Chapter 5: Morning Devotion
The first thing Derek became aware of was warmth. Solid, relentless warmth at his back, and a heavy arm slung possessively over his ribs. The second thing was the scent—musky sleep, clean sweat, and beneath it, the low, gathering thunder of arousal. It wasn’t his own.
He blinked, the room coming into focus: the deep red of the walls in the soft dawn light, the wrought-iron scrollwork of the headboard, the photographs of strangers with Juan’s arm around their shoulders. A king-sized bed, rumpled sheets, and the persistent, insistent pressure against the back of his thigh.
Juan was still asleep, his breathing deep and even, but his body was awake. Hard and thick, his erection nestled in the cleft of Derek’s ass, a naked claim even in unconsciousness.
A slow, liquid heat pooled in Derek’s gut. His own body responded instantly, a slick, ready ache that had become its own language overnight. The clarity from the balcony was gone, burned away by a simpler, more demanding need. He didn’t think. He moved.
Sliding down the bed was a silent pilgrimage. The sheets whispered against his skin as he shifted, lowering himself into the space between Juan’s legs. The morning light caught the defined ridges of Juan’s abdomen, the trail of dark hair leading down. And there, full and already leaking a pearl of moisture at the tip, was the thick, heavy length of him.
Derek’s mouth watered. He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over the heated skin. He didn’t tease. He took the head into his mouth, his tongue flattening against the frenulum, and sank down.
The taste was salt and skin and something uniquely Juan—dark, spicy, essential. He hollowed his cheeks, working his way down the impressive girth, focusing on the smooth slide, the weight on his tongue.
A low, vibration started in Juan’s chest—a sleep-fogged growl that rolled into the quiet room. His hips twitched, a shallow thrust upward. Fingers, blunt and strong, speared into Derek’s hair, not guiding, just holding.Anchoring.
Derek opened his throat, taking him deeper, until his nose brushed the coarse hair at the base. He held there, eyes watering, before pulling back with a wet, obscene sound. He repeated the motion, setting a slow, deep rhythm, his own neglected hardness pressing against the rumpled sheets.
“Chingada madre,” Juan rasped, his voice shredded by sleep and pleasure. His fingers tightened in Derek’s hair, not painfully, but with absolute certainty. “What a way to wake up.”
Derek hummed in response, the vibration making Juan jerk. He pulled off, saliva slicking his chin. “You were poking me.”
“And your solution was to swallow it?” Juan’s eyes were open now, dark and lazy with amusement, but the intensity beneath was a live wire. He looked down, watching Derek’s mouth, the obscene connection. “Aggressive for an Omega at dawn.”
“You said it was a different kind of battle.” Derek swirled his tongue around the crown, catching the fresh bead of pre-cum. “I’m choosing my ground.”
Derek held his gaze, then took him deep again, his throat working. Juan let him continue, his head falling back against the pillows with a muffled curse. The room filled with wet, quiet sounds, the slide of lips, the sharp hitch of breath.
“That’s it,” Juan rasped, his hips lifting off the mattress. “Worship it. Just like that.”
Derek obeyed, lost in the rhythm and the taste, his own need a secondary pulse. He used his tongue, his lips, his entire mouth in a slow, devoted act of surrender that made Juan’s thighs tremble. He was close, Derek could taste the shift, feel the tension coiling in the Alpha’s groin.
With a sudden, rough grip, Juan pulled him off. His cock was swollen, glistening from Derek’s mouth. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice thick.
Derek looked up, lips parted, breath coming in short pants. Juan’s fist moved over his own length, fast and tight. It only took three strokes.
He came with a guttural shout, stripes of hot release painting Derek’s chin, his cheeks, his lips. Derek groaned, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks flaming with a mixture of shock and sheer arousal. The scent was overpowering, musky and primal.
Juan breathed heavily, admiring his work. He swiped a thumb through the mess on Derek’s cheekbone. “The contrast is beautiful,” he murmured, his voice awed. “All that pale skin, and my claim all over it.”
He leaned in, kissing Derek deeply, messily. “I need to be inside you,” he breathed against his mouth. “Right now. Let me fuck you like this. Don’t wipe it off.”
Derek nodded, a quick, desperate jerk of his head. “Yes.”
In one fluid motion, Juan was out of the bed, pulling Derek up with him. He guided him across the room to the heavy wooden dresser, its broad surface cluttered with simple things—a watch, a wallet, a small framed picture of mountains. The large mirror leaned against the wall above it.
Juan bent Derek over, his chest pressing against the cool wood. He positioned him firmly, making him face the mirror. “Look,” he said, his voice a low vibration against Derek’s spine.
Derek looked. His own reflection stared back—eyes dark with want, face streaked with Juan’s cum. He looked ruined, owned, and so hungry it terrified him.
Juan spat into his palm, smoothed it over his already-hardening length, and notched himself at Derek’s entrance. He pushed in with one relentless, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
Derek’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, his hands scrambling for purchase on the dresser. The stretch was immense, perfect, a blinding fullness that carved him open.
Juan set a brutal pace immediately, each snap of his hips driving Derek forward into the dresser. One of Juan’s big hands anchored on Derek’s waist, holding him steady for the endless, hard thrusts. The other fisted in Derek’s hair, wrenching his head back up to face the mirror.
“See it?” Juan growled, his mouth at Derek’s ear. His breath was hot. “See how you take me? See what you look like covered in me? You’re an empty vessel for my cock, Omega. Nothing else.”
The words were filth, fire. They burned through Derek’s resistance. Each punishing drive punctuated Juan’s claims. Derek’s own neglected cock, trapped between his stomach and the dresser, leaked onto the wood below. The pleasure was a taut wire, pulled tighter and tighter.
“You’re gonna come for me just like this,” Juan whispered, biting his earlobe. “Untouched. Just from me fucking this tight hole. Come on. Show me.”
The coil snapped. Derek broke with a shattered moan, his body seizing as release ripped through him. He came, splattering the dresser beneath him, his vision whiting out at the edges.
Juan fucked him through it, the wet sounds of their joining growing obscenely louder. He was muttering in Spanish, promises and curses, his rhythm starting to falter. He gave a few final, jackrabbiting thrusts, then stilled, a deep groan tearing from his chest as he poured himself deep into Derek.
He collapsed over Derek’s back, both of them panting, spent, reflected in the mirror—a tangled, glistening portrait of fulfillment.