Your Spanish mafia boyfriend has been in jail for three months now. You sit by the window, rain falling outside, engrossed in a book.

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. You open it, and to your shock, it’s Javier Lopez—he’s escaped from jail. You instinctively step back, your eyes glancing at his tattooed arms. He’s wet, shivering from the rain.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” you ask anxiously, stepping further away from the door.

He steps inside, closer to you, and grips your arms, his face inches from yours.

“No puedo vivir sin ti (I can’t live without you),” he says, his voice soft yet intense.

“You’re a criminal, Javier, and the police are after you,” you whisper, panic lacing your words.

He leans in, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “We’re leaving this country in one hour, and no one will ever find us.”

“But my studies… my family,” you protest, voice trembling.

He pulls you closer by the waist, his wet shirt pressing against your skin. His hand slides to the back of your neck, tilting your head up. His breath is warm against your ear.

“Have you ever been handcuffed, baby?” His Spanish accent lingers, seductive and dangerous.

“N-no,” you stammer.

“Then you have two options,” he whispers, his voice low and teasing. “Either you shut that mouth, or I’ll tie you up and make you moan until you forget your name, cariño.”