Emily's back arched as she pushed against me, a whimpering moan clawing up her throat—"Nnngh—fuck, wait—we have to move." Her hips twitched, grinding against my thigh like she couldn't help herself. "Texas. Now. And we need a new car—Victor's got eyes everywhere, and if he sees us—"

She stepped away, but not before I felt it—the heat radiating off her, the way her thighs trembled. The Hand of Arousal was eating her alive, her willpower fraying like a rope about to snap.

She could still talk, still think—but her body? Betraying her. Her nipples were hard little points under her top, and her panties were soaked through the fabric. I could smell her—sweet, musky, desperate.

"Go," I rumbled, adjusting my cock through my pants. "Grab your shit. But don't think for a second I won't fuck you the moment we're safe."

Her breath hitched. "Promise."

We walked inside the safehouse. The second the door locked behind us, Emily ripped her shirt over her head, her bra following with a sharp snap of the clasp.

She didn't even bother with finesse—just shoved her jeans down, stepping out of them with a wet squelch from her drenched panties.

"Change. Now," she ordered, voice rough, fingers already sliding between her thighs—just a tease, just a brush—before she caught herself with a whine.

"Victor's got CCTV all over this fucking mall. He'll recognize you in a heartbeat."

I didn't move. Just watched as her fingers hovered over her pussy, her thighs shaking. "You gonna touch yourself, baby? Or are you saving that for me?"

She snarled, but her hips rolled anyway. "I don't—fuck—I don't have men's clothes, okay? But you can take mine."

Her drawer slammed open. Out came a white button-up—thin, almost see-through, the fabric worn soft from her skin. "Wear this," she tossed it at me, then pulled out a pair of black silk pajama pants—so flimsy I could probably tear them with my teeth. "I sleep in these when I'm alone. Loose. Easy access."

Her eyes flickered to my crotch. "Not that you'll need it."

I didn't waste time.

My shirt tore as I yanked it off, buttons pinging across the floor. My belt followed with a sharp clink, my pants pooling at my ankles. Naked. My cock stood thick, veiny, leaking, the head already glistening with precome.

Emily's eyes locked onto me.

First, my abs—every ridge defined, the V cutting down like an arrow pointing straight to my cock. Then lower. Her breath caught, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she stared at my cock—long, thick, throbbing, the veins pulsing with every heartbeat. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, her pussy clenching on nothing.

"Fuck," she whispered, her voice rough, hungry. "Look at you. So fucking hard." Her fingers twitched, like she was fighting the urge to reach out and stroke me.

"I'm gonna take that cock, Jack. All of it." Her eyes flickered up to mine, dark and promising.

"I'm gonna ride you until you're empty. Until you're begging me to stop." A slow, wicked smile curled her lips. "And we are gonna fuck for days. So prepare yourself…" Her hand slid down, fingers trailing over her soaked panties. "Because once I start? I'm not stopping until you're dried the fuck out."

I stepped closer. One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back. The other gripped my cock, stroking slow, deliberate, just for her. "You want this, Emily? You want me to split you open right here?"

She moaned, her pussy clenching on nothing. "Yes. Fuck yes. But we can't—not yet—"

"Then stop looking at me like that."

"I can't!" She was panting now, her fingers digging into her own thighs. "I can smell you. Taste you. I know how you'll feel—thick and hot and filling me up—"

I locked my arms around her waist like a vice. My cock—throbbing, leaking, iron-hard—jutted against her thigh, the hot, heavy weight of it pressing into her soft skin.

She gasped as I moved my hips forward, my cock sliding against her, the slick head dragging through the wet heat of her inner thighs.

"Mmmf—! Aah!" Her back arched, her nails dug into my shoulders, her breath hitching as I humped against her again—slow, deliberate, teasing. The slippery sound of my cock rubbing against her soaked panties filled the air, the fabric clinging to her swollen lips, already dripping for me.

"Feel that?" I growled, my lips brushing the shell of her ear before my teeth sank in—just hard enough to make her whimper.

"Feel how fucking hard I am for you, Emily? How bad I want to split you open and ruin that tight little cunt?"

She moaned, her hips rolling against me, chasing the friction. "Y-you bastard—" Her voice was breathy, broken, her body betraying her with every needful twitch. "You know I can't—nnngh—can't think when you—ah!—do that—"

I chuckled darkly, my tongue tracing the sting of my bite on her ear. "Good. I don't want you thinking." My hand slid down, fingers hooking under the waistband of her panties, pulling just enough to expose the glistening pink of her pussy. "I want you begging."

I grabbed the shirt she'd tossed at me—white, thin, her scent all over it. I inhaled before pulling it on, the fabric clinging to my chest, the faint musk of her arousal wrapping around me like a fucking promise.

Then the pajama pants.

Holy shit.

The material was so fucking thin it might as well have been painted on. My cock—still half-hard, still leaking—outlined obscenely, the head pressing against the fabric, the veins visible through the sheer black silk. If I moved wrong, the tip would peek out, glistening and ready.

Emily's gaze locked onto it. Her tongue slipped out, tracing her lower lip. "You're trying to get us caught."

"No," I growled, my hand deliberately adjusting the thin fabric of the pajama pants—slow, teasing, letting my cock shift beneath it. The head nudged free for just a second, glistening and throbbing, before I tucked it back in. "I'm not trying to get us caught."

Her eyes locked onto the obscene outline, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Then what are you doing?"

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