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Chapter 81 – Back to Work
publish date:
2026-04-07 15:13:58
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Cracking His Code Chapter 81 – Back to Work
Oliver The walk from the bedroom to the kitchen is an exercise in agonizing friction.Every time my right leg moves forward, the zipper of my jeans drags directly across my painfully hard cock. My abs are tight. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth. My entire nervous system is vibrating like a struck tuning fork, suspended in a state of unfulfilled need.Kir walks three steps ahead of me down the narrow hallway. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The smugness radiating off the man is practically a physical object taking up space in the corridor.The team is already gathered around a scratched formica dining table. Saint is leaning over a tablet, his long fingers expanding a satellite view of the Vargas ranch. Oba stands by the sink, arms crossed, looking entirely too well-dressed for a grimy South American safe-house. His dark skin glowing beautifully against the snowy white button-up he’s wearing.Max sits at the far end of the table, methodically chewing his way through
Cracking His Code Chapter 80 – Kneel
OliverThe air conditioning unit in the Buenos Aires safe-house rattles like a dying engine. It does a terrible job of cutting the South American humidity.I’m lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My tablet is heavy on my chest.I’m angry. I’ve been angry since we landed three hours ago, dragging our gear through a grimy transit hub and piling into a transport van. I’m not angry at the team. They’re currently down the hall in the kitchen, talking smack and eating lukewarm empanadas. I’m angry at myself.The closet in Antibes ruined my entire worldview.I dropped to my knees on that hardwood floor, and my brain shut up. Twenty-four years of Blaese-bred arrogance, all my carefully constructed defense mechanisms, totally dismantled by gravity and Kir’s hand on the back of my head. It didn't make me feel small. That’s the thing that’s really messing with my head. It made me feel invincible. The chaos dialed down to zero.I hate how much I want to do it again.My pride is stagin
Cracking His Code Chapter 79 – Possessive Fallout
KirThe charter flight to Buenos Aires is twelve hours long. The Gulfstream cabin is loud. The engines generate a persistent, high-frequency whine that drills directly into the cartilage of my ears.I hate planes. I hate being sealed in a metal tube over the Atlantic with no tactical exit. Usually, I spend these flights scanning the manifest, cleaning a sidearm, or glaring at the bulkhead until we hit the tarmac.Today is different.Oliver is asleep against my shoulder.He’s wearing my black hoodie. It’s big enough to swallow his narrow frame. The thick cotton bunches around his neck. He has his knees pulled up to his chest in the wide leather seat next to mine. His head rests squarely on my bicep.Before the cellar, I would have forced him to sit across the aisle. I would have put Ray or Saint between us. I would have spent the entire flight watching him out of the corner of my eye, irritable and tense, pretending I didn’t care who he talked to.I don’t have to pretend anymore.
Cracking His Code Chapter 78 — Panic Room
OliverThe team cleared out just past midnight.Kir told them to leave their heavy gear in the living room and sleep at the Marriott down the coast.The penthouse doesn't have enough beds, and nobody wanted to spend their last night in France sleeping on a marble floor.We leave for Buenos Aires at eight in the morning. Diego Vargas is our next target. Another money man hiding behind gated security.I should be asleep. Kir is asleep. He’s sprawled on his stomach across the king-sized mattress in the master bedroom, taking up an unreasonable amount of space. I’m sitting on the floor of the walk-in closet.I didn't plan to end up here. I went to sleep two hours ago, tucked against Kir’s side, riding the lingering high of the team treating us like a permanent, obvious unit.Then the dream started.The smell of damp concrete and rust. The high, mechanical whine of the basement ventilation fan. The awful, dead weight of the zip ties cutting off the circulation to my hands.I woke up wit
Cracking His Code Chapter 77 — Vindication
OliverFour weeks.I stretch my left hand out on the cold marble of the kitchen island. I force the fingers to extend. They tremble, and the tendons pull with a stiff, hot ache, but they bend and straighten at my will.The splints came off three days ago. I spent the first twenty-four hours aggressively rubbing the ghost-itch where the metal used to dig into my knuckles. The skin underneath is dry and peeling. My hand looks gross, a pale, bruised claw, but it works.I can type. Not at my normal, frantic velocity, and my pinky occasionally misses the shift key, but I wrote a fifty-line extraction parser yesterday without wanting to punch a wall.The ribs are just a memory of a really bad time. The heavy white tape is gone. I can take a deep breath without waiting for my skeleton to stab me. My jaw still clicks when I yawn, and the skin around the fracture is a faded, sickly yellow, but I ate actual toast this morning.Kir insists I’m not ready to suck him off yet, but I’ll be damne
Cracking His Code Chapter 76 — The Waiting Game
OliverMy body is a very loud, very annoying roommate.For the first week, Tariq’s chemical cocktail kept it quiet. I floated through the days in a heavily medicated haze, barely aware of my own limbs. Now, two weeks into this forced breather in our pretty Antibes cage, the heavy painkillers are completely gone. I’m down to over-the-counter ibuprofen. Which means the volume is all the way back up.My jaw is no longer a sharp, blinding agony, but it throbs with a dull, persistent ache that spikes every time I try to talk too fast. The rib tape is driving me absolutely insane. It itches. I sweat underneath it. If I sneeze, the fractured bone grinds against the cartilage, and a white-hot flare of pure misery shoots straight through my chest.The missing toenails are healing into shiny pink nubs, which means I can technically walk, but I look like a lopsided penguin doing it.The worst part is the brace on my hand though.Four metal splints lock the fingers of my left hand in rigid, u
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