Page 60 of Final Approach

My pride was squashed in an instant—I had reached a whole new level of awkward. Yay.

My hand hadn’t released his zipper, and the tip of his hard length brushed my palm with every shake of his body. My lower belly clenched in response. I’d been willing to attempt this charade to get the weapon back. I hadn’t expected to want it. Not like this.

When he finally calmed down, wiping tears from his eyes, he stared down at me in wonder, with a gaze so open and honest my heart clenched harder than my pussy.

“You are so beautiful, my ángel.” Madman’s large palm cupped my cheek with surprising tenderness, causing a breath to catch in my throat. “So intelligent, so … funny.”

Yes, funny. That’s me. So funny. Gun, please?

I’d be lying if I said I hoped it was that easy. Not with how he watched me as if he owned me.

Hoods fell over his eyes while his gaze roamed over every part of my body appreciatively, like I was a precious work of art to be studied. Placing two light hands on my hips, he lowered his head to my ear, mimicking my poor attempt at seduction moments before.

The light flutter of his lips set my skin on fire. “My banana is more like a plantain. Would you still like to taste it?”

Fuck. He was much better at seduction than I was.

I was a trembling animal caught in a trap, too stunned to move away and heart pounding far too loudly to say anything in response. My hands moved of their own accord, flattening over the length of his strained “plantain” in the tight black jeans he wore. His breath hitched against my skin and his hips jerked, thrusting against me, chasing my touch.

He shuffled forward which forced me backward, his hands still on my hips, my hand still on his clothed cock. My back hit a rough bark. Letting out a surprised breath, I stopped breathing altogether when his pouty lips pressed a kiss to the skin just below my earlobe.

Holy shit. Panties ruined. Was I going through with this?

I didn’t have time to think about it.

He nipped the same spot, his teeth nicking my skin like a sear to my soul, before his tongue flattened against the mark, licking away the sting. He continued to thrust into my hand while kissing and biting a whole trail down my neck. Every nibble set a live wire to my skin, each nip filtering down the length of my body into my core, coating my inner thigh with thick arousal.

He pushed my T-shirt—his T-shirt—up, revealing the soft curves of my belly. Lowering to the ground, he pressed kisses to my heated flesh, from my belly button to the seam of my waistband. My hand, bereft of his cock, drifted to his head.

Fire followed in his wake, contrasting with wracking shivers of anticipation while he slowly moved to where I needed him most.

Abruptly, he stopped his ministrations but clung to my hips. I whimpered in response, so wet and swollen and desperate for the tiniest bit of friction.

Piercing blue eyes, still open and warm, stared up at me.

“I’m aware of your plan to seduce me, ángel.”

Wait—what? How?

“You do not have to go through with this to get the gun back. I will give it to you freely if you vow never to return it to Diaz, and will promise to use it against him if he tries to harm you.”

I frowned and searched his face for any sign of a trick. I hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Not that I had been planning any sort of outright sex—in the jungle, that would be just crazy—but I’d been willing for a rub and tug, or even a taste of his “plantain,” if it got us our only weapon back.

Now that he was giving me an out … did I really want it?

His wide hands possessively squeezed the backs of my thighs, and an involuntary shudder wracked my body.

No, I didn’t.

“I will walk away now if you say no. We will get fruit and return to camp.” His gaze was startlingly honest, clear and unwavering as he held my stare. “But I want you to say yes, ángel. I want to taste you on my tongue.”

Holy shit. The warmth in my belly spread to my pussy, violently tingling with arousal. There were one thousand reasons on my tongue why this was a bad idea.

He was my passenger—I was his pilot. He was a criminal—I was responsible for transporting him to his next prison. Staring out into the riverbed where we’d just emptied millions of dollars worth of cocaine onto the sand, every excuse I could utter died on my lips.

Whether I remembered the reasons why, I was responsible for half our passenger’s deaths. An eventual investigation could find me negligent. I’d approved the removal of a weapon from a law officer and allowed it to fall into the hands of a dangerous inmate. I just knowingly destroyed evidence.

The circumstances were irrelevant. In three short days, I’d become a criminal, too.