"I can taste you both... I can smell your cum building..." Her tongue flicked faster, her own fingers plunging into her dripping cunt as she worshipped Marina's pussy, her wounds now nothing but faint, glowing scars.
"That's it," I snarled, my balls drawing up, the pressure coiling tight. "Lick her clean, Sarah. Show me how badly you want my cum."
Marina's screams turned shrill, her body locking up as another orgasm ripped through her. "I'M CUMMING AGAIN! OH FUCK—IT'S PUSHING YOUR PISS OUT! AHHHHH—IT'S FLOODING HER FACE!" A fresh gush of her juices mixed with my piss sprayed from her cunt, drenching Sarah's eager mouth.
Sarah gagged, choking on the filthy cocktail, but she didn't pull away—she drank, her throat bobbing as she swallowed every drop, her eyes rolling back.
"Now," I roared, my cock pulsing violently. "Take my fucking load."
With a final, brutal thrust, I buried myself to the root and unleashed. Thick ropes of my cum blasted into Marina's womb, the heat scorching, the pressure obscene.
"IT'S TOO MUCH! I CAN FEEL IT—IT'S CHANGING ME! AHHHHH—!" Her pussy clamped down, milking me dry, her own cum squirting out in a violent arc, splattering Sarah's face, her tits, her trembling thighs, and Sarah applied it to her arms.
Sarah screamed as the first drops of my cum hit her skin. The wounds on her arms glowed, the last of her pain dissolving into ecstasy as my seed sank into her pores, healing her completely.
"I CAN FEEL IT! I'M HEALED! She scrambled forward, her mouth gaping, desperate to catch the last strands of cum dripping from Marina's wrecked pussy.
The last shudder of my climax sent a thick, pearly rope of cum splashing onto Sarah's waiting tongue. She let out a breathy, needy moan, her lips parting just enough to catch every drop, her dark eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that bordered on obsession.
I could feel the power thrumming between us—her body arched slightly, her fingers digging into the sheets as she swallowed, savoring the taste of me like it was the last drop of sin she'd ever need.
A slow, wicked smile curled her lips as she licked them clean, her tongue darting out to catch the final drips clinging to her chin.
But Sarah wasn't the only one marked by our pleasure. Marina's thighs were still trembling, her pussy glistening and swollen, a slow trickle of cum and her own arousal dripping down her inner thighs.
A few errant drops fell onto Sarah's collarbone, sliding in lazy, shiny trails over her flushed skin. Sarah let out a frustrated little growl, her fingers twitching toward her own soaked pussy—not out of desire, but annoyance. "God, Marina," she muttered, "you're everywhere."
Marina didn't answer with words. Still panting, her chest heaving with the aftershocks of her orgasm, she crawled forward, her body moving with the predatory grace of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
She hovered over Sarah, her breath hot against her skin, before her tongue flicked out, tracing the path of cum down Sarah's neck, over her collarbone, and then—slowly, deliberately—licking it from her fingers.
Sarah's irritation melted into a shiver, her back arching as Marina's lips closed around her fingertips, sucking them clean with a wet, obscene sound.
"You love it," Marina murmured against her skin, her voice rough with satisfaction. "You love how messy I am for you."
Sarah's only response was a sharp inhale as Marina's teeth grazed her wrist, but the way her thighs pressed together betrayed her. The air between them was thick with the scent of sex—musky, salty, intoxicating. It clung to their skin, to the sheets, to the very space around us.
With a shared glance, they untangled themselves, their bodies still humming with unspent energy. The bath called to them, the promise of warm water and slick skin too tempting to resist.
Sarah stood first, her movements deliberate as she stepped into the steam-filled room, the water already running. Marina followed, her hips swaying just a little more than necessary, her fingers trailing over Sarah's waist as she passed.
I didn't hesitate. The sight of them—Sarah's skin still flushed, Marina's lips swollen from kissing and licking—drew me in like a magnet. The bath was spacious, the water hot enough to turn their skin pink as they settled in, their limbs tangling together.
Sarah let out a soft sigh as the water lapped at her breasts, her head tilting back against the rim of the tub. Marina didn't waste a second. Her hands slid over Sarah's thighs, parting them just enough to let the water swirl between her legs, her fingers teasing, testing.
"Still so sensitive," Marina purred, her thumb circling Sarah's clit with just enough pressure to make her gasp.
Sarah's fingers clenched around the edge of the tub. "Don't start something you can't finish," she warned, but her voice lacked its usual bite.
I stepped in behind Marina, my hands finding her shoulders, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Who said anything about finishing?" I murmured, my cock already stirring back to life at the sight of them—glistening, needy, and utterly mine.
The water sloshed around us as Marina turned her head, her lips crashing into mine in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. Her tongue swept into my mouth, tasting of Sarah's skin and the faint salt of arousal, and I groaned, my hands tightening on her waist.
Sarah's fingers curled around my thigh, her nails biting into my flesh just enough to send a jolt of heat straight to my cock.
The bath was supposed to wash away the remnants of our passion, but the way their bodies moved—Marina's back arching against me, Sarah's thighs pressing together under the water—made it clear this was only the beginning.
Sarah's free hand slid up Marina's stomach, her thumb brushing over the swell of her breast before pinching her nipple, hard.
Marina gasped into my mouth, her body jerking in response, and I could feel the way her pulse raced under my fingertips. The water rippled with their movements, droplets clinging to their skin as they twisted together, their breaths coming faster, needier.
"We should get out," I murmured against Marina's lips, though my voice lacked conviction. My cock was already thickening again, pressing against Sarah's hip as she shifted closer.
Marina let out a low, throaty laugh, her hand slipping between Sarah's legs under the water. "Or we could stay," she countered, her fingers teasing Sarah's clit in slow, deliberate circles.
Sarah's head fell back against the rim of the tub, a soft whimper escaping her. "Fuck, Marina," she breathed, her hips lifting just slightly, chasing the touch.
I couldn't take it anymore. With a growl, I stood, water cascading off my body, and reached for a towel. "Breakfast is waiting," I said, my voice rough with restraint. "And we've got other matters to attend to."
Marina pouted but relented, her fingers slipping away from Sarah's pussy with a final, lingering stroke. Sarah let out a frustrated sigh, but the glint in her eyes told me she wasn't done either. They rose from the water, their bodies glistening, the air thick with unspoken promises.
After we dressed, the scent of coffee and something sweet led us to the dining room. Ema and Eva had prepared breakfast—an array of fresh fruit, fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup, and crispy bacon that made my stomach growl.
Marina's grandmother was already seated at the head of the table, her sharp eyes flicking over us with a knowing smile.
-x-X-x-
Marina slid into the conversation effortlessly, introducing Sarah as "a friend of mine." Her grandmother's gaze lingered on Sarah for a moment longer than necessary, as if she could sense the electricity still humming between the three of us.
Sarah, ever the picture of composure, simply smiled and reached for a pancake. "You could say that," she replied, her tone light, but the way her fingers brushed against mine under the table told a different story.
Later, when we were alone, I pulled up SERA's interface to check on Javier, Diaz, and Sergio. The screen flickered to life, and SERA's voice was cool, detached. "Javier and Sergio did not surrender willingly. They went into hiding, fearing your retribution—especially after witnessing Diaz's condition."
I clenched my jaw. Diaz. The image of him in that hospital bed flashed through my mind—alive, but broken. His hand and legs gone, his body reduced to a shell of what it once was. He could do nothing but lie there, a prisoner of his own survival, or move in a wheelchair, a constant reminder of what happened when you crossed me.
"They're afraid of you," SERA continued. "And with good reason."
I leaned back in my chair, my fingers steepled. Fear was a useful tool, but it could also make men desperate. Javier and Sergio were out there, hiding like rats, and that kind of desperation could make them dangerous. Or stupid.
I smirked. Stupid was easier to handle.
"Keep an eye on them," I ordered. "I want to know the second they surface."
SERA's response was immediate. "Understood."
I stood, rolling my shoulders as I turned to leave. The game wasn't over yet. Javier and Sergio were still out there, cowering in the shadows like the cowards they were. But they'd slip up eventually. They always did. And when they did, I'd be ready. I never lost. Not when it mattered.
But before I could focus on hunting them down, there was another matter to attend to: Officer Diaz.
I pulled up SERA's interface again, my fingers hovering over the screen. "Tell me about Diaz's family," I commanded, my voice steady, but my mind already racing with possibilities.
The screen flickered, and a file appeared. Diaz had no wife, no siblings—just a mother. Gabriela. Fifty-two years old. A photo loaded, and I froze.
Damn.
She wasn't the kind of woman who turned heads with a model's body. She was softer, fuller—plump in a way that made my fingers itch to grip her hips.
But it was her ass that caught my attention. Round, full, the kind that would spill over my palms if I pulled her against me. And her skin—that rich, warm brown, like sun-kissed caramel.
I shook my head, a slow smirk curling my lips. Diaz had tried to take advantage of Sarah, hadn't he? He'd wanted to break her, to own her.
How poetic would it be for him to wake up and see me with his mother instead? The thought sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through me. Oh, this was going to be fun.
Gabriela was staying at the hospital, keeping vigil by Diaz's bedside. He still hadn't woken up. Still unconscious, still broken. Still useless.
I decided to pay him a visit.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Lorena. I answered, her voice smooth and professional on the other end. "We need to discuss the case further," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I leaned back, my gaze flicking over the city outside my window. "Dinner tonight," I replied. "Somewhere quiet. I'll send you the address."
She hesitated for only a second before agreeing. Lorena was sharp, but she knew when to pick her battles. And right now, she needed me more than I needed her.
When I got back to the house, Sarah and Marina were curled up on the couch, their heads bent together as they laughed over something on Marina's phone.
The sight of them—so at ease, so close—sent a possessive thrill through me. They'd become like sisters, bound by something deeper than blood. Bound by me.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorway. "Sarah," I said, my voice cutting through their laughter. "Be ready in your police uniform tonight."
Sarah's head snapped up, her cheeks flushing pink. "My—what?" she stammered, her eyes widening.
I smirked. "You heard me. The full uniform."
Marina let out a low, appreciative whistle, her gaze raking over Sarah's body like she was already imagining it. "Oh, this I have to see," she purred, nudging Sarah playfully. "Come on, official. Let's get you ready."
Sarah shot me a glare, but the heat in her eyes betrayed her. She liked the idea. She liked the power of it. With a huff, she stood, following Marina out of the room, her hips swaying just a little more than necessary.
I watched them go, my cock already stirring at the thought of Sarah in that uniform—her boots clicking against the floor, her hands cuffing me to the bed, her lips wrapped around—
I adjusted myself with a groan. Later. There'd be time for that later.
I drove to the hospital, my mind still half on Sarah and half on the game ahead. The parking lot was nearly full, but I found a spot near the entrance. As I stepped out, I noticed a fruit shop and a flower stand nearby. Going empty-handed would be rude, wouldn't it?
I bought a basket of fruit—plump strawberries, ripe mangoes, juicy grapes—and a bouquet of deep red roses.
The hospital air was thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint, underlying tang of sickness. It did nothing to dampen the anticipation humming through my veins. I adjusted the basket of fruit in one hand and the bouquet of roses in the other, the thorns pricking lightly against my fingers—a sharp reminder of the game I was playing.
The receptionist, a tired-looking woman in her forties, barely glanced up as I approached. "Room number for Diaz," I said, my voice smooth, unhurried. She tapped a few keys on her keyboard, her nails clicking against the plastic, then muttered, "307. End of the hall."
I nodded my thanks and made my way down the linoleum-floored corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
The door to Room 307 was slightly ajar, the sound of muffled sobs slipping through the crack. I knocked once—firm, commanding—and pushed it open without waiting for a response.
Gabriela was there, just as I'd imagined, but better.
She was perched on a stool beside Diaz's bed, her body angled away from me, her round, full ass hanging slightly off the edge, the fabric of her dress stretched taut over the curves. The stool was too high for her feet to touch the ground, leaving her legs slightly parted, her skirt riding up just enough to tease.
She was crying, her shoulders shaking, her fingers clutching a crumpled tissue. When the door creaked open, she turned, her dark, tear-stained eyes widening as they landed on me.
For a moment, she just stared, her breath hitching. Then, as if suddenly aware of her appearance, she wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, her cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassed red. "¿Quién eres tú? (Who are you?)," She asked, her voice thick with emotion, her accent wrapping around the words like warm honey.
I stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind me. The roses and fruit became an offering, held out between us like a peace treaty—or a baited trap.
-x-X-x-
I stepped fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet space. Gabriela was too lost in her grief, her shoulders shaking as she clutched a tissue in her hands, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.
I took a moment to drink her in—the way her blouse strained slightly over her full breasts, the hint of cleavage visible at the neckline, the way her back arched just enough to make the fabric pull tighter across her ass.
Then, I spoke.
"I'm a friend of Brother Diaz," I said, my voice carefully modulated to carry the weight of sorrow, of urgency.
I let a tremor creep into my words, as if I were fighting back my own emotions. "I heard what happened. I came as soon as I could."
Gabriela stiffened at the sound of my voice, her head snapping up, her dark, tear-stained eyes locking onto mine. They were red-rimmed, swollen from crying, but they were beautiful—deep, expressive, the kind of eyes that could drown a man if he let them.
For a second, Gabriela just stared at me, her breath hitching as she took in my presence. Her dark, tear-stained eyes—wide, vulnerable, and glistening—locked onto mine, as if searching for something real in the storm of her grief.
Then, as if suddenly remembering herself, she wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, her cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassed red. The movement made her dress shift slightly, the fabric clinging to the soft, generous curves of her body.
"Y-you are?" she stammered, her voice thick with tears and the faintest hint of a Mexican accent, the kind that wrapped around her words like warm velvet, rich and intoxicating.
I stepped closer, my voice low and steady. "Auntie, I am Jack."
Her breath caught as I moved, her body tensing just slightly, as if she were caught between the urge to pull away and the need to lean into the comfort I offered.
I held out the bouquet of deep red roses, the petals dark as blood, the stems wrapped in crisp white paper. The contrast was deliberate—beauty and danger, wrapped in something pure.
"I brought these for you," I said softly, my gaze flicking down to her lips as she reached for them. Her fingers brushed against mine, and I felt the heat of her skin, the slight tremor in her touch. It sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through me, the kind that settled low in my gut, stirring something primal.
"Gracias," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. She brought the roses to her nose, inhaling deeply, her lashes fluttering as she composed herself.
The scent of the flowers mingled with her own—warm, floral, with an underlying musk of sweat and something darker, something primal. It made my cock stir, the faintest ache of anticipation.
I set the basket of fruit on the small table beside her, the plump strawberries and ripe mangoes a stark contrast to the sterile white of the hospital room. My gaze lingered on her as I did, tracing the curve of her waist, the way her dress clung to the softness of her stomach.
She wasn't thin, wasn't the kind of woman society told men to desire—but fuck, she was perfect. The kind of body made for sin, for gripping, for burying myself in until neither of us could remember our own names.
Her hips flared, her thighs thick and soft, the kind that would part so beautifully under my hands. The dress she wore was simple, but it hugged her in all the right places, the fabric straining just enough to hint at the fullness of her breasts, the way they would spill over my palms if I cupped them.
"Auntie," I said, the word rolling off my tongue with practiced reverence, "can you tell me what really happened?"
Gabriela's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the roses. She turned slightly on the stool, her body shifting in a way that made the fabric of her dress ride up even higher, revealing the smooth, warm brown of her thighs. The sight of her skin, so soft and inviting, made my pulse quicken.
"I—I don't know," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I received a call from the hospital. They said Diaz had been..." She trailed off, her body shaking with a sob. "When I got here, he was like this. Someone did this to him. Someone hurt him."
Her voice dissolved into choked cries, her face crumpling as the tears took over. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving, her body wracked with the force of her sobs. I didn't hesitate. I stepped closer, my hand finding the warm, soft weight of her shoulder. My touch was firm but gentle, a false promise of safety, of comfort.
"Auntie, don't worry," I murmured, my voice filled with a conviction I didn't truly feel. "The police will catch the criminals who did this to Brother Diaz. They won't get away with it."
Gabriela lifted her head, her tear-streaked face searching mine for reassurance. Her mascara had smudged slightly, darkening the skin beneath her eyes, but it only made her look more vulnerable, more real. "Do you... Do you really think so?" she whispered, her voice raw with hope and despair.
I nodded, my thumb brushing away a tear from her cheek. My fingers lingered, tracing the softness of her skin, the warmth of her. "I know so," I lied smoothly.
"Diaz is a good man. He doesn't deserve this. And neither do you." I let my hand drop to her shoulder, squeezing lightly, my touch possessive, comforting. "You're not alone in this, Auntie. I'm here for you. For both of you."
She let out a shaky breath, her body leaning into mine just a fraction. The trust was building, brick by brick, and I could almost taste it. Gabriela was vulnerable, desperate for comfort, for someone to tell her everything would be okay. And I was more than happy to be that someone—at least, until she served her purpose.
I glanced at Diaz's motionless form in the bed, the machines beeping softly, a cruel reminder of his helplessness. His face was pale, his body a ruin, tubes snaking from his arms like the tendrils of some parasitic creature. The irony wasn't lost on me.
Diaz had tried to take what wasn't his—Sarah—and now here I was, standing beside his mother, my hands on her, my words wrapping around her like a noose.
-x-X-x-
Gabriela's breath hitched again, her eyes flickering between mine and the roses on the table. "You're... you're too kind," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Diaz never mentioned you."
I tilted my head, my expression softening into something that looked like genuine concern. "I am a businessman, Auntie," I said, weaving the lie seamlessly.
"So, Brother Diaz didn't mention me much because I asked him not to. You know how it is—people get jealous. They might think Diaz was getting special help because of me, and I didn't want that for him. He was a proud man."
Gabriela's lower lip trembled, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress, pulling it tighter over her chest.
The movement made the thin material strain over the fullness of her breasts, the soft swell of them pressing against the fabric in a way that made my gaze linger just a second too long. Her breath was uneven, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her emotions, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "You're right, he would."
Her words hung in the air between us, heavy with grief and something else—something like surrender. The tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over, rolling down her cheeks in silent, shiny trails.
I didn't hesitate. I closed the distance between us, my hand cupping her shoulder, my thumb brushing away the tears from her cheek. Her skin was warm, soft, and the way she leaned into my touch—just slightly—sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through me.
"Auntie," I murmured, my voice low and steady, "you need to take care of yourself. Diaz would want that."
She nodded, her fingers tightening around the roses I'd given her, as if they were a lifeline. But her body was still trembling, her breath hitching with every suppressed sob.
I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of her worry. She needed more than words. She needed something to ground her.
I stepped back, my hand lingering on her shoulder for just a moment longer than necessary. "I'll be right back," I said, my voice firm but gentle. "Don't move."
The hospital cafeteria was nearly empty at this hour, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the linoleum floors.
I grabbed two cups of coffee—black for me, with a little sugar and cream for her—and a couple of chocolate chip cookies from the display case. The scent of the coffee was bitter and rich, cutting through the sterile hospital smell that clung to everything.
When I returned to the room, Gabriela was still sitting on the stool, her posture slightly hunched, her fingers worrying the edge of her dress. She looked up as I entered, her eyes red-rimmed but a little less haunted than before.
"Auntie," I said, holding out the coffee to her, "drink this. It'll help."
She shook her head slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't have an appetite."
I didn't push the cookies on her. Not yet. Instead, I set them on the table beside the fruit basket and stepped closer, my hand closing around hers. Her fingers were cold, her skin slightly clammy from the stress, but I ignored it.
I guided her hand to the cup, pressing it into her palm until her fingers curled around the warm cardboard.
"Auntie," I said, my voice firm but not unkind, "you have to be strong. You can't let Brother Diaz see you like this when he wakes up."
Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the cup as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're right. My son... he's just injured. I can't let him down."
She wiped her tears with the back of her free hand, her shoulders squaring just a little as she lifted the cup to her lips. The first sip was hesitant, but she took another, and then another, the warmth of the coffee seeming to seep into her. I watched as some of the tension left her body, her breath steadying, her grip on the cup loosening just slightly.
"That's it," I murmured, my hand still resting on Gabriela's shoulder, my thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over the soft fabric of her dress.
The warmth of her body seeped through the thin material, and I could feel the way her breathing gradually steadied under my touch. "Just like that. You're doing well, Auntie."
Gabriela let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening slightly around the coffee cup before loosening again. She looked up at me, her dark, tear-stained eyes filled with a fragile kind of gratitude.
"My child is blessed to have a friend like you, Jack," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You are really a good child."
I forced my expression to remain soft, my smile gentle, even as a dark chuckle echoed in my mind. A good child. If only she knew. If only Diaz knew.
The irony was almost too delicious to bear—here I was, comforting his mother, my hand on her, my words wrapping around her like a promise, while he lay broken in the bed behind us.
The thought of his reaction when he finally woke up—if he woke up—sent a thrill of anticipation through me. Would he recognize me? Would he piece together the truth before it was too late? Or would he be too weak, too shattered, to do anything but watch as I took everything he'd ever cared about?
"It's nothing, Auntie," I said aloud, my voice warm, sincere. "This is what I should do."
Inside, though, I was laughing. Oh, Diaz, I thought, my mind conjuring the image of his pale, helpless face on the pillow, the machines beeping rhythmically beside him.
You tried to take what wasn't yours. And now? Now I'm going to take what's yours. The thought sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through me, sharp and sweet.
Gabriela reached up, her hand covering mine where it rested on her shoulder. Her touch was warm, her fingers slightly trembling, but there was a newfound strength in her grip.
"You have a good heart, mijo," she said, her voice softer now, almost maternal. "Diaz would be proud to call you a friend."
-x-X-x-
I looked down at Gabriela, my voice softening into something that sounded almost paternal—though the thought made my lips twitch with dark amusement.
"Auntie," I murmured, my hand resting gently on her shoulder, "you can also take a rest. I'm here. Why don't you lie down and close your eyes for a while? I'll look after Brother Diaz. That way, when he wakes up, you'll be strong enough to take care of him properly."
Gabriela hesitated, her body tensing slightly as if she were about to refuse. But then my last words seemed to sink in, and her shoulders sagged in relief. She nodded slowly, finishing the last sip of her coffee before setting the cup down on the table beside her.
With a quiet sigh, she shifted onto the narrow side bed in the room, her movements slow and exhausted.
She turned onto her side, facing Diaz's motionless form, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on the edge of his blanket as if even in sleep, she needed to stay connected to him.
I watched as her breathing slowed, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The way her body curled on the bed, the softness of her hips, the way her dress rode up just enough to reveal the smooth, warm brown of her thighs—it was almost distracting. But my mind was already racing ahead, plotting the next move.
A slow, dark smirk tugged at my lips.
Didn't Sarah also like to have fun with her father's killer?
The memory of Sarah's hungry eyes, the way she'd moaned when I'd told her the truth about her father's death, sent a jolt of anticipation through me. She'd loved the power of it, the taboo, the way it made her feel alive. And if there was one thing I knew about Sarah, it was that she loved a good show.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers moving quickly over the screen as I typed out a message:
"Sarah. Come to the hospital. Room 307. Wear your police uniform. I have a surprise for you."
I sent her the hospital's address and leaned back in the chair, my gaze flicking between Gabriela's sleeping form and Diaz's motionless body. The beeping of the machines filled the silence, a rhythmic reminder of the power I held in this room. I could almost taste the chaos that was about to unfold.
An hour passed before the door to the room creaked open. Sarah stepped inside, her police uniform hugging her body in all the right ways—the crisp fabric of her shirt stretched taut over her breasts, the dark blue of her trousers clinging to the curves of her hips.
The sight of her in that uniform, the way it emphasized her authority, her control—it was intoxicating. But it was the way her eyes locked onto mine, the way her breath hitched just slightly, that sent a surge of dark satisfaction through me.
Then her gaze shifted to the bed.
Her expression darkened instantly. The anger in her eyes was palpable, a storm brewing behind them as she took in Diaz's broken form.
I could see the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her jaw clenched. She hated him. Hated what he'd tried to do to her, hated the way he'd made her feel powerless.
But then her eyes flicked to the other figure on the bed.
Gabriela.
Sarah's brows furrowed, her body tensing as she took in the woman lying there, her eyes closed, her breath slow and steady.
Gabriela was curled on her side, her dress riding up just enough to reveal the soft, warm brown of her thighs, her hand resting lightly on the edge of Diaz's blanket. The sight of her—vulnerable, unaware, ours—made something dark and possessive coil in my chest.
Sarah's gaze snapped back to me, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and intrigue. "Who the hell is that?" she mouthed silently, her voice barely audible.
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I stood, moving closer to her, my hand reaching out to brush a finger along the edge of her uniform collar. "Diaz's mother," I murmured, my voice low, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I spoke. "Gabriela."
Sarah's breath hitched, her body tensing under my touch like a coiled spring. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind—Diaz, his mother, the way I'd summoned her here in her uniform. The pieces were clicking into place, and the slow, wicked smile that curled her lips told me she understood exactly what I was offering. What we were about to do.
But then—Gabriela stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered open, her dark, sleep-heavy gaze landing first on me, then shifting to Sarah. For a second, she just blinked, confusion clouding her expression. Then her eyes widened as she took in the police uniform, the authority it represented, the way Sarah stood there like a dark angel of justice.
"Sarah... is that you?" Gabriela exclaimed, her voice thick with surprise and a flicker of hope.
Sarah didn't miss a beat. She turned to face Gabriela fully, her expression carefully neutral, her voice smooth and professional. "Auntie, do you know me?"
Gabriela pushed herself up from the bed, her movements quick despite her exhaustion. She stepped closer to Sarah, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress, her eyes searching Sarah's face.
"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Diaz told me about you. He showed me photos of you two working together on a case as partners. I remember you."
There was a desperate edge to her voice, the kind that came from clinging to any shred of hope in a storm. She reached out, her fingers brushing Sarah's arm as if needing physical reassurance. "Sarah..." she asked, her voice trembling, "did you find who did this?"
Sarah's gaze flicked to me for the briefest second—just long enough for me to see the dark amusement in her eyes—before she turned back to Gabriela. Her voice was calm, measured, the perfect picture of a dedicated officer.
"That..." she began, pausing just long enough to let the weight of the words sink in, "Auntie, we're still looking for some clues. And it's Diaz's statement that can help us."
-x-X-x-
The irony was delicious. Sarah stood there in her uniform, the very symbol of justice and protection, while Diaz lay broken in the bed behind us, unable to speak, unable to do anything.
And Gabriela? She had no idea that the two people she was trusting—the ones she thought were her allies—were the very ones who had orchestrated her son's downfall.
Gabriela's face fell slightly, but she nodded, her fingers tightening around Sarah's arm. "Of course," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Of course, whatever it takes. Please, Sarah... please find who did this to my boy."
Sarah's expression softened just enough to look sympathetic, her hand covering Gabriela's in a gesture that seemed comforting. "We will, Auntie," she promised, her voice warm. "We won't stop until we do."
I watched the exchange, my lips curling into a private smirk. The lies rolled off Sarah's tongue so easily, her performance flawless. She was good at this. Almost as good as I was.
Gabriela seemed to relax slightly, her shoulders sagging in relief. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. "Thank you so much."
Sarah gave Gabriela a small, reassuring smile, her voice soft and gentle, like a lullaby meant to soothe. "You don't have to thank me, Auntie," she said, her tone dripping with false sincerity. "It's my job."
As Gabriela pulled away, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand, I caught Sarah's gaze again. The look we shared was electric—charged with dark amusement, with the kind of anticipation that made my pulse quicken. Sarah's eyes gleamed with mischief, her lips twitching into a smirk that she quickly hid as Gabriela turned back to her.
Then, Sarah's expression shifted. She looked at me with a sudden, calculated glint in her eyes before turning back to Gabriela. "Auntie," she said, her voice taking on a serious edge, "we don't know who wanted to harm Diaz. But I think it's probably someone—an enemy who had a deep hatred for him."
Gabriela's face paled. "An enemy?" she repeated, her voice trembling. "But my child... he didn't do anything wrong. Who would be his enemy?"
I stepped in smoothly, my voice low and grave. "Auntie, Brother Diaz is a police officer," I said, letting the weight of the words sink in. "It might be some criminal who was arrested by him targeting him. And this officer is right..." I gestured toward Sarah, my tone firm. "They might also target you."
Gabriela's breath hitched, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Fear flickered in her dark eyes, and I could see the way her mind raced with the possibility. She was vulnerable now, desperate for protection, for someone to make her feel safe.
Sarah, ever the performer, pretended not to know me. She turned to me with a sharp, professional gaze, her voice cool and detached. "Who are you, Mr...?"
I met her gaze, my expression carefully neutral. "Officer," I corrected smoothly. "I'm Jack. Diaz's friend."
Sarah nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she were assessing me. "I see," she said, turning back to Gabriela. "Well, Auntie, given the circumstances, I think it's best if I take charge of your safety. We don't know if this enemy might target you next."
Gabriela's eyes widened, her fingers tightening around the edge of the stool she was perched on. "You—you think so?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sarah's expression softened, but her tone remained firm, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "It's a possibility we can't ignore, Auntie," she said, her gaze steady and unyielding. "I'll make sure you're protected. You won't be alone in this."
Gabriela looked between the two of us, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The fear in her dark eyes was palpable, but so was the flicker of relief—the desperate, trembling hope that someone was finally going to take care of her. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress, her knuckles turning white. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.
Sarah didn't hesitate. She took a step closer, her voice gentle but insistent. "Auntie... we need to shift you to a safe house."
Gabriela's body tensed, her eyes widening as she shook her head. "But... my son is here," she protested, her voice trembling. "How can I leave him alone?"
Sarah's expression didn't waver. She reached out, her hand resting on Gabriela's shoulder, her grip firm but not unkind. "Auntie... don't worry," she said, her voice calm, reassuring. "I'll ask another police officer to guard him. But think about it—" Her voice dropped, her tone grave. "If something happens to you... How could we take care of Diaz?"
Gabriela's breath hitched, her body swaying slightly as if the weight of Sarah's words had physically struck her. Her gaze flicked to Diaz's motionless form in the bed, the machines beeping softly beside him, a cruel reminder of his vulnerability.
The thought of leaving him was agony—it was written all over her face—but the fear of what might happen if she didn't leave was even worse.
"I—I don't know," Gabriela stammered, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. "I can't just leave him..."
Sarah's grip on her shoulder tightened just slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Auntie, you're not leaving him forever," she said, her tone filled with false reassurance. "Just until we make sure you're safe. Until we catch whoever did this to him. You have to trust us."
Gabriela's eyes welled up with fresh tears, her body trembling under the weight of the decision. She looked at me, her gaze searching mine for confirmation, for anything that would make this feel less like abandonment.
I stepped forward, my voice low and steady. "She's right, Auntie," I said, my hand resting on Gabriela's other shoulder, my touch grounding her. "Diaz would want you to be safe. He'd want you to trust us."
Gabriela's breath shuddered out of her, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Okay... I'll go."
Sarah's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Good, Auntie," she said, her hand sliding down to grip Gabriela's arm gently. "We'll take care of everything."
-x-X-x-
Sarah, still clad in her police uniform, pulled out her phone and made a quick call. Her voice was sharp, authoritative, the kind that demanded obedience. "I need two officers stationed at Room 307, St. Mary's Hospital. Now. Diaz is still a target, and I want eyes on him at all times." She paused, listening to the response on the other end, before nodding. "Good. Make sure they're armed."
She hung up and turned to me, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Mr. Jack," she said, her voice smooth but firm, "it's best if you come with us. In order to be safe." She stepped closer, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"We don't know who wants to target Diaz. And if that person can't find Diaz's mother..." She let the implication hang in the air, her lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk. "Then it might shift its target to someone else. Being Diaz's friend... you're also in danger."
Gabriela, still trembling from the weight of the past hour, turned to me with wide, fearful eyes. "Yeah, Jack," she echoed, her voice trembling. "The officer is right. You should listen to her."
I looked at Sarah, who winked at me mischievously, her eyes sparkling with dark amusement. I nodded, a slow smirk spreading across my face. "You're right, Officer," I said, my voice laced with false reluctance. "I'd better come with you."
After a while, the police officers Sarah had called finally arrived, their boots clicking against the linoleum floor as they approached.
They were young, their faces serious, their hands resting on the holsters at their hips. One of them nodded at Sarah, a silent acknowledgment of their orders.
Sarah turned to Gabriela, her voice gentle but firm. "They're here, Auntie. It's time to go."
Gabriela's breath hitched, her body tensing as if she were bracing herself for something unbearable. She took one last, heart-wrenching look at Diaz, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his face.
It was as if she were trying to memorize the feel of him—the warmth of his skin, the way he lay motionless beneath hers. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
Instead, her eyes welled up with fresh tears, her chest heaving with a sob she was trying desperately to suppress.
She turned to the officers, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Please," she begged, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress, "take care of my son."
The officers nodded solemnly, their expressions grave. "We will, ma'am," one of them assured her. "You have our word."
Gabriela didn't look convinced, but she let Sarah guide her out of the room, her body leaning slightly into mine as we walked. The trust she placed in us was almost palpable—thick, heavy, and intoxicating.
Outside, the evening air was warm, the hum of the city a distant murmur as Sarah led us to her unmarked police car. Gabriela slid into the backseat first, her dress riding up slightly as she settled in, revealing the soft, warm brown of her thighs.
I followed, my body close enough to hers that I could feel the heat radiating off her. Sarah took the driver's seat, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror for just a second—long enough for me to see the dark promise in them.
As the car pulled away from the hospital, Gabriela's breath hitched, her body tensing beside me. I reached out, my hand resting on her shoulder, my thumb tracing slow, soothing circles. "It's going to be okay, Auntie," I murmured, my voice low, comforting. "We're going to keep you safe."
She turned to me, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you, Jack," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know what I'd do without you and Officer Sarah."
I smiled, my hand sliding down to grip hers, my fingers intertwining with hers. "You don't have to worry about that, Auntie," I said, my voice a dark caress. "We're not going to let anything happen to you."
Sarah's eyes flicked to us in the rearview mirror again, her lips curling into a smirk. She knew exactly what I was doing—how I was playing Gabriela, how I was making her need us. And she loved it.
The car hummed beneath us as we drove, the city lights blurring past the windows. Gabriela's body relaxed slightly against mine, her head resting on my shoulder as if she'd known me for years. The trust was there, thick and heavy between us, and I could feel the way her breath steadied, the way her fingers tightened around mine.
"Where are we going?" Gabriela asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sarah's voice cut through the quiet of the car, smooth and reassuring, but with an edge that made it clear there was no room for argument. "Somewhere safe, Auntie," she said, her eyes flicking to Gabriela in the rearview mirror. "Somewhere no one can find you."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Gabriela's fingers tightened around mine, her breath hitching as she stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into darkness as we drove farther and farther from civilization.
The hum of the engine was the only sound for miles, the road winding through dense, shadowed forests before finally opening up to a secluded, remote area.
The safe house loomed in the distance—a modest but well-kept bungalow, its windows dark, its presence isolated. It looked decent, even inviting, but the way it stood alone in the middle of nowhere sent a shiver down my spine. Perfect.
Sarah pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, killing the engine. The sudden silence was almost deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. Gabriela's breath came in shallow gasps, her body tense beside me. She was nervous—her fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress, her eyes darting between the house and Sarah's impassive face.
"This is it?" Gabriela asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sarah turned in her seat, her expression calm but unyielding. "This is it, Auntie," she said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "No one knows about this place. You're safe here."
-x-X-x-
Gabriela didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded, her trust in us—in me—overriding her fear. I could see the way her mind raced, the way she was trying to convince herself that this was the right thing, that we were the ones she could rely on. And we were. Just not in the way she thought.
I stepped out of the car first, offering Gabriela my hand to help her out. Her fingers trembled slightly as they slid into mine, her body leaning into me as she stood.
The warmth of her pressed against me, the scent of her—floral, sweet, with that underlying musk of fear—filled my senses. I guided her toward the house, my hand resting on the small of her back, possessive and reassuring all at once.
Sarah led the way, unlocking the door and stepping inside to flick on the lights. The interior was simple but comfortable—a living room with a plush sofa, a small kitchenette, and a hallway that likely led to the bedrooms. The air smelled faintly of dust and disuse, but it was clean, quiet. Private.
Gabriela hesitated at the threshold, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for hidden threats. "It's... nice," she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction.
Sarah turned to her, her smile small but reassuring. "It's temporary, Auntie," she said, her voice soft. "Just until we make sure you're out of danger."
Gabriela nodded, her shoulders sagging slightly as she stepped inside, her body relaxing just a fraction. She was still on edge, still nervous, but the exhaustion was catching up to her. She needed to rest. She needed to trust.
And we were going to make sure she did.
The click of the lock echoed through the house like a final seal, shutting us off from the world outside. Sarah's eyes met mine, her smirk dark and knowing, her lips curled with the kind of amusement that only came from holding all the cards. We had Gabriela exactly where we wanted her—isolated, vulnerable, ours.
Sarah turned to Gabriela, her voice soft but laced with a false sincerity that only I could detect. "Auntie," she said, tilting her head slightly, "we have everything here... but we don't have spare clothes. I'll arrange them tomorrow."
Gabriela's fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress, her exhaustion evident in the way her shoulders sagged. "Can I take a shower?" she asked, her voice hesitant, as if she were afraid to impose.
Sarah nodded, her expression warm and reassuring. "Of course, Auntie," she said, gesturing toward the hallway. "This way. I'll give you a towel robe—it'll do until your clothes dry or I get you new ones."
Gabriela followed Sarah toward the bathroom, her movements slow, her body language screaming of fatigue and relief.
I stayed in the living area, listening to the distant sound of water running as Sarah returned a few minutes later, her footsteps light, her smirk even more pronounced.
She sidled up to me, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, "Don't you wanna look at a naked woman taking a bath?" Her breath was hot, her voice a dark tease. "Let me show you..."
I chuckled, shaking my head as if I were the picture of righteousness. "Hmm... how can I be a pervert?" I mused, my tone mockingly indignant. "If I want to look, I can just walk in there directly."
I leaned back slightly, my expression shifting into one of mock outrage, my voice dripping with false righteousness. "And how can a police officer be so corrupt and naughty?" I clucked my tongue, shaking my head as if I were genuinely scandalized.
The words were laced with sarcasm, my tone teasing but sharp, and before Sarah could even react, my hand snapped out, landing hard on her ass with a sharp, echoing smack.
The sound cut through the quiet of the house, sharp and sudden, and Sarah let out a soft, surprised gasp. Her fingers flew to the spot, rubbing it as she turned to face me, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and dark amusement. "You—!" she started, but her voice was breathless, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.
"Hmm..." she murmured, her voice breathy, "how can I be nice to people who killed my father?"
I pulled her into my arms, my hand gently rubbing the spot I'd just slapped, my touch shifting from punishment to comfort in an instant. "But I think Gabriela is innocent," I said, my voice low, my lips brushing her temple. "She doesn't know anything..."
Sarah nodded against my chest, her voice muffled but sincere. "I know..." she admitted, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. "But can't I take some interest?" She pouted, her eyes lifting to meet mine, her expression a perfect blend of innocence and corruption. "And you have to help me..."
I smirked, my hand sliding down to grip her hip, pulling her flush against me. "Don't worry," I murmured, my voice a dark promise. "I'll listen to my beautiful officer..." My lips brushed her ear again, my breath hot as I whispered, "But I also want something in return."
Sarah's breath hitched, her body tensing slightly in my arms. "What is it?" she asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.
I didn't hold back. My lips pressed against the shell of her ear as I growled, "I want to fuck you in the ass."
Sarah's entire body shuddered, her breath coming in a sharp gasp. "Hmm..." she murmured, her voice a mix of shock and dark curiosity. "No... that's dirty... How can I—"
I cut her off, my hand sliding down to cup her ass possessively, my fingers teasing the edge of her uniform trousers. "Because you want to," I whispered, my voice a dark caress. "Because you like being dirty for me."
Sarah's breath hitched again, her body arching slightly into my touch. She didn't deny it. She couldn't. The way her eyes darkened, the way her lips parted—she was already imagining it.
I smirked, my fingers tightening on her hip. "Good girl," I murmured, my voice a dark promise. "Now... let's go watch Gabriela."
Sarah's lips curled into a wicked smile, her hand sliding into mine as she led me toward the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, the sound of water running filling the air, the steam curling out into the hallway like an invitation.
We stood just outside, our bodies pressed together, our breaths synchronized as we peered through the crack. Gabriela was inside, her back to us, the towel robe discarded on the floor as she stepped under the spray of the shower. The water cascaded over her, tracing the curves of her body—her full hips, the soft swell of her ass, the way her dark hair clung to her skin.
Sarah's breath hitched beside me, her fingers tightening around mine. "She's beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water.
-x-X-x-
The bathroom door was cracked just enough to give us a perfect, unobstructed view. Gabriela stood under the scalding spray of the shower, the water cascading over her thick, voluptuous body, her dark brown skin glistening under the steam.
She was fucking perfect—every curve, every roll, every inch of her designed to make a man lose his mind.
Her hands moved slowly, sensually, as she lathered the soap over her heavy tits, her fingers teasing her dark, puffy nipples until they stood hard and erect, begging for attention. The soap suds slid down her body, tracing the soft swell of her stomach before disappearing into the thick, curly bush of her pubic hair.
My cock twitched violently in my pants, the sight of her unshaved pussy—dark, wild, real—making my mouth water. She wasn't some waxed, polished doll. She was a woman, untamed and raw, and the thought of burying my face between her thighs made my pulse roar in my ears.
She spread her legs slightly, her fingers sliding between her folds, washing herself with slow, deliberate strokes. My breath hitched as she turned, bending just enough to spread her asscheeks, the soap sliding over her tight, puckered asshole.
The way she cleaned herself—thoroughly, intimately—was almost obscene, like she was putting on a show just for me.
The water ran down the crack of her ass, dripping over her thick thighs, and I could smell her—musky, warm, the scent of a woman who hadn't been touched in years.
Sarah's breath was hot against my ear, her voice a dark whisper. "Fuck, look at her," she murmured, her fingers digging into my arm. "She's filthy, Jack. All that hair... that ass..." Her tongue flicked over her lips, her eyes glued to Gabriela's body. "You're gonna ruin her, aren't you?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My cock was throbbing, my mind already racing with all the ways I was going to use that body.
Gabriela finished her shower, stepping out of the steam-filled bathroom with her skin still glistening, her bathrobe clinging to her curves in a way that made my fingers itch.
The fabric was thin, nearly transparent where it stretched over her tits, the deep cleavage threatening to spill out with every breath.
The robe barely reached mid-thigh, and as she sat down on the couch, her legs crossed just enough to tease—because if she spread them even an inch, her hairy, glistening pussy would be right there.
Sarah pulled me back into the living room, her voice a dark purr. "Jack..." she murmured, her fingers trailing down my chest. "You have to seduce her... for me." A wicked grin spread across her face. "I want Diaz to know how slutty his mother is... how she moans for another man while he rots in that hospital bed."
I smirked, my voice a dark promise. "Don't worry. I'll make sure she begs for it."
Sarah's grin turned feral. "I'll help you," she whispered, her lips brushing my ear. "When it's time to sleep... I'll put you both in the same room." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll tell her it's safer that way... that I need to protect you both."
I nodded, but my mind flickered to Lorena. I'd had plans with her tonight—something important—but this? This was too good to pass up. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number, my voice smooth, professional.
I leaned against the wall, my voice low, my cock still aching from the sight of Gabriela's body. "Change of plans," I murmured. "Go with the case, however you want. If you need me, you know how to reach me."
Lorena picked up on the second ring. "Jack," she said, her voice cool, all business. "You'd better have a good reason for canceling on me at the last minute."
I chuckled darkly. "Relax. It's business," I lied smoothly. "I'll come see you soon."
"You better," Lorena snapped before hanging up.
I pocketed my phone, my focus shifting back to the real prize.
Gabriela sat on the couch, her bathrobe barely containing her, her thick thighs pressing together like she was trying to be modest—but fuck, it only made it hotter.
The thin fabric of Gabriela's bathrobe clung to her body like a second skin, outlining the heavy swell of her tits, her dark, hardened nipples pressing against the material as if begging to be touched, sucked, bitten. The robe rode up just enough to tease the shadow of her pussy, the dark, curly hair peeking out whenever she shifted, a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath. My cock ached just looking at her, the way her body moved with such natural, uninhibited sensuality. She wasn't trying to be seductive—she just was, and it was driving me fucking wild.
Sarah turned to her, her voice sweet, almost innocent. "Auntie, what would you like to eat?" she asked, already moving toward the kitchen. "I'm going to prepare it."
Gabriela waved a hand dismissively, her voice warm but firm. "How can that be?" she protested. "You guys sit here. I will prepare something for you."
She looked at Sarah, her dark eyes filled with concern. "Sarah... how is the situation with Diaz? Is everything okay?"
Sarah nodded, her smile reassuring. "Yeah, Auntie, everything is fine," she said, her voice calm, soothing. "Don't worry. I just talked to my people at the hospital. They'll keep reporting to me every half hour."
Gabriela's shoulders sagged slightly in relief, but the worry didn't fully leave her eyes. Sarah continued, her tone confident. "And all the police force is looking for the criminal."
Gabriela nodded, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her robe. Sarah stepped closer, her voice gentle. "Auntie, the kitchen is here... let me help you."
I cut in before Sarah could take control, my voice smooth, authoritative. "How can that be, Officer Sarah?" I said, shaking my head as if scandalized. "You're busy. Let me help Auntie. You sit here. I'll help her with dinner."
Gabriela hesitated for only a second before nodding, her expression softening with gratitude. "Thank you, mijo," she murmured.
I took her hand and led her to the kitchen, the warmth of her skin sending a jolt of dark satisfaction through me. The kitchen was small but well-stocked, the refrigerator humming softly as I opened it, pulling out vegetables and meat.
Gabriela moved to the stove, her body swaying slightly as she stirred whatever she was cooking, her hips shifting in a way that made the robe ride up just a little higher.
-x-X-x-
I stood at the basin, my hands moving mechanically through the water as I washed the vegetables, but my mind—my eyes—were entirely on Gabriela. The way her bathrobe clung to her body, the fabric stretched taut over her full, round ass, swaying slightly as she stirred whatever was simmering on the stove.
The robe rode up just enough to tease the shadow between her thighs, the dark curls of her pussy peeking out whenever she shifted. Fuck.
The sight of her—so natural, so unaware—made my cock throb painfully against my pants. I could almost smell her—the warm, musky scent of her skin, the faint sweat lingering from her shower, the heat radiating off her body.
I imagined bending her over the counter, hiking up that flimsy robe, and burying myself in her right then and there. The thought alone made my pulse pound in my ears, my fingers tightening around the vegetable I was washing.
Once the vegetables were clean, I moved behind Gabriela, close enough to feel the heat of her body. My cock was rock hard, pressing insistently against the fabric of my pants, and I didn't hesitate.
I stepped in just a little closer, letting it brush against the soft, full curve of her ass—just enough to make contact, to let her feel me.
"Auntie," I said, my voice steady, innocent, as I reached around her to place the washed vegetables on the counter in front of her. "Here's the vegetable."
Gabriela gasped, her body stiffening for just a second as she felt the hard press of my cock against her ass. Her breath hitched, her fingers freezing mid-stir, but before she could react,
I pulled back just enough to make it seem like an accident, as I'd just been standing too close in the cramped kitchen.
She didn't say anything. She didn't dare. Instead, her breath came faster, her cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassed red that spread down her neck, disappearing beneath the thin fabric of her robe.
I could see the way her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the spoon, her knuckles whitening, her shoulders tensing as if bracing for something she didn't quite understand. But she didn't turn around. She didn't pull away.
And that told me everything.
I didn't push it. Not yet. I had the whole night to play with her, to break her down, to make her beg. So I stepped back, giving her space, letting the tension simmer between us like a slow-burning fire.
Gabriela finished making dinner in silence, her movements stiff, her breath still uneven. We ate together, the air thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what was coming.
Sarah, ever the master of manipulation, set her fork down with a soft clink against the plate. Her voice was smooth, almost innocent, as she turned to Gabriela.
"Auntie," she said, her tone gentle but firm, "this safe house only has one bedroom. And I think it's best if you both stay together..." Her eyes flicked to me, then back to Gabriela, her smile reassuring. "That way, I can keep an eye on both of you together. To keep you safe."
Gabriela hesitated for only a second, her dark eyes searching Sarah's face for any hint of deception. But Sarah's expression was perfect—concerned, professional, trustworthy. Gabriela nodded slowly, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her robe. "Okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "If it's safer..."
Sarah stood, her smile widening just slightly—victory. "Good," she said, guiding us toward the bedroom. "You'll be safe here."
Gabriela moved toward the bathroom, her bathrobe swaying with every step, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that made my cock throb. She closed the door behind her, and the sound of the shower started up a moment later.
Sarah turned to me, her voice a dark whisper. "Lock the door from inside," she instructed, her hand on the doorknob. "When I knock three times like this—" She rapped her knuckles against the wood in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "—open it. Otherwise, don't open it no matter what."
I smirked, my voice low. "Got it, Officer."
Sarah's eyes gleamed with dark amusement before she stepped out, the lock clicking into place behind her.
The room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the shower from the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, my cock aching as I imagined Gabriela in there—naked, wet, her hands sliding over her body, her skin glistening under the water. The thought alone was enough to make me harder, my fingers twitching with the need to touch her, to claim her.
I glanced at the bed, then at the single recliner in the corner of the room. My voice was hesitant, almost shy, as I turned to Gabriela. "Auntie..." I said, my tone carefully awkward, "You can sleep on the bed... and I'll sleep on this recliner."
Gabriela paused, her dark eyes studying me for a moment before she shook her head. "How can that be?" she said, her voice warm but firm.
"Just sleep on the bed. It's big enough for both of us..." Her expression softened, a hint of hurt flickering in her eyes. "Or do you despise Auntie?"
I let out a nervous laugh, my voice stammering as I looked down, my cheeks flushing as if I were genuinely embarrassed. "How can that be?" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Auntie is so beautiful... It's just..." I hesitated, my fingers twisting together. "I'm nervous. This is my first time in a room with a woman."
Gabriela's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. "What?" she breathed, her voice laced with disbelief. "How can that be?"
I didn't say anything. Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, my head bowed as if I were too embarrassed to meet her gaze.
I could feel her eyes on me, her confusion, her curiosity. And then—her hand was on mine, her fingers warm and gentle as she took my hand in hers.
"Jack..." she said softly, her voice maternal but tinged with something else—something softer, something intimate.
"Just rest on the bed. And I am your mother's age..." Her thumb brushed over my knuckles, her touch reassuring, comforting.
I let my breath hitch, my voice barely audible. "Okay, Auntie," I murmured, my eyes flickering up to meet hers for just a second before I looked away again, my cheeks still flushed.
-x-X-x-
I chuckled inwardly, my expression carefully schoolboy-shy as I nodded, my cheeks flushed just enough to sell the act. Gabriela let out a soft, amused sigh, shaking her head. "You kid..." she murmured, her voice warm, almost maternal.
She settled onto the bed, her bathrobe parting slightly as she lay down, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that made my pulse spike.
I lay down beside her, both of us stretched out straight at first. But then I turned to face her, my gaze tracing the worry etched into her expression.
"Auntie," I said softly, my voice gentle, comforting, "don't worry about Brother Diaz. He'll be fine. He's a strong man."
Gabriela sighed, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears as she thought of her son. "I'm worried," she admitted, her voice trembling. "When Diaz wakes up... he won't be able to handle himself... seeing his condition... I... I..." Her voice cracked, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her robe.
I reached out, my hand brushing hers, my voice steady. "Auntie... then we'll both be there to help him," I said, my tone reassuring. "We won't let him lose hope."
Gabriela nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah... we can't let him lose hope..."
I chuckled darkly in my mind, the irony bitter and sweet. Hope. As if Diaz would have any left after what I had planned. He'd wish he were dead.
With a slow, deliberate breath, I activated my ability—Scent of Lust. The air around us shifted subtly, an invisible wave of pheromones flooding the room, wrapping around Gabriela like a second skin. Her breath hitched almost immediately, her pupils dilating slightly, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.
The Scent of Lust had fully taken hold of Gabriela now, her body burning with a heat she couldn't understand, couldn't control.
She didn't notice the unnatural influence—only the way her skin tingled, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps, the way her mind spiraled into something dark, something filthy.
Her fingers clenched the bedsheets, her body trembling as the warmth pooled between her thighs, her pussy aching with a need she hadn't felt in years. The worry for Diaz, the fear for her son—it was all still there, but it was drowning beneath the wave of lust crashing over her.
I used Telepathy to hear her thoughts and pretended to be asleep.
[Oh God...]Her thoughts were frantic, her mind racing.
[W-what is this...? Why do I feel so... so hot...?] Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling faster, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of her bathrobe. [I-I can't... I shouldn't be feeling this way... Not now... Not ever...!]
But her body betrayed her.
[M-my pussy...] Her thoughts stuttered, her mind reeling.
[It's... it's throbbing... It's so wet...!] She squeezed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse. [W-why...? Why is this happening to me...?]
Her mind flashed to me—to Jack—lying so close to her, his body warm, his presence overwhelming. The thought of him, of his hands on her, his mouth—it sent a jolt of shame and desire through her.
[Is this... is this because I'm with a man...?] Her thoughts were desperate, her mind spinning.
[A man the same age as my son...? Oh God... What kind of mother am I...?]She bit her lip, her fingers twisting in the sheets.
[I'm disgusting... My son is in the hospital... He could be dying... And here I am... thinking about... about this...!]
But the more she tried to push the thoughts away, the stronger they became.
[I-I can't stop...]Her mind was a whirlwind of shame and need.
[I keep imagining... imagining his hands on me... His mouth... Oh God... What if he touched me...?]Her breath came faster, her body arching slightly, her pussy dripping with need.
[N-no... I can't... I can't think like this...!]
She turned onto her other side, her back to me now, as if that would hide her thoughts, her desire. But it didn't help. The heat only intensified, her mind betraying her with images of me—of my hands gripping her hips, my cock pushing inside her, filling her in ways she hadn't been filled in years.
[Fuck...] The word slipped into her mind, unbidden, filthy.
[I'm soaking... I can feel it...!] Her fingers twitched, her mind screaming at her to stop, to think of Diaz, but her body wouldn't listen.
[W-what if he woke up...? What if he saw me like this...? ]Her breath hitched, her pussy clenching at the thought. [Would he... would he want me...?]
The shame was crushing, but the need was stronger.
She tossed and turned, the sheets rustling beneath her, her body too wired to sleep.
[I can't sleep...] Her thoughts were desperate now, her mind spinning.
[Is Jack asleep...?]
She turned again, her body facing mine, her eyes searching my face in the dim light. I kept my breathing steady, my expression relaxed, pretending to be asleep. But I felt her—her gaze on me, her desire radiating like heat.
[Looks like he fell asleep...] Her thoughts were softer now, almost disappointed.
The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the sound of Gabriela's ragged breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets as she shifted again, her body restless with need. My Telekinesis was still locked onto her thoughts, and the moment her gaze flicked down—really looked—her mind exploded.
[Oh my God!!!] Her thought was a loud, shocked exclamation, her eyes widening as she stared at the bulge in my pants.
[W-what is that...? Is that... is that what I think it is...?] Her breath hitched, her heart pounding so hard I could almost hear it. The outline of my cock was unmistakable, straining against the fabric, thick and hard, the sheer size of it making her mind spin.
[H-he looks like he's in pain...] Her thoughts stuttered, her fingers twitching against the sheets.
[I-I should help him... Yeah... That's it! I'm just helping him... Like an elder...] She tried to justify it to herself, her mind racing, her body aching with a need she couldn't deny.
[It's not like I want it... No, no, no... I'm just... I'm just being kind...!]
But the way her breath quickened, the way her pussy clenched at the sight, the way her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out—she wasn't fooling anyone. Least of all herself.