7. You owe me one
SEVEN
YOU OWE ME ONE
SHARK
The chopper pushed through high winds over the Euxine Sea as we avoided Turkey’s main airport in Istanbul and made our way to a coastal town near Ankara. We remained stealthy because, obviously, we had no travel documents.
Even if the birthday girl had a passport, I would’ve burned it. Her family likely reported her missing in the first few days of her disappearance, and her passport might alert the Turkish border control systems. This would mean it would flag me as well, and though I’m a man who doesn’t exist, I’d come into existence.
Should such a thing happen, I would self-destruct. Not because I’m suicidal, far from it, I like living and I’m a survivor, but because apprehending me would open an investigation into Alessio, which is something I cannot allow. If it weren’t for Alessio and his sister, I would be long gone, and I pay my homage by being loyal and staying in the shadows. If I can’t contribute to the wealth and prosperity of me and my friends, then I shouldn’t take away from it either.
That’s not to say I’m not thinking about taking the birthday girl and running away with her. During the flight, I felt bad for her. She vomited several times during the bumpy chopper ride, and I had to remind myself of my friendship with Alessio and Valerina and how they will, if I ask them, help this woman too.
Luckily, the birthday girl recovered nicely once we boarded Alessio’s private jet. But I didn’t get any shut-eye. If it were just me, Alessio wouldn’t have flown us on his personal plane, but since I told him my wife was with me, he did. Chivalry isn’t the reason for the jet. I know him well enough to know this is the jet his family flies on and not the one he uses for business.
By sending us his own plane, Alessio sent me a message. The message is clear: Since I blindsided him with the “my wife” declaration, he wants a briefing in person at whichever location he’s currently staying. He’s curious and likely paranoid about my plus-one. With good reason, since I’m not married.
Once the plane touches down, I reach over the birthday girl and lift the small window’s shutter to let in the light, hoping that’ll wake her up. It doesn’t. Poor thing’s tired, snoring softly. With her lips parted, she drools on the pillow. I give her a minute.
Nah, that’s not true. I give myself a minute to watch her while she sleeps.
She’s very pretty. A nice woman with a lovely upbeat personality that I admit suits me quite well. She’s also a walking disaster, a girl with shitty luck who finds herself, through no fault of her own, in circumstances that must rival her worst nightmares.
In my experience, for some people, life just happens. For others, life is the product of their decisions, whether good or bad. I’ve experienced both. Life that just happened to me, and life that I controlled with the choices I made.
Since I dislike generalization in general, pun intended, I can’t say if I prefer one over the other. For instance, the birthday girl happened to me. I chose to keep her. I feel terrible about her circumstances and that I’ve had to take a choice from her when so many choices were already eliminated, but I took her because this way, I can ensure her survival.
In a fantasy world, if the chopper dropped her off at the airport in Istanbul, Turkish customs would turn her in at the American embassy, where they would interview her. She’d tell them about her ordeal and about the bald dude she named Shark Daddy who helped her out. She’d fly back home to be united with her family and have her baby. Nobody would ever bother her again.
In the best-case scenario in the world she’s found herself a part of, all of the above would occur, and eventually, when the feds or Interpol poked around enough based on the information she provided, someone would find her. As a witness of my work and having spent months in captivity with people of interest to the governments around the world, she would be silenced. If not by Alessio himself, then by one of the various criminal organizations around the world.
In the worst-case scenario, the mercenaries would simply kill her.
None of those scenarios would preserve her life. Which is why I chose this one.
The one where I get to watch over her while she sleeps like a little bunny with the gun from the safe in one hand and a wad of cash she stole from a mobster in the other. I fist my dick and squeeze hard so that the pain shoots up my belly, cutting off my arousal.
She thinks I saved her, but I’m no hero. Soon, she’ll figure out I’m forcing a marriage on her, and then everything between us will change. She will come to hate me just like she hated her captors.
In that respect, I’m no better than them.
So I take my time and watch her sleep peacefully.
Is there no other way?
I scrub my jaw, running the options that will result in her survival through my head, and again coming up with this as the best one. She must become my wife, for I can’t think of any other way Alessio would let me bring her into our fold this quickly. And my marriage to her is nonnegotiable. It will save her life.
She’s seen me, knows I exist, and that’s an automatic death penalty in Alessio’s book. Since I couldn’t eliminate her before I met her, and I most definitely can’t shoot her now, after I’ve spent time with her, she’s stuck with me.
In the cockpit, I hear the pilots running a series of disembarking protocols. We should get ready. I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Bending, I whisper, “Hey, we landed.”
Her pretty green eyes flutter open, and she rubs them before shifting in her seat. I reach over her to unbuckle her seat belt, and her baby kicks at my wrist. I pause, wait for it again, but when the baby doesn’t kick, I unbuckle her. I go to move when the birthday girl traps my hand under hers and presses my palm to her belly. She uses my fingers to press harder, and the baby kicks.
“Ha!” I say. “Did you feel that?”
Nodding, she moves my hand over her belly, having no clue how hard this makes me. I guess I’m into feeling up her pregnant belly. I’m not one to reject a new kink, so I let the woman guide my hand.
“Yeah, he’s been kicking a lot. Won’t let me sleep.”
I want to correct her by saying she slept deeply but don’t because I don’t want her to know I enjoyed watching her, even though my profession demands I spy on sleeping people quite a bit. It’s just that if I’m watching them sleep, they’re more likely to never awaken.
Under my palm, there’s fluttering of movement. “She’s active.”
The woman looks at me as if I kicked her puppy. “It’s a boy.”
“You’ve had an ultrasound?”
“No, but I know.”
“DNA test?”
“Nah, I just know it’s a boy.”
“How?”
“Three times, I peered out the window, and all three times, I saw a penis appear in the sky.” She fixes her hair into a messy bun on top of her head and turns toward me, the gun and the wad of cash sliding down her leg. I catch the gun while she tries to grab the cash. It slips past her knee and falls to the floor. She stares after it longingly as if she’s lost it forever.
I suppress an eye roll and retrieve it.
“Thanks, Shark.” She pulls out a bill and waves it. “I bet you a hundred it’s a boy.”
I narrow my eyes and hook my thumb behind my shoulder, indicating her pile of cash on the back seat of the plane. “Only one hundred? Why are all you millionaires so cheap?”
Her eyes sparkle at my mention of her recently acquired wealth, and she presses her hands against her cheeks. “Oh my God, I’m a millionaire.”
“Multimillionaire.”
“I can’t believe it. But also, I gotta pee.” She scoots to the edge of the seat and presses her hand to the small of her back before rising with a wince. “My back hurts.”
“I’ll give you something for the pain when we get to where we’re going.”
She looks out the small window. “Where are we?”
And here we go. The start of the decline of my first serious relationship with a woman. She lasted more than an hour, so I guess I’ve grown. “We landed on an island in the Mediterranean.”
With a nod, she walks down the short aisle to reach the bathroom. A few minutes later, she’s back out and looking over her stash of millions. She can’t reach the money without sitting down and sliding over the back seats. As she turns to sit, her feet trip over each other, and I leap out of my chair to try to catch her at the same time that she holds herself upright on the seat in front of her.
“Jesus, can’t even walk anymore,” she says.
She’s either clumsy by nature, or the pregnancy is making her uncoordinated since her large belly is growing on her small frame. I sit back down. “Perhaps move slowly next time.”
“Excuse me?” she barks.
Wow, she woke up grumpy as fuck. “Hm?” I turn my head toward the cockpit doors. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I heard you say I should move slowly so I don’t trip.”
I tap my chest, then wag my finger. “Wasn’t me. No.”
“Fine.” She turns toward her money and lifts her dress over her thighs so that it barely covers her ass as she puts her knee on the seat. Instead of sliding into the back, she bends over, reaching for the money in the corner, leaving me with an uninterrupted view of the curves of her heart-shaped ass.
I look away. Do NOT look back. Don’t look. No.
(Spoiler alert! I looked.)
I remain a gentleman for a record time of ten seconds before leaning over the edge of the seat and gazing up her dress.
Now I can’t look away from the small labia peeking between the folds. Her pussy is cute, and I want to lick it. I want to lick her so badly, my mouth starts watering.
Swallowing my saliva, I adjust my erection, get up, and walk toward her, telling myself I’m going to help her gather the money and carry it off the plane. Her head is buried between the seats as she picks up the stacks of bills that fell from the sheet during the flight. While she collects her money, her bottom half is uncovered. I rear back.
I have the best view in the world. It’s like seeing a cute blue pond from the top of a cliff. You’re not sure if you can make the dive, but you want to try anyway. The adventure calls, and the daredevil in me wants to dive.
It takes every ounce of control I possess not to slide my tongue inside her channel. I’m sure she tastes sweet, and I’ve always had a sweet tooth.
Boston cream pie.
Black forest cake.
Lebanese sweets with ashta.
I’m adding her pussy to this list. It’s not my hit list. It’s my personal list of sweets I’d like to eat.
“I can’t get the rest.” She curses, clearly frustrated that she’s not more agile and can’t reach under the seat to grab the few stray dollars.
“Leave it,” I suggest, wanting her to pull her dress back down.
She whips her head toward me. “Leave it?”
I nod and lazily move my gaze from her ass to her face.
The widening of her eyes tells me she caught me checking her out. I know she caught me because she asks, “Something you want, Shark?”
I nod. “You know I do.”
The birthday girl scoots toward me, pressing her behind into my groin.
I step back.
She follows. With her back to my front, she pins me against the bathroom door. She lets her head fall onto my shoulder. I slide my hands into my pockets, where I fist them and pray I can hold myself back long enough for her to take whatever it is she’s looking to take from me.
She reaches between us and grabs my erection.
“I wasn’t sure if you were lying or not,” she says as she tucks her hand into my pants and grabs me, then gives my shaft a few strokes and moves her thumb over my tip, gathering the precum I’m releasing because I want her so badly.
“You’re wet,” she says.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.
“Touch me.”
“No.”
“Why not?” she asks as she strokes me hard and fast, wanting to make me come.
I grit my teeth. “Because if I touch you, I fear I won’t stop.”
She looks up at me and continues jerking me off. “I hope you don’t.” She hooks her arm behind my head and pulls me down, trying to kiss me.
I bite her bottom lip. Not hard, but hard enough for her eyes to widen.
I hold her jaw, depress her dimples with two fingers, and force her mouth to open a little. I suck in her bottom lip, then release it. “I won’t touch you, but I’m not coming in my pants like some pathetic boy. Since you started this, you’ll finish it off. Sit down.”
She fumbles with my pants as she takes a seat and then slides my dick into her mouth like she’s starving for me. She swallows as far as her throat allows, sucking, pumping me with her fist, caressing my balls, and when that doesn’t seem to be enough, she grabs my ass with both hands.
Her eyes roll to the back of her head, and her fingernails, like claws, dig into my ass cheeks. She’s going feral on me, and I pray I don’t rip off the overhead compartment from the force I’m using to hold on to it. All I want is to fist her hair and fuck myself with her mouth, make her choke a little.
As if reading my mind, she pulls me toward her, and the tip of my cock hits the back of her throat. She tries to swallow me like some cute devourer, but then chokes. When tears appear in her eyes, I’m done for. DONE.
“I’m gonna come,” I mutter, in case she doesn’t want to swallow. And if she doesn’t, it’s a little too late for her to pull back, because the moment the words come out of my mouth, I ejaculate down her throat. It’s a load unlike any other I’ve ever experienced. If her uterus wasn’t already full, my seed would try to find its way there.
Not that it could impregnate her even if I tried.
My head hangs between my arms, my hands are white-knuckled from gripping the luggage compartment, while the birthday girl swipes at the corner of her mouth with her thumb. She stands and rises on her toes, then slides her thumb over my bottom lip.
“You taste good, Shark Daddy. Have some.”
I smile at how she’s ordering me around but indulge her, nonetheless, by licking my lips.
“Can I kiss you?” she asks, eyes hooded, gaze on my mouth.
In lieu of an answer, I dip my head.
Her lips are soft, inviting me to do way more than kiss her. When she pushes her tongue inside my mouth as if she’s hungry for me, I taste my seed along with her sweetness. It makes me wish I wasn’t this fucked-up man who came (and wants to come again) in her mouth. But I am that man, and there’s no escaping it.
I peck her lips and then her nose. “Thank you.”
“You owe me,” she says.
I chuckle as I contemplate my answer, then realize I have nothing to say. Do I want to have a taste of her? Yes. Do I think she’ll taste sweet and sassy? Hell yes. I guess I’ve settled that in my head fairly quickly. “I’m looking forward to payback.”
Her eyes light up like green lights on a Christmas tree. “Me more than you, I promise.” She bites her bottom lip and looks back at the pile of cash. “You gonna help me carry my money all the way to the bank?”
I bend over the seats to grab the sheet full of money, and she grabs my ass again.
“God, you have a fine ass.” She squeezes.
I’m chuckling when I hear the plane door open from the outside. I tuck her behind me and aim my Walther at the person climbing the stairs.
Who the hell is boarding our plane?