"We have a problem," Olivia announced as she entered their kitchen the next morning.
"Just the words I wanted to hear before my first coffee," Barba intoned.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll wait." Olivia crossed her arms and stared pointedly at him. Barba drummed his fingers on the countertop, checked the still-brewing coffee pot, then looked back at her. Finally, he relented.
"Go ahead," he drawled.
"Apparently, while I was listening to music with my eyes closed last night—"
"Sleeping, you mean. Which I cautioned you not to do."
"You really are unpleasant before coffee," Olivia remarked. At his glare, she forged ahead. "As I was saying, apparently it rained or something spilled on my dress, or... I don't suppose you know a same-day dry cleaner around here?" She looked at him hopefully. He did seem very familiar with the area, and he was a man whose suits indicated that he always knew the location of a good dry cleaner.
"Unfortunately, no." The pot finished brewing and Barba busied himself with filling a large mug. Olivia felt her shoulders slump—she'd have to spend some time this morning trying to find someone to clean the garment before tonight's stint. After a few sips, Barba seemed to relax, and he leant against the counter. "But you won't need that dress anyway. My tailor is bringing over a few options this afternoon."
Olivia gave her head a quick shake. "I'm sorry—your tailor? Is...bringing dresses? Here?" She frowned as his words sank in. "Your tailor does dresses?"
Barba took another gulp of his coffee before responding. "She's very talented."
"Your tailor is a she?" Olivia felt her eyebrows climbing even higher up her forehead.
"Why do you think I always look so good?" he asked matter-of-factly.
"I..." Olivia paced a few steps away, then came back. "She's coming here. Today. With dresses. For me."
"That's what I said, Sergeant," Barba retorted. Then he smirked. "Believe me, I am not complaining about that purple dress. But for tonight, you need something even more—more."
"More more, hm?" Olivia asked, nodding as if she had any earthly clue what was going on. Then she threw her hands in the air. "Fine, Counselor, I'll await your tailor. Although I don't know how she's going to work her magic in just a few hours when she has no idea what size I even need."
Barba's eyes skated down her body then met hers again over the rim of his mug. "I think I managed to guess fairly accurately," he said. Then he tipped his head towards her room. "Don't you have prepping you need to do, or something? I need time alone with my caffeine."
"Ugh," Olivia grumbled as she turned and headed for her room. "Men."
True enough, Olivia did have a fair amount of "prepping" to do, including the removal of most of her body hair in advance of tonight's event. After a luxurious bath—she was really going to miss this tub—she shaved, tweezed, moisturized, dried, curled, and primped herself in accordance with the style cut-sheets the Miami undercover unit had left for her. Donning a silk bathrobe, she wandered around her room, awaiting this mysterious female tailor. Eventually she grew tired of pacing her bedroom and poked her head out into their living area. Barba was nowhere to be seen, so she made her way to their identity packets which had arrived less than an hour ago.
Pulling her temporary driver's license out of the envelope, she gasped. There must be some mistake. Quickly she dumped the rest of the documents out of her packet only to have her fears confirmed.
"Problem?" a voice came from the direction of Barba's room. Olivia hadn't even heard him open the door.
"Yes! Look at the name they gave me!" She held out the license to him as he strolled closer. Only then did she realize that he looked equally as freshly bathed, shaven, and slathered. What's more, he too was wearing the hotel's silk bathrobe, the tie knotted low on his waist and leaving a large vee of chest exposed. Olivia's mouth went dry.
He took the ID card from her and examined it. Carefully, he extracted the ID from his own envelope. Then he laughed.
"It's not funny," she insisted, but a smile was threatening to burst forth in the face of his laughter.
"Oh, come on, Rafaella," he cajoled. "Don't be so upset for Oliviero, querido(1)."
"They did not name you Oliviero!" she gasped, laughing along with him at last. She grabbed for the licenses, but he jerked them out of reach. "Let me see!"
She lunged for them, only realizing after the fact that the movement had loosened her robe considerably. She hurried to right the garment, blushing to the tips of her ears. Then she backed up and tightened the knot until the sash was fairly digging into her skin. Thankfully Barba didn't seem to notice her discomfort.
"I'm afraid so." Barba tossed the licenses down on the table, shaking his head. "I guess they overheard us joking about it yesterday," he said, shrugging.
Olivia groaned. "I cannot believe I am going undercover with you while being named Rafaella. Now every time you compliment me tonight, I'll wonder if you're really just talking to yourself. No, wait, scratch that—I'll know you're complimenting yourself!"
Barba grinned wolfishly. "I do intend to look extremely handsome and wealthy tonight. I just hope you can keep your hands off me."
Reaching out, Olivia shoved his shoulder, hard, laughing as she did so. "Believe me, Barba, if I touch you tonight it's because I'm going to strangle you!"
Rafael exhaled slowly as he leaned against the railing on the private balcony attached to his bedroom. There had been a moment back there, just a brief sliver of time, where Olivia's robe had gaped open, and he swore he had died and gone to heaven. He'd always had an eye for detail—especially the detail of a woman's body—so he'd known, instinctually, that Olivia was nicely put together. But today—oh, today, he'd seen just a glimpse of her for himself, and he was on fire with the need to see more.
It could never happen, of course. He wasn't technically her superior, but they did have to work together closely, and any sort of amorous relationship would certainly fuck up their professional one. He would have to content himself with their verbal sparring and the secretive nighttime talents of his right hand.
Bantering with Olivia without the presence of her squad or any perps was a new experience, one which he was loathe to give up when they eventually returned to New York. Unfortunately, it was also having the unwelcome side effect of ratcheting up his attraction to her. He would need to tuck those feelings deep, deep down tonight if he hoped to remain focused on their mission.
Speaking of—Annamaria was in the living room with Olivia now, fitting her for a couple of dresses. He rested against the rail, watching them through the paned glass. After his visceral reaction to seeing her in that flimsy bathrobe this morning, he'd thought it best to be out of the space entirely while Annamaria worked her magic. Hopefully by the time they were ready to leave in a few hours, he would have banished his very unprofessional feelings far, far away.
He wasn't optimistic, however. His instructions to his skilled tailor had been very specific: Dress her like the classiest courtesan a man could only dream of winning. And he had no doubt that Annamaria would succeed; she was the best in the business and on his payroll for a reason. Running his hand through his hair, Rafael sighed again and returned to his room. Perhaps another cold shower was in order.
"Ready?" Olivia asked him when he entered the shared living room. Then she actually looked at him, and her mouth fell open. Rafael Barba in a tuxedo was...well, stunning. That was the only word that even came close to doing him justice. She had seen him in one once before, at the squad room, but somehow, that wasn't quite the same. Not when he was standing there, staring at her as intently as she was staring at him, and she knew that he was all hers for the entire evening.
Not hers hers, of course. Just pretend hers.
She swallowed and pasted a smile on her face. "The car should be here," she said, instead of what she wanted to say, which was along the lines of Take that off and make love to me.
"Of course," he replied, and for a moment her poor, dazzled brain thought he meant Of course I'll make love to you, but then she mentally shook herself and they exited the hotel room together. The elevator ride downstairs was silent, as was the walk to the stately black limousine awaiting them. Rafael held the door for her and Olivia slid into the vehicle, scooting over to make room for him. He sat down beside her and he looked so at home in the fancy car that Olivia couldn't stop staring.
When he glanced over and caught her looking, he quirked an eyebrow. Olivia finally snapped out of her trance and rummaged through her bag for her sunglasses. They were huge and heavily tinted, and she didn't really need them in the car, but she slipped them on anyway. There, that was better. Now she could stare at him all she wanted and he would never know.
"Is this going to make things uncomfortable between us?" he asked suddenly.
Ooookay, so the sunglasses weren't fooling him. Olivia let out a deep breath and allowed her head to fall back on the seat. "I hope not," she answered honestly.
"Me either," he said quietly. She heard him moving on the seat, then felt the leather next to her dip as he settled closer to her. One arm slid behind her neck, propping her head up in a better position. "Don't want to ruin your hairstylist's work," he murmured close to her ear, and Olivia's entire body actually twitched with the desire that shot through her.
She kept her eyes firmly closed for the remainder of the ride, and neither of them spoke again until they pulled up in front of the club. Tension filled the back of the limo as they both sat up and peered out the windows. There was a red carpet lined with local news agencies as well as celebrity photographers. Club security formed a line between the invited and uninvited as expensively-dressed men and women made their way into the club.
"Shall we, my darling Rafaella?" All of Barba's nervousness seemed to have disappeared, replaced with his customary amused condescension.
Olivia rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. "I swear I'm going to murder the agent that gave us these names," she muttered. "Or at least have them demoted to desk duty." Barba chuckled and exited the limo once the driver opened the door. He held his hand out to assist her from the vehicle, and then pulled her arm through his own to rest her hand on the crook of his elbow.
"Remember to smile," he whispered in her ear, and then he was whisking them up the red carpet, smiling and nodding at the clamoring paparazzi. Olivia clung tightly to his arm, trying to relax and remember her role. She was here to look wealthy, bored, and desirable; the rest of the evening was up to their perp.
A thrumming bass beat reached their ears from inside the club. Barba escorted her to the doorman, who she recognized from yesterday's briefing with Miami SVU. He nodded once at them and pulled the heavy door open, and the deep bass beat intensified. They stepped inside and paused for a moment, taking in their surroundings. The multi-level club boasted several bars, a prominent dance floor, and several VIP suites. Even though they had studied floorplans the day before, Olivia still found herself staring around in awe.
Rafael gestured for her to precede him. As she moved in front of him, he placed a hand on her lower back to guide her as they made their way through the growing crowd. She reminded herself that this was nothing new; he frequently touched her when they were working together. This was no different.
But then his hand slipped lower than usual, much lower, and Olivia's brain short-circuited.
"Into the belly of the beast," Rafael said, and they were swept up in the crowd.
Rafael followed Olivia through the throng of people, the heavy thump of the music matching his racing heart. Laser lights flashed around the dance floor, cutting pink and purple beams through the swaying dancers. The club still retained the faintest hint of new-construction smell, but it was quickly being replaced by the scent wafting from Olivia's skin as she led the way to the upper levels.
Her brilliant yellow dress draped over one shoulder, leaving the other enticingly bare. One bronze, toned thigh winked in and out of the high slit in her dress when she walked. It suited her to perfection and Rafael made a mental note to give Annamaria a hefty bonus, even as he was cursing his tailor's skill as he watched Olivia's hips sway beneath the satiny material. He need only drop his hand another inch or so until he could cup her ass—but he had to focus. He was here for one express purpose, and that was to appear wealthy, bored, and like the type of person who paid well for his particular vices.
They reached the second floor and Olivia snagged them a prime booth overlooking the lower level dance floor. They slid into their seats and perused the drink specials card until a waitress appeared to take their drink orders. They didn't speak until the waitress returned with a scotch for him and some kind of garish mixed drink for Olivia.
"Do you intend to drink the entire rainbow?" he asked, twirling his scotch in its tumbler.
"It's the house special," she answered. "Fruity, colorful, and probably quite dangerous to my mental acuity," she added drily. She lifted her drink in his direction in a toast before taking a sip, followed by a larger gulp.
"Sounds like someone I know," he muttered to himself, raising his glass and toasting her back. They spent some time sipping their drinks and soaking in the sights of the luxury club. Rafael found his eyes straying back to Olivia more than once, trying to reconcile the goddess sitting next to him with the same sergeant that regularly chapped his ass back at the precinct.
He had seen her dressed up, of course. There were certain occasions that required them both to make their appearances and play nice for local councilmen or higher ups. But he had never seen her like this—sparkling, accessorized, extremely far out of his league. He forced his gaze back out to the dancers below them, but his mind whirred with the possibilities. Him. Her. That dress on the floor...
"Vienes aqui a menudo(2), Oliviero?" she asked him jokingly.
A slow smile spread across his face and he turned in the booth to face her more fully. "Solo cuando una diosa hermosa esta aqui(3)," he answered slowly, trying deliberately to get under her skin the way she was doing to him.
Her laughing smile faded and he watched her pupils dilate as she inhaled sharply. Oh, yes, that had done it. He leant in closer, waiting until she had leaned forward as well, her eyes locked on his. He rested his free hand on top of hers and added, "Pero no lo olvides, tenemos un trabajo que hacer(4)."
Olivia just stared at him for a moment, and then rolled her eyes away from him and yanked her hand away, blowing out an exasperated breath. "How could I forget?" she grumbled, finishing the last of her drink and signaling the waitress for another. Rafael laughed softly to himself, feeling more in control of this situation.
Or, at least, not completely out of control all by his lonesome.
His partner for the evening began a stream of small talk, commenting about the people around them, the music, the decorations in the club, the increasing appeal of her beverages. He was grateful for the reprieve, answering her occasionally with a word of agreement or a biting commentary about some pompous young clubber's choice of formal attire. They continued to drink and survey the crowd, waiting for their suspect to show his face. An hour passed, then another, and then it was past midnight. Rafael usually worked quite late into the evenings, but sitting and waiting—and not being able to discuss anything case-related with Olivia—was driving him insane. Still, there was no help for it. They would stay here until El Hombre showed or until the club closed for the evening, whichever came first.
Their idle chatter had worn down several minutes ago as the allure of the brightly dressed crowd had faded. Rafael, for one, was feeling the languorous effect of the two—no, make that three—scotches he had imbibed. Glancing over at Olivia, he noted that she was looking rather relaxed herself. She had one arm draped across the back of their booth and the other was tapping out the beat on the smooth leather of the seat. Her eyes tracked the dancers on the floor below before meeting his own. She straightened a bit and smiled at him. He smiled back and racked his brain for something else to talk about while they waited, but he came up blank.
Then she shifted to face him more fully, crossing her legs as she did so. One long, bare leg ended up perilously close to his own trousered legs and he found that he couldn't make himself look away. He stared at her strappy heels, her ankle, her shin, her calf; without any conscious volition, his hand darted out and he ran a finger slowly up her leg to where it disappeared into her dress. That done, he dropped his hand back to her knee, then lower, to cup the muscled curve of her calf.
Finally meeting her gaze again, he saw her brows were raised and her lips were parted. "I wanted to know if you felt as impossibly smooth as you look," he explained. His rogue hand gently squeezed her calf and stroked the warm flesh just behind her knee.
She didn't move, her eyes locked on his. She licked her lips. "So what's the verdict, Counselor?" Her voice was low and seductive, the tone reminding him of the very best whisky he'd ever drunk. It wrapped around his brain so that he felt frozen in place, not wanting to disturb this moment. But Olivia shifted slightly closer so that her leg was pressed more firmly against his pants leg, and she leaned forward, supporting her upper body with a hand on the seat between them.
"I need more hard evidence," he managed. He nearly smiled when her eyes dropped to his lap, no doubt looking for the very hard evidence there. He removed his hand from her leg and lifted it to her shoulder. Gently, slowly, he trailed his fingers down her collarbone, dropping to follow the V of her dress until his fingertips rested just between the curves of her breasts. Reluctantly he pulled his hand away and rasped, "Guilty as charged."
This is it, Olivia thought. I'm going to melt into a puddle and die in this club. The feel of Rafael stroking her bare skin had sent her up in flames, and she didn't know if she would ever stop burning again.
He was still gazing at her, his eyes boring into hers. Being the sole focus of all his energy and attention was a heady sensation, one she wouldn't mind repeating...albeit in the privacy of their hotel room. She swallowed thickly and wet her lips with her tongue, feeling the heat punch up a notch when his eyes followed the motion. If she couldn't come up with something to say or do to break this connection, now, then things were going to spiral out of control very quickly.
"You're very smooth yourself," she blurted out instead, both horrified and thrilled to see her hand reach out and trace the line of his jaw. He caught her wrist in his hand and brought her palm to his mouth for the lightest of kisses. Olivia thought she might actually swoon—was that something that ladies still did? Swoon? If she was ever going to, this would certainly be the time and the place, she reflected. Their booth was covered in the most sumptuous leather she'd ever had the pleasure of sitting on, and surely it would make an excellent swooning bench.
Just as she was about to lose it and burst forth with hysterical laughter, Barba stood, still holding her hand, and said, "Bailemos(5)."
It wasn't a question. And Olivia didn't need to answer, because he was already pulling her up from her seat and removing her drink from her hand to set it on the table. He had led her halfway down the stairs before her brain caught up.
"I'd love to dance with you, really, but my last boyfriend said I was no good at dancing." Olivia nearly plowed into Rafael's back when he stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his face incredulous. "I always tried to lead," she explained.
Rafael scoffed before turning back around and continuing to the dance floor. "I don't mind a dominant woman," he said over his shoulder.
Trying desperately to regain her balance in this whole exchange, Olivia fired back, "Oh, that's good, because I like making a strong man submit."
They reached the edge of the dance floor and Rafael yanked her to him. "I bet you do," he answered. He settled one hand on her waist and gripped her hand with his other. Then he waited, quirking an eyebrow at her. "So dominate me," he added, when she made no move to lead them.
Olivia glanced around, but no one was paying them any attention. And, anyway, why not? They hadn't seen El Hombre yet, so they may as well pass the time dancing. She pressed forward, pleased when he followed her steps easily and without fighting her for control. He allowed her to lead for several steps, then he surged forward, reversing their roles. Back and forth, he in charge, then she. So they went for the next two songs, and Olivia enjoyed herself immensely. She loved that he was secure enough to follow her lead and not just shove her around the dance floor, like so many others in his position would do.
Out of nowhere, he said, "Your last boyfriend was an idiot."
She laughed huskily as he spun her out, and she was still smiling when he brought her back in close. "He was right," she said. "I'm not very feminine."
They came to a complete stop on the dance floor. "Is that a joke?" he asked her, anger lacing his tone.
"I—" Olivia frowned. Was he upset?
"Correction," he told her, sounding exactly like he did when he was commanding a courtroom. Rafael placed his hands on her hips, then slid them slowly up her waist, and further, to the outer curves of her breasts. "This," he said, sliding his hands back down the way they'd come, "is all woman."
Before she could even think to respond, he had pulled her back into him, only this time he wasn't giving her the opportunity to lead. He surged forward, whisking her around the dance floor, spinning and twirling her until she was dizzy. Laughing, she let herself follow, being spun and swayed in time with the music. Rafael threw her hands up over her head, letting his own hands trail down her arms to her sides to her hips and ending on her thighs. The entire time he kept his eyes locked on hers, and Olivia smiled for him as she twisted her hips and curved her spine to press the front of her body against him.
This is it, Rafael thought. She's going to kill me right here, right now. He had never felt anything as sweet in his life as the feel of her body pressed against him, undulating to the strong thrum of the music. Thankfully, the music changed, slowing to a more intimate pace. He was about to lead her off the dance floor when she looped her arms around his neck and plastered them together from shoulder to knee.
Right. Now she was going to kill him.
He dropped his hands to her waist, then slipped them around to lock at the small of her back. They swayed to the slower tune and Rafael was about to say something to embarrass himself when she murmured into his ear, "Miguel, your six o'clock."
Carefully, he turned them so that he could catch a glimpse, and indeed, the man known as El Hombre was standing just off the dance floor, talking to several scantily-clad women. "Nice ID," he told her, covering his interest by bringing one hand up to brush the hair away from her neck. He placed his mouth closer to her ear and added, "Approach?"
He felt her shake her head slightly. "Wait and see," she answered, so he continued to dance them slowly around the floor, making their way ever closer to the side where their perp was stationed. The next song was another slow one, and he could have sworn that Olivia pressed even closer to him. Rafael allowed his hands to roam, or else he was going to spontaneously combust. One traced over her gently rocking hip while the other slid up to caress the back of her neck. He heard her moan softly and instantly his cock was rock-hard.
"What sort of undergarments does one wear under a dress like this, anyway?" he asked, hoping he sounded merely curious rather than intensely intrigued. As attempts to distract himself went, it was a pathetic one, but he was working with very few functioning brain cells at the moment.
"No tengo ropa interior puesta(6)," she murmured in his ear, and Rafael's knees nearly gave out.
"None...at all?" he croaked.
"No, Papi," she answered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. His eyes crossed and he swore she was doing this on purpose—seducing him. That could be the only description of what this was, for certainly she wasn't trying to catch the attention of their perp anymore.
Drawing back, he took in her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, the genuine smile curving her lips. He leaned forward, intent on kissing her, finally, when a commotion erupted behind them.
They broke apart and spun around to see El Hombre making his way to the exit, two bickering blondes in tow. "Ladies, ladies, there's room for everyone," their perp admonished, and then the group was gone.
"Shit," Olivia said.
Rafael agreed.
"Let's get out of here." Olivia couldn't stand another moment dancing with Rafael, pretending they were simply lovers when in fact they were colleagues, undercover, and...hopelessly entangled in lust.
They gathered their things and paid their bar tab in silence before heading for the door. Once outside, Rafael grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner of the building into an alley. He backed her up to the brick wall of the club and pressed his lips to hers. Immediately, she opened for him, moaning when his tongue swirled around hers. He kissed her with all the passion and intensity he usually displayed in his work, and Olivia kissed him back just as eagerly.
"Quiero que me cojas(7)," he said huskily when his lips left hers to trail down her neck.
"That's convenient," she answered, arching her back to give him better access. "Quiero que estes dentro de mi(8)."
He practically growled before kissing her, hard, then stepping away and pulling her back out to the front of the club. Somehow he managed to find their limousine and direct the driver to take them back to the hotel. Once they were both in the back of the limo, Rafael punched the button to raise the privacy glass, and then he fell on her, devouring her mouth with his own. They kissed voraciously and all too soon they had slowed to a stop in front of their hotel.
The doorman didn't so much as blink when Rafael pulled Olivia flush against him while they waited for the elevator, his hand placed possessively on her derriere. Once the doors closed, he was kissing her again, and his hands came up to cup her breasts. They stumbled out of the elevator onto their floor, kissing and stroking one another as they made their way down the hall. Outside the door to their room, Rafael flattened her against the wall and continued to drive her crazy with desire. She fumbled the keycard out of her purse and they fell through the door. Olivia kicked it closed behind them and then trapped him against the wall, grinding her hips against his hardness as she thrust her tongue into his mouth. Rafael gripped the globes of her ass and Olivia was ready to screw him right here in the darkened entryway—until she heard the voices.
They pulled apart, then crept silently towards the living area as one. Rafael stopped near the kitchen, quietly grabbing Olivia's weapon off the counter and handing it to her. She stepped into the room as she cocked the handgun, pointing it directly at—Miami SVU.
"Oh," she said, her frazzled brain unable to come up with a more appropriate response.
Rafael reached out and lowered her weapon for her. "You shouldn't sneak up on a cop," he chastised the Miami detectives.
"We're sitting in your hotel room with the lights on. I'd hardly call it sneaking," one of them pointed out. Olivia scowled. That was probably the same one that had given them the stupid aliases, and she was already inclined to shoot whoever had just interrupted what was promising to be the best sex of her life.
"What do you need?" she bit out.
Their sergeant, Bailey, she thought, looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "We need to discuss plans for tomorrow night. You didn't happen to make contact tonight, did you?"
Olivia shook her head, and her heart sank. It was after three in the morning, her hormones were begging for sexual release, and these maniacs wanted to work?
"Perhaps first thing in the morning," Rafael interjected. "I think we're both ready to shed these alter egos and get some sleep." His tone brooked no argument. Bailey scowled but he rose and gathered his things, and the Miami detectives followed suit.
"Eight o'clock," Bailey announced as they made their way out.
Olivia looked at Rafael, all the previous sparks banked as the adrenaline from the night faded away and exhaustion took its place.
"It will be fine, Olivia," he said soothingly, gesturing for her to come closer. Her feet moved of their own accord, as though she were the puppet and he the master. When she reached him, he turned her away from him, and began to unzip her dress. The rasp of the metal as it parted was the only sound in the room aside from her heavy breathing. His knuckles trailed sensually down her back as he unzipped the dress. She could think of nothing else at this moment but how much she wanted him.
Then he stepped back and said "Goodnight, Liv," in a deepened voice that was sure to feature in her dreams tonight. By the time she'd turned around, he had reached his room and closed the door.
A/N: I'm probably butchering the beautiful Spanish language, for which I am deeply sorry. I'm also not totally in love with the name of this fic, so if anyone has any suggestions, send them my way! Dedicated to RussianWolf7 with my sympathies and condolences, and kohee, for the amazingly kind and awe-inspiring words.
(1) Querido: my darling
(2) Vienes aqui a menudo: Do you come here often?
(3) Solo cuando una diosa hermosa esta aqui: Only when a beautiful goddess is here.
(4) Pero no lo olvides, tenemos un trabajo que hacer: Remember, we have a job to do.
(5) Bailemos: Let's dance
(6) No tengo ropa interior puesta: I'm not wearing any underwear.
(7) Quiero que me cojas: I want you to fuck me.
(8) Quiero que estes dentro de mi: I want you inside of me.