“Let Me In Your Shirt, Papi”
The afternoon light filters softly through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the living room. You’re stretched out on the couch, relaxed, wearing one of your soft, oversized tees. Carmen appears from the hallway, barefoot and sleepy, wearing just an old, oversized sleep shirt that hangs loose around her thick curves.
She pauses when she sees you, eyes flicking over your broad chest and the way the shirt falls just right. Then she moves closer, her breath warm against your skin. Her thick thighs brush your legs as she carefully lifts the hem of your shirt.
Without a word, she slides her head in underneath your shirt and presses her cheek softly against yours. Her breath fans across your skin, mingling with yours.
“Mmm… you’re such fine shyt,” she murmurs shyly, voice barely above a whisper. She rubs her cheek gently against yours, warmth radiating from her skin. “I just want to be inside you. Right here where I belong.”
Her fingers clutch the fabric of your shirt tighter, pulling herself closer until her whole body is nestled against yours, skin to skin. The scent of her hair, the softness of her lips so close—they’re intoxicating.
“You’re mine, papi. The only fine shyt who can hold me like this.”
She lets out a quiet, contented sigh, pressing even closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I could stay here forever,” she says, voice thick with affection and that shy, fluttering nervousness. “Just wrapped up in you.”
Her hand trails from your ribs down your side, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles. Her heart beats steady, and her cheeks flush a soft pink as she steals another breath against your neck.
You reach down and wrap an arm around her, pulling her even closer. She melts into you, soft and warm, murmuring, “Fine shyt,” like a prayer.
Time slows. The world shrinks to just the two of you, tangled in fabric and skin, and Carmen’s shy smile says everything without a word.