#steve murphy

You’d heard about Javier Peña many times during your first year in Laredo, Texas. 

A job opportunity forced you to leave Florida, and go straight to Texas with only a couple of bags, your car and your orange cat. Even though you were raised in the cold weather, you adapted quite easily to the South when Florida became your home several years ago. Not to mention that, once in Laredo, your expertise in Spanish came in handy, and you got to know all sorts of people. However, there were some people you only heard about, and Javier fell in that second category. 

His time in the DEA, his father, his looks and wits, his habit to sleep around that died down after he came back from Colombia… It all had been brought to your attention by coworkers and friends before you could even set your eyes on him. 

It was a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon, and you were walking around, window shopping whilst having ice cream with a work friend, when you first saw him. He was across the street, loading a truck with some construction materials, and your girlfriend squeaked and jumped like a schoolgirl upon seeing him. She pushed you behind a lamp post, hiding herself too. 

Apparently, many women had a crush on the infamous Javier. 

You had to admit, you got it. After all, he had a magnetic energy about him, and you loved mustaches. Also, those tight pants were doing it for him… and for you. Your friend only walked away after his truck disappeared, so you didn’t get a proper introduction. It was fun seeing him for the first time, though. Almost like seeing a celebrity.

After that day, you saw him around more. Once in the grocery store, when you were buying bananas and he was getting avocados. Once at the construction store, when your bathroom light exploded. He was quite a vision, and chivalrous too, even though you never formally introduced yourselves. 

It was Saturday night and some of your acquaintances were all out in this bar, celebrating something you couldn’t quite remember, when you saw him once more. He was out with what you assumed were some guys from the local police force, and it appeared to be someone's birthday or some sort of celebration. 

By the time you arrived, Javier’s party was mostly composed of really drunk men. It was endearing to watch the sober ones — which were just Javier and one other blond dude — try to contain the rest of them from making a “glass tower”, composed only of very breakable glasses. 

You were smiling, drink in hand, when Javier’s gaze met yours — he caught you staring. You could shy away from him, similar to your friend hiding herself from him behind a lamp post. But you didn’t really want to, so you smiled. 

And just like that, he smiled back. 

You raised your drink, and he shrugged nonchalantly. The silent exchange was pleasant, but short-lived, as one of his drunk friends tackled him and threw them both on the ground. You giggled and turned back to the conversation around you. 

It was fun to go out for once, that much was true. Nonetheless, the conversation, loud noises and weird lighting made your head ache, and you found yourself in need of a break — there was almost an itch forcing you to go someplace else for a beat, away from the people who actually knew you and wanted to make small talk. 

There was nothing wrong with small talk, it just wasn’t your favorite way to spend your entire night. Even being silent, sitting alone on a stool, doing some people watching, was better than listening to five people talking loudly and all at once for the entire night. So, you stood up, making your way to the bar.

The cute bartender poured you another G&T, but not before making sure you weren’t driving. Once you assured him you didn’t even have car keys on you, he handed you the drink. You didn’t miss the way he stared down your cleavage. Truth be told, you already didn’t mind the gaze from cute guys, but under the influence of alcohol, you actually kind of liked it. 

The wink you gave the bartender almost had him breaking a very expensive bottle of Tanqueray. 

You were smiling still, taking a sip, when you felt a presence to your right. You stopped drinking but didn’t put down the drink, and blinked twice before turning your head, eyes wide. 

The one and only Javier Peña was staring at you, a slight raise on the corner of the right side of his lips.

“What is a nice place like you doing in a girl like this?”, you almost choked on your drink with the words coming from Javier’s mouth. Mistake or not, he was either going to play this really smooth or really weird. He lifted a finger, chuckling, before continuing, “It’s not my fault if you’re so beautiful it makes a man forget the proper way to word a sentence”.

Smooth it is. 

You smiled, slowly sipping your drink before replying, “I was wondering if all the men here were drunk on alcohol or simply on my beauty”. 

Javier smiled, clearly enjoying himself, and you felt like you’d just hit the jackpot. God, he was beautiful. “Certainly on your looks”, he finally sat down on the stool next to yours. “How did you get this gorgeous anyway?”

“Oh, I feed on the souls of the young”, you sipped on your drink again. Javier must have been glad he wasn’t drinking anything, because he certainly would’ve spit it all out from shock. You weren’t always the wittiest, but alcohol brought out something in you. 

Your gazes locked, and you felt the heat creeping up on your cheeks. The sudden realization of how close you two were hit you like a truck. If you moved your body only a little to your right, your legs would touch. 

Did you want that? To be touched by and to touch this man? 

Yes. 

Javier was still looking at you, trying to figure out what was happening in your brain. His big brown eyes and killer smile were enough to make you swoon, but the way he was careful not to cross any line, the way in which he seemed so interested without having ever talked to you was doing something more to you. You didn’t usually go for the one night stand type of guy — and, if you were to believe the gossip you’d been told, that’s what Javier Peña was — and yet here you were, wanting nothing more than to fall for cheesy pickup lines and let him take you home. 

“I don’t remember seeing you around here before”, he said and you rolled your eyes. Small talk will be the death of you. He chuckled again, smiling a little whilst seeming slightly offended. 

You frowned and opened a small smile, “I’m so sorry, that was really rude of me, I just…”, you moved your hands around in a grand gesture, hoping he could read your mind. “I fucking hate small talk”, you laughed at last, and he followed you.

“‘m the one who’s sorry, gorgeous. Wouldn’t want you to have a conversation you found unpleasant”, he tilted his head a little. Oh, he was charming alright. 

You sipped on your drink a little more. “You’re right about one thing, I don’t come often”, you tried to redeem yourself, and it was when his mouth opened a little as he smiled that you realized the poor way you phrased your sentence. “HERE! I don’t come here often”, you babbled quickly as he laughed at your awkwardness. 

“Well, I’ve come quite a lot, and I must say it might be easier to do so with you around”, he leaned in. “Coming here, of course”. 

“Of course”, you replied, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt, especially because he still had that winning smile on his face. There was a part of you that wanted to let him take the lead and simply fall for it, but this witty, flirty way you felt was so rare you wanted to both ravel in it and see how far it would take you. “So, what brought you here this particular night?”

He picked up some peanuts from the tiny bowl in front of you and ate them. “‘m just here with some buddies, but you’re a much more pleasant companion”. 

“Aw, but you shouldn’t leave them alone, I’m sure they miss you”, you said, pouting and leaning forward. The closeness to this man was making your head light, almost like a drug. You reached your hand towards his arm, the one that was on the counter, and let your fingers lightly move, caressing him. 

It was the very first time you touched Javier Peña, and you’d be damned if it was the last.

“Nah, they’re good”, he replied instantly.  “They’re good buddies, they’ll live without me”.

Right on queue, the sound of a glass breaking filled the bar and one of Javier’s friends yelled out sorry! You and him both laughed, his hand coming to caress your thigh much like you were doing on his arm right now. 

“I think this fellowship you guys have is really nice”, you began to set your trap, smiling sweetly. 

“Fellowship? What are you, a gray bearded wizard?”, he laughingly replied.

“There’s this other term too… What was it again? Come right on me”, you said slowly, not letting the sweet smile die. Javier’s mouth opened a little almost in slow motion. “I mean, camaraderie!”, you corrected yourself, removing your hands from him completely and tossing your hair over your shoulder. You were surprising even yourself with how cool you were playing it. 

You hoped it was actually good and not just a drunken haze.

Javier was rendered speechless. 

His hand that was oh, so gently caressing your thigh, froze. You could feel the shift in his mind when his fingers stretched and creeped up higher, approaching the hem of your dress. He stopped midway and squeezed. You lifted your chin, daring him. His other hand, that was resting on his leg up until now, moved towards your face as he put a rebellious piece of hair behind your ear. 

You realized that you might have him where you want him, but he sure as hell had you where he wanted you, too. 

The fireworks you felt were so rare that you questioned if it was wise to let him have you like this before you even went out on a date. After all, it was your personal experience that men usually ran fast and far away the morning after. 

Was it worth it? 

His thumb stroked your cheek, and for a moment you quietly admired the way his face focused on yours. You couldn’t help the smile that was creeping in on your face. 

Yes. Oh, yes, this night would be worth it. 

(***)

A few moments later, you were standing outside the bar. You made some excuse to your friends and left in a haste, meeting Javi — he insisted you called him that — outside with a cigarette between his lips. 

There were more interesting things to put between his lips. 

He blew some smoke and smiled at you, and your mind went blank for a second. Way to make a girl feel like a million bucks. 

Truth be told, you didn’t think that was how your night would play out. When he invited you to go outside, you didn’t know what to expect completely. Well, actually, you knew what was going to happen. Duh. You just weren’t secure. He was a stranger, and you had your insecurities, of course.

Anyway. 

The way he smiled made those insecurities fly out the metaphorical window. 

You were climbing the metaphorical walls just thinking about this man. 

So, disregarding completely how much you hated the smell and taste of Malboros, you walked up to him and kissed him. Liquid courage. 

One hand on the nape of his neck, pushing him to you and feeling his gorgeous short hair. 

He was stunned. To be honest, you were stunned too — it wasn’t often you let yourself be picked up on a bar, let one be the one doing the pick out. You were a shameless flirt sometimes, but usually not one to act on it. 

In Javi’s defense, he reacted quite quickly. You weren’t sure if he dropped his half-smoked cigar on the ground or not, but you didn’t feel it when his hands touched you. Both of them on your waist, hugging you and holding you deliciously. 

Where has this man been all your life?

You felt his lips against yours, moving slowly and torturously. 

A brief flash of consciousness flashed through you. That was a small town, and you were in the parking lot of some bar. Anyone could see you and deem you a whore. 

Any thought stopped when he separated your lips and looked at you with those puppy eyes. “Where do you live? Maybe I can give you a ride home…?”, the expectation in his voice was adorable. 

As if he didn’t know he was coming up.

The little bit of modesty you had thanked him for trying and not treating you like a “sure thing”. However, you were much more interested in making your interest known. 

“Maybe I can give you a ride”, you replied, sounding as sassy as you could, and you smiled, raising your eyebrows. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and he laughed.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, gorgeous”, he said, pressing his forehead to yours. The kiss had been mindblowing, but that right there, that was what melted you. 

You let your smile become sweeter, and you lifted your shoulders in a little shrug, your cheeks burning red, smile playful. The way he looked at you, half sweetly, half lustfully… There he goes again, melting you away. 

By now, your underwear was uncomfortably wet. Could he tell?

You wanted him, just him. 

So you lifted your hand towards him, even though you didn't know which one his car was. You were certain he’d guide you towards it. 

His smile grew wider, endearing and passionate, and he grabbed your hand. 

(***)

“Make a left here”, you guided as Javi drove.

What was it about a man driving a stick? 

You had about three hundred “driving a stick” jokes on your mind, but you decided to stay quiet and enjoy the cool air, a rarity for Laredo. 

“So,” Javi broke the silence, “have you lived here long? I haven’t seen you around that much”.

You turned your head towards the driver’s seat, taking your mind out of the city and inappropriate jokes regarding cars. There, in the car, your desire was still unbelievably growing. But there was something else too, something more intimate than just grabbing him and kissing him. 

Were you going insane?

“Uh, yeah, I haven’t”, you replied. “Moved here from Florida for work, a couple of months back”.

“Oh”, he sounded genuinely interested. Was that possible? For that man to want you for something other than that night? You shook your head, making those thoughts disappear and trying to focus on the matter at hand. “What do you do?”

“I’m an immigration lawyer”. 

His eyes widened, clearly not expecting that. You enjoyed surprising people with that information, even though it was the most natural job in the world for you. 

Being the daughter of a latin-american immigrant and an european immigrant, you were painfully aware of the double standard and of the many, many issues in United States’ legislation regarding immigration. You could talk about it all day. This was your calling.

“That’s amazing”, he said, turning the wheel to make a left. God, he could just drive that damn stick all night and you’d probably come from watching it alone. 

You could tell he meant to say something else, but you interrupted him. The physical intimacy you could deal with, but getting into personal, mental, emotional intimacy right now was a no-no. He’s leaving in the morning. “That’s my house over there, the second one”. 

Your car was on the driveway, but he had plenty of space to park there too, which he did swiftly. You got out before he could open the door for you, already pulling the door keys out of your bag. 

There was nothing wrong with bringing a man home, but tell that to your cat. 

The little ball of orange fur ran and disappeared from sight when she realized you had company. Poor baby, you thought. Usually, you didn't like company yourself, and your home was a sacred place meant only for those you really trusted. 

Sure, you trusted Javi. You heard that the man was a hero and blah blah blah. The thing is, he was really hot, and that was enough for you to grab his hand and lead him into your room. 

As the single mother of an introverted cat, you tried not to bring strangers into the room she slept with you. 

But tonight the situation was different. 

You needed this stranger in your room. You need this stranger in you, period. 

How long had it been since you felt this for someone? 

Have you ever felt this before?

You were completely aware of Javi looking around the room, standing behind you whilst you took your heels off. You had paintings, photographs, and you did all the work on the paint of the walls and revitalizing some spaces. Maybe a tad much for a rented house, but you wanted it to be home for you and your baby kitty. 

“Wow, this place’s amazing”, he looked around, stopping on a picture you had atop of your dresser. It was you and your best friend from college, back when she had red hair. You were skinnier and tanner, basking in that glow of the early twenties. He picked up a ceramic jewelry box you made yourself, long ago. “Did you make this?”, he held it out to you.

You smiled and nodded, taking out your earrings and moving towards your bathroom. You hoped catching your reflection and giving yourself a pep talk would make all the worries go away, and give you the courage you needed to kiss the gorgeous man you’d brought home. 

Turns out, you didn’t need to do much. 

Javi followed you into the bathroom, and stood behind you. He was a few centimeters taller, and now, with your heels off, you could see his smile and beautiful brown eyes over your head. His hands came up to your arms, one caressing and one moving up to move your hair away from your neck.

“You’re amazing”, he said, eyes locked on yours. Then, he moved to press a kiss on your neck. Gentle, sweet, unlike what you expected this night would be. Perhaps you were wrong. 

Maybe there was a chance in hell this wasn’t a one night thing?

His lips on your neck were driving you insane already. You reached up, hands caressing his hair. He came closer, and you could feel something hard against your lower back. There was no other alternative but to giggle.

“What’s so funny?”, he smiled against your neck. God, you loved he didn’t take himself seriously. You weren’t drunk, far from it, but the alcohol took down your inhibitions a notch, enough to let yourself enjoy in a way your insecurities and anxiety normally wouldn’t. 

“I can feel all of you”. You meant that in a light hearted way, but it came out almost in a moan as his hand moved to the skirt of your dress, raising it and showing off more of you. 

“Not all of me”, he returned to kissing your neck. You watched it in the mirror. What a sight. 

You could get used to this. 

As much as it pained you to move from this position, you turned on your heels, facing him. He lost no time in grabbing your waist, pulling you closer. You let your hands travel up to the nape of his neck, feeling his hair again. 

There was so much to say. You wanted to know him better, to ask him about his fears and hopes and hairdresser. Because God, his hair was so soft and well cut. 

At the same time though, there was nothing you could say that would mean more than a kiss. 

So, you let him kiss you. He felt strong, and comfortable, and reliable, and unbelievably sexy. His hand moved up, hugging you, and you let yourself embrace his neck as the kiss deepened. His tongue asked for entrance, and although you usually didn’t care for kissing, there was something about this, about him. 

After the kiss went on for a second and for a million years all at once, you felt his hands move south, towards your butt, and lift you up. You let out a small sound, surprised by how easily he raised you in his arms, your legs instantly moving to wrap around his waist. He seated you on the counter of your bathroom, separating the kiss. 

For a moment, you felt insecure. You knew your body wasn’t what it used to be, and you knew there were more attractive women out there. You looked down, realizing your head was seconds away from spiraling hard, when he lifted your chin and locked your eyes.

“I do something you don’t like, you tell me to stop. One word from you, and we stop?”, his eyes were serious, and you nodded. “Need to hear you say it, gorgeous”. 

“Okay”, your voice was but a whisper. And you were sure you couldn’t say anything else when he smiled. That smile was new, almost predatory. A man on a mission. 

You nodded, he nodded. An understanding. 

He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand on your hair, the other making circles on your thigh. You could tell he wanted to rip off your clothes, but was being as gentlemanly as he could with his soon to be one night stand. 

You wanted this. 

You had done this before.

Why were you still a little nervous?

You decided to take matters into your own hands, using your legs to wrap around his waist again and pull him closer. Your hands roaming on his delicious torso, then his shoulders, then his hair again. 

He had such great hair. 

His lips left yours, making you whimper with the loss. “You want this?”, he asked as if it wasn’t obvious. 

You smirked, a little more confident feeling and now seeing the bulge in his pants. You bit your lower lip, and seductively nodded yes. “Don’t hold back on me now”, you whispered, hands still on his hair, pulling him closer, but he stopped you. 

Your stomach dropped. Maybe you were wrong, maybe he didn’t want this… 

The air was knocked out of you, as he kneeled in front of you, not even taking out your dress. Instead, he just pulled it up, and came face to face with your clothed heat. 

By now, you were surely a mess. 

Clearly, Javier Peña relished on that. 

“All this for me?”, he grinned, pulling your plain black underwear down your legs with so much ease and casualty that one could think he’d done this to you a million times. 

You were about to try to answer when he kissed the inside of your thigh. His hands were caressing you, making small circles on your legs. He kissed the other thigh, and you let out a whimper.

Good God, how did he have this effect on you?

You wanted more. 

You reached down to his hair, trying to convey your need in that touch. 

He was touching him everywhere but there, where you needed him the most. The anticipation, the need — it was driving you insane.

When he finally licked your center, you felt as if you could die. The French called the haze of an orgasm la petite mort, but you were certain there had to be an expression for this right here, right now. This feeling wasn’t exactly new — you had had good sex before, but it had never been this intense. 

What was he doing to you?

As he continued with his tongue, you let your body relax and fall back on the mirror behind you, using this new angle to admire the man between your legs. 

He was beautiful, and sinfully skilled. 

One of his hands moved towards your entrance, but he didn’t insert any fingers. No, he just applied pressure on the region around your clit. 

You moaned, moved frantically and tried to do something to make this feeling last and end all at once. 

The way he moved slowly, but putting pressure on you… Your mind didn’t comprehend it. 

Then, he started drawing circles, whilst his tongue still did its magic. You knew that, in order to cum, you needed more — more speed, more intensity, just more. 

And apparently, Javi knew that too. 

The knot on your stomach was growing tighter, your mind losing its grip on reality. He worked you to perfection, and your body tensed when he used both his fingers and tongue to good use.

“You have such a delicious pussy, gorgeous”, you looked down at the man who just uttered those filthy words with such naturality, and found him smiling. 

As soon as he put his tongue back near your clit, applying the perfect pressure, you came. 

A star-seeing type of orgasm. A mind-blowing, life-changing type of orgasm. 

You usually didn’t come when guys gave you head. But usually, the guys you fucked didn’t care much for working it. Javi, on the other hand, was having fun eating you out, even after you came muttering “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming…”.

Surely, he didn’t mean to make you come again… Or did he?

He kept licking you, kissing you, using his fingers on you, and it was magic. Pure bliss. He used one hand to push your dress further up, whilst the other was on you, his fingers entering you and curling at the same time his mouth was attached to your clit. 

Still shaking from your first orgasm, it was somehow easier for you to get there again. Your hips moved uncontrollably, and you were sure you were tugging too hard on his hard, but Javi didn’t seem to mind. He was all smiles, chin glistering with you when he stood up in front of you and kissed you. 

You wanted to laugh — it all felt so good, delicious, unreal. You felt like you could spread your wings like a parachute and just fly.

Noticing you were a goner, Javi picked you up bridal style towards your bed. Despite your underwear being discarded, you were still dressed, as was he.

He threw you on the bed, hardly but softly at the same time, and proceeded taking off his jacket. You laughed a bit, but he shut you right up with a kiss.

You moaned when he deepened the kiss, and your hand moved from the nape of his neck to the bulge in his pants. Taking off your clothes and his was a haze — a combination of hands, of kissing, of grunting. You couldn’t wait to have this man, and for him to have you. Thankfully, he thought the same.

Javi was down to his boxers, his length was already visible. He stood up, looking for his pants to pick up protection from his wallet. And, boy, what a sight this man was. 

You were into him, and, to be honest, you were feeling irresponsible. There was already a strange man in your bedroom. Same man who made you come hard in your bathroom a couple of minutes ago.

“I’m on birth control”, you said, sitting on the bed. You were sure your tits looked real good from this angle, and the way his eyes darted from your face to your boobs made you feel awesome about yourself.

“Oh”, was he speechless?, “I’ve been tested recently, and I…”, he was going to say something else, but in typical you fashion, you interrupted him, moving closer and reaching for his head. You kissed him in a way you hoped would convey all your want for him. 

Although you began to think it was impossible. You just wanted him so. damn. much.  

“Please, Javi”, he groaned hearing his own name coming from your lips. “I just want you”, you let your hands move through his chest. He was so manly, and he smelled delicious too. You were tested too, and you knew you were all set. Also, you had faith in your birth control methods. 

What harm could it make?

“I want to feel your cum dripping from me, on my thighs”, you murmured, and you swore his pupils were so wide there was none of the brown irises anymore. “I want you inside me, just you, nothing more”.

“Baby”, he groaned, pushing you down on the bed. 

“I want to be all yours, Javi, please”, and that was his breaking point. He took your pulses in one of his hands, and lifted them above your head, granting him view of all of you.

Although you felt exposed, you also felt powerful. The way he eyed your body made your nipples harden. 

And then. Then he spit on your face.

Your brain short circuited. What was going on? The impulse to open your mouth was bigger than you, and when you did he spit again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and your back arched, trying to get more of him.

It felt so dirty, and so, oh, so good. 

Your body was aching for his touch, waiting for him to give it attention. You could feel his cock on your entrance, and you knew you were ready. Yet, he didn’t fuck you right away. So, you opened your eyes, and he was already staring at you. 

“Ask for it”, he commanded. 

“What…?”

“I said ask for it”, he was calm, but his jaw was clenching. He used a hand to move his dick near your entrance, slapping your pussy with it. You moaned, and his mouth opened.

His tip was on your entrance, almost, almost, almost giving you what you needed. But he didn’t. 

You remembered his command. 

“Please, Javi, please…”.

“Please what?”, a slight movement that made you moan and use your hands to play with your nipples. 

“Please fuck me–eoh”, before you’d even finished speaking, he thrusted deep. He was so strong, and his cock was big and going deep, deep, deeper…

He lowered his body, and his chest was pressing against yours, caging you in the best way possible. Javi was pressed up on his elbows, and he used the position to kiss and whisper sweet nothings in your ears. Whispers of “You’re amazing”, “You’re beautiful”, “So tight”, “Just for me…” flooded your senses, and all you could do was moan his name and how good he was.

That man had some serious game. He moved his hips slowly but surely, intoxicating you. His kisses on your neck complemented each movement, and you wrapped your legs around him, allowing him to go even deeper. 

He had his face hiding in the crook of your neck, more sweet than you’d ever think he’d be.

Reading your mind, Javi lifted himself up, and used his gigantic hands to turn you around, belly flat on the mattress. “Up”, he commanded. 

You were confused for a second, and, in response, he slapped your ass. Honestly, that only made you wetter. 

You arched your back and turned your face to try and see his expressions. Whilst you positioned yourself on all fours, both his hands were on your hips, and he was admiring you, your body. Even though he made it clear he found you beautiful, it was odd having such an adoring look directed only towards you.

It was good.

You felt him lining up on your entrance, and you couldn’t help the little moan you let out. Damn, he was thick.

Right on clockwork, he slapped you again. If he kept going at it like that, your cheeks would be red by the morning.

“Ask for it”, he commanded once more. “Ask for it like the little slut you are”.

Even though his words were dirty, his voice was soft, and his eyes softer. You liked the dirty talk, perhaps more than you should.

“I want you so bad, Javi, please… Please fill me up”, you complied. He ordered, and you obeyed. “Make me yours”.

That was enough for Javi, and he entered you from behind, bottoming out. You felt so full, and this angle was even better. He began moving, a little faster than before, but a lot harder — like he knew from your moans and the way you clenched around his shaft that you liked this position better.

“Pretty little slut”, his voice was raspy and he was moving faster every second. What else could you do but scream his name?

He thrusted deep and hard, the grip of his hands on your hips making it easier for him. You made sure your ass was pranced up, and your back arched as your face and tits rested on the bed. 

One of his hands left your hips, travelling to your hair. He pulled you towards him, your back flat to his chest. His arm embraced you, over your neck, pressing slightly. You could tell your hair was all over the place, but you didn’t care — not when his other hand traced south and started playing with your clit. 

Both your hands grabbed his forearm, the one embracing your chest. It was all so good. You couldn’t help but let out a deep moan, almost painfully. 

“Yeah, gorgeous?”, his hands worked their magic. The one on your neck moved to your jaw, turning your face to his. “Tell me what you want”, he demanded. 

You couldn’t respond. Surely, he wasn’t expecting you to form any coherent thoughts that could lead to actual words coming out of your mouth. Your mind was a haze, your words long gone. All there was left was a feeling growing on the pit of your stomach and incoherent moans.

So, that’s what you gave him. Incoherent moans of his name, of him, of this.

“Nah, baby”, he stopped all movement, instantly making you whimper, almost cry out. “Ask for what you want, and I’ll give it to ya”.

You swallowed. Perhaps you could try. “You, Javi…”, he was still and quiet, and the lack of him almost hurt, “I want more of you, more of this, more of your hands”.

“More, huh?”, to which he replied with a sharp thrust. He pushed you down, back on all fours, your mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’, cheek against the mattress, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re quite the sight, gorgeous”.

He pounded deeper each thrust, becoming more and more erratic. There was sweat on your back, on your face and his. Quite the workout.

Then, you felt his hand move towards your hole, a part of you no one had ever been allowed to touch. But, with Javi, you felt comfortable, and you wanted more.

“You like this, my pretty slut?”, he was filthy, and it was turning you on. You tried to nod, still having in mind that you could ask him to stop at any moment. “Say it for me, baby”.

“I like it, Javi”, you whispered, and his thrusts became sloppier. 

To top all of the sensations you were having, Javi spit on you. You felt it on your ass, next to that tight ring of muscle he was playing with. He used his own saliva to lubricate you, and he pushed his finger in. 

You screamed — not out of pain, out of pure pleasure. 

The combination of your moans, you allowing him to play with your ass, and your wet, tight pussy was too much for Javi. 

The man came with a groan, holding your hips, after moans of “I’m coming, gorgeous, I’m coming in you, is this what you wanted?”.

It was sinful, so good it made your head go out of its orbit. 

He collapsed on top of you, both of you laying down. He pulled you closer, and guided your hips upwards, so he could look into your eyes. What a beautiful man, you thought, your heart skipping a beat.

His lips curled up, and he was still coming down from his orgasm. You felt his cum in you, and it made you smile too. 

“Let me take care of you now”, as if he hadn’t already. 

As he moved towards the edge of the bed, he moved your body so your tummy was up, and he kneeled on the bed, kissing your entire body. He worshiped your breasts, and your hips, and your thighs — and he made sure you knew it. So good, so delicious, so tasty…, he said, and for a second there, you believed him.

His hand moved, caressing you, and finally landed on your pussy. Even though his fingers felt good, you knew it wouldn’t be enough to get you there.

Truth be told, you didn’t come with much ease. It was frustrating, even more so because you had already had an orgasm, and now he probably thought it would be easy to make you cum. Then, you’d disappoint him and yourself… And good God, you were spiraling. 

Apparently Javi could tell, because he stopped moving his body and his hand, and laid on your side, face close to yours. It was intimate, and he was warm.

“Remember, baby, you say stop and we stop, okay?”. You just nodded. Maybe he wouldn’t hate you if you were honest. Maybe he wanted you to be honest. You looked down, and he had his eyes on you, completely focused. 

He looked like he was in awe of you just laying there with him. 

“I don’t know if I can come like this”, you let out quietly, almost whispering. You felt like crying, which was revolting to you. This was frustrating.

“Hey, hey”, his hands cupped your face, moving your hair out of the way so your eyes could lock. He was looking at you with such care that it hurt. “What can we do?”.

We. 

It’d been a hot minute since you’d been a “we”. You were so used to taking care of yourself… 

Oh.

The idea struck like lighting. “There’s a box beneath my bed, on the right side”, you hadn’t even finished saying the words and Javi was already moving, picking up the small box. He looked at you curiously, grinning. 

“This isn’t what I think it is…”, he opened the box. “Or is it?”, his smile grew and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re dirty, baby. I like it”.

The way he said it, tongue sticking out a bit at the end, was like a bullet. You could feel him in every part of your body still, even more so after his comment. 

His brown eyes shifted from you to the toy he’d picked up — long, curved, blue and vibrating on fifteen different intensities. 

You could take care of yourself, hence the little box. You didn’t need a second party, sometimes even preferring doing it alone, because it was hard to get there, to orgasm. But you wanted him. The fact that he was willing to incorporate your needs in his repertoire, without being threatened by the blue toy was something else.

He was something else. 

Damn. 

“Just look at me, gorgeous. That’s it. So good for me.”, he moved, now hovering above you, turning the vibrator on. It started slow, but Javi pressed it, making the vibrations faster and louder. You looked to the ceiling for a fraction of a second, and that was enough to earn a scold from the man working his magic between your legs. “Eyes on me”, he said. 

Then, he touched you again. He moved down, finding a comfortable place between your legs. It was all so good, almost too good. His lips on your thighs, his eyes on your, one hand balancing himself and the other holding the little blue toy you were sure he would somehow incorporate.

Javi’s eyes never left your, not even when he licked your pussy and made your eyes shut close. He was good like that, and he didn’t mind having a little help. Hence the toy that he pressed on your clit, so sweetly. He stayed there for a minute, and then moved, then came back… A symphony of movements and vibrations. 

The vibrations on your most sensitive part made you almost collapse. Sure, it was hard to come, but with the right stimulation… 

How could he be so attentive? Hadn’t he gotten what he wanted already? 

The insecurities and self-sabbotage flew right out the window when Javi combined his lips and the vibrator. When he laid on the bed and removed his lips to put one finger inside you… You could feel your control slipping right out of your fingers.

“You’re so good to me, baby”.

And just like that, you snapped. 

You came, even if it was not as hard as the first or second time. But damn. Three times in, what, less than two hours? A personal record. A delicious personal record you wanted Javier to help you beat day after day.

And Javi didn’t seem to care if the vibrator was there. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. Did he relish on making you feel good? 

“I can’t get enough of you coming…”, he said, purring. His voice was velvet-y, and music to your ears. “... all over me”. 

He moved his body upwards, whilst you were still coming down from the high of your orgasm. Every part of you was so sensitive. You moaned when he kissed your nipples. You gasped when his hands moved from your hips to your waist to your face.

He was laying on top of you, naked and all. And what a sight that was — his disheveled hair and chin covered in you. 

“Hi”, he murmured, smiling.

You smiled too. “Hey, you”, you realized your voice was raspy from all the moaning. He found that clearly amusing as he laid beside you.

“You are so beautiful”. 

“Oh, shut up”, you hid your face in your hands, laughing. He propped himself up, laughing but a bit serious too. 

“You are”, his face was close to yours, both his hands now holding your wrists. 

The sex was fun, even after the wave of frustration washed over you. This, however, was serious. 

You felt it in your bones — the way he looked at you, the way his lips approached yours and kissed them ever so softly, tenderly, but still dominating. 

He was going to say something, you could feel it, but he was interrupted by a small ball of orange fur on the doorway, meowing loudly. 

Saved by the bell? Or better yet, saved by the cat?

You nodded quickly, trying to absorb every word and committing them to memory with the panicked focus of someone who absolutely did not want to mess this up.

She paused before heading toward the elevator, shifting her weight with a soft, maternal groan. Her eyes softened as they swept over you. “Buena suerte, cariño,” she said, her voice warm and kind.

“Gracias,” you replied in your quietest voice, the syllables soft and careful on your tongue. She smiled, gave you a wink, and disappeared down the hall.

You took a breath. Then another.

Your new desk sat tucked into the corner, a little nest of organized chaos—files stacked neatly, a potted plant that had seen better days, and a phone that had already rung twice before you figured out how to transfer calls. You were seated there, chewing nervously on the edge of your pen, furiously typing something you hoped was formatted correctly, when a low voice startled you out of your focus.

“Afternoon.”

You gasped and nearly knocked over your water, your wide eyes darting up to find a man standing by your desk—tall, with a calm smile and a gentle glint in his blue eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened just enough to make him look like he’d had a long day, but still cared.

“Shit—sorry,” he said quickly, hands raised a little in apology. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blinked, heart pounding, already flustered. “Sorry—I, I didn’t see you coming.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and easy. “You’re new, right?”

You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. First day. Is it that obvious?” you asked, trying to smile through your nerves.

“Not at all,” he said, with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. “You’re doing great.”

Your eyes dropped to the stack of papers in his hands—typed reports, some of them dog-eared, all of them marked with red pen. “Do you need those photocopied?” you asked quickly, already half-rising from your seat, desperate to be useful.

He glanced at the stack, then at you, like he hadn’t expected you to offer. “Would you? That’d be real helpful.”

You nodded, carefully taking them from his hands like they were precious. His fingers brushed yours for a moment—warm, calloused—and it sent a weird little buzz down your spine.

“I’m Steve,” he added, smiling down at you. “If anyone gives you trouble around here, let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

You flushed again, muttered a soft “thank you,” and he gave you a nod before stepping back toward the hallway. You watched him go, then glanced down at the reports.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The day had dragged on in the way only long, hot days in Bogotá could—the kind that left a sheen of sweat clinging to your collarbones, your blouse stuck to your back, and your legs aching from running errands across the office like a girl with something to prove. Phones rang, the typewriters clacked with relentless rhythm, and you’d barely had time to sip your lukewarm coffee, let alone catch your breath.

Now, with the sun beginning to dip low outside the hazy windows and your shift nearly over, you were at the filing cabinet, quietly humming to yourself as your fingers skimmed over manila folders—searching, focused, tired.

And then—you heard it.

A low whistle behind you, smooth and deliberate.

You turned, startled, your heart skipping before your eyes even landed on him.

He was leaning against the doorframe like he was born to do it—one arm hooked just above his head, the other resting casually at his hip, thumb tucked into the waistband of jeans worn soft at the edges. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, the light cotton clinging to the heat-slicked curve of his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he couldn’t be bothered with formalities, like formality had never once tamed him. The ceiling fan above him turned lazily, lifting the edges of his dark, slightly mussed hair, and a cigarette sat tucked behind his ear.

No tie. No badge in sight. Just the lazy drape of his frame against the door and that impossible calm in his posture—as if nothing in the world could rattle him, but you just might.

His gaze found you instantly, dragging slowly over your frame in a way that made your throat tighten, like he was memorizing the way the light hit your cheek, the soft mess of your hair pulled up from a long day.

“Didn’t know angels came with filing cabinets,” he drawled, voice low and honeyed, like he said things just to see how they'd sound curling out of his mouth.

You blinked, caught off guard, your cheeks already heating like a match had been struck under your skin. The folder in your hand wobbled slightly in your grasp.

He stepped into the room with the kind of ease most men faked—every movement loose and casual, but still impossibly confident. The cigarette stayed tucked behind his ear as he sauntered closer, boots heavy on the floor, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You always this shy, mami?” he murmured, stopping just a foot away, his voice dipped in curiosity and just enough tease to make your stomach flip. The way he said it wasn’t mocking—it was gentle, almost sweet, like he’d stumbled across something delicate in the middle of all this noise and didn’t know whether to pocket it or leave it untouched.

You tightened your grip on the folder like it might anchor you to the floor. “I’m not shy,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

He chuckled—a soft, amused sound that made your spine tingle.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, voice low, something amused dancing behind his eyes. “You blush easy, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, not trusting yourself to say anything more without squeaking.

His eyes flicked to the way you fidgeted, and his smile shifted—still playful, but a little warmer now. He reached out slowly, not abrupt or showy, and took your hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world. You froze as he lifted it, turned your wrist slightly, and brought your knuckles to his lips.

“I’m Javi,” he said simply, brushing a kiss over your skin like it was a greeting he gave everyone, though something in the way he lingered—barely a second longer than necessary—told you maybe it wasn’t.

Your breath caught. “Oh,” you whispered. “Javier Peña?”

His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise—and something smug behind it. Like he wasn’t used to people saying his full name so softly. Like he wasn’t used to being looked at the way you were looking at him now, half entranced, half terrified, all butterflies.

“In the flesh,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous.

Then, after a beat, his head tilted slightly, dark eyes scanning your face with slow interest. “No te he visto antes,” he said, the Spanish rolling easily off his tongue, like smoke curling in the summer air. I haven’t seen you around before.

Your lips parted, a soft little sound escaping before you could catch it. Your face grew warm—warmer, somehow—and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers suddenly clumsy.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know Spanish. Not yet. I’m… I’m trying to learn.”

His mouth curved again, but this time, it was softer. Not a smirk. Something quieter. Something that made your pulse stutter in your throat.

“Don’t apologize, cariño,” he said, the word slipping out with so much casual affection it made your knees go a little weak.

Your brows lifted—almost instinctively, like your heart was reaching for understanding before your head could.

He leaned in just slightly, close enough that the scent of his cologne wrapped around you—warm leather, smoke, and something unnameably him.

“Cariño,” he repeated, his voice velvet-smooth, “means darling.”

Your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your throat tightening like a ribbon being pulled gently.

“Oh,” you said, blinking up at him, your lips curving in shy surprise.

He took one step closer, and you didn’t move away—not because you weren’t nervous, but because something about him made it feel like gravity had shifted in the room and you were being pulled toward him, whether you liked it or not.

“If you’re serious about learning,” he said, tone suddenly low and conspiratorial, like a secret passed between friends—or something more, “I could teach you.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, heart hammering, words tangled in your throat. He was so close. So confident. So intentional. And you were just… a girl with sweaty palms and a head full of butterflies.

“I—um… I mean, if you want to,” you managed, instantly wanting to crawl into the filing cabinet and shut the drawer.

He chuckled, low and rich. “I offered, didn’t I?”

Your mouth opened again, but he was already turning, already walking away with that easy, unhurried gait, as if he hadn’t just unraveled you with a single word. He glanced back once over his shoulder, just long enough to catch your stunned expression, and smirked.

“Hasta luego,” he called, like a promise.

You stood there, your heart beating loud in your ears, wondering how a man could make a single word sound like foreplay.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

By the next day, things felt easier.

You still walked a little fast when someone called your name and still triple-checked the spelling on every file, but the rhythm of the office had started to settle into your bones. You knew which drawer stuck slightly and had to be tugged twice, which phone line belonged to which department, and how to make the coffee strong enough that even Peña didn’t complain. You felt—if not confident—then at least not completely lost.

And then came lunch.

Most of the agents took their breaks out on the front steps of the building, perching wherever the sun fell just right. Some ate in the breakroom that always smelled like reheated leftovers and strong cologne. You could hear the laughter echoing down the hallways sometimes, voices calling out, boots clunking against tile.

But you, quiet thing that you were, stayed at your desk.

It felt safer here. The whirr of the fan. The hum of the fluorescent lights. The comfort of your own little corner in the chaos. You’d made your sandwich the night before—plain, careful, pressed in wax paper—and now unwrapped it slowly, laying the napkin across your lap like you were still trying to be perfect even when no one was looking.

That’s when you saw a figure approach from the corner of your eye.

You looked up.

“Hey,” he said, with a soft, easy smile.

Steve Murphy.

He was in his button-down, sleeves rolled up, his tie slightly askew in that charming way like he’d been too busy solving things to fix it. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his fingers through it a few too many times, and his eyes—so blue and so gentle—found yours like they already knew how to read your every nervous thought.

“Oh—hi,” you said quickly, startled but trying not to show it, straightening just a little in your chair. “What can I help you with?”

He chuckled, low and kind, as if your question had been sweet rather than unnecessary.

“Nothing,” he said, eyes flicking down to your desk. “Just saw you sitting here. Have you had lunch yet?”

Your fingers curled around the wax paper in your lap. “I was about to,” you said, glancing down at your sandwich, embarrassed like you’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Here?” he asked, stepping in a little, brows tugging together slightly. “Alone?”

You shrugged, the heat creeping up your neck again. “I… I don’t really know anyone yet,” you admitted, voice soft as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your napkin. “It’s okay, though. I don’t mind.”

Steve’s expression softened even more. And then, with the same steady calm he always seemed to carry, he leaned forward just a little, one hand braced on the desk.

“Well,” he said, voice soft and laced with just enough warmth to make your chest ache, a small smile tugging at his mouth as his eyes met yours with something quiet and reassuring, “you know me.”

You blinked, startled for a moment by the easiness in his tone, the way he said it like it was a simple truth, like of course you knew him, like that fact alone was enough reason to follow him anywhere.

Your eyes lifted to his, wide and unsure, but already softening at the way he looked at you—gentle, patient, like he wasn’t asking for much, just a few minutes of your time and the tiniest bit of trust.

“C’mon,” he added, his voice low and kind, the words not coaxing but welcoming, like an open door. “It’ll be good to get out of the office for a bit, don’t you think? You’ve been working nonstop.”

Your heart gave a quiet little flutter, a warmth blooming beneath your ribs that you tried not to show on your face. You looked down at your sandwich—still neatly wrapped in wax paper, untouched, suddenly small in your hands—and then slowly looked back up at him.

You hesitated for just a second longer, then nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

His grin widened—pleased, but not smug. Just honest, like he was genuinely happy you’d said yes. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”

And then—just like that—he was leading you out into the hallway with that easy warmth radiating off him, like he didn’t even realize how much it meant. Like he didn’t know that, with just one smile, he’d made the noise of the office seem a little less scary, and the world a little less lonely.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Murphy made things easy. He had a calm way about him, the kind that didn’t draw attention to itself but wrapped around you like warmth from the sun. He asked questions that didn’t feel nosy, made quiet jokes that surprised a laugh out of you, and somehow made the walk down the stairs feel like less of a walk and more like… company.

“I know a place just down the street,” he said, holding the door open for you like it was second nature. “Best empanadas in town, no contest.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice lighter than it had been all morning.

“The best,” he grinned. “And I don’t lie about food. It’s sacred.”

You stepped into the humid afternoon together, the city humming with heat and noise around you. You walked side by side on the sidewalk, Murphy keeping just a half step ahead like he was ready to shield you from a rogue taxi or a sudden gust of wind. You were still tucking a piece of hair behind your ear when the scent of cigarette smoke reached you—and then a voice followed.

Low. Lazy. Familiar.

“Bueno, hablamos luego.”

You looked up just in time to see him—Javier Peña, leaning against the edge of the building like a man who belonged to the street itself, phone pressed to his ear, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. His shirt was wrinkled in that unfairly perfect way, tie loose, sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose. He turned his head, eyes catching on you first—then Murphy—and that easy, smooth line of his mouth shifted.

The phone dropped from his ear. “Chao,” he said flatly into the receiver before hanging up without waiting for a response.

“Well, well,” he drawled, pushing off the wall with slow grace. His eyes dragged over you both, sharp and unreadable. “Where you two headed?”

“Lunch,” Murphy said simply, barely glancing back.

Javi’s smirk curled like smoke. “That so?”

“Yep,” Steve replied, tone easy.

Javi flicked the ash from his cigarette and checked his watch with theatrical boredom. “Damn,” he said. “I’m starving.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he added, voice soft and low, eyes trained straight on you, “So… where we goin’?”

Your heart jumped. Murphy looked over at you, brows raised like he was waiting to see what you’d say. Javi didn’t even bother pretending—he was watching you closely, cigarette still between his fingers, like the answer mattered more than he wanted to admit.

You blinked, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “I… um…”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Murphy said casually, kind as ever.

“Wasn’t asking you,” Javi murmured, eyes never leaving yours.

Your stomach flipped.

Murphy gave him a look—dry, unimpressed—but didn’t argue. He just smiled at you gently. “Up to you,” he said, soft enough that it grounded you.

You glanced between them. The calm steadiness of Steve. The simmering fire that was Javi. And you—stuck in the middle, blushing, trying to decide who your knees would give out for first.

“Of course,” you said, trying to keep your voice from wobbling as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “Best empanadas in town, apparently.”

You smiled up at Murphy, and he grinned back, bright and easy like always, a little wrinkle forming at the corner of his eyes, the kind of expression that made you feel like you were someone worth smiling at.

“Damn right,” he said, his hand already in his pocket as if he were checking to make sure his wallet hadn’t somehow disappeared just from thinking about lunch.

And then—of course—Javi.

“That so?” he repeated, his voice lower, slower, and just sharp enough around the edges to cut through the summer haze. He stepped forward, flicked the last of his cigarette to the pavement, and gave Murphy a long, sideways look. “I’d argue I cook better ones.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “You cook?”

Javi smirked, pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them into the front of his shirt. “What, you think gringos are the only ones allowed to throw meat in dough and call it a meal?”

“Didn’t know you had time to cook between all the—” Steve gestured vaguely, “—charm and cigarettes.”

Javi just grinned wider. “What can I say? I multitask.”

Your face was already warm, but it only got worse when Javi’s eyes found yours again.

“Tell you what, cariño,” he said, voice syrupy, way too smooth, “you come over one night, I’ll show you how empanadas are supposed to taste.”

You blinked.

“Oh,” you said, entirely useless.

Murphy glanced at you, gentle and kind, but there was something knowing behind it now—like he saw the way you shifted under Javi’s gaze, like he noticed how easily your breath caught.

And then—just like that—you were walking.

Down the sidewalk, between the two of them, like it was the most natural thing in the world and not completely insane that you were flanked by two armed federal agents who smelled like warm leather and aftershave and power, one radiating sweet protection, the other lazy fire and smirking danger.

Murphy was all calm presence—his gun concealed under his jacket, his steps steady, his voice warm as he asked you about where you grew up, what you liked to read, if you’d tried any Colombian desserts yet.

And Javi? Javi was chaos in a collared shirt—his sidearm stuffed into his pocket like he didn’t care who saw it, hands in his pants as he walked with that signature swagger, eyes occasionally flicking down to you with that same unreadable heat. When he spoke, it was slower, more calculated. Less about facts, more about watching you react.

And God—they both smelled so good. One like soap and sun-warmed cotton, the other like cigarettes and something rich and musky, and you didn’t know if it was the heat or your own mind playing tricks, but your knees felt a little weak, and your heartbeat was tapping against your ribs like a trapped bird.

They were opposites in every way—Steve with his soft drawl and honest eyes, and Javi with his cigarette voice and sin-soaked charm—and yet… somehow, you were drawn to both.

Two storms. One gentle. One electric.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The lunch spot was small, tucked between a hardware store and an old pharmacy, the kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice unless you knew what magic it held inside. The windows were fogged with heat and the smell of grilled meat and cumin wafted out each time the door opened, mixing with the thick air and the street dust that clung to everything in Bogotá. A faded sign above the door read La Esquina, the paint chipped but still proud, and inside, the radio played something soft and lilting in Spanish, the kind of music that felt like a breeze even in the sweltering warmth.

Murphy reached the door first and opened it for you, stepping back with an easy smile.

You blushed, eyes dropping automatically as you passed. “Thank you,” you murmured.

“Always,” he said, gentle and sweet, like it wasn’t anything special, like it didn’t make your heart do a quiet little tumble in your chest.

And then Javi, right behind you, muttered with a smirk, “Thanks, gringo.”

Murphy gave him a look, but Javi just flashed a toothy, unapologetic smile and followed you both inside.

The place was buzzing with locals, the smell of oil and spice and fresh lime lingering in the air. Ceiling fans turned slow above cracked tile floors, and the walls were lined with old posters, curling at the edges, and handwritten specials tacked to a corkboard. Booths lined the far wall, red leather cracked and faded in places, but they gave the place a charm that felt lived-in. Familiar. Warm.

You were still looking around, taking it all in, when Javi’s hand lightly touched your back.

“Here,” he said, already guiding you toward a booth near the window, the sun slanting just right to catch the soft sheen on his forearms. He slid in first—fast, confident, smooth—and made sure there was only one seat left on the inside.

Next to him.

You hesitated for a second too long.

Murphy raised an eyebrow like he might say something, but didn’t.

You sat down.

You could feel Javi’s leg warm against yours almost instantly, his body stretched out beside you with one arm draped along the back of the booth like it belonged there. Like he belonged there. You kept your hands in your lap, trying to pretend you weren’t entirely aware of every inch of him next to you, of the way his thigh pressed against yours with casual certainty.

Murphy slid into the seat across from you both, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise unreadable.

He gave Javi a look. Subtle. Controlled. But it said Really?

Javi didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he leaned back against the booth with that infuriating, devastating ease—his arm still draped along the backrest behind you, his knee brushing yours like it belonged there, like this seat was his by right.

You shifted slightly, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck.

“Is there… a menu?” you asked, voice soft, desperate to cut through the tension with something normal, something neutral. Your hands were folded neatly in your lap, even as your pulse drummed just under your skin.

Javi let out a low chuckle, head turning just enough for you to catch the flicker of mischief in his eyes. “No need, cariño, they know what to make.”

Murphy rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something snarky—but instead, he looked at you, softening instantly.

“They don’t really do menus here,” he explained, voice low and warm. “They just kind of… bring you what they’ve got going today. Usually a few different fillings, whatever’s fresh. You just tell ’em how many you want, and if you want them spicy.”

He paused, his smile gentle. “Trust me, it’s good.”

“Real good,” Javi added, low and smooth beside you. He didn’t look at you when he said it—he was watching Steve, his smirk now laced with something more subtle. Something sharp.

You nodded, trying to focus, trying to stop your eyes from flicking between them like you were watching some high-stakes poker game. The contrast between them was dizzying—Steve, all kind words and quiet steadiness, his hands folded on the table like a gentleman, his badge tucked neatly beneath his jacket… and Javi, sprawled out beside you like a slow-burning fire, gun heavy in the pocket of his slacks, cologne mingling with the faint scent of smoke clinging to his shirt.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The food arrived quickly—hot, golden, impossibly fragrant. The plate was set in front of you with a cheerful "¡Buen provecho!" and the smell alone had your stomach fluttering in anticipation.

You picked one up carefully, the crust still steaming, the edges crisp and flaking at your touch.

And then—without thinking, without meaning to—you bit into it.

The flavor hit you like a wave. Rich and warm, the filling tender and spicy and perfect, the dough crisp and buttery, everything so unexpectedly divine you couldn’t stop the quiet sound that left your lips.

A soft, involuntary moan.

Just a small one. But it hung there. Obvious. Intimate.

Across the table, Murphy’s brows lifted just slightly—barely a twitch of amusement—but it was enough to deepen the lines at the corners of his eyes, his lips tugging into a smile that was half playful, half tender as he leaned forward, resting his chin in the curve of his hand like he had all the time in the world just to watch you.

“That good, huh?” he asked, his voice a low hum of warmth, teasing without cruelty, kind in a way that made your pulse stutter, like he could make your fluster feel less like embarrassment and more like something sacred.

You blinked, cheeks burning hotter by the second, and reached for your napkin, fumbling to wipe at the corner of your mouth as you mumbled, “I didn’t mean to—sorry, it’s just… really good.”

Murphy chuckled, and it was soft and genuine and boyish in that way that made something bloom painfully warm in your chest. “Don’t apologize,” he said, voice dipped in affection. “You’ve got good taste.”

And then—without fanfare, without hesitation—he reached across the table.

Gently, with that easy, steady confidence that came so naturally to him, he took hold of your napkin and dabbed just beneath your lower lip, the soft cloth brushing your skin as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world and not the most intimate moment you’d had since arriving here. His fingers grazed your chin for the briefest second, and you held your breath like a startled deer, too dazed to move, too overwhelmed by the kindness of it to process the closeness.

Your breath caught in your throat.

And then—you felt it.

Javier’s body next to yours, no longer relaxed, no longer lounging—he was coiled now, the shift subtle but unmistakable. His cigarette was back between his fingers in a flash, but he didn’t lift it to his lips. He didn’t light it. He just rolled it, slow and deliberate, between his thumb and index finger, like it was standing in for the things he wanted to say but wouldn’t. His mouth curled into something that might’ve been a smirk or a grimace, sharp and tired and too knowing.

And then, under his breath, low and in perfect rhythm with the movement of his cigarette, he muttered in Spanish, “Claro, el caballero perfecto.”

Of course, the perfect gentleman.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t meant to be. But there was an edge to it—dry and rough and bitter at the core, like the taste of something he didn’t want to swallow. His gaze flicked to you just long enough to notice you hadn’t caught it, and he exhaled through his nose, the tension still rippling under his skin like a live wire waiting to spark.

But you—oblivious and bashful, cheeks still flushed from Murphy’s touch—just gave a soft, nervous laugh and took another bite of your empanada, your lashes fluttering, eyes cast downward like you could hide in the comfort of your food, unaware of the storm rolling in beside you.

And Javi?

He said nothing more.

But his eyes didn’t leave you.

Not once.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of quiet productivity, the kind that lulled you into a rhythm—sorting files, answering calls, typing up reports with the soft click-clack of your keyboard filling the room like a heartbeat. The office had slowly begun to empty as the sun dipped lower in the sky, its fading light turning everything gold through the hazy window panes, dust floating in the air like little flecks of glitter suspended in time. You were tired, but not unpleasantly so—there was still a pleasant warmth curled low in your belly, the echo of the empanadas lingering like a hug from the inside out, reminding you of laughter and heat and Javi’s thigh pressed ever-so-casually against yours in that booth.

By the time six o’clock crept up, the office was mostly silent. Phones had stopped ringing. The fan hummed gently overhead. You glanced at the clock, blinking slowly, your limbs heavy with exhaustion as you yawned behind your hand and leaned back in your chair, spine arching slightly in a stretch that made your blouse pull taut across your chest.

And then you felt it—that shift in the air.

The kind that always seemed to come with him.

“Hola, muñeca.”

Your breath hitched.

He was standing just a few feet away now, half-shadowed in the doorway, and somehow—even after hours of work and heat and sweat—he looked untouched by the day. Javier Peña, tall and devastating as ever, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie long forgotten somewhere, sunglasses now tucked lazily into the collar of his shirt.

“Hi,” you breathed, your voice smaller than you intended it to be.

He stepped closer, his boots slow and heavy against the tile, and leaned a hand on the edge of your desk, his body folding toward you in a way that made you instinctively shrink back—not out of fear, but anticipation. Like the space between you was an invisible thread, and any closer would snap it.

“Still here?” he asked, voice soft, the corner of his mouth curling up just a little. “Office all emptied out, and look at you—la buena niña, working late.”

You smiled shyly, fingers twitching near your notepad, though you couldn’t remember what you were even writing. “I just… wanted to finish up a few things.”

He hummed low in his chest, his eyes scanning your face. “Dedicada,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I like that.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken beneath your skin.

And then—almost like he’d read your thoughts, like he’d felt the quiet wanting gathering between you—he reached into his back pocket with a slow, easy motion and pulled out a sticky note, the edges a little worn and curling at the corners, the paper crinkled as if it had been sitting there for hours, waiting to be offered. He laid it down gently on your desk, the soft pap of it landing against the wood far louder in your ears than it had any right to be.

Your eyes dropped instinctively, your breath catching when you saw the scrawl—his handwriting rough and slanted, the letters uneven and fast, like he wrote the way he lived: unbothered, unrushed, with just enough edge to keep you guessing. A phone number, half-smudged at the corner, and beneath it, just two words.

Spanish Lessons.

“I was serious about those lessons,” Javi said, voice low, that familiar smirk ghosting over his lips as he looked down at you—like he wasn’t just giving you a number, but pulling a thread you didn’t even realize had been wrapped around your heart all day.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then tried again. “I—I mean, you’re already so busy,” you stammered, your voice quiet, almost too soft, already half-apologizing for even existing in the orbit of a man like him.

He shook his head, just once, the motion slow, deliberate.

“Not for you, preciosa,” he said, the pet name curling off his tongue like honey warmed over low flame.

Your breath faltered again.

“I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper, cheeks flushing so hot you were certain he could feel the heat rising off your skin.

And that’s when he leaned in just slightly, his voice dipping even lower, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth like he wasn’t sure where to land. “I know,” he murmured, the words sliding over you like silk, “I’ll teach you at our first lesson.”

And then—of course—he winked.

Slow. Sure. A little devastating.

And just like that, he turned and walked away, his back straight, his gait unhurried, as if he hadn’t just left your entire nervous system in shambles and a sticky note burning like a secret in the middle of your desk.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You slung your bag over your shoulder with one hand, the other reaching back to sweep your hair into a quick, messy twist, your fingers working automatically despite the fatigue weighing down your limbs. Your heels pinched with every step, the ache radiating from the balls of your feet with that familiar, dull throb that came after a long day of being polite, poised, and perfectly put-together. You gathered the last of your things—the folder you’d meant to leave on someone’s desk, your notepad, your pen that always leaked a little ink—and stepped out into the quiet corridor, the office behind you hushed and emptied, bathed in the soft gold light of early evening.

You’d only just started walking, your mind already drifting to the quiet comfort of your apartment, when you heard them—voices. Low, hushed, male. Serious. The kind of tone that slowed your steps instinctively.

You paused, half-hidden by the corner, your body tensing before your mind could catch up.

You didn’t mean to stop. You didn’t mean to linger. But something in their voices—muted, clipped, almost like they didn’t want to be heard—made your skin prickle. You hesitated, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag, and you knew it was wrong, that you should’ve turned around, kept walking, left them to their conversation.

You were just about to do exactly that—your foot already shifting to step back—when you heard it.

Your name.

Spoken clearly. Firmly. And not in passing.

You froze.

Your brows drew together before you could stop them, a quiet frown pulling at the corners of your mouth as confusion began to twist, low and slow, through your chest. Your heart, which had only just begun to settle from the rush of the day, now beat with sudden urgency, and your breath turned shallow, catching at the top of your lungs. You stood frozen in place, body pressed lightly against the cool wall as if it could ground you, protect you, hide you from the fact that you were—very much—eavesdropping.

“She's not just another girl for you to flirt with, Javier,” Murphy said, his voice low but firm, words sharpened just enough to carry even though they weren’t meant to.

There was a pause. A beat of silence so thick it made your stomach clench.

And then, Javi’s voice—smooth and dry like aged whiskey poured over ice.

“¿Perdón?”

The word was soft, but laced with warning.

“Oh, come on,” Murphy scoffed, not backing down, the tired edge in his voice laced with frustration. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No,” Javi said, his tone cooling all at once, the shift so subtle you could almost miss it—almost. His voice came steady now, sharper at the edges, like a man squaring his shoulders before a fight he didn’t ask for but wasn’t about to walk away from. “Go ahead. Spell it out for me.”

There was a pause.

You could imagine Murphy standing there with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed—not angry, not exactly, but tired in that bone-deep way that came from watching someone make the same mistake over and over. You pictured him dragging a hand down his face, his voice dropping into something quieter—not softer, but more weighted.

“Everyone knows what you’re like, Peña,” he said at last, the words careful, deliberate. “You flirt. You lean in. You get close. You—”

He faltered, and for a moment it sounded like maybe he wouldn’t finish. Like maybe part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Javi didn’t give him that luxury.

“Vamos, gringo,” he said under his breath, a mocking lilt curling around the words. “Dilo completo.” Go on, big boy—say the whole thing.

The silence that followed felt like a held breath.

Then Murphy did.

“You fuck them,” he said, flatly. “And then you leave.”

The words were blunt. Brutal. They landed like a weight in your chest, heavy and cold and unforgiving.

Javier didn’t speak.

But you didn’t need him to.

Even from around the corner, you felt it—the shift in him. The tension coiling tighter. The sharp inhale through his nose. The silence that wasn't surprise, but insult. His jaw must’ve clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides, fighting the instinct to lash back.

And you—frozen behind the wall—felt your stomach drop as your name echoed silently in the air again, because you weren’t just hearing a story about Javier Peña anymore. You were part of it.

Tangled in it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚