“Or you can make me less of a criminal and show me how much you want this.” Ramos says, his harsh voice dripping with undiluted confidence.

“Fuck you.” you reply, still motionless under his weight.

“Fuck me.” he laughs.

The buttons that once belonged to your blouse are scattered around you on the floor, exposing your bare torso to his searching eyes. They search, he touches. His hands are no longer holding down your own, instead exploring every curve and corner on your body. You’re lying under the most wanted drug kingpin in the world, with every opportunity available to break his arm, or by the looks of it, twist it the slightest bit, and you don’t move. Not even an inch. His fingers, suddenly beginning to feel like little electric sparks against your skin, are grazing the skin below your waist now. God, no. You become aware of everything—the crisp, clean scent radiating from his neck, the wetness forming between your thighs. He was the kind of man who never got any less than exactly what he wanted. The intent never leaves his face. Are you what he wants? What do you want?

He slips a single hand into your panties and sets every last one of your nerves on fire. Your mind is going a mile a minute, and you hate him for it.

“I don’t like these panties, cariño. Or these pants, for that matter.” he announces. Smug bastard.

With one swipe of his hand, you’re more than half naked on the floor in front of a man you met no more than 20 minutes ago. You’d be more disgusted with yourself if he wasn’t, you know, a modern-day long-haired Hercules or something, as you could plainly see when he took the opportunity to practically rip off his tie and button-up.

Ramos’ fingers are moving slowly and elaborately against your clit, causing the muscles in your tummy to twist into a knot. With his hard, toned stomach against your own, all thoughts escape you, your head instead filled with burning need. Need that you never thought you could want. Still turned away from him, you bite your on lip almost hard enough to draw blood. In turn, he works his hand harder, almost furiously, against your exposed clit. You aren’t in control anymore. You writhe under him, letting a breathless, desperate sound escape your mouth.

“You’re wet for me already, sweetheart.” he says, smirking.

“You know what? You’re a sensual bastard for a fucking ra—”

Before you can finish, he sticks one thick, tan finger into you first, and then two. You moan, shrill and needy.

“Te gusta eso? You like that, you slut?” he asks, his prior politeness completely absent, leaving you on the edge of bliss, eyes scrunched up in pleasure.

“Fuck!” is all you can reply with as his fingers surge in and out of you, slower now, sending little jolts of pleasure up your spine.

His free hand jerks up and grabs the side of your face.

“Look at me. Look at me when I touch you.” he says gruffly.

Something inside you clicks and you find yourself gazing straight into his unforgiving honey-tinted eyes for the first time, while your hips buck up against him. You’re gasping now, letting sounds escape you that you’ve never made before.

“Yes. Yes.” you moan between shallow breaths.

“What’s that?” he asks tauntingly.

“I want you to fuck me. Just get it over with. Please.” you mutter.

“Beg me.”

“What?”

“Beg me for it.” he repeats.

“God, I don’t know, just do it. Do me. Do me, please.”

As quick as he threw you on the floor, he pulls you up to your feet, pushing you up against the chair you had previously been tied to. You’re bent over in front of him on the chair, raw, exposed, and needy. He lets the remains of your blouse fall to the ground and unhooks your lacy black bra, the only thing standing in the way of letting him have his way with you…do you as he pleases.

“You know those brains you used to arrest my men, nena? You won’t have any left. I am going to use you. I will use you so fucking hard.” he says lowly, his breath teasing your ear.