“Lift.” It’s a single word, but he obeys, hips rising so I can push his pants and boxers down far enough for what I want. His cock is already hard—aching, heavy against his thigh. I wrap my hand around him, slow, teasing. He groans, head dropping back against the crate, exposing his throat.
“You want me to use you?” I whisper against his ear, hand working him in a steady rhythm. “Take what I want from your cock?”
“Yes.” It’s barely a sound. I press my lips to his throat, tasting sweat and skin, feeling the frantic beat of his pulse beneath my tongue. He’s always been beautiful like this—untethered, desperate, trying to hold on and failing.
I slide down his body, kissing a line from his chest to his stomach, then lower still. His hands twitch, but I glare up athim and he freezes, understanding. I kneel between his legs, the soft glow of the cargo hold catching on my skin, painting us in shadows.
I take him in hand again, circling my tongue around the tip, tasting the salt and heat of him. He sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck, Saint—” His hips jerk but I clamp my free hand on his thigh, forcing him still.
I tease him, lips, and tongue dancing, taking him deep and then letting him fall free, wet and aching. Every time he tries to thrust up, I stop, let him ache, let him beg.
“God, that’s good,” he rasps, voice gone rough. “Don’t stop?—”
I pull off with a slow, deliberate pop. “Not until I say, Alejandro. Hands behind your back. Now.”
He does it—God, he does it instantly, gripping the edge of the crate behind him, knuckles white with the effort of holding back. I smirk, running my fingers along the sensitive underside of his cock, watching him strain before I take him deep.
I rise, letting his dick fall from my mouth, and he tries to follow my body with his hands. I catch his wrists, pinning them to the crate behind him. “Don’t,” I say, low and warning. “You just watch.”
He does. He’s learning.
I take my time, making a show of every movement. Boots first—black leather, scuffed from the abuse I put them through. I unzip them slow, toeing them off one at a time, letting them clatter to the floor. Socks next. I hook my thumbs, dragging them down, baring skin inch by inch. I’m not in a rush. I want him to ache.
His eyes burn into me, fixed and hungry. Ismile, slow, and mean, as I reach for the button on my leather pants. I keep my gaze locked with his, flicking the button open, drawing the zipper down so slow he actually groans. I peel them down my hips, shimmying them over my ass—no help from him, just the friction of tight leather and my own hands. I step out, stand over him in nothing but a black tank and panties.
He licks his lips, knuckles turning white where he’s gripping the crate. “Take the rest off, Saint.”
I shake my head, running my fingers over the hem of my shirt, teasing the fabric up, then letting it fall. “Not because you said so.” I want him desperate. I want him toneed.
He swears under his breath, but he waits. Good. I drag the tank off, slow, and steady, baring my breasts, my nipples already tight from anticipation. He leans forward, mouth parting, eyes gone half-wild. “Let me taste you,” he rasps.
I palm my breasts, teasing my nipples with my thumbs, rolling them until I’m biting my lip, barely holding back a moan. His jaw clenches—he’s dying to take over, but he doesn’t. I won’t let him.
“Not yet,” I say, voice silk and smoke. “Hands there, mouth shut.”
He shifts, cock jumping, thick and hard. But I’m not done with the show.
I slide my hand down, into the front of my panties. My fingers find my clit, circling, stroking, teasing myself just out of sight. He wants to see but I give him nothing but my heavy breathing and a wicked grin. “You don’t get to look,” I murmur. “That’s for me.”
He groans, fists clenching, sweat breaking at his hairline. “Saint—me estás matando?*—”
I pull my hand free, shining with my own wetness. I bring my fingers to my lips, watching him watch me, and suck them clean, humming at the taste. “So fucking sweet,” I whisper, licking every drop. “But you can’t have any. Not yet.”
His eyes are black now, pure hunger. He tries to take over again, but I silence him with a look. “You’ll get what I give you. When I give it.”
I drag my panties down, slow, kicking them aside. “Won’t you, my good boy?”
He nods—wrecked, obedient and step back into his space, straddling him again, bare skin on his thick cock, heat meeting heat.
I’m wet—soaked and throbbing from holding the line of power. I line him up, sink down inch by inch, drawing out every second, every gasp. I don’t let him move. Not yet.
“You feel that?” I whisper against his ear, grinding my hips in a slow circle. “That’s mine, Alejandro. My cock to fuck.” I lick his ear, rolling hard. “You don’t come until I say so.”
His breath is ragged. “Fuck—” The desperation in his voice is a goddamn symphony.
I ride him, slow at first, rolling my hips, chasing my own pleasure. He’s shaking beneath me, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jump. Every time he tries to thrust up, I tighten around him, clamp down, remind him whose gamethis is.
I reach down, circling my clit with my fingers as I move. It doesn’t take long—he’s thick inside me, stretching me just right, every movement pushing me closer. I let myself tip over the edge, riding the wave, never breaking eye contact. I want him to see what he does to me, what I’m willing to take for myself.
