Heat

by ROGUEFURY

You don't expect to be pulled into a heated gravitation with Agent Javier Peña, and the more you both try to navigate your lives around each other, the clearer it becomes that your feelings go beyond the torrid desires you both are able to ignite in each other. Will the heat of your passions win out against the tribulations that threaten to pull you apart?

8. Chapter 8: Insecurities - Part 2

Warning: Graphic depictions and salacious descriptions of sex, angst, jealousy, toxic behavior, some hurt/comfort, vulnerable emotional states, mentions of trauma, PTSD, and violence. Soft!Javi, and PowerBottomQueen!Reader is back.

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Chapter 8: Insecurities - Part 2

Hindsight is 20/20, as the saying goes, and you find yourself feeling enlightened after your little tiff in the car. After all, while you both weren't shy, you clearly had trouble being frank and open about your feelings – about the things that bother you or stick with you until they snowball into insecurities you can't see around. Well, you were reluctant to disclose your feelings, anyway. Always have been, and no matter how much you love Javi, that's not going to change, so you hope he sticks with you and understands where you stand now after you practically browbeat him with it.

You think about it during the idle, stray lulls of your day. How you'd completely forgotten about how surly and celoso Javier had been, and you realize you've lightly fibbed, recalling Luke had sort of asked you out – in a somewhat roundabout way. Frowning, you think about whether you should amend it to Javier.

The furious way he'd snapped in the car is imprinted in your mind's eye, but not for the reason it should be. You daydream about it, how his dark eyes flashed with lightning, how his usually cool and cocky veneer had flinted away with the vehemence of his jealousy, jaw on edge as he reigned his anger back and scowled. His shoulders had been so broad from his chest puffing out with wound up impulse, and the way the tendon in his neck had defined as he'd sworn gruffly only added to the primordial allure of seeing him irate.

It was an unholy turn on. You'd gotten so exhilarated at how the energy charged off of him, feeding your own fury and the intoxicating attraction towards him being all alpha macho stud. You should be embarrassed at yourself, but you can't muster it. Javier Peña just does things to you, and not all of them have any commonsense explanation or logic, but you don't give a damn. However, you're not a reckless person, so the idea of encouraging his flaring temper is one you have to quell immediately. After all, it's like you told him: You have to be cordial and friendly. It's the nature of inter-departmental relations, and you don't have the luxury of being a flippant smartass like your lover does.

With a grunt, you shake your head and go back to concentrating on your work.

Javier is doing some ruminating of his own while Steve's on the phone with his wife. Sometimes, he envied his partner. Not at all for being married…but for having someone he could freely be devoted to without concern of it being used against him. He wishes he could waste glorious time flirting with you on the phone while Steve had to sit there and roll his eyes, or hell – that he could bring you over to his partner's place for a couple's dinner. Would you ever relent and be open to it? What would it take for you to let your guard completely down and take it public?

He'd told you his intentions, but part of him knew you took it with a grain of salt. After all, you'd basically just bellowed your reason for resisting defining things in the car this morning, and for the life of him, he wasn't sure whether he'd have to fucking go to the middle of the lobby downstairs and declare he would never flirt with another woman ever again in order for you to believe him. If it'd help, hell, he'd do it. He didn't give a shit what people thought of him anyway, but he can picture your hypothetically horrified, furious reaction, and while it shouldn't turn him on so much, he's objective enough to know you would not abide any kind of brash flaunting of your relationship. Especially once it got around to everyone, including the lunk-headed jackasses in Mil Group—

"—Javi, Connie's asking if you wanna come to dinner at our place tonight," Steve's grumble pulls Javier back from his brooding.

"Nah, no thanks. Already have plans," he answers smoothly, adding quickly and loud enough for the receiver to pick it up, "Thanks anyway, Connie."

"Hmph," Steve grunts and goes back to listening to his wife. "Hm? Yeah, I'm sure it's the mystery woman he's seeing—"

Javier blows a raspberry and sarcastically shakes his head. "Don't get your wife mixed up in your ridiculous conspiracies, man," he deadpans and reaches for his cigarettes. "Mystery woman? I don't have that kind of time."

"Uh-huh," Steve laconically drawls and quirks a derisive brow.

Javier lights his cigarette and scoffs, going back to his dossier building.

At the end of the day, you're already regretting agreeing to the non-happy-hour-thing, especially when Ellis tells you finally where you're going.

"What?! C'mon, what the hell—"

"It was Lou's idea! He has a buddy who runs the range, so he's letting us crack a couple of beers and shoot some paper targets," Ellis answers and literally steers you by your shoulders to the passenger seat of his car. "C'mon, Annie Oakley—"

"Ugh…did you tell them?" you grumble after you've climbed into the passenger seat and Ellis has hopped into the driver's side.

"Nope! Lou was joshing the fellas on having shitty target practice hours, so he figured it'd be fun to have us all get some shootin' out and make it a bonding thing. After all, with all the kidnapping craziness, you might need to start carrying a piece, for protection—" Ellis remarks as he drives you both out of the compound and down to the CNP Academy in the city.

"I'm not a wealthy to-do Colombian socialite, goofball," you snicker and sigh, resigned. "I'm not staying late, so if you do, I'll take a cab—"

"Hell no. I'll leave with you. Anita doesn't want me out late these days anyway," he chortles and frowns, and you can't help laugh. "Yeah…I'm whipped. You should find yourself a fella to whip too, girlie."

"Oh sure, I'm right on top of that, Rose," you deride, using his surname to punctuate your sardonic tone and smirking.

Once you've both met up with the others, you stroll into the indoor shooting range where Lou is smoking a cigar with the head CIA asset at a makeshift table they've set up. "Well now, nice to see you, little lady!" the colonel greets boisterously, and you grin and shake his hand, giving it the practiced, confident squeeze your father had taught you. "You know, I'm glad you came. It's always valuable to have a civilian asset who can shoot in a pinch, if needed," he jokes and banters lightly with you and the others while Luke and Nador set up the targets at the booths lined across from the table you're all at.

Before long, you're donning a pair of requisition-grade earmuffs while you watch Ellis take pointers from Samson before he raises his glock pistol and aims. When he fires, the bullet clips the middle edge of the paper target, to your buddy's chagrin. "Oh, that's a shit shot…"

"That's cuz you blinked at the last minute," Luke jokes and pats his shoulder as he glances over at you and gestures for you to come up to the stall and give it a try.

Ruefully, you do, feeling all the men watch you lope over on your spool heels to the stall next to Ellis and wait for Samson to come around with another pistol. When he hands it to you, you let him show you where the safety is, how to switch it off, then, he unloads the clip to show you it's fully loaded, and snaps it back in before placing the gun with the barrel facing the range beyond.

After he's set the paper target and hit the button to propel it out into the firing range, you position yourself in front of the stall and pick up the gun. Ellis leans over the stall to watch you, so you roll your eyes and admonishingly gesture with a tilt of your head for him to get back. Once he does, you focus. When you point the gun in a steady double grip to aim at the target, you concentrate on zeroing in on a specific mark on the target when you suddenly feel Luke put his fingertips at the back of your shoulder and the edge of his hand graze along the underside of your arm as he adjusts your aim.

You inhale a covertly tense breath and glance sidelong at him, training your features into a stoic regard as his hazel eyes connect with yours. "Widen your stance a bit more," he instructs, and the gravel of his tone is warm and encouraging, as he adds, "Not sure how easy it is to do in heels—"

With an exacting shrug of your shoulders blades, you flick your hair over your shoulders and punt his hand at your arm with the side of your elbow as you seamlessly lift your grip and fire a series of shots at the target. The barrel smokes from the rapid-fire trigger pulls and you glare ahead at the paper outline of a man, and when everyone balks and stares over at the target, they see you shot into the circle of what would be a sternum on a suspect, and that the last bullet went into the spot between the eyes, had it been a real person.

"Holy shit," you hear one of the guys gape, impressed.

With the flick of your wrist, you engage the safety, eject the magazine, and for good measure, cock the barrel to eject the last bullet that was chambered before you place the pistol down on the stall's counter and turn to raise a scathing brow at Luke.

"Excuse me," you crisply muse and breeze by him towards the table you left your purse at.

"Goddamn," Lou cheers before he whistles and claps at you. "Do all the women in the C.O. office know how to shoot like that?! Cuz if they do, I'm recruitin'. The rest of you can go listen to wiretaps!"

You smile, but shoot Ellis a glance over your shoulder that orders, 'I want to leave. Now.'

After some good-natured ribbing and easy praise, you say your goodbyes and don't give Luke a second look. Ellis, for his part, plays perfect buffer and you're both able to head to his car with minimal tension. Once he's driven a ways away, though, he can't bear the pregnant silence, so he blurts, "You looked real mad, kid."

"I was," you state curtly.

"I don't think he meant anything by it," Ellis pouts, and you cross your arms, annoyed. "I'm sure he'll apologize for being so presumptuous—"

"I don't care. Clearly I've encouraged him to think he could be so forward, so I've corrected that," you snap and press your lips together. "I'm sorry for cutting it short—"

"Nah. It's getting late. We should head home with all the shit that's going on anyways," he replies affably, easing your tension.

As soon as you're up the steps and through the apartment door, you toss your things onto the side table and stomp into the bathroom to take a shower, simmering with insolent annoyance. By the time 10pm rolls around, you're feeling less angry, especially once you dug around in your drawers for a very risqué garment you just remembered buying on a lark the last time Anita and you went to the mall. You consider saving it for tomorrow night, but decide it's the perfect ensemble for how you're feeling tonight.

When Javier knocks at your door a few minutes later, he's glancing around while he waits for you to answer. He remembers how he'd had to stand at the backstairs and wait for that asshole Samson to leave your door before he could stalk over and surprise you. That hot jealous sting sticks in his craw, but he shoves it away when he hears you undo the lock and open the door.

Javier turns and practically misses leaning his hand into the doorframe — his usual smug pose, and just ends up doing a wide-eyed double take before openly leering at you.

"Well?" you muse and raise a sultry brow. "Are you gonna come in?"

He cups his hand over his mouth and finally jolts at the realization that you're really standing there in a red-lace teddy and nothing else at your door, hair and lips full and luscious as you stare provocatively at him, so he swivels his startled stare around to make sure no one can see you before he rushes in and slams the door shut.

"Jesus fucking Christ, querida—" Javier begins to exclaim when he stops himself after you've given him a smoldering look and traced your tongue between your lips as you push him up against the door and snake your hands beyond his jacket to the back of his pants.

Without ceremony, you yank his service weapon and badge free to store them onto the side table against the wall before you reach your arms around him again and find the item you're looking for.

"Do you know what I've been thinking about all day?" you purr as you yank his handcuffs free from the leather clasp that fastens them into the back of his belt. When Javier just stares incandescently down at you, you brush up against him and whisper against his chin, "You, in handcuffs, for being a fucking atrevido with me this morning."

Javier has never been more turned on in his life. He went from relaxed to instantly hard in an instant, and his brain is trying to rationalize what's happening while his cock is just intently straining at your every move. It's only when you raise a challenging brow at him and press your breasts into his midriff that he snaps out of the enthralled haze to answer thickly, "I-I don't know if the punishment f-fits the crime—"

"Really? Being a puto mujeriego and yelling at me doesn't call for me to put these on and doing whatever the hell I want to you?" you pose in an alluring murmur, eyes gleaming up at him as you rattle the handcuffs while he shivers and groans appealingly. With an exacting smirk, you get on your tippy toes and ghost your lips against his parted ones and purr, "I think it does."

Javi's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows and wars with the dark, deviant urge that's twisting gleefully in his gut – pulse racing as he lets you pull him by the front of his belt away from the door to instead be lead down to your bedroom. He's so aroused by this that he doesn't trust his voice not to crack if he gripes any defying remark. And really, he doesn't want to defy you right now. He is lit up with desire and intrigue, simmering with excitement as you pull him to the foot of the bed and keep your hand gripped around the buckle of his belt.

"Take your clothes off," you order, tilting your head up at an angle so you can brush your nose along his chest. "Now."

Javier exhales a charged breath and is shrugging his jacket off in an instant before he can muster the outrage or umbrage at being ordered to do anything. Once his fingers hastily work the buttons of his shirt open, you let your hand at his belt drop to graze his tented crotch before taking a step back and leaning your weight onto a hip, seating your free hand there imperiously while you idly toy the handcuffs in your other hand. Javi's stripping stutters in speed from how distracted he gets by how insanely sexy you look, so you have to hum at him to keep going.

You graze your teeth along your bottom lip as you watch more and more golden skin emerge, and it takes all your vindictively devious control to not falter and just pounce on him when he tosses the last barrier away to stand in his naked glory before you. His cock is thick with arousal and straining to be touched, throbbing and looking utterly delectable. Javi's eyes are dark with lust, filled with fog while his broad, muscled body is coiled in erotic anticipation.

"Get on the bed."

Javi licks his lips and broadens his shoulders in a telltale show of defiance. "Rules first," he croaks hoarsely, and takes a cleansing breath, gathering his confidence. "You cannot leave me handcuffed," he rumbles in a graveled husk.

You raise a brow and let the handcuffs hang around the curve of your hooked fingers. "Do you let anyone set the terms of their punishment, agente?" you muse and feign like he's quite gullible to think he can negotiate as you prance closer and trail your fingertips along his arm as you circle him. "Let them tell you how things are gonna go?" you purr and drag your nails lightly down his back, causing him to gasp and his muscles to flex. "If that's so, then I'm not really interested—" you begin when Javier whirls and gruffly huffs down at you, eyes burning with daring. He's right on the edge of losing control and just ravishing you with surly dominance, so you lean into him and murmur, "Haz lo que te pido, amado."

The power of saying, 'Do as I ask you, beloved,' is beyond anything you could've imagined, but are delighted by when he shudders and goes to lie on your bed, aroused and breathing fast as he's titillated with anticipation and illicit longing.

He's never trusted anyone enough to let them handcuff him, but he finds that he trusts you implicitly, which feels so forbidden. You crawl over him and take your time kissing up his body, trailing the tip of your tongue along sinew and muscle while he groans in approval and keeps his hands on the pillow above his head. When he feels the cold metal of the handcuff start to bracelet his wrist, he exhales and realizes he'd closed his eyes in anxious excitement, so he opens them now to watch you.

He sees your loving look, how you're focused on putting the handcuffs on, mindful to keep them loose so as to not cut off his circulation. The clicking of the metal settling into a fixed grip and the chain linking the cuffs clanking has Javier trembling, and you can feel it, so you straddle him and affectionately curl your warm, lacy body against his overheated skin. You kiss him, finally, and are so tender, taking your time with the worship of his mouth as you slip your fingers into his hair and soothingly caress his scalp while you twirl your tongue against his.

Parting from the hungry kiss, you trail your mouth along his jaw and undulate your body over his, rubbing his pulsing cock against the swell of your ass as you suckle on that soft, sweet spot on his neck and earn a hoarse groan from Javier. Then, you suddenly rear up and grip your palms around the base of his forearms and press down, forcing his handcuffed hands into the plush pillow more and giving you purchase enough to press your cleavage against his face.

Javier moans and buries his face into your breasts, breathing in your scent and getting harder after you hum and murmur, "Do you know how turned on and hot you got me?"

"Mmph, t-tell me," he exhales gruffly after you ease back and stare seductively down at him.

"Enough to consider marching into your office and banishing your poor partner so I can have my fucking way with you," you charge, tightening your grip on his forearms when his arms jerk and he writhes under you. You can see he's picturing it, and from how his cock twitches against your ass, you know he's thought something similarly filthy. "Dime una cosa," you purr and finally undulate your hips so you can nestle Javi to grind flush against your wet, soft pussy. "¿Eres mío?"

Javier moans at the combination of your asking if he's yours and the sensation of you sinking onto his cock. His hands clench into fists from the sinful desperation of wanting to grab you and being unable to, so he groans and arches in frustration under you and hitches, "Y-Yes. Yes."

Pleased, you do a slow gyration of your pelvis and literally squeeze Javi's cock in your silken, rippling vice by clenching your floor muscles and rutting down on him. His eyes roll back into his head and he makes the neediest sound you've ever heard him make – hands on his forearms feeling how his tendons flex convulsively under the impulsive twitches of his hands trying to yank apart. His reaction has your clit throbbing and your core contracting hard around him, which earns a wordless exaltation from him. Your nipples are studding into the lace of your practically see-through teddy as you lean down and lick his lips.

"Tell me how bad you want me to ride your cock, Javier," you insist in a drawl against his mouth, breathing in his panting gasps as you clutch your walls around him.

"B-Bad—so bad, please, q-querida—" he stutters in a roughened baritone that rakes delight across your senses.

You answer by snatching your hands up to clasp his and yank so his arms have to bend at the elbow, and you lift from his lap only enough for his cock to heavily drag so close to slipping out of your heavenly heat before you slam yourself back onto it and cry out when you hit something exquisite inside yourself. Javi rumbles and bucks up to meet your hips as you repeat the brusque pivoting of your hips to drive yourself hard onto his pulsing cock. His fingers lace with yours as your pace only picks up, lips parted as you whimper from the sinfully divine effort of riding Javier at your own indulgence – albeit with rapturous undulations that have you able to control the vigor and intensity of the sensations with the sinewy and deftness of your supple muscles.

Your thighs flex from the effort of lifting and clenching lusciously around Javier, abs tense and lithe from your clutching and contracting of your core. Javi is writhing and desperate to meet your pace, but can't leverage more than bucking his hips up into you from how you have his hands and arms propped over his head, pulling his shoulders taut and leaving him at your mercy. Not that he's looking to end this ravenous game, especially when you surprise him by holding his hands down by pinning them with your palm pressing the chain linking the cuffs into the pillow while you reach your other hand behind yourself and cup his balls. The light, teasing pressure of your fingers around his aching spheres coupled with your molten sheath gripping wantonly around his cock has Javi braying a choked moan and tossing his head back as he stammers your name and has to bite his lip from babbling more filthy, unintelligent praise.

When you fist the chain and hunch into him as you finally buckle under the mounting pleasure sizzling through your muscles, you have to stifle a cry as you climax, not wanting to miss his reaction. Javier rewards you by shivering and straining inside you before you feel his cock swell and throb. His expression flushes and his moan is tight and wrecked when he comes, chest going broad and body reflexively tensing as his hips stutter under you to fuck over into bliss while you sink down to bury him as deep as he can go so he can fill your shuddering core.

The force of it has you alight and complete, and you can't help make a fierce little sound of content glee as you feel him pump you full of cum. With how tight your muscles are flexed, you can feel your womb quiver at the warm onslaught, and the way Javier looks up at you when you bow and moan your delight? It's an enthralling prize you'll covet forever.

His brows are arched ecstatically, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead while his usually etched features are supine with sated lust, eyes soft and dark with glossy bliss and mouth slack from his panting breathing. He looks gorgeous, and you only hope he likes what he sees too.

Javier is staring through hazed, pining eyes at you, completely fucked out and drunk on the high of having you dominate a mind-blowing orgasm out of him. He whines when he goes to reach and caress his hands through your hair and remembers he's cuffed. Your hand around the chain eases away so you can cuddle into him, and Javi mumbles appealing sounds. You sigh and kiss him at the spot under his jaw, nuzzling him and getting lost in his scent and warm skin.

"Tan bello," you find yourself sighing as you lean up to caress his cheek and stare alluringly into his molten gaze. When Javi smiles, that boyish dimple is on full display – teasing you – and you can't help mutter, "I think I could enjoy keeping you like this indefinitely—"

"Not in these fuckin' handcuffs, bravita," he grumbles, but his smile doesn't wane, especially when you huff and sit up so you can caress your palms possessively across his pecs. "C'mon," he lifts his cuffed wrists and shakes them, obvious gesture for you to free him.

You sigh dramatically and lightly drag your nails down his chest, earning a delighted hiss from him. "I don't know," you lilt. "They really suit you, guapito," you tease and watch him flush when you caress your thumbs over his nipples and cause them to harden. "And you seemed to really like being in them—"

"Keep it up, and I'll put you in 'em," he growls ruggedly and showily raises his arms to outstretch his wrists at you.

You pout, and surprise him by grabbing the chain linking the cuffs and tugging so he has to sit up, and you loop under them so you can be flush against his chest as you kiss him. Javier idly cups the back of your head as best he can and deepens the kiss before he suddenly pulls back when he feels you adjust in his lap. He hisses at the sensation of your heat receding from around him and being replaced with the comingled warmth of your desires spending out of your tight sheath. With the distraction of his riveted attention being on the sinful sight, you shrug seamlessly back, slipping out of the loop of his arms, and on shaky knees, pivot to straddle his lap facing the foot of the bed. You glance over your shoulder at him as you hike up the teddy and show him your dewed and dripping cunt from behind before bowing and presenting yourself to him.

Javier is floored with savage delight and suppresses a shiver when you hum appealingly and murmur, "Fuck me as hard as you can, and I'll let you out of those cuffs."

He's never been up for a challenge more in his life.

Even with the handcuffs, Javi is able to dominate you with aplomb in this position, and you both revel in it, enjoying being alphas that can share control. You are especially impressed when he pivots you onto your elbows and keeps you balanced to angle your pelvis up for him with just his handcuffed hands clasped at either side of your arched trapezius muscles, thumbs pressing in and anchoring you as he pounds your pulsing, silken pussy from behind. You whimper breathily and let Javier fuck you into hypersensitive bliss, feeling a shameless wreck as you climax and he presses his palms down into the middle of your lower back and ruts through your quaking sheath as every plunge forces his previous spend to leak out of you just to be replaced with hot cum he pumps into you after moaning your name and thrusting home before bottoming out in you.

You mewl rapaciously and crumble under your pleasure as Javier keeps undulating his hips and dragging his cock to rub flush against every inch of rippling heat inside you. Spent, Javi pulls your hips up and back to follow his own as he rears to sit and yanks you to do the same, but in his lap – with his cock still inside you. You're quaking and twitching in his arms after he looped his cuffed wrists over your head to bind you against his chest.

He listens to you catch your breath and gets lost in your sweet scent as he rests his head against yours.

After a fleeting eternity, you are yourself again and able to scrape your senses to retrieve his keys from his jacket pocket and release him from the handcuffs. You're about to put them aside on the nightstand when he snatches them from your grip and pulls you by your arm against him, making a big show as if he's contemplating clamping them on you before shrugging and tossing them away to land on your dresser with a clang. You snicker and internally exhale in relief, unsure you'd be able to withstand another romp while your hands were incapacitated.

Once you've both showered and are back on your refreshed sheets, lounging naked together, Javi languidly stretches out and lies on his side to admire you. "…Put it back on?" he husks tentatively.

You blow a raspberry. "That thing is a mess—"

"It's not. I like it, especially now," he rumbles, fingertips tracing your temple and following the contour of your cheekbone. "Please?"

You can't deny him when he asks like that. With faux annoyance, you retrieve the illicitly stained teddy and put it back on, wrinkling your nose at the damp spots before getting back into bed. He grunts in approval and pulls you to lie on top of him, letting his hands caress down your sides and knead your ass over the red lace.

"How was that thing?" he asks as he trails his nose against your jaw while you comb your fingers through his hair.

You give a dispassionate sneer. "I probably won't be bugged to go to another one of 'em for a while," is what you answer glibly before snickering at him grunting curiously as he starts to fondle your breast over the stretchy lace.

"Hm, care to elaborate?" he attempts, but is content with watching how your nipple studs against the lace from his teasing touch.

"Not really," you muse and finally slap his hand down. "So, tomorrow night. You picking me up here after work?" you change the subject smoothly and slink off of him so you and recline sidelong into the pillows and smile at him.

"Yeah. Around 8 work?" he remarks and lounges with his hands folded behind his head, sated and pleased when you cuddle close and nod in assent. "…You still up for the entire thing?" he poses in a soft tone, and you find yourself deciphering his meaning. "I promise to sneak you into my place where my nosy neighbors won't see—"

"Ah," you snicker and sit up to drape your arm around his broad chest and lean close to kiss his jaw. "Yes, I'm letting you dictate the terms, chavón," you purr and kiss his lips. "I'm looking forward to it."

He hums, appeased, and brushes a kiss to your cheek. "Good. It's a date," he drawls and smirks as he adjusts so he can loop an arm around you and hold you close.

You smile, all wistful as you reach over him to shut the light off and curl up against him.

The morning routine is blissful, and once you both kiss and part ways, you're content with counting down the hours until you can race home and get really dolled up. You have the dress you'll wear already in mind, and are debating what shoes to pair it with when lunch time rolls around and you go meet with Marisol and some of the other girls. When you come back to your desk, Ellis is nursing his 3rd cup of coffee of the day and shooting you coy glances. Rolling your eyes, you huff and swivel in your chair to face him.

"Out with it," you mutter, crossing your arms.

"Well, I'm trying to gauge whether you'll shoot the messenger," he quips, and when you raise a judgmental brow, he sighs. "I think Samson's gonna approach you today—"

"No."

"Wait, so he might come by at the end of the day—"

"No."

"—He's a nice guy and definitely doesn't want to end up on bad terms with you—"

"NO."

At the firmness of that, Ellis pouts. "You can only control you, kid, so I'm just forewarning you incase you feel compelled to verbally assassinate him. Best you don't and just tell him no hard feelings and remain civil."

You grumble and swivel back around, knowing he's right. "It's done after this though. No more matchmaking or cajoling. And he better not be talking about me—"

"The fellas were raggin' on him, but they have nothing disparaging to say about you. They think you're a badass, frankly," Ellis remarks and sips his coffee.

You stew on that, wondering if they're liable to talk about you to DEA, if Javi gets earfuls about you from them. He'd alluded to it, but never specified anything. While you wonder, Javier and Steve are walking into Mil Group for a surveillance briefing. The bullpen outside of Lou's office and adjacent to the conference room is relatively empty of personnel. Along the wall that would be used to pin up suspect boards was instead taken up with tacked paper targets, each riddled with varying bullet holes.

There's one with a blue ribbon attached to it, so when they go into the conference room, Steve can't help deride, "Your boys need gold star stickers for target practice?"

"Real funny," Lou deadpans and gestures with his coffee mug to the wall with the targets. "That's to motivate them to be less of a shit shot. After all, the best shot wasn't any one of 'em, so figured it'd be a good kick in the ass."

Javi chuckles and glances over at the target with the blue ribbon, seeing it has four bullet shots in the center and one in the middle of the head. "Who was the crack shot?" he drawls as he leans against the table and fans out his dossier.

"That ferocious little minx from C.O. Put all of 'em to shame with her shooting," the colonel muses and takes a long drink from his mug, watching as Javier's brows quirk and Steve grins with wily amusement. "I just might need to recruit her—"

"Maybe we will. Shit, if she's that good a shot," Steve jokes and swats Javi's arm in a sardonic show of camaraderie.

"Something tells me she wouldn't put up with either of you and your shit, boys," Lou jibes in a snarky drawl.

Javi spends most of the meeting picturing you in that red lace teddy, and in his fantasy he's put you in those 'fuck me' heels and has you aiming the barrel of a gun like some Bond girl, except you're his girl – his little solterita who seemingly everyone drools over. His pride in knowing he's the only one with the privileges bestowed to him by you has him hot and yearning the rest of the day.

You, on the other hand, are not looking forward to the end of the day now that Ellis has warned you about Samson wanting to make amends of some kind. You're tempted to just leave half hour early so you can beat rush hour and enjoy the ritual of getting ready for your date with Javi, but you also know this needs to happen. Truthfully, you feel like you have to do a bit of penance for having unintentionally fibbed to Javi, and maybe at least this way you'll cull any more advances, permanently.

That's the plan when you walk out of your department with Ellis and head off to your weekend. He's goofily fidgeting, as if he is the one that has to let Luke down gently, and by the time you both are exiting the lobby, you think he's going to volunteer to do it for you, but as soon as you're out the main doors and heading for the sprawling stairs down to the carport, Luke is waiting, and Ellis literally coughs uncomfortably and grimaces, "Do you want me to hang around? I'll be your alibi…but I'm not burying the body."

You jab a pressure point under his armpit and he winces. "Just go home, Rose," you snicker, needling him with his surname, to his chagrin. "I'll see you Monday."

Once Ellis gallops down the stairs and shoots Luke a hasty farewell, you march over and decide to get this over with. He looks tense, like he's been deliberating over this since last night, and you annoyance wanes a bit. "Hey…" he greets, tenor rumble halting. "I wanted to apologize—"

"Luke, it's fine," you cut in, brushing your hair behind your ear when a breeze tussles your tresses languidly from behind your shoulders. "I don't want to belabor anything. We're colleagues and I just want to keep things civil and professional, so if I've been untoward in my behavior, I'm sorry. You're a great guy, and I shouldn't have encouraged anything—"

"You didn't. That was me reading into things what I wanted," he states earnestly, adding with genuine affection, "Yes, I like you, but I'm a grown ass man. I am more than happy to keep things platonic. I just don't ever want to make you uncomfortable or cross your boundaries again."

Feeling like a complete jerk now, your shoulders sag and you adjust your purse strap as you sigh and muse, "I'm sorry I showed you up in front of the guys."

He laughs, a warm, gravelly sound as he puts his hands in his pockets and makes an 'aw, shucks' gesture with his shoulders. "You totally buried the lead! Where'd you learn to shoot like that?!" he asks, and you feel a bit better, glad to not have some brooding awkwardness between you two.

"My father," you answer, but don't elaborate. Instead, you remark, "We're going to get Mil Group's tech requisitions soon, so we'll have to come up with a schedule for you fellas to get trained up. In the meantime, do practice your shooting. I'd hate to hear Lou talk about recruiting newbies."

"Hah, you know he pinned up the targets? On Monday, you gotta come by and see," he chuckles.

You both chit chat a bit more, smoothening all terseness aside before you say your goodbyes and 'Have a nice weekend,' well wishes.

It's a short while later that you get home and go to rush to get ready for your date. You feel lighter after talking to Luke, and are free to look forward to having Javier Peña take you out to a night on the town – his side of town, on his terms. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit anxious at the prospect of being seen by possible coworkers out and about with the notorious-yet-debonair DEA agent, but you're more excited than anything.

By the time you look at the clock, you realize you have to rush to pick out your shoes before finishing with your makeup, which isn't your forte. Once you've put the lipstick down to reach for your favorite perfume and spritz lightly, Javier is knocking on your door.

He's just finished chewing one of his mints when you open the door. Whirling, he feels a sense of déjà vu – only instead of being dumbstruck by a lacy femme fatale standing in the threshold this time, he's floored to see you in a flirty-yet-classy off-the-shoulder blush-toned dress and strappy kitten heels. Your hair is half up in a delicate twist, fastened with rose-shaped hair clasp. The tresses that flow loose accentuate the soft lines of your sloping shoulders and neck, and when you adjust your purse strap onto your shoulder and look up at him, Javi has to struggle to not whisk you inside and worship you like the impulse beckons.

"You look gorgeous," he blurts, and you melt a little at the honeyed pitch of his tone.

Taking the chance to appraise him with an affectionate once over, you catalogue how ridiculously handsome he is in virtually everything he wears. It should be a crime. And now? Wearing a dark blue polo shirt and fitted black slacks, with a black leather belt and matching pair of loafers – with his hair combed with a brush? It's downright sinful. And his scent – it's mouthwatering, and all you want to do is press your face into his throat and do very filthy things to him.

"You combed your hair," you tease and pull him close by his belt buckle so you can lean up and kiss him on the lips. "Estás bien guapo, chulito," you purr and he grunts with dry affection at that. "Mmm, you smell good," you murmur and trail your nose along his jaw, which causes heat to coil in his gut and a tempted hum to warm up his chest.

"Keep it up, and I can't be held responsible for what I do," he grouses provocatively as he caresses a hand down the curve of your body to cheekily knead your ass. "You have everything?"

Smirking, you slink away and grab the overnight tote from the couch and hold it up, as if it's the Holy Grail, or at least from how Javier's brows are quirking in triumph, the irrevocable proof that you're all-in for his plans. He takes the tote so you can lock up and store your keys in your purse before taking his hand and letting him lead you down the steps and out to his jeep. It's a cool night, sky clear of clouds and the moon is full, so he's able to admire you from the corner of his eye and enjoy how lovely you look in the lowlight of the car as you joke and smile over at him while he drives.

"—How nosy are your neighbors? Like, look out the peephole at every sound of activity nosy?" you ask, raising your brows when he snorts at the thought.

"Steve and Connie are upstairs, so no worries there. You might hear him galloping around up there," he offers and shrugs. "The neighbor down the hall from me is some analyst that's always traveling," he pauses and deviously glances over at you as he purrs, "You don't have to do the walk of shame I do—"

"Oh please. Aside from giving las retiradas a nice treat to feast on from their garden patios, they are not going to blow up your spot like anyone on your block most definitely would," you snicker and grin when he grunts and squeezes your knee cheekily at that.

"…Well I guess it's a good thing you have suitors go to your place," he rumbles in a veiled tone, one you know is really him fishing to find out how many other men you've invited over.

If he'd asked at any other time, you probably would've been peeved, but considering you're trying to play on his terms, you figure it wouldn't hurt to divulge a bit. "Nope. You're the only one I've let come over," you muse pleasantly, and when he glances at you, seeming a bit surprised, you add, "How do you think I got so good at sneaking out without waking you?"

That makes him picture things he doesn't want to – namely you sneaking out of a man's bed with the stealth you employed with Javi after your first hookup, so he clears his throat and hums.

You purse your lips in amusement and lean over to plant a peck on his cheek. "No te pongas celoso," you tease.

"I can't help get jealous," he answers in a sulky tone, and you snicker. "But I suppose you have all night to make it up to me," he purrs and skates his palm from your knee to brush along your thigh.

You tingle at that, and smile, deciding you'll do just that.

He takes you to a very nice restaurant in the old town of the capital, and escorts you with your hand tucked into his forearm as you traverse the cobblestones. Your table is cozy and secluded, and the small votive candle at the center creates a soft glow that casts you both in a literal romantic light. You see his soulful eyes shine while you both talk over your meals and sip your drinks. The food is delicious, and so is your lover when he's licking his lips and smiling at you.

You affectionately nudge your foot along his ankle when the waiter comes by and suggests dessert, unspoken indication that you want him for dessert. Javier bites the inside of his lower lip and politely declines, and once the bill comes and he pays it, he's escorting you out and cupping his large, warm hand to your lower back as he nuzzles your temple and husks, "Such an atrevida."

"No idea what you're referring to," you playful lilt and take his arm before giving him a flirty peck on the lips, batting your curled and full lashes at him. "Thanks for dinner."

"Hmph," he grunts wryly and encircles your waist as you fall into step and let him lead the way.

Before long, he's parking across from an avenue in a bustling nightlife hub of the city, and you're impressed by the hum and thrum of the music coming from the dance club he's escorting you to. It's a sprawling hall with a bar on one end, and bar-height tables flanking the large dance floor in front of the DJ booth in the corner and the live band's stage against the wall on the opposite end.

Easily finding a table, you set your purse on it and lean up to talk in his ear so you're not shouting over the music. "You better know how to dance merengue, chico," you tease and smile when he smirks and squeezes your waist.

"I'm more of a salsa guy, but I'll give it a try," he answers before gesturing to the bar. You nod and stay at the table while he goes to find an empty spot he can lean over and get a bartender to take his order.

You take the chance to people watch and bop to the music, noticing how most of the crowd is made up of groups, not really couples, but everyone seems merry. The lights above the dance floor strobe in warm and soft colored-lights while the cumbia song plays. It seems like there's a mix of people from across all social echelons, and everyone is out to have a good time, so you don't really notice anyone looking over at you. If anything, this ambiance is cool, feeling like a pleasant little bubble of music and good times, so you relax and let the beat settle into you.

Javier is back with your drinks, and once you both have downed enough of them, you are grabbing him and pulling him to dance, and he lets you but takes the lead, and you love it. His hand at your waist is warm, and how his fingertips press into you through your dress has you tingly and pliant. When the slower tempo song comes on, he pulls you close, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you both sway and get lost in the calm delight of being together in such a simple way.

He presses his nose to your hair and inhales, feeling soothed and warmed by your scent, hand trailing from yours to caress your back when you tip your face up and kiss his jaw. He nuzzles you before lowering to capture your lips, and the kiss is doting and chaste. It's like no one else is around, the moment is yours and you only share it with Javi.

When a merengue song finally comes on, you grin and pull him close, adjusting his hand placement and telling him, "It's all in the hips. Try and keep up, querido."

Javier scoffs, but soon realizes you're not kidding when everyone around you dances with a vigor he's not used to. He's relegated to letting you lead, which you can't help be wily and grin over while he tries to keep up. The only thing he's good at is spinning you and tugging you back against him before looping you back into step, but his footwork needs help and as soon as the song ends, he's winded, and you giggle as he leads you back to your table and frowns. "Jesus Christ," he grumbles and finishes his whiskey. "Is that a sped up version?" he asks and wipes the back of his palm across his brow.

"Oh honey, that is slow merengue compared to how we dance it back home," you drawl and caress your fingertips along his brow. "If you don't walk off the dance floor sweating buckets, then you didn't dance it right," you joke. "This is more traditional – the beat, anyway. There's a mambo callejero version of merengue that really gets the blood pumping," you remark before pressing flirtatiously close to him and purring, "I'll teach you."

Javi smirks, liking the sound of a 'street-style mambo,' when he knows mambo can get very sexy – almost borderline sexual, so he purrs, "We do plenty of horizontal mambo as it is."

You snicker and swat his chest. "Fresco," is your playful murmur as you let him encircle your waist so he can pull you close before kissing you. You loop your arms around his shoulders and deepen the kiss before he gropes his hands down to cup your ass. You gasp and break the kiss, "Javier—"

"Hmph, quit teasing me then," he grouses and gives you a quick peck before signaling he's going back to the bar.

You roll your eyes but are smirking, and when he strides off, you turn to take the chance to finish your drink before brushing your fingers through your hair and making sure there aren't any frazzled strands flaring wildly. While you're doing so and watching people dance, Javier is just finishing putting in his order when he glances across the bar and sees a familiar face.

A very familiar, smug and seductive face of a woman who's whispering over to her friends before using her chin to gesture in his direction, smiling and waving at him. Javier flints his stare away and internally swears, hoping she doesn't take it as an invitation to come over. He glances back at you and you're smiling as a woman from a group at a nearby table is complementing your hair clasp and asking where you got it.

Just as he starts to wonder if he should suggest checking out another dance hall, what he was dreading comes to fruition.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Javi," she comes onto him in Spanish, charmed and flirty as she sidles up close and sips her martini.

"Vanessa," he greets flatly and glances at her, swiveling his gaze covertly to the end of the bar where her friends are, and he recognizes some of them as girls from the high-end brothel they picked up Barry Seal months before.

When he doesn't say anything else, she haughtily purrs, "What? Can't make time for an old friend?" Javier gives her a sidelong stare and avoids looking in your direction, but she pivots the cant of her hips so she can showily shoot a glance over to where you're table is and zeros in on you just as you're placing your empty glass down and leaning your elbow on the table to face the bar. She deliberately locks eyes with you, as she inquires goadingly, "And her? She's your escort? She looks bonita, I suppose—"

"Goodnight, Vanessa," Javier curtly grits out and glares warningly at her when he realizes she's looking at you. He glances back and sees you stoically watching, and the acrimonious anxiety wells in his chest.

Vanessa scoffs and makes a show of patting his forearm as she muses, "I'll see you around then, papito," then struts off back to the gaggle at the end of the bar.

He clenches his jaw, terse when he pays for the drinks and takes them back to the table. The whole time you were watching the exchange, your jealousy was on a slow burn, the rational, reasonable side of you trying not to jump to conclusions or let your façade falter, but the natural questions were rambling over in your mind: Who is she? Do they know each other? Is she trying to pick him up? However, you defy your simmering jealousy to instead focus in on his demeanor to clue you in. When he comes back and places the drinks down, you expect him to say something to justify what you just saw, and when he doesn't and instead cups your cheek and brushes a kiss to your lips, you tangle with ambivalence.

You don't want to let it feed your insecurities, so you snuff it and take the drink, sipping it before you lean close and say in his ear, "Next time, I'll get the drinks, because if I see another descarada put a hand on you, I'm liable to catch a case."

Javier is shocked at the blasé smoothness of your threat and feels a scalding sense of pride, which he knows is wrong, but when you give him a cool, pointed look before brushing your lips against his, he can't help grope you close and murmur, "You're lucky I got friends in CNP, so I might be able to pull strings—"

"Ah-hah, ni joder," you snap, and shove him back, imperious look becoming flinty as you drain your drink before gesturing with a tilt of your head to the dance floor.

He hears you loud and clear.

Taking your hand, he leads you back to the dance floor and does everything he can to make it clear that he is there with you. His hands are caressing all over you, his lips nuzzling kisses into your neck as you pull him close and sway to the soft-tempo song. You let him herd you close, pressing your pelvis flush against him so you're undulating sensually to the romantic and sultry lambada song that comes on, and you ride his thigh as you sway your hips to the beat and let him pivot you about before spinning you and tucking you back against him. You arch into him and lusciously lull your head against his shoulder as he encircles your waist and keeps you both swaying languidly to the beat until the song ends and you reluctantly pull away.

His hand guides you back to press against him so he can capture your lips in a hungry kiss that curls your toes and overheats you. The alcohol is starting to hit you, warming your bloodstream and making you loose and provocative, so when he leads you back to your table, you're giving him an alluring look as you excuse yourself to the ladies room, taking your purse and giving him a devious little squeeze to his ass before you go. He laughs and bites his lip, watching you saunter off and fantasizing about how he's going to peel that dress off of you the minute he gets you to his place.

While he drinks his whiskey and keeps thinking raunchy things, you're waiting in the queue for an available stall. A few minutes later and you're pleasantly waltzing over to the sink to wash your hands. No one lined up behind you, so you're alone in the bathroom until the door opens and the loud music invades the tiled space as a group of women come in laughing and chatting in Spanish.

"—You sure? He didn't look happy to see her—"

"Ah, but he's like that—"

"Exactly, you know how he is. Always plays hard to get, but when you're one-on-one, he's a bárbaro and insatiable."

"Well, sure, but Javi hasn't come by since – what, when was that last time, Vanessa?"

You glance up in the mirror at their reflection as they queue up at the stalls while the woman – Vanessa – struts over to the long counter and parks herself at a sink basin a few spots over. She preens in the mirror before purposely glancing your way as she adjusts her bodycon dress. Unbothered – since, after all, you're no virgin to vindictive behavior, you reach in your purse and fish out your lipstick, taking your time with reapplying it to your plush lips as the woman you saw talking to Javier at the bar makes a show of fluffing her hair. She's taller and thinner than you, and endowed – but whether that's natural or bought for, you don't care, because you're tempted to straighten her ass out and wreck that smug face of hers.

"When was Barry there? A couple of months ago? That's the last time, but several times before that," Vanessa muses and sighs. "He liked going to his place though—"

Goadingly, her friend chimes, "We know. Hell, a few of us have taken a turn on that big leather couch of his. Javi does like to bend you over and take you wherever though—"

Once you've pressed your lips together and evened out the color of your lipstick, you cap it and drop it into your purse, turning and having to walk by Vanessa to get to the door.

"Chiquita, be sure to enjoy your turn. Javi doesn't keep the same escort for long."

You pause, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder and turning to confidently look at her like she's a puddle of dogshit before smiling. "Well, by the looks of the lot of you, I can see why he's moved on," you verbally napalm, getting a thrill at how her face pinches up with indignity. "Talk to me like that again, and they'll be scraping what's left of your lips off the mirror, puta pendeja."

Her friends stiffen but say nothing, and Vanessa can't hold your blazing gaze as you bore into her, silently daring her to say something else. When she doesn't, you strut off and exit the bathroom, and are boiling with rage as you slash a path through the dance floor and up to the table where Javi is finishing his whiskey. When he glances over, his smiling eyes widen at the contumely fierce look on your features.

"I'm leaving."

Your ground out hiss is barely audible over the music, and Javier is so confused by the shift that he grabs your waist to stop you. "Baby—" He pauses when you smack his hand away and storm off, furious strides carrying you through the crowded hall and towards the entrance. Shocked, Javi glares about and catches sight of Vanessa and her friends coming out of the ladies room. The violent fury that wells in him is blinding. She obviously had been looking to stir trouble up, and had he known she'd been watching you both from the minute you walked in? Javier would've U-turned you the hell out of there and gone somewhere else. By the look she shoots him across the way, he immediately knows what they did, and before he's registered it, he's chasing after you, shimmying through the crowded hall to try and catch up to you.

Heat is suffocating your chest from the knot of emotions roiling there, and you can feel your adrenalin pumping your furious temper and throbbing at your temples as you make it out into the cool night air and stalk down the sidewalk towards the avenue, eyes darting about in search for a cab.

You hear your name shouted behind you, and you ignore it as you pick up pace and stride as quickly as you can in your kitten heels across the street towards the corner where you think you see a cab parked. Javier gains on you easily and is cutting you off before you've made it to the corner. "Goddammit, would you wait—?!" he's shouting as he grabs your arm and pulls you over to the side of the street where his jeep is parked.

Irate now, you wring your arm out of his grip and grapple with your fury. "No me toques," you hiss and realize you're making a scene, so you rein yourself in and state in a cold tone. "I'm going home—"

"No, you're not! You're gonna come with me and you're gonna talk to me," he buffets the back of his hand into his palm, a pointed gesture to emphasize 'talk' and stands his ground when you refuse to budge. "I'm not letting you get a fucking cab. If you wanna scream at me here in the middle of the street, have at it—"

You scoff in a snit and storm past him towards his jeep, and he turns and stalks to follow you, shoulders squared and arms flexing from how hard he's clenching his fists. Once you're in the passenger seat, you slam the car door and furiously seethe while he lights a cigarette and paces the driver's side for a few seconds before steeling himself and opening the door. Once he's sitting in the driver's seat, he is glaring ahead, trying to swallow his resentment, telling himself you have the right to be angry, but a selfish part of him doesn't want to fall on his sword tonight.

Puffing his chest out, he inhales a long drag before exhaling the smoke and lowering his window to flick the cigarette out. Once he's rolled it back up, he finally looks over at you, and you're staring out the window, head turned away from him and shoulders bunched up from how furiously crossed your arms are over your chest. Just when he deliberates about reaching over and squeezing your shoulder to coax you to look at him, you let out a charged breath.

"I can't do this."

Javi bristles – anger and hurt coiling in his chest and making him feel like he's going to splinter apart. "Querida—"

"I can't do this. I feel fucking insane – like a fucking fool, and no matter how badly I want it to not matter, it does, and I can't abide it," you rush out, unwavering tone cracking as you turn and stare into his eyes and see the hurt there. They're crinkled with upset at the corners – brows drawn while he suppresses the frown that wants to twist his lips. You ache, and you're shaking with the cacophony of emotions. "That puta malparida was obviously trying to get back at you, but it doesn't change the fact I can't go anywhere without running into some woman you've been with—"

"They don't matter!" Javier barks now, upset and simmering with fury. "Whatever the fuck she said – why does it matter?! You know what I've done – have thrown it in my face plenty of times, so why the fuck does it matter when I just want to be with you?" he rails, eyes flashing with lightning as he jabs, "Why do you perpetually have to punish me for shit I did before I fucking met you?!"

"Because you've continued to do it and then tell me it doesn't fucking matter!" you bellow, boiling over now as you gesticulate in the direction of the dance club. "That skank Vanessa said you saw her a couple months ago, which means you were fucking her while you and I were together—"

"I didn't fuck her the last time I saw her or at all in a while!" he snaps and leans close, seething, "I only fucked up once, and you're not going to let me live it down. If you don't trust me and you don't want to be with me, just fucking say so—"

"That's what I'm saying, Javier!" you shout, anger winding your shoulders back as you glare at him while you scathe, "You've been angling to lay some fucking claim to me so you can what – boast about it?! Meanwhile I have to walk around with the snickering and burlas – looking like a fucking fool—"

"I don't give a fuck what people say or think! Why the fuck do you care—?!" he begins to snap.

"Why don't you care?!" you exclaim and smack your hand down on the glove compartment. "Puñeta, why don't you have the same level of self-respect and pride you do for fucking around than for your goddamned reputation?! You think I should walk around having people talk shit about me being just the latest dumb slut you're messing around with—?!"

"First off, I'd fucking deck any motherfucker who'd talk about you like that," he cuts in, pissed off beyond belief now. "Second, if I spent as much time worrying about that kind of shit as you do, I wouldn't be able to do a goddamned thing. I'm here to get a job done, and how I have to get it done most times is not something I have the luxury of being a fucking choir boy about. I will not give a fuck about anyone else's judgment," he rumbles crisply and holds your gaze. "If I'm not good enough for you—"

"¡Carajo! Why the fuck do you say something so stupid and infuriating?!" you sneer and glower at him before scoffing in frustration and snapping, "Oh my god, I am so sick of fighting in this puto car with you! I'm done. Take me home—"

"No, we're going to my place, and if you wanna spend the whole night berating me—"

"If you think I'm going there now after I had to hear how every ramera in the city has been fucked by you on your big leather couch, you are out of your fucking mind and I will get the fuck out of this puto car right now and walk home—"

"Fuck! Fine!" he bellows and slams his hands into the steering wheel with enough force to roil a shudder through the paneling. Shoving the key into the ignition, he revs the engine and peels out onto the street, and you yelp, aghast.

"Jesus Christ, Javier!" you exclaim and gape at him. "Slow down and put your seatbelt on—"

"If you don't stop yelling at me, I'm going to lose my fucking cool—" he grounds out tightly and you scoff and jerk in your seat to yank at his seatbelt and lasso it around his torso haughtily before snapping it into the buckle. The look in your eyes diffuses some of his rage, so he grunts and tugs his arm around the belt while you huff and put your own seatbelt on.

You both go swiftly silent, tension crackling like the atmosphere in the middle of a turbulent storm. He drives and keeps his glare fixed ahead, simmering and winding up with frustration while you boil with fury and clench your jaw to keep from saying anything else and grip the handrail in the door's panel, white knuckling from how hard your hand is wrapped around it. You are trembling from how livid you are, and keep replaying how he's putting this on you and your insecurities when it should be commonsense reasonableness to not want to hear prostitutes talk about your boyfriend in a fucking club.

When he stops at a light, Javier finally glances over at you, and sees how you are mad – so mad that you are vibrating from keeping yourself restrained from lashing out. He snickers, and it comes out as a morose grunt more than anything.

"Just say it. Go ahead and say it all before you combust, malcriada," he deadpans, antagonizing and glib. Your body coils, eyes narrowing rancorously and plush lips pressing together with vehemence. You are not going to take the bait. So, when you turn to glare out the passenger window, Javier sets his jaw and flippantly croons, "Oh, that's right. You're done."

Your shoulders straighten, and the line of your spine defines through the fabric of your dress, and he can feel the drop in pressure from your temper about to hit critical mass. But the light turns green, so he starts to drive when police sirens and a fleet of cop cars careen down the main avenue and cut across him. You both jolt at him slamming the brakes and watch the cars go, bemused. Javier automatically stretched his arm out to bracket you from snapping forward, and your hand flew out to grab his thigh. Both were just instinctual – hardwired inside you both, and neither of you acknowledge it after you've caught your breaths. Once he's sure he has the right of way again, he drives the main route towards your side of town, and you both go silent again, the shock seeming to cool your tempers substantially.

After he's pulled up to the curb in front of your complex, he parks and turns the ignition off as you're snapping your seatbelt off. You go to open your door and just rush out, but he grabs your forearm in a firm grip and stops you.

With a cleansing exhale, he resolves to just say it, deciding he has nothing to lose.

"I love you."

You stiffen and absorb that, but your heart has no time to wrestle free of your anger before your mind has you blurting, "That's not enough."

You feel his fingers twitch, but can't bring yourself to look at him, so you pull your arm from his grip and exit the car, slamming the door behind you and striding away with as much dignity as you can while you feel your eyes begin to burn with the welling of tears.

Javier is stunned and watches you go, completely numb and realizing this was not a tiff. He dimly registers going on autopilot and driving back to his side of town. After he's driven into his parking space below his apartment building, he sits there and replays every single way he fucked up tonight. He should've taken you somewhere else the moment he saw Vanessa – should've been honest with himself about his chances at convincing you he was worthy of your grace.

He should've realized how much it hurts you to be confronted with his callousness.

Angry, Javi storms out of his jeep and slams the door, but before he stalks off, he notices your tote in the backseat. Swearing, he opens the door, reaches in and yanks it over, scowling when he realizes he's going to have to return it to you somehow.

He can't help be curious. Unzipping it, he opens the tote and rifles through to see what you'd packed.

Inside there are several changes of clothes – not just one ensemble, like he'd expected. Next, he finds a little pouch with some travel toiletries, a hairbrush, a scrunchie, and when his fingers brush silk, he pulls out the nighty with the slit at the thigh. Heavily, Javier leans his forehead against the back of the driver's headrest as he swears. Raising the delicate garment to his nose, it smells crisp and laundered, but he can decipher the delicate edge of your scent on it, and he closes his eyes. "Fuck me," he mutters to himself before begrudgingly returning the nighty to the tote and zipping it back up.

He stows it in the trunk, away from possible prying eyes, and heads up to his apartment. He's tempted to call you, but after what you'd said, he doesn't know what he could possibly tell you that would repair things. It was like you both had gone too far – had passed the point of no return, and realized it had you going in separate directions. Unbidden, his masochistic recall snaps him back to the last fight you had in the car, when he'd railed about you going on a lunch date with Samson. Something that he'd absorbed but hadn't catalogued closely blares in his mind now.

You'd told him you didn't want to define things because you never knew where you stand – that he has women everywhere and he could change on a dime. Compounded with another recollection of you telling him that you often wonder if he'll find someone else – someone who isn't as much work or require the amount of effort you do? Javi realizes how what happened tonight hit ground zero of your insecurities, and he feels absolutely furious with himself.

If he knew you'd rushed into your apartment and immediately tossed your things down so you could sit on the cold tiled floor and dissolve into fitful tears, Javier would've cursed himself and done any kind of penance for hurting you so.

But you're not mad at him now. You're furious with yourself for pushing him away – for sabotaging your feelings over the resolute, unwavering need to be in control and untouchable. You keep seeing how hurt he looked when you snapped at him in the car, and the maddening feeling of being so in love with him that you can't let yourself be weak makes you sick with roiling self-loathing. You've ruined things – all because you're so insecure about being seen as a fool – about being just another notch on his bedpost, when really, if you really admit it, you didn't care, because you loved him and wanted – deep down – to be on a pedestal as Javier Peña's one and only beloved. To go from his solterita to the woman he loved outright.

Your heart hurts, and you only muster the strength to pick yourself off the floor, shower, and lay in your bed in the dark when you think about how you can possibly fix the damage. He didn't deserve to be berated, or for you to take out all your insecurities on him.

But then, the reproachful voice tells you: It was only a matter of time before you became too much effort to put up with…

You decide you don't deserve him. All he's done is try to win your affections, to prove himself to you – that he was worthy of your love, and you told him it wasn't enough.

Grabbing the pillow and using it to muffle your shout of frustration, you smother your tears with it before succumbing to your racking sobs and crying yourself to sleep.

You're so depressed that you spend the weekend cooped up in your apartment, in the dark. You only admonish yourself and force yourself into productivity on Sunday when you can no longer ignore the ridiculous pile of laundry. By the end of the day, you've laundered and folded everything, and mechanically set out the ironing board to work on the linen that requires steaming and pressing.

When you fish out Javier's dress shirt from the basket, you feel a pang tug at your heart. You iron it, and grumble at yourself.

"…Such a bitch…yelling at him…fucking stupid…why are you even mad…he doesn't owe you anything…"

By the time Monday rolls around, you are lethargic with your moroseness, and debate whether you could get away with calling out, but then you remember the meetings you have, and can't justify saddling Ellis with all the work. You heave yourself through your morning routine and arrive earlier than usual, and as you hone your stoic façade for a day you're not at all prepared for, you make it up to your department and walk to your desk. Ellis hasn't gotten in yet, to your surprise, seeing as he's the morning person between the two of you.

It isn't the only surprise waiting for you.

When you approach your desk, you see your travel tote left on your desk chair, mostly tucked out of sight. Your heart wrenches in your chest and drops into your stomach. You wilt, and feel your gaze tremble, the prickle of tears burning at the corners of your eyes as you snatch it up and shove it under your desk before whirling around and peering backwards, as if you'll catch a glimpse of Javi absconding away.

Your face is burning with shame, and you find yourself stalking to the ladies room down the hall and going into a stall, where you sit and sob for a few minutes before you pull yourself together. Once you've collected your wits and feel that eerie calm that comes over you after you've cried your guts out, you grab some paper towels from the receptacle and dab at your eyes, huffing at the blotchy redness and trying to rein in your emotions.

After a few minutes, you return to your desk and find Ellis at his, looking flustered. "Hey, have a nice weekend?" you attempt and quickly sit at your desk so you can turn away and not have him notice your red-rimmed eyes.

"It was, then I had to spend an ungodly amount of time in traffic thanks to a detour," he grumbles and pivots his chair to offer you a wry huff. "Yours?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and manage a lazy shrug. "Just did laundry…" you lamely muse and fire up your laptop, wanting to focus your gaze on something else rather than the internal turmoil of replaying Javi's distraught look over and over.

"Did you hear about the latest kidnapping?"

"Hm? No, I didn't watch TV. Who this time?" you distractedly ask, typing away.

"Diana Turbay," he answers as he rifles through some documents, and you gasp and whirl around. "Seems they ambushed her and her news team on Friday night. Killed everyone – including her security, and snatched her up."

Your mind flashes to the police caravan that cut you and Javi off, and the color drains from your face. It shakes you up, and you are once again reminded of the real shit Javier has to deal with, and having you spazzing out on him is the last thing he would need to put up with – especially when he could easily spend his time with the gaggle of women who clearly would be at his every beck and call if given the chance.

You're positively miserable the rest of the day. It's a struggle to keep your aloof veneer up, and when you walk out of your last meeting, you are anxious to go home and just wallow in your sadness. Passing the hall outside of Mil Group, you remember Luke mentioning the paper targets, and decide that you'll have to bring a peace offering to the fellas at some point. As you head down to your department to grab your things, you pass someone who's running to the break room. After the siege, you get that ominous feeling, and follow. The room is filled with stragglers who haven't loped off for the day, and they're watching a news interview. It's Diana Turbay giving the terms of the negotiations for Escobar to work with the government, and you are dumbfounded by the boldness of it.

Ellis comes in and gapes. "What she saying?" he whispers to you.

"She's imploring Gaviria to negotiate with Escobar," you explain. "That he'll release a hostage as a show of good faith."

"Holy shit, the balls on that guy," he exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief.

You are on autopilot now, the horrors playing out on the news bulletin numbing you to your personal drama. By the time you get home, you dispassionately toss your tote to the dresser and strip out of your work clothes. You crawl into bed and feel like a shell, empty and unfeeling.

The phone never rings, and you are mad at yourself for wishing it would. You have no right to expect Javi to call you after how you behaved. Sitting up, you force yourself to march down the hallway and pick up the phone.

You're going to call Javier and apologize to him.

That, and nothing else. Just say you're sorry, and then…go to bed.

You dial his apartment's phone number. It rings for several chimes, but no answer comes. Frowning, you remember he'd said he was going to be on assignment in Medellín this week, and you swear and hang up, realizing you'll have to call his satellite phone. However, you stand there and deliberate. He's working, after all, and it would be so presumptuous and asinine of you to call him and bother him with your stupid trifles. With a dejected sigh, you turn and go to your room, crawling under the covers and curling into a ball.

Javier spends most of the week tagging along with Search Bloc on tactical traffic stops, only to come up empty. It's easy to mask his surly, broody mood as frustration with the job, so he's spared any of Steve's prodding and is instead replaced with a reluctant concern for his partner getting twisted up himself. The sicarios had ditched the SUV's and went to ground, so just when he was losing patience and becoming increasingly worried about Steve's level of unhinged zeal, they get the call that Gaviria was allowing their aerial surveillance to go back online – in an official capacity. Keeping his mind on work is the only thing that centers him – that quells his need to call you and hear your voice. And now, with the green light to go after Escobar and nail him before the government can make good on any agreements with the bastard, he's got the temerity to keep on target.

He didn't expect to end his afternoon chasing Sureshot across an entire fucking comuna, or that he'd lose him after a fucking kid pointed a gun at him. When he retraces his steps and reunites with Steve, they hobble over to the house the sicarios had fired on them from. Seeing the baby, sitting in the middle of that carnage, was a soul-crushing moment. It winded him, shaking him to sit and war with the fury and despair so at home within him, only now it's caused by an external antagonist instead of his own personal demons.

Once they're back in Bogotá, he drives Steve back to their apartment block, pulling up to the curb and parking while his partner collects himself to walk up to his wife and hand her the orphaned little girl they'd brought back with them. She was proof of their abject failure, but her big, innocent eyes and reaching hands endeared her instantly to Steve, so at the very least she provided a whole new motivation for them both.

"You coming up?" Steve asks in a monotone once he's out of the car, little girl tucked in his arms and duffle slung over a shoulder.

Javi can't muster the effort to answer, so instead he shakes his head, and mercifully, Steve nods, understanding some implicit confidence being shared nonverbally with him and wanders up to the entryway steps. Once he's keyed into the building, Javier drives off, with no route in mind, but the horrors of the day won't leave him, and before he realizes it, he's parking and wandering across a courtyard and up steps.

You start when the knocks echo down the hall and into your bedroom. You're dazed, having been asleep for a couple of hours, according to the readout of your alarm clock, so you cautiously pad down to the front door. When you open it a crack, you're shocked to see Javier, so you undo the chain lock and open the door fully.

"Javi—?" you murmur, but stop your forming question when you register how upset he looks, and you furrow your brows as you reach for him. "Hey—"

When you touch his cheek, he shudders and practically dissolves – expression shuttering in and eyes clenching shut, so you pull him in and close the door before he pulls you into a desperate hug. You're disarmed and stunned, senses jolting at the coiled, wound up grief vibrating through him. You let him embrace you, and you gently murmur, "Are you ok?" to him as you rub his back soothingly.

"Mi amor…I'm sorry," he grouses in a low, cracking tone, and you feel wrought with concern and empathic despair, not understanding why he's so upset, let alone why he's apologizing.

You pull back and cup his face, staring openly into his sad, dark eyes and seeing the haunted look etching in his expression. With no effort, you take him to your room and sit him down before crawling next to him on the bed and pulling him into your arms. His shirt smells of musk, smoke and sweat, the hints of his cologne and masculine essence tartly warring for dominance in his scent. You caress your hand down the nape of his neck, and he crumbles when you encircle his shoulders and whisper, "It's ok…you're with me now."

He chokes on a reedy sound and embraces you so tight, burying his face in your neck and breathing through his overwhelmed, visceral reaction to the traumatic anxiety that's hitting him now, and you anchor him – pushing the volatility away and grounding him to the relief of being with you.

You hold him, kissing his sideburn and murmuring, "You want to lay with me?"

Javier nods, not trusting his voice, so you gently go to work easing him backwards into bed after you take his agent paraphernalia off and set it aside on the dresser before removing his boots. You expect him to just lie back in his clothes, but when you turn back from setting his boots aside, he's yanking his orange button shirt off his head and tossing it aside, so you help him unfasten his belt and ease out of his jeans and socks.

Once he's in his underwear, he pulls you close and starts hiking your oversized band t-shirt up, so you let him take it off and nuzzle you as he encircles your waist and holds you close. He revels in your warm skin, brushing kisses into your clavicle while you bury your fingers in his hair and soothingly comb through the dense tufts.

He lets you nudge him back onto the bed, but when you go to lie next to him, he pulls you down to rest on top of him. You adjust your arms so you can frame them around his shoulders as you gaze down at him. In the penumbra of your room, you both can still easily make out each other's features – see the light coming from the moon filtering through the window slats catch in your eyes. Javier looks so distraught, and it creates a knot of sadness in your chest.

You lean down and brush your lips against his, loving and soft as you caress his cheek.

Javier melts, breath stuttering in his chest as he wraps his arms around you possessively and kisses you with longing. You're both half-naked, with only your underwear separating you from each other's warmth and desperate desires, so when you feel him caress his hand along your backside, you sigh into his mouth and pull back, pressing your forehead to his and murmuring, "Make love to me, Javi."

He burns with something primal, sadness snapping away to instead allow his expression to etch with want. Javi rolls you onto your back and yanks your panties off, and you sit up to tug his underwear down his hips while he rushes to shuck them off and press his weight down on you, groaning when you pull him close and kiss his neck as he settles between you thighs and starts touching you.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth as he glides his thick fingers through your dampening folds, earning a jolt and needy sound from you. You grab his bicep and rut against him when he recedes his fingers from your dewy petals to replace them with the head of his cock beginning to breach your tight, dimpled entrance while his thumb trails down the soft curls of your mound before he presses over the hood of your clitoris and grinds the pad over it. Your expression lights up with pleasure as you moan and arch up against him, and Javi is so sick with yearning that he just watches you react to him thrusting through your rippling sheath, savoring your cries and how your legs clamp around his waist.

"Javi," you moan, hands gripping his shoulders and beseeching him to lean down so you can kiss him, but he suddenly bows his head and exhales a shaky breath. You feel him begin to tremble, and you realize whatever horrors he faced today are not going quiet, so with little effort, you rear up and manhandle him onto his back so you can straddle him. The surprise flashes across his expression, so you capitalize on it and sink down to the hilt on him, and he grips your thighs, moaning when your silken heaven squeezes around him. "Stay with me, Javi," you murmur incandescently to him as you press your palms to his chest and undulate your hips while clenching your floor muscles, squeezing him lusciously.

He moans your name, expression blossoming into carnal want and nothing else as you make love to him, burying pleasure in his gut like a tether that you expertly strum and pluck at with every pulse of your cunt over his throbbing cock. Javi gets caught up and lost in the desire, hands clutching at your waist as he fucks up into you when you quicken the pace of your bucking rhythm, core already coiling with desperate yearning as you watch his molten eyes fixate on you when you start coming close to climax.

Your breasts are quaking with the force of your bucking hips as you whimper prettily and bite your lip from the effort of driving yourself to slam Javi as deep as he can go in you, seeing stars burst in the backs of your eyes when you hit that devastatingly exquisite pleasure point inside yourself and begin to come.

Javier watches with devoted awe as you ride his cock until your sheath floods over and coats his throbbing length with your essence before you shake with the effort of riding him through your orgasm to coax his, moaning, "I love you, Javi. P-Please, forgive me—!"

Javier tenses and chokes on his charged exhale, overwhelmed by your petition and feeling seared to the bone by how you're making him feel. He fucks up into you with blistering need now, groaning your name over and over before slamming up into you and climaxing with a hoarse, guttural sound of completion, and you gasp as you feel him shoot his load deep, rooting his cock into you with bruising force as he pants and tosses his head back to swear, "Oh fuck!" before he feels you clench hard, humming scintillatingly from the feral sensation.

Completely spent, you hunch over him and sigh raggedly. Javier encircles you and pulls you flush against him, breasts pressing into his pectorals while he nuzzles you and exhales.

"…You didn't have to," he husks gruffly between panted breaths, hand burying in the back of your hair when you drunkenly tilt your mouth to suckle kisses into his neck.

"Oh my god, Javier. Just…listen to what I said. Please," you press before softening when you adjust to glance at him and see how conflicted he looks. "I had no right to berate you like I did. I—I was taking out my insecurities on you. You didn't deserve it. I had no right—"

"You didn't have to say it."

Shocked, Javi sees emotion crack your usually resolute façade, and when your eyes tremble, he feels bowled over, utterly overwhelmed.

"It's the truth. I love you," you confide on a shaky whisper, and when he sees you bite back the urge to cry, he can't take it anymore. He wraps his arms around you and kisses you, humming when you kiss him back with longing.

After kissing you breathless, Javi rolls you onto your back and makes love to you like a man besotted and devoted to you, yearning to make you feel a modicum of the passion he does as he drives you into an exquisite orgasm by murmuring how much he loves you – how he never wants you to hurt – how he'll always want only you.

By the time you're both drifting off in spent, sated exhaustion, you're uncaring that he might've seen the tears roll down your cheeks before you could swipe them away. Feeling him relaxed and calm in your arms, breathing soft against your neck and heartbeat synchronizing with yours, it gives you a sense of peace – free of regret. You want to give him peace, want to tug whatever horrors plaguing him away and snuff them out for him. It's what you think about when you finally doze off—

Only to have the docile tranquility shattered hours later, in the shuttering darkness when Javier is twitching and jerking in his sleep, grumbling inarticulate things when you sit up drowsily and realize you must've ended up spooning him. He's clutching his pillow, features twitching as he breathes hard, becoming suddenly fitful when his arm jerks away from where it was tucked at his waist to reach for something before he violently rears back.

You realize this is a nightmare that's ensnared him when you try to nudge him gently and murmur soothingly, only to cause him to recoil and jerk away as if he's being confronted.

"N-No! No te quiero matar—No!" he first begins to chatter before he vehemently grits the rest and shouts the latter as he jolts awake and desperately jerks up, panting shallowly, muscles bunched up and eyes wild with fear when you come to his aid, hands firmly shaking his shoulders until his wide gaze focuses in on you and he shakily exhales.

You susurrate, "It's ok. Javi, you're ok. You're with me…"

His expression crumbles at that and he buries his face into your shoulder before a reedy sob catches in his chest and he grips his arms around you desperately. Helplessly, you pull him close and hold him as he chokes back sobs, feeling his frame quake, wracked from the sheer will he's exerting to not completely splinter apart. The knot forms in the back of your throat, and you desperately shower him with kisses while you tighten your embrace around him and bury your upset to tend to his.

"Come back to me, mi amor," you murmur into his hair and feel him dissolve, becoming a heavy weight in your arms while he buries his face in your neck and just concentrates on collecting himself. You feel him take deep calming breaths, and his hands clutch around you possessively when you tightly utter, "Eres mío. No te voy a dejar solo."

Javier is flooded over, overcome and vibrating with emotions. You let him come back to himself while you continue to soothingly hold him and brush kisses into his temple, the top of his head – everywhere your lips can press your love into him like a brand into his scalding skin. He doesn't know what to do, what to say when he pulls away and sits at the side of the bed, turning his back to you so he can pull himself together, dragging his forearm across his face in obvious terse mortification.

You're patient though, and you rest a hand on his shoulder, letting him know it's nothing you're going to shy away from. After a tense silence, he finally regains his complete composure and huffs at himself before glancing meekly over his shoulder.

"…I almost shot a kid today."

Your brows shift upwards, but your lips press together as you tuck your chin against your chest and your hand squeezes his shoulder. "Almost, meaning you didn't."

He blinks at you, disarmed, so you sidle closer and firmly grip his chin so he can't turn away from your earnest, resolute gaze.

"We do not have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'm going to tell you this once: You are not going to get to beat yourself up in front of me. I will not abide it, Javier," you declare, eyes blazing as you see his dark-brewed depths tremble. "I love you, and I will not allow you to not love yourself – or think you don't deserve it. You do."

He can't hold your gaze, so he snakes his arm around you and tugs you close so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

It's then that he tells you what happened.

His head rests on your shoulder as he confides in a guarded baritone, divulging everything while you listen and caress your hands along his back. You are buzzing with dismay, but you swallow it down, knowing if that's how you feel, he must feel thousands of times worse. The more he tells you, the more you feel him relax in your arms, and when you say nothing after he's finished, he squeezes his arms around you.

"I shouldn't have come over—" he begins, and you hush him, adjusting to snuggle into his lap and forcefully push him onto his back.

"Nada de eso," you grumble and kiss his chest. "Just...let me make you feel good."

He doesn't say anything else, allowing you to kiss and suckle on his skin until his need is worked into a tizzy and he gathers you up and pivots to take you down into the pillows, rocking into you and moaning as his spend leaks from his ramrod cock thrusting brusquely into your aching sheath, causing you to shiver and whimper.

This coupling session is base – all about the urge, and you're content when he easily plucks a hearty orgasm from you before he barrels his into you soon after, anxiety quelled by the serotonin of reaching bliss together. Javier kisses you with gusto, enjoying how you keep chasing his lips whenever he pulls back. Once you're melted into a pliant bundle of sated desire, he cuddles you, and you fall asleep to the beat of his heart, head on his chest and arm pinning you to sidle against him.

When your alarm goes off the following morning, it's a disorienting, jarring sound after such a fitful night of rest, so you don't immediately realize something is off until after you've drowsily reached over to cease the ringing and roll over.

You reach to drape your arm around Javi's waist, and come up empty. Bemused, you shake your head clear of the exhausted fog and look around while you strain your hearing. It's when you look at your dresser and see his things are gone that you realize it:

Javier's left.

Shocked, you sit up in bed and stare about, as if not wanting to believe it, but sure enough, his clothes are gone from the floor and you don't hear any movement in the apartment. Drawing your knees up and tucking them against your chest, your muscles protest from the ache and strain, feeling sore and prickly now that your outrage begins to simmer in your chest.

You laid yourself bare to Javier in every conceivable way, divulged your love and devotion, and he…left.

The hurt wells in you fiercely, and you sit in your bed and become hollowed out by the withering pain. You don't know how long it takes, but you become numb and detached while the weight of the callous realization presses down on you.

How can you recover from being singed apart by the man you love? Was Javi rejecting you? Or…was the self-fulfilling prophecy just coming to fruition?

---

Spanish-English Glossary:

Celoso = Jealous man

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Puto mujeriego = Fucking womanizer

Haz lo que te pido, amado = Do as I ask of you, beloved

Dime una cosa = Tell me something

¿Eres mío? = Are you mine?

Tan bello = So beautiful

Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Solterita = Single gal; bachelorette

Estás bien guapo, chulito = You're looking real handsome, cutie

Las retiradas = the lady retirees

No te pongas celoso = Don't get jealous

Chico = Guy

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Bonita = Pretty

Papito = Daddy (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Descarada = shameless woman

Ah-hah, ni joder = Uh-huh, [I'm] not even fucking around

Bárbaro = barbarian; wild man

Chiquita = Little girl

Puta pendeja = Dumbass slut/whore

No me toques = Don't touch me

Puta malparida = Slut bitch

Burlas = Taunts

Puñeta = Puerto Rican swear word, akin to saying "Shit" or "Fuck"

¡Carajo! = Goddammit/Hell

Ramera = Prostitute

Malcriada/malcriado = brat/spoiled

sicarios = hitmen

Mi amor = My love

No te quiero matar = I don't want to kill you

Eres mío. No te voy a dejar solo = You're mine. I'm not going to leave you alone

Nada de so = None of that

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