Chapter Seven

A.N. Slight tease at the end, next chapter will be entirely smut, you're welcome.

Javier had dabbled in addiction over the span of his adulthood, which was somewhat ironic considering the path his career had taken. He'd certainly been addicted to his work, one would argue to the amber liquid he regularly poured down his throat, probably was slightly addicted to the sexual trysts he frequently engaged in back in Columbia. But this, well this was uncharted territory.

            There was a tight knot of need in his gut that he couldn't shake, he felt the brunt of it all the way down to his bones, which ached, felt like they would buckle and break under the pressure of the urgency, the fucking greedy neediness.

            He felt out of control, spiraling into some lustful trance that was seeming to strip him off all logical thought. The only thread holding him together was their deal. Keep it casual, emotionless, a plundering give and take of each other's physical forms but that's it. The intensity of his desire certainly didn't seem casual, but the way in which he was going to act on it needed to be.

            He didn't want her to get the wrong idea, but it seemed like she was just as eager to set that boundary. Why? Was it because of what had happened with her ex, that pendejo Robert, or was it something else... something more?

            Nope, drop the thought.

            Trying to dig into each other's personal lives would only encourage the blurring of that line they'd etched out. He didn't need her asking questions about him, and so he would keep his own curiosity at bay. All he needed to know was which spots on her body made her scream when he teased them, how many orgasms he could pull from her and the most effective way to do so. Everything else was unnecessary information, most of it, especially on his end, detrimental information.

            There was a nagging part of him, though, that knew she wouldn't even let him touch her if she knew what he'd done, the atrocities he'd committed. His murderous hands should've never even gotten close to her soft, perfect skin. But the selfish, needy appetite that occupied more and more of his brain pushed those thoughts away more often than not. She wants this too, fuck it, ignorance is bliss.

            He sighed, leaning back on the couch, his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall, then to the clock on his wrist, like one of them would speed up and free him from the internal war waging in his head. Part of him wanted to get up and walk to the bar, Emma had already started her shift and he was desperate to see her, too desperate. He knew the moment he saw her, those dark blue eyes, and those pouty, pink lips, he was going to need to drag her somewhere secluded. Everything would be easier if he could just wait, just wait until her shift was almost over. Then he could follow her back to her house, and camp out between her legs for the rest of the night.

            But, god, he was fucking impatient. And time seemed to sense this, moving slow, slower than seemed logical. Though, as stated prior, most of his logic had flown out the window the moment he'd hoisted her up and placed her on that table.

That had only been twelve hours ago, twelve hours and he was already anxious, a violent frenzied desperation eating him away from the inside out.

Fuck it. He thought, for perhaps the thirtieth time in the past twenty-four hours as he stood, swiping his wallet up as he walked toward the door, that need in his gut pushing him down the street toward the bar.

Emma wasn't doing much better; her eyes had been glued to the door since her shift started two hours prior. What if he'd changed his mind? What if he hadn't been as supremely affected by their 2am antics as she had been?

She'd already spilled two beers since her shift started, brushing off Nick's beratement of her bartending skills only because her mind was elsewhere, was stuck replaying the hungry look that had taken over Javier's features right before he kissed her, summoning the dark, baritone of his voice when he praised her for coming all over his hand.

She was wet just from the memory of it, her panties uncomfortably sticking to her lips, the seam of her jeans causing far too much friction-- or perhaps, not the right kind of friction-- against her swollen clit.

What if he never came back? What if he decided against their arrangement? What if--

Her spiraling thoughts came to a shuddering halt as the door pushed open and the wide expanse of his shoulders momentarily blocked the sunlight from pouring into the bar. She couldn't really see his face, just the dark outline of his figure, but it was enough to cause her cheeks to pool with blood, her heart pounding a beat faster in her chest.

He'd taken a minute to try to calm himself down before he pushed his way into the bar, had smoked two cigarettes in quick succession, urged the greed in his gut to subside for the next few hours. But the moment he walked into the bar, his eyes flickering across her face and then down, to the purplish mark on the side of her neck that she was doing absolutely nothing to hide, oh he was consumed by it, thick and burning and urgent.

            "Chiquita." He rumbled, his voice so low, she felt it like a vibration in her chest.

            She watched his eyes, dark and coated with the same needy hunger she felt pooling up in her gut, flicker across her face, then down her body.

Her cunt clenched around nothing.

            "Hi." She spat out, her cheeks burning even more intensely, prickling heat spreading down the back of her neck.

            The corners of his lips curled up and hinted at a smile in response to her shyness.

            "Could I speak to you, in private, for a moment?" He asked, leaning over the bar a bit, trying to keep his request unheard by Nick and the few other patrons playing pool behind him.

            Can't wait, can't stand another second, his brain screamed at him as his palms ached to brace the soft skin of her waist, the bones in his hands feeling almost arthritic at the need.

            Her heart jumped into her throat as she nodded, gesturing over to the door that led to the back room. His eyes flickered there, and he tilted his head, urging her to begin walking there first.

            She did, on wobbly knees, the seam of her jeans brushing crudely against her throbbing cunt. Oh, this was embarrassing, he's only just arrived, and I've been wet, waiting, ready for him for fucking hours.

            His imposingly wide presence behind her only put her more on edge as she pushed her way through the swinging doors, feeling the heat of him behind her. She only made it two steps inside when his big hands were suddenly on her waist, causing a gasp to flood out of her mouth as he spun her around.

            Her mouth popped open, her hands flying out to splay against his chest as she tried to prepare for the sensation of his lips on hers, but it didn't come as quickly as she thought it would, instead she found herself staring up at him, his dark eyes locked somewhere below her chin.

            "You like walking around with my mark on your neck?" He asked after a thick moment of silence, his eyes flickering from the bruise to her face and back.

            She gnawed on her bottom lip instead of answering.

            "Tell me, chiquita." He urged, his right hand leaving her waist to tug her lip out from between her teeth by pinching her chin. "You like all the cabróns in this bar knowing that I made you come all over my fingers at the same table they sit at every day? Hmm?"

            She felt her pussy flood at his words, a little whine tumbling from her throat as she nodded. She needed him now, and she didn't give a fuck what anyone else in that bar heard or thought because if he didn't touch her in the next two minutes, she was going to explode.

            "Out loud, bonita." He demanded. He needed to hear her say it, needed to commit the words to memory, needed to know that she liked this as much as he did.

            "Yes Javi." She whispered, her voice feeling like it was caught in her throat, "I like it."

            "Good girl." He hummed and she felt her cunt clench again. "Bet that table still smells like your pretty, little pussy, baby."

            Her mouth fell open in shock and he used the opportunity to fix his hand to her jaw, his fingers curling into the bend of it, keeping it open as he tugged her head back a bit and fused his mouth to hers.

            A whimpering little whine tumbled into his mouth from hers as he just devoured her, licking and biting and sucking at her bottom lip as she obediently yielded to him, her fingers digging into his arms, clawing at his chest, desperate to reinstate the feeling of his touch everywhere, all at once.

            The tight knot of need in his chest snapped as he tugged her closer to him, his grip on her jaw tight and unrelenting as he licked a hot line over the roof of her mouth, the sweet taste of her making him dizzy, feeding the ravenous hunger that hadn't abated since he'd tucked himself back into his pants earlier that morning.

            Would he ever get enough? Could he?

            "Javi!" She spat out, sucking in a breath against his mouth, the sound of her voice saying his name, all needy and desperate made his cock ache, already tenting the fabric of his jeans.

            "Tell me what you need, pretty girl." He crooned, kissing her hard once more, rolling her bottom lip between his teeth, then tugging it as he pulled away and fused his mouth over that bruise on her neck.

            She pressed her mouth into his shoulder to muffle the moan that echoed from her throat at the delightfully pleasant throbbing that shot down her spine.

            "N-need y-you to t-touch-" She tried to talk, her voice slightly muted against the fabric of his shirt, feeling lightheaded from the dull ache that heightened to a sharp spasm as he bit that blemished skin.

            He never wanted it to go away, he wanted it to become a permanent fixture on her perfect skin. Never mind the implications that entailed, he didn't care at that moment, didn't care about anything beyond the perfect, little creature writhing in his arms.

            "What do you need me to touch, bonita? Be specific." He inquired provocatively, his voice buzzing against her neck.

            Her mind was clouded with lust, dizzy and weak. "Everywhere." She blurted out, "Just p-please." She felt her cheeks heat up at her candor, but his lips flickered into a smirk as he forced his mouth away from her neck, the light, intoxicating scent of honeysuckle that clung to her skin cloyed his nose.

            "Can you be quiet, chiquita? Or do you want everyone out there to hear me fuck you with my fingers?" He inquired, his voice just a decibel over a whisper, that brassy baritone making her cunt throb at the thought.

            "D-don't care, just p-please." She spat out, fingers digging into the taut cords of his biceps as he tugged her closer to him by the belt loops of her jeans. He spun her around, so her back was against his chest, his hard cock pressing into the generous expanse of her ass, the sensation making his eyes roll back in his head as he reached around her, tugging open the button of her jeans, unzipping them and splaying his hand flat against her tummy, feeling her quiver as he slid it down, her skin so fucking soft against his calloused palm.

            He slid past the elastic of her panties, down further, his fingers finally reaching the soaked, throbbing space between her legs.

            She let out an echoing moan at the tiniest bit of relief his touch provided, and Javier used the hand that wasn't down her pants to clamp over her mouth, yanking her head back so it rested on his shoulder.

            "Fuck, baby... you're soaking wet." He choked out, a tinge of awe in his voice.

            She grinded her ass against his clothed cock, trying to get him to move his hand. She needed it, was blind with need, letting out muffled whines against his palm, the noise vibrating both their skin.

            He was going to come in his pants if she kept that up, there was no doubt in his mind, he could already feel his dick leaking precum in the confines of his boxers.

            "Stop moving." He spat out, "or I'm not going to let you come."

            She tried to utter an apology against his palm, but it just came out as a muffled warble.

            He began circling his fingers over that swollen bundle of nerves in the confined space of her jeans, the sensation was so much, almost too much after how pent-up she'd been all day. She felt her eyes well with tears, letting out muffled little sobs against his hand as he dipped his fingers down to her sodden entrance.

            "Were you wet before I got here, sweetheart?" He asked, his voice so low, so close to her ear.

            She nodded urgently, her head knocking against his shoulder.

            He felt that tight knot wind itself back up in his gut, but this time it was heavier, coated in thick, undeserving jealousy. "Who got you so worked up?" He implored, the inquiry dripping with spite.

            She tried to speak, but her voice just vibrated against his palm. He let his hand slip down from her mouth to lightly grip her throat. She felt her pelvis tighten at the sensation.

            "Y-you Javier, I-I was thinking about y-you." She voiced urgently, blushing at her candor as he squeezed the sides of her neck, effectively cutting off her ability to speak.

            The knot in his gut snapped a second time, the frayed edges catching on fire as his chest ignited, insuppressible pride causing him to swell up. "Good girl." He crooned, "Cum on my hand, pretty girl, cum on papi's hand and after you get off work, I'll take you home and eat that pretty, little pussy until that smart mouth can't say anything other than my name."

            She was going to pass out, surely, his words pushing her over the edge, her cunt so overstimulated, his big hand wrapped around her neck, keeping all the noises he was pushing out of her muted.

            She felt a wicked buzzing rip through her pelvis as he squeezed her clit between his first finger and his thumb, the pressure, and the rough, calloused skin of his hand against her soft folds was enough, she felt her mouth open, her eyes flooding with tears as a muted scream echoed out of her throat.

            "That's it." He hummed, feeling her cunt pulse against his hand, "that's my good girl."

            She was panting, her forehead slightly damp, her cunt sore from being so worked up all day, but as he pulled his hand out from the confines of her panties, her slick coating his fingers, she let out a low whine at the absence of his touch.

            "I know, baby." He murmured, "I'll give you more later, I promise."

            He brought his wet fingers to his mouth, sucking her sex off of them, sweet and tangy, his eyes fluttering at the taste, his cock twitching and aching in his jeans.

            She turned around, her hands shaking as she rebuttoned and zipped her jeans, staring up at him with glistening eyes, tears tainting the soft porcelain of her cheeks.

            "C'mere chiquita." His voice lilted as he tugged her to him by her waist, leaning down and kissing the tears on her cheeks away. Her stomach fluttered madly at the action, so sweet... God, it made her ache when he was sweet like that.

            "I'll go out first, alright?" He whispered, "Grab something on your way out, make it look like you had a reason to be back here."

            She nodded, his eyes flickering to where she was toying with her bottom lip with her teeth.

            He grunted, tugging her bottom lip out from between her teeth with a grip of her chin, then roughly parting his lips over hers.

            Not enough, I need more, more, more. Will I ever be fucking satiated?

            For the first time, he thought he might understand all those people who spent all their money on blow, who ruined their lives and their relationships to fuel their addiction. He still didn't empathize with the narcos, with the people who got him into this mess, but he was becoming increasingly aware of the imprudent dependence one could have on a substance... or a person.

            "Mmm." Emma hummed against his mouth, trying to pull away from him by pressing her hands onto his chest, "Javi, I have to get back out there."

            She was pushing him away, but the only thing going through her head was, I want to stay right here, I want him to keep kissing me, I want more, more, more.

            Javier groaned, opening her jaw wider with one large hand hooked around her delicate mandible, first finger digging into the bend of it. He thrust his tongue into her mouth like a claim, groaning and greedy. She always tasted like strawberries, smelled like honeysuckle, swore like sailor, fuck he was obsessed.

            "Why do you always taste like strawberries?" He mumbled into her mouth, the thought tumbling from his head without his permission.

            "M'toothpaste." She warbled, soft lips sweeping over his, "it's strawberry flavored."

            He pulled back, her jaw still locked in his hand, his pupils blown out as he stared down at her. "Your toothpaste... is strawberry flavored?" He repeated, like it was the most confounding thing he'd ever heard.

            She nodded, "I don't like the taste of mint."

            Too sweet, too good for me, too delicate and precious and--

            She knocked him out of his self-deprecating spiral by pushing hard at his chest. "Go back out there, Nick is going to call Martin if I don't refill his stupid Coors."

            "Mandona." He muttered, a smirk pulling up the side of his lips.

            "Look who's talking." She rolled her eyes at him as he winked, pushing his way out of the swinging doors and back into the bar.

            She took a moment to compose herself, adjusting her clothing and combing down her hair as she peered into the murky reflection of the chunky computer monitor at the desk in the back of the room.

            He was surely driving her insane, there was no doubt about that. His big hands, and his wide shoulders, and that stupid dimple that burrowed itself into his right cheek on the rare chance that he actually smiled. His smart tongue and that maddeningly low baritone that rumbled her chest whenever he spoke. The only consolation she had was that he was going insane too, apparent in the insatiable way that he touched her.

And their deal... of course their deal.

            She grabbed a fresh bottle of Jameson on the way out of the back room to replace the one that was nearly empty out front.

            Javier was at his stool when she stepped behind the bar, cheeks hollowed out as he smoked a cigarette, wide frame curled forward, one elbow propped up on the counter, the other arm folded, large forearm flat against the edge of the bar top, large fingertips drumming against the wood.

            That hand was down my pants five minutes ago, his fingers probably still smell like my pussy.

            A surging wave of desire crashed through her at the thought, her belly cramping up as she forced her eyes away.

            Jesus Christ, he just made you come, calm down.

Emma poured the little remaining liquid in the Jameson bottle into a shot glass, then tugged out the speed pourer and shoved it into the new bottle.

"Drinking on the job, rendezvous in the back room, doing everything but getting me another Coors." Nick grumbled as Emma poured the shot of Jameson down her throat.

"You haven't even finished your glass." She pointed out with a roll of her eyes.

Nick picked up the cup of swirling, foamy, piss-colored liquid and swallowed the thing in one large gulp, then shook the empty glass, his disheveled eyebrows snapping up.

"So difficult." She mumbled, snagging the glass, and tugging down the Coors tap.

            "Being a bartender is hardly difficult, hon, try working as a contractor for forty-five years. Shoddy job sites and strict deadlines, putting your life on the line every day."

            Javier let out a scoff next to him.

            Nick's head snapped in his direction as Emma suppressed a chuckle, placing the Coors down in front of Nick's awaiting hand.

            "Did you say something, sonny?" Nick snapped; bushy brows furled together.

            "Nope." Javier shook his head, pursing his lips around the filter of his cigarette before tapping it once against the ashtray that sat between them.

            Just absolutely fucking ridiculous that you would insinuate that being a contractor is particularly life-threatening.

            "That's what I thought." Nick grumbled under his breath, picking up his full glass and downing half of it in two large gulps.

            Emma poured Javier a glass of bourbon without him having to ask, sliding it across the counter with a little wink.

            "Thank you, bonita." He hummed, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray and occupying his hand with the glass. He wasn't particularly thirsty, not for the amber liquid that sloshed as he spun the cup around.

When was the last time he had been free from that ache at the base of his neck, the hollowness in the bottom of his gut that needed to be filled with glasses and glasses of bourbon? Certainly before Escobar, most likely before Quantico... Back in Texas, on the ranch, when his future had been shrouded in glittery promise. He hadn't drank much back then, just a few beers with friends on the weekends, a single glass of bourbon around the fire pit out back with his Pops.

That was more than a decade ago, a decade of drowning his liver and his problems, the dull ache that never seemed to subside. Except for now, except for with her.

Nope, no. Remember our deal.

Javier sat there, slowly sipping on that single glass of bourbon for the remainder of her shift. She didn't notice that he-- very uncharacteristically-- only had one drink, she was far too hung up on his earlier promise.

I'll give you more later.

She'd been waiting for later since the moment they walked out of the back room, a buzzing neediness occupying her lower belly. Since when had she become so insatiable?

As she gathered her things from the back room, Javier stood outside, waiting for her, absently smoking a cigarette as he stared down Irving, watching the heavy, white fog begin to billow down the avenues.

Everything looks duller when it's coated in fog, even the fluorescent lights of the bars were all muted, drowned and strung out. The blank white sheet that blew in from the ocean most days was almost blinding, coating everything in those little moisture droplets that seemed to cling to your skin more so than rain or tap water.

But as Emma exited the bar, glancing up at him with those dark, blue eyes, he thought that maybe not everything looks duller in the fog. Maybe not everything...