come by his hand or his tongue. He shifts it around, opening you up, millimeter by millimeter. He soothes you with whispered praise and soft kisses. Props you up with pillows and spreads your legs as wide as they’ll go. He works with precision and focus, and eventually, his middle finger can slide in without much resistance.
“Let’s try a second,” he murmurs one night. “I think you’re ready.”
It pinches, just a bit, but you manage to relax into it. “There she is. There you go, bebita. Doing so well for me. Does that feel good?”
His voice caresses you as softly as his tongue, and you whimper confirmation.
“Gonna go a little faster, pretty girl.”
He adds his thumb to your clit and you clench involuntarily. He stops and holds his fingers in you. “Relax, bebita.”
You didn’t know it could be like this. Didn’t know you could feel stretched and full without being in pain. Didn’t know there was a special spot in you that he could find and stroke and bring you to a different plane. Could make your legs shake and your eyes leak and your pussy quiver around his fingers.
He’s so patient, taking his time and pulling you apart, happy to have your lips around his cock or fuck his own hand as you fall apart on his mouth or fingers.
And then one night, it happens. You just know you want his cock and you know you can take it. Or at least, you want to try. Javi’s cock is huge and thick and intimidating, but you don’t think you can go another moment without him inside you. He’s worried at first, thinking about how tightly you squeeze his fingers, but once he’s assured, he makes his excitement clear.
The amount of lube you’ve gone through the past two months is insane, but he bought an extra bottle. He warms you up, dousing you in his saliva and lube and your own juices.
“Get on top, bebita. You can control it better,” he says. And so you lower yourself slowly, slowly, slowly until you feel that stretch.
“Breathe,” he whispers, noticing you holding your breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. You slide further, concentrating on his arms and hands and eyes. It burns, but not for long. You bottom out, crashing onto him with a strangled sound.
“You’re doing so well,” he assures you. “You’re doing so fucking well, bebita. Taking my cock so, so well. Christ, you’re so fucking tight, baby. Breathe.”
You can tell he’s struggling to stay still, struggling to keep himself from bucking into you. You relax around him and he groans.
“There she goes. Good girl,” he says. You shudder at the praise, whimpering as you start to move. You don’t know how much of him you can take, but you want to try to make him come. You want to make him feel good, make him moan your name. You want to thank him for everything, for his patience and soft eyes and gentle hands.
You suspect he isn’t used to hearing praise like that, and it hurts you.
He stays still underneath you, his hands kneading into you, eyes heavy-lidded; full of warmth and reverence. You bounce faster, never quite pulling off of him, and his fingers grip harder. You’re sure there will be bruises that he’ll soothe with his tongue and lips later, but it’s okay for now. The sensation grounds you. The control he’s given you is wonderful, but you want to try something. You want to feel how much he’s wanted you.
“Can you—mm—can you get on top?” You pant. His eyes grow dark and round, surprised at the request, but unable to hide his desire.
“Are you sure?” He asks through gritted teeth.
“Please,” you beg. “I wanna know what it feels like when it’s good.”
Javier understands, even if he’s hesitant. She wants him to claim her. And God help him, he wants to. Her pussy is so tight it’s choking his cock even with her legs spread wide open over him, and he takes deep breaths to control his hips.
“Yeah, baby. We can do that. You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
She nods fervently and shimmies off of him without so much as a wince, and his heart swells at the sight. Javier gathers the pillows and makes a neat stack and leans back to look at her as she crawls onto them, legs spread open and waiting for him.
She glistens for him and he can’t help it; he ducks his head down and laps at her softly.
“Fuck, you taste so good—”
“Javi, fuck me. Please, please fuck me.”
He looks at her, and she means it. He wonders if she’s ever begged anyone like that before, and common sense tells him no. He tries to contain his pride, but he can’t. He’s fucking good at this.
“You want me to fuck you, baby? That’s what you want?” He growls as he crawls up to her. “You sure?”
She nods feverishly, threading your fingers through his hair. “Please.”
He notches the head of his cock at her entrance. Before he enters, he leans close to her and kisses you softly, lovingly, and says, “Please tell me if it hurts, amor.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and he pushes in. “Breathe,” he says.
She’s still tight, but she relaxes, wrapping her legs around his waist and spreading herself as wide as she can. He’s gentle at first, careful in the way he moves in and out. But she teases him. She bites his earlobe and murmurs his name, whispering how badly she’s wanted this. How badly she’s wanted this to feel good.
“You can go harder, Javi,” she says. He’s hesitant, of course.
“Maybe we should—fuuuuck,” he groans as she slips her fingers between her legs to feel his cock gliding in and out of her.
“Show me how you fuck, Javier. Please—I wanna know how much you want me,” she whines. And, shit, that breaks him. Her begging, her pleading, that whine, her moans. He slams into her and she gasps in pleasure.
“You—you don’t fucking know how much I want you—how much I always want you,” he murmurs into her neck, words punctuated with thrusts and her moans. She’s loosened up some; relaxed around him. He picks up speed as she circles her clit, bearing down to match his rhythm. “Oh, fuck, there she is. You want my cock that bad?”
He watches her face, alert for any signs of pain or hesitation, and when he sees none he keeps fucking her harder than he thought she’d be able to take.
“Fuck, Javi, fuck—I’m—”
But he feels it already. He feels her clench around him, strangling his cock so hard he can’t move. He kisses her through it, his tongue sliding over hers as she moans and sobs his name.
“So good, amor. So good, doing so fucking well, such a good fucking girl,” he murmurs into her mouth. She’s even more relaxed, and he takes advantage, snapping his hips and moaning as her juices gush onto his cock. She looks up at him then, and bites her lip and oh, fuck. “Where?”
“In me,” she begs. “Inside, please.”
His orgasm comes in shuddering waves, his seed surging into her and leaking back out around him. She murmurs praises into his neck (“You’re so good to me. You’re such a good man.”), and he collapses onto her.
They stay like that for a while, soaking into each other’s skin, until their breathing evens out and he pulls back to look her in the eyes. He pulls out of her and she whimpers, sending a flicker of panic into his gut.
“No,” she says, cupping his face, “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just liked you in there.”
“How...how was it?” He asks. He’s afraid for a moment, afraid she’ll say he hurt her, that he’d missed something. But she doesn’t.
Instead, she kisses him and says, “I never knew it could be so...incredible.”
“I wonder what was different,” he muses.
A wicked grin crosses her face. “Guess we’ll have to practice more and find out.”
He laughs and rolls off of you, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a wet washcloth to clean you up. You toddle in the bathroom to pee, already starting to feel the ache, but it’s fine.
Amor. He called you “amor.”
Javier Peña wants you.