บททั้งหมดของ Cracking His Code: บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

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

Oliver The air in the living room is thick enough to chew. The window unit gave up trying to cool the space two hours ago, and now it just spits lukewarm, humid air at the back of my neck.I sit at the table, staring at six different monitors. My headset is clamped over my ears.Between my legs, the ache is a low, continuous burn.I barely slept last night. I lay on the sagging mattress for hours, strung tight, replaying Kir’s voice in my head. You are going to wait. Until Diego Vargas is dead. Every time I shifted, my cock rubbed against my boxers or the mattress, sending a fresh spike of heat straight up my spine. It was absolute torture. I loved it. I hated him for it. I wanted to strangle him, and I wanted him to pin my wrists to the floor and tease me until I couldn’t hold back anymore.I shift my weight on the chair for the hundredth time, trying to find a more comfortable position.Chana looks up from across the table, irritation written all over her face."You’re extra t

Oliver My spine is gone. It’s been surgically removed and replaced with warm, pliable rubber. I don’t have a single functioning stress receptor left in my entire nervous system. I’m floating. I could get hit by a speeding bus right now and I would probably just bounce off the windshield and thank the driver.This is what a holiday must be like for normal people.When I finally drag myself out of bed, Kir is already showered and dressed. He’s standing in the safe house kitchen, drinking black coffee and watching Oba systematically dismantle the weapons they used on the hit."We fly commercial out of Ezeiza this afternoon," Kir says when I walk in. He doesn’t soften his voice or offer a gentle morning greeting. But the angle of his shoulders shifts just a fraction, pointing toward me like a compass needle finding north. "We carry nothing illegal. We can restock on the other side."Oba is fast, quiet, and methodical. He strips Butcher’s favorite shotgun down to the bare receiver, s

Kir"Four minutes and twelve seconds."Oliver spits into the sink, giving me a single, very cocky, eyebrow raise.It’s not my semen he’s spitting out, he guzzled every drop of that down with relish. He’s just brushed his teeth, ‘so he doesn’t breathe the smell of my cum over everyone’ according to him.He turns on the brass faucet to rinse his mouth, spits again, and wipes his chin with the back of his wrist. He does not look submissive. He looks like a man who just successfully executed a hostile corporate takeover.The glass door of the shower is still fogged over. The bathroom smells like expensive hotel soap and the sharp, metallic tang of my own semen. My cock is still throbbing, hypersensitive to the cold air hitting it. I reach past him and grab a heavy white towel off the heated rack."You did not even use your hands," I choke out. My voice scrapes out of my throat, completely wrecked."I didn't need my hands. This tongue is capable of magic." He leans against the marble

KirWalking away from Oliver goes against every deeply ingrained instinct I possess.My boots hit the hardwood floor with heavy, measured steps, but my entire focus is anchored behind me. I left him strapped to the mahogany cross. Splayed open. Defenseless. I left my submissive exposed in a room full of strangers.I glance over my shoulder before I reach the practice mats. The monitor in the ridiculous yellow vest is standing exactly where Dirk placed her. Nobody is touching him. But they are looking.I hate that they are looking. I hate the lust in their eyes as their voracious gazes climb all over my beautiful lover.It would be fine if I was there. Next to him. Staking my claim. Pissing on every fire hydrant he passes, as Chana so charmingly put it.I don’t care if that means I’m a possessive asshole. He’s mine and I’m very proud of that fact. I want to walk back over there and break the jaw of the man across the room who’s currently staring at the vulnerable stretch of Olive