Page 62 of Final Approach

What would he feel like inside me? I’d never had a man that large before. Would he fit, or would he have to—

Jesus—hadn’t I just come?

My criminal turned—sex partner?—jerked the taut skin up and down, jacking off in front of me, his hips rutting forward with every pull of his hand.

Fuck me, it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Slowly getting to my knees, I crept forward until I arrived at his feet. Opening my mouth, I stuck out my tongue, the action not needing explanation. His pace quickened, his body stiffened, and hot, thick ropes of cum hit my tongue and cheeks when he found his own release.

Swallowing the warm, salty seed, I sat back on my legs, about to grab a leaf to wipe off the residue on my face when his thumb gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. Leaning in, he licked up each drop across my skin, drawing back only when I’d been cleaned like a kitten.

His pouty, cum-stained lips landed on mine in a possessive kiss that melted me all over again when his tongue sought entrance. Salt, sweat, sweet, and sour hit my tongue explosively as he leisurely took his fill, leaving me in a complete daze of new desire as soon as he pulled back.

“I love the taste of us, too.” He licked his lips for emphasis. The predatory glint in his gaze was one I would have found terrifying an hour ago, but now found an intriguing promise. He held his hand out for me to take.

Gripping it tightly, I rose to my feet. His skin felt different against mine now. Softer.

Safer.

But oh, so dangerous.

“This means nothing,” I said quickly, finally realizing how risky this game was when our survival was on the line. A relationship—even just a sexual one—with a convict guaranteed to go back to prison was a terrible idea. And Maddox was clearly possessive and territorial, two complications we did not need. What if he developed feelings?

What if I developed feelings?

“But it was fun. Er—thank you,” I added gracelessly, as if it was only polite to thank someone for an earth-shattering orgasm before never doing it again.

“It is everything,” he countered with a smirk. He let go of my hand to tuck himself back into his jeans. “And you’re welcome. I will do it again the next time you ask.”

I couldn’t argue the point. We may not have time for a next time. We might be in our own separate prisons within the week, but I wouldn’t lie and say I regretted it happened. I still floated on the cloud of endorphins, and I’d stay on it for a little while longer before I crashed.

I had one pill left. It was coming.

He reached behind his body at the small of his back, then revealed the gun to me, the stoic, protective mask back in place. He placed it in my palm, closing my fingers around the frame.

“Keep us safe, Captain. Or I will need this back.”

I nodded and took the gun and settled it into the back of my own waistband, the metal dragging heavy against it. As soon as we got back to camp, I’d give it to Nikki, the one person I trusted to keep us all safe.

But that wasn’t the truth, not really. Not anymore. The best orgasm of my life or not—this criminal—continued to prove his loyalty. I could be an idiot—but he’d secured my trust. Two people I could count on were much better than none.

I sighed. The sun was slowly falling westward, and there was too much to do before sunset: sterilize water, distribute fruit, pray our rescue would come tomorrow. Time to return to camp.

I needed, too, to check on Ambrose. He’d been in pain yesterday and out of spite, I’d left him to his own devices. Guilt filled my chest at leaving him with Nikki when his injuries were because of me. I needed to see to them myself.

“Let’s go get that fruit.” A shy smile spread across my face before I could stop it.

“I’d love a good banana,” Madman agreed solemnly, before turning around to lead the way.

Day 3 – After Crash

Christ, a jaguar’s scratch hurt a hell of a lot worse than Mr. Pebbles.

My childhood cat had loved to claw on anything in the house, but he’d loved my pant legs the most. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to declaw the fucking menace, and probably still had some shiny scars left under my leg hair. One time, he had cut me so deeply I needed stitches.

I could really use a bunch of stitches right now. Instead, I had the equivalent of a high school swimming pool first-aid kit, and a lifetime supply of tropical fruit to aid my healing.

“You’re looking good, mate,” Nikki praised while he applied new ointment to my chest wound. I looked down at the red, ragged tissue and snorted with disbelief.