Chapter 35 #2
His eyes burn into me, fixed and hungry.
I smile, 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 to need.
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 game this 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.
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 with sweat. 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 to come, Trouble.”