#los vaqueros cod

Alejandro Vargas

Dampness sticks to your skin. Moisture blooms on the aged concrete walls. Distantly, you hear water dripping, slow and steady like a leaky faucet.

“It’s not much,” comes Alejandro’s voice as he enters the small room. “But you’re safe here.”

Here is a hole in the ground, just a rotten board covering a metal door in the earth, and a ladder leading to semi-darkness. The safe house Alejandro brought you to is completely remote, a sanctuary from the fallout following the assassination of the leader of the region’s cartel. A murder you helped execute with your red-painted lips.

Small and cramped, the lone room in the underground safehouse is sparse. There’s a worn mattress on a metal frame with a few blankets piled in the middle. In the corner is a faded wood bookcase minus a shelf and smelling of rot.

It’s only a few days.

Alejandro coughs, your gaze shifting from the bookcase to him.

“They don’t know it’s me?” you ask, voice cracking.

Alejandro’s mouth twitches. “Have a shower.” He jerks his head to the right. “Through that door.”

Frowning, you step forward. Alejandro shifts back as you peer out in the short hall. There’s a ladder, and two doors, one of which stands open. From it, you can just make out the edge of a cracked sink.

“Down here?”

Alejandro inclines his head. “Runs on a hand pump. Water won’t be warm. But it’ll do the job.” He reaches out, almost absently, lightly cradling your check. Gaze roaming, your savior frowns. “You’ll want the blood off you.”

Clarity comes, your arm rising, hand pressing to the front of your dress. It crackles and crunches, thick and hardened with blood. Not yours, but of the man that kept you, showed you off when his wife and kids weren’t around. Men with power love to parade their pretty things. Now, he’s composed of rotting flesh and splattered brain matter.

Alejandro’s hand drops to your elbow, “I’ll find you some clean clothes.”

Robotically nodding, you shuffle toward the bathroom. There’s a toilet, the cracked sink with a matching cracked mirror, and shower that’s just a off-pale green curtain, a showerhead, and a drain in the floor.

You don’t shut the door, stripping in full view, turning the crank in the wall. Behind the wall, a pipe rattles, and then clear cold water bursts from the showerhead. It pebbles your nipples, brings a shiver to your skin, but it’s washing away the blood, softening it until is runs down your body and circles the drain.

“I’ve brought—”

Alejandro’s voice falters. You glance over your shoulder, finding him standing in the doorway, gaze averted from your naked body. Too focused on removing the blood, you never shut the curtain.

He clears his throat. “Found a towel. Clean clothes.” Failing, Alejandro’s gaze shifts to your body, works his way up until he meets your eyes. Your savior glances away again. “Have a few storage boxes,” he explains, as if you wanted to know where he found them. “Smell a bit musty.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, reaching for the offered towel as the water sputters out.

Alejandro walks in, bringing the towel closer. He stands there, stoic and observing, watching as you dry yourself and dress. The clothes don’t fit, too large, but it’ll do. It’s better than the blood.

“I’ll take the floor,” says Alejandro, backing away.

“No,” you say quickly, darting forward without thought, grasping Alejandro’s wrist.

He’s surprised as you, lips parting slightly as he takes you in. This isn’t a man you’ve just met. For months, Alejandro sought you out, stalking your every step, emerging from the shadows when prying eyes were absent. Always flirting, always insisting, negotiating to the point of exasperation. Fear came first, for your life and his, but you were never caught, not even gossiped about.

His favored would never. Not the gorgeous thing that sat in his lap. That spent more time with him than his wife and kids. That never had a choice to begin with because you don’t say no when a drug kingpin offers to pay for your abuela’s cancer treatment in exchange for being his mistress. The monster that paraded you in front of his men, fucked you in front of them, enjoyed coming inside you without birth control but never liked when you ended up pregnant. Those always had to go away. Can’t have bastard children running around.

Alejandro whispers your name the same way he did when he dragged you from the slaughterhouse. Bullets flew. Blood sprayed. You, curled up on the ground, crying. And then Alejandro, wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up and away.

“I don’t bite,” you smile.

Alejandro chuckles, the corner of his mouth quirking. “That’s a shame.”

Your stomach flips, squeezes. This is the Alejandro who pursued you, gained your trust, and helped you escape. The one who flirted with you, the man you eagerly awaited until his next appearance. Alone with him, hidden in this bunker, you’ve never felt safer.

“Alejandro,” you murmur, breathy and soft.

You place your hands on his chest, the rough fabric of his uniform scratching against your skin. Pressing in, you keep your gaze low and demure, focusing on a small strap near your right hand, toying with it but not loosening.

“We shouldn’t,” he rasps, needy.

His tone goes straight to your pussy. After meeting Alejandro, you thought of him during sex, picturing him over you, his hands on your body. It’s the only way you could show desire or orgasm, pretend that you were even remotely interested in the man paying for your abuela’s cancer treatment.

“But you want to,” you say, tugging on the strap. “And I want to.”

Let you choose this for yourself. Have some control for once.

Temptation is easy. Alejandro needs no more convincing.

He grasps the back of your neck, banishing separation. One arm snakes around your back, and your hands slide up to lock behind him. Months of tension evaporate in a second, morphing into desperation. Fresh clothes forgotten, Alejandro yanks them off you, baring your body. He drops to his knees, kissing your stomach and hips, spreading your thighs with his hand, placing kisses there, too, only to part your pussy with his fingers and give your clit a little lick.

Eyes rolling back, you fist his hair, hips arching upward into his mouth. Alejandro’s hands grasp your ass. The world tilts and you’re on your back, the worn mattress beneath you, and Alejandro’s head buried between your thighs.

Toes curling, everything in you sharpens. A hard swirl of his tongue and you’re already falling apart, choking out a sob. Years of faking it and the real thing slams you into the floor, crushing you under its fist.

“Wanted to be here forever,” groans Alejandro, lightly biting your inner thigh. He turns his head, bites the other, licks a slow line up your pussy. “Worth the fucking wait.”

Alejandro pushes up and over you, pinning you to the bed. Your mouths connect, tasting yourself and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Still in uniform, Alejandro is ceaseless, starved for your kisses, claiming you like he’s always owned you.

You spread your legs wider, reaching between your bodies. A large bulge meets your palm. Alejandro’s hips flex, rubbing his erection against your hand. Hunger chews beneath your skin in urgent need, wanting out, wanting Alejandro in. In similar desire, Alejandro places his hand over yours briefly before yanking at his zipper and button.

“Keep the uniform on,” you gasp, helping in easing his pants open, to admire the way his cock slides out, bouncing slightly as it’s released.

A haggard groan leaves his lips, dripping like honey as you explore him. He’s heavy and thick in your hand, warm and throbbing. Your legs fall wider, heels hooking behind his thighs to guide him forward. Alejandro’s forehead dips to rest against your own, his gaze glued to your face, watching every little movement, every expression.

You guide him in, heels digging, urging him deeper.

“I was always there,” he rasps, rocking his hips slowly, his cock slowly dragging in and out of your pussy. “Never alone.” His thrusts slowly increase. “You were never alone.”

The next thrust is hard. You gasp, lips parting. Alejandro smiles, cheeky and soft, still gazing into your eyes as you come undone.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Rudy’s heart is a bent branch close to snapping.

On the other side of the bed, the only bed, you unclip straps, removing gun holster and knives until you’re down to just your clothes. Rudy does the same but his fingers are sweaty, his gaze busy watching your slow removal, as if he’s not in the room at all.

He clears his throat, and you turn. “I can sleep in the chair,” he says flatly because it’s the only restraint he has.

You glance at the off-red armchair in the corner. “The cuck chair?”

“There’s only one bed.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That a problem?”

“Don’t start,” he breathes, removing his gun, checking the safety. If he unloads and loads and unloads it’ll keep him busy and not looking at you.

“Rudy.”

“Sergeant Major,” he corrects.

There needs to be distance. Alejandro did this on purpose, shoved the two of you together because he keeps asking why the two of you aren’t a thing anymore.

“Sergeant Major,” you repeat, softly, enunciating. Rudy surrenders, looking your way, only to find you topless, breasts on display. “My apologies.”

He glances away quickly, the back of his neck flaming. “How’s Rose?”

“Rose?” you snort. In his peripheral, you bend, removing your pants. You’re not wearing underwear. “On first name basis now?”

Rudy inhales sharply, exhaling slowly. “Your mother. How is she?”

“She asks about you. Wants to know why I’m not bringing that handsome man around anymore. She thinks I did something to run you off.” Rudy remains silent. “Did I?”

“No,” he finally says, removing his jacket and then his shirt.

You’re completely naked now and on display, not caring to cover yourself up. Rudy can’t help it, his dick is hard and throbbing, his mind racing toward old memories of you begging for him to fuck you.

“You shower first,” he grunts, undoing his belt buckle.

“There’s room for two.”

Rudy curses and turns on you, ready to swat the idea aside. Words escape him, leaving him stranded and staring, lips parting as he takes in the full view of you, and how you saunter closer.

Reaching for his buckle, you slide the belt from of the loops, dropping it the floor. “Or we can go to bed. Shower in the morning.”

Absently, he drags his fingers over your shoulder and down your arm, trailing back up to rest his hand between your breasts. Your heartbeat upticks, chest heaving slightly with anticipation. The feeling grows. Become bright and hot and red.

Grasping the backs of your thighs, Rudy lifts and dumps you onto the bed, following after. Pinning one leg to the bed with his hand, he lifts the other, locking it against him, your foot in the air. Rudy doesn’t need to touch to know how wet you are.

“How long were you thinking about me?” he growls, control slipping.

You fist the sheets, tilting your hips to give him better access. “The whole time,” you admit.

Rudy shouldn’t, but he does.

You welcome him without resistance. There’s no softness in him, only carnal need. He thrusts, your body bouncing but unable to go anywhere. His hold is powerful, vice-like. Rudy needs to fuck you, hard.

Head falling back, you moan, the end strangled as your pussy squeezes him. Rudy releases your thigh to palm one breast, teasing the nipple between his fingers.

“Tell your mamá she’ll see that handsome man again.”

Your lips form the start of words. Rudy silences them, crushes it into dust in the air. He brings your legs together, turning you onto your side. Bracing himself with his hands flat on the bed, his thrusts quicken. Your hand comes around his throat. Squeezes.