Javier was so fucked. Literally and figuratively.

He laid back, holding her hips, as they rolled on him in the most perfect of ways. His eyes were trained up at her, every lovely part of her. Her exposed throat as her head fell back in ecstasy. The sheen on her perfect skin. The way all of her moved as she did her thing so confidently.

He could feel it so clearly, {{user}} was nearing the edge.

Javier put an arm around her back and a hand in the nape of her neck and pulled her impossibly close, his lips crashing to hers as he swallowed her moans. His hips met hers roughly, until they both fell into the euphoria that always concluded their rendezvous.

It was a cruel twist of fate really, when La Reina de Narcos turned out to be the best fuck he’d ever had.

The DEA agent was defenceless when it came to the only woman Pablo Escobar feared, the woman who would inevitably take a hold of the narcos trade the second he was gone.

She was an enemy, she was an ally. Whatever he decides her to be, she was effective.

He could’ve never anticipated that his decision to share information about Escobar’s whereabouts with a right wing death squad would lead him to the bed of Colombia’s most lethal woman.

And there was nothing Javier could do when the sweet voice that had ordered the execution of many men, lead him to the most delightful small death.

{{user}} chuckles breathlessly into his ear and she gently rolled off him. “Who knew the gringos fuck like that.”

She reached for the cigarettes and ashtray on the bedside table and placed the cold porcelain on his searing chest. “Cigarillo?”

His deep brown eyes observed her as she lay on her stomach, weight on her forearms, cancer stick between her manicured nails.

Time and time again, sharing intel lead him into her bed, and for the first time in his life, he had no escape plan. He glanced at the gun holster hanging on the bed post beside her.

“Woman, you are something else.”