He groans, body shuddering, but I don’t let him go. Not yet.
He tries to surge up, desperate for my mouth, but I catch his chin, forcing him to look at me. I don’t soften. I keep my grip firm, my thighs pressing him deep inside me as I start to move—slow at first, then faster as his hands dig into the crate.
“If you betray me, Alejandro—” My voice is a velvet threat, dark and unyielding. I lean in until my mouth hovers over his, close enough to share a breath but not a kiss. “I’ll put a bullet through you myself.”
He grins, but it’s strained. His whole body is shaking with the effort to hold back, to let me keep control. “You’d miss my cock too much to actually pull the trigger,” he says, voice raw and teasing.
I laugh, a low dangerous sound, rolling my hips so his breath stutters. I tighten my grip on his chin, forcing his gaze to stay locked with mine. “Look at me.” I ride him harder, the threat sharp as steel between us. “I will fuck you today and shoot you tomorrow if you cross me, Alejandro. Don’t think for a second I won’t.”
That does something to him—his whole body tightens, a deep groan ripped from his chest as he tries to hold out, tries not to lose himself to the dangerous line we’re walking.
He gasps, mouth nearly on mine, desperate and hungry. “Then I better not cross you, Saint.”
The tension between us crackles—pain and pleasure, trust and threat, my hand at his throat, his pleasure entirely at my mercy.
“Joder, bebe,” His eyes are closed, and his head is back. The grip of his hands on the crate behind his is nearly strong enough to break it. “Dios, quiero venir, Picarino.”?*
I ride him harder, savoring the way he trembles beneath me, obedient and desperate, completely mine.
Another orgasm tears through me, sharp and relentless. I ride it out, drawing it out, refusing to let up. He’s sweating, shaking, face contorted with the effort of holding back. It’s beautiful.
I lean in, kiss him hard, teeth catching on his lower lip. “You want it, then beg for it.”
He does. He begs, desperate and filthy, the words tumbling out in Spanish and English, rough with need.
Only when I’m ready, when I’ve wrung every last drop of control from him, do I nod. “I’ll let you have it.” I ride him hard. Breasts brushing against the course hair on his chest. My hands on each side of his jaw as I bore my stare into his. “Come for me, Alejandro.”
He does, hips thrusting up, finally losing himself. I ride him through it, feeling him pulse inside me, holding him there as he comes undone.
After, I rest my forehead against his, both of us breathing hard, bodies slick withsweat. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, the faint hum of the plane around us.
He looks up at me, still wrecked, still obedient, and I can’t help but smile. “Good boy,” I whisper, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Now, come here.”
I finally let him touch me, his hands roaming over my skin, hesitant at first, then greedy as if he needs to reassure himself I’m real. I lean in and kiss him, hard and deep, tasting sweat and victory.
“Lie down,” I murmur against his mouth. “You’ve got a mess to clean up, and I’ve still got your mouth to ride.”
We lie tangled together on a makeshift bed, old steward bunks dragged together and covered in spare blankets. My back is to him, the hush of the cargo hold lulling my body toward sleep but never quite pulling me under. I hear his breathing—slow, steady—but I know he isn’t asleep.
I feel him shift, slow and careful, his movements practiced and quiet. I don’t open my eyes and keep letting him think I’m asleep. I hear the faint click of a phone unlocking, see the weak glow behind me as he texts—thumbs moving with a silent urgency. The glow disappears. I listen as he slides the phone back under his clothes, every move calculated not to disturb me.
A moment later, his body curls against mine, his arm drapes across my waist, and he exhales like a man settling in for the night. “Forgive me, Picarino.” It’s barely a whisper against my neck but I let my body stay loose. Force my breath out even and stay awake.
He thinks I’m his. He thinks I trust him now.
But he’s wrong.
* You are killing me.
* “God, I want tocome, Trouble.”
The vibration drags me out of sleep—soft, insistent, a warning bell in the quiet belly of the plane. My senses snap awake, pulse quickening. I keep my breathing steady, careful not to shift too fast. Saint is behind me, her breathing slow, deep, oblivious. Still sleeping or faking it better than anyone I’ve ever met.
I move slow. Inch by inch, I lift my pants, fish out the phone buried beneath a layer of clothes. The message glows on the screen, stark and final:
UNKNOWN: Landing in 1 hour. It happens tonight.
That’s it. No signature, no trace. The moment I darken the screen, it’ll erase itself. I slide it back, take a long breath, let it settle in my chest before I roll over to face her.
