Page 65 of The One-Night Heist

He needs the control.

And I want to give it to him.

“Please, Mr. Quincy,” I obediently recited, holding his gaze in the mirror. “Please, eat my ass until I forget my net worth.”

Rowen barked a laugh, his green eyes glittering with humor. “Good boy. Now, do you remember your safeword?”

“Uhh, it’s…” I scrambled to remember one of his—many—unhinged comments before grimacing. “Dollar Store?”

His gaze softened and my heart thudded in my chest. “Perfect. I expect you to use that if you don’t like what’s happening and want me to stop.”

Before I could reply, he backed away and dropped to his knees behind me. “Why can’t I simply tell you to stop?” I asked over my shoulder, stuck on the need for a safeword at all.

Rowen glanced up as he helped me step out of my discarded pants and briefs. “You can, but I might think you’re just playing and not really listen. A safeword means you’re serious. Now bend over and spread your legs so I can apologize.”

Apologize?!

“What are you apologizing for?” I muttered, suddenly acutely aware of how ridiculous I probably looked, still wearing my shirt, tie, socks, and shoes, with nothing else below the waist.

“It’s so much filthier this way, hmm?”

Rowen’s confident voice in my head soothed away the anxiety even as he simultaneously huffed in annoyance behind me. “For the reason we’re on this plane in the first place. Don’t make me say it out loud, Luxford.”

I frowned, unsure if he was refusing to say more due to continued concerns about surveillance or because verbally apologizing was difficult for him. It didn’t matter either way, because I wasn’t upset in the least to be on this plane with him. As unpleasant as it had been, learning my art had taken a surprise trip overseas—followed by discovering Poppy #5 had joined the list of missing pieces—I was secretly pleased with the opportunity it presented to bring the object of my obsession to one of my favorite places on earth.

Even if he’s behaving as if I’ve kidnapped him⁠—

“Fuck!” I gasped, pushing up from the vanity countertop as Rowen wrenched my cheeks apart with both hands and licked a hot, wet stripe over my hole, making me clench.

“God, I love making you swear,” he murmured, pulling back. “And I love knowing you wax everything back here, despite never bottoming. How very slutty of you, Giancarlo…”

I didn’t reply at first, too busy doing everything in my power not to come as he returned to his task, teasing my rim with just the tip of his tongue while gripping my ass to the point of pain. Clumsily loosening my tie, I wrestled it over my head and tossed it aside before lowering myself back down to my elbows with a groan.

“My… mother left me an obscene amount of money with incredibly specific restrictions,” I explained, even though he technically hadn’t asked. “One of the—fuck—approved categories is ‘personal upkeep,’ so I’ve decided to interpret that as I see fit.”

“Ooh, we love malicious compliance in this house,” he chuckled, his breath cooling everywhere that was wet. “And for the record, I’m not complaining. You have the prettiest, most expensive hole I’ve ever seen.”

I’m not going to make it.

“Please…” I begged, dropping my cheek down to the cool surface beneath me, distinctly aware solid ground was miles below. “Please, Rowen⁠—”

A sharp sting on my left cheek had me jerking forward, causing my throbbing dick to rub against the cabinet, smearing pre-cum.

Did he just…?!

“Don’t forget! It’s Mr. Quincy in the bedroom.” Rowen paused to spit directly onto my hole. “And when the Mile High Club is in session.”

He speared me with his tongue, making me shout, then dragged a whimper out of my soul when he released part of his grip on my cheek to reach around and begin stroking my dick. The sensations from all sides were deliciously overwhelming. He nipped and sucked on my rim in a way that had me longing for his skillful mouth on mine, while the relentless pulls on my shaft—with only spit and pre-cum as lube—matched the rhythm of his tongue thrusting into my hole.

All this while I kept my gaze on my own reflection, taking in my flushed cheeks, tousled hair, sweat-sheened skin, and glazed expression—the evidence of my unraveling.

Just like he’d told me to.

“Ro—Mr. Quincy… Please… Please, I need you…” I babbled, uncaring that I was drooling all over the lavatory countertop with the doors wide open all the way to the crew area at the front of the plane. “I need to come… Please.”

Rowen groaned against me, blessedly increasing his efforts until my entire body tensed and I was sobbing into my arms, spilling all over his hand and onto the lavatory floor.

“Mmm… Look at the mess you made,” he crooned, releasing me and rising to his feet. “Good job, baby.”