Liquid fire shoots straight down to my clit. I arch into his hands, a shameless whimper escaping me.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave. He pinches my nipple. "You like my hands on you, pilot?"
"Yes," I gasp, my head falling back against the bark.
Santi drops his head. His mouth closes hotly over my breast. He sucks the peak directly into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. The wet heat of his mouth is a staggering contrast to the freezing air on my shoulders. His teeth scrape gently.
My knees buckle.
He catches me effortlessly. His arm wraps around my waist, supporting my weight. His other hand drops to the zipper of my flight suit.
"Stand up for me," he orders.
I obey. My boots hit the dirt. I brace my hands on his shoulders.
Santi unzips my flight suit. He peels the canvas down over my hips, taking my thermal leggings and underwear with it. The freezing air hits my bare pussy. I shiver violently, my thighs trembling.
“I have you,” he promises. “I’ll keep you warm.”
He kicks my clothes into a pile. He stands fully clothed from the waist down, his charcoal wool trousers straining against ajutting erection. He is fully hard and desperate, but he doesn't immediately go for his own zipper.
Instead, he drops to his knees on the frozen dirt.
My eyes widen. "Santi?—"
He grabs the backs of my thighs and pulls me forward until my bare pussy is lined up with his face. His dark hair gleams at my eye level. He looks up at me, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that pins me in place.
"Open for me," he commands.
I spread my legs.
Santi buries his face directly into my dripping center.
A high, sharp moan rips out of me. My fingers dig into his shoulders, my nails scraping against the bird of prey tattoo. His mouth is ruthless. His hot, wet tongue drags in a long, deliberate stripe straight up my slick slit, tasting the flow of my wetness.
He hums against my skin. "Honey," he murmurs. "And aviation fuel." His mouth presses deeper. "Mine."
He parts my slick folds with his thumbs, fully exposing my swollen clit. His mouth closes over it. He sucks hard.
My vision flashes white. My hips buck wildly against his face, unmoored. I cannot maintain my practical, composed pilot facade. I am undone by this mafia prince kneeling in the dirt, worshipping my curves in a freezing survival shelter.
Santi's hands grip my thighs, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. He holds me still as his tongue relentlessly lashes my clit. He creates a suction that threatens to drag my soul straight out of my body. The contrast of the freezing wind on my bare skin and the boiling heat of his mouth pushes me over.
"Santi!" I scream his name, the sound bouncing off the wooden walls.
"Give it to me," he says against my wetness. "Come for me."
He slips two thick, calloused fingers directly into my pussy.
The stretch is incredible. He fills me instantly, his fingers curling upward to strike the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside. He thrusts his fingers in a rapid, brutal rhythm while his tongue continues to assault my clit.
The combination obliterates me. My climax hits like a catastrophic engine failure. The orgasm tears through my body, contracting my inner walls tightly around his fingers. Hot, heavy wetness gushes out of me, soaking his hand and his beard. My legs give out.
Santi catches me before I hit the ground. He rises to his feet in one fluid motion, lifting my exhausted, trembling body with him. He carries me the two short steps to the pile of our discarded jackets and the space blanket. He lays me down on the canvas and silver foil, the metallic crinkle loud in the small space.
He stands over me, staring down at my naked, curvy body sprawled across his coat. The utter possession in his eyes is terrifying. It should make me run. It makes me spread my legs wider instead.
Santi reaches for his belt. He rips the buckle open. He shoves his wool trousers and boxer briefs down his muscular thighs.
