I woke up twelve hours later with a splitting headache and the bitter taste of failure in my mouth.
The hotel suite was empty, of course. Misha was long gone, along with the USB drive and whatever remained of my professional dignity. I'd been played—seduced, fucked, and drugged by a nineteen-year-old boy who'd wrapped me around his finger as easily as he'd wrapped his perfect ass around my cock. MI6 was going to have a field day with this one.
I dragged myself into the shower and stood under scalding water for twenty minutes, trying to wash away the lingering scent of sex and expensive soap and my own stupidity. My body ached in all the right places—my cock was tender, my muscles sore from the exertion, and I could still feel the phantom sensation of Misha's tight hole gripping me. The memory made me half-hard despite everything, which only pissed me off more.
By the time I made it to MI6 headquarters in Vauxhall Cross, I'd constructed a dozen different explanations for what had happened, each one more pathetic than the last. The truth was simple: I'd let my dick do the thinking, and now the Agency's most critical intelligence in months was in the hands of a Russian oligarch's son.
Vick's office was on the top floor, all glass and steel with a view over the Thames that probably cost more than my annual salary. His assistant waved me through without a word—everyone in the building already knew about my fuck-up. News traveled fast in the intelligence community, especially when it involved an agent getting honeypotted.
I pushed open the door and stopped short.
Vick was there, of course, sitting behind his massive desk in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that did nothing to hide the powerful build underneath. He was in his early fifties, with silver hair swept back from a face that was all sharp angles and hard experience. Ex-field agent, decorated veteran of a dozen black ops missions that would never see the light of day. He'd been my handler for three years, and in that time I'd developed a healthy respect for him—and an unhealthy attraction that I'd never acted on.
But Vick wasn't alone.
Standing by the window, backlit by the morning sun, was quite possibly the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. And I'd just spent the night fucking Misha Volkov, so that was saying something.
He was tall—maybe six feet even—with the kind of body that came from serious gym time and good genetics. Broad shoulders filled out a navy blue suit that was tailored within an inch of its life, the jacket straining slightly across his chest in a way that suggested massive pecs underneath. His face was model-perfect: strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips, and piercing blue eyes that locked onto mine the moment I walked in. His hair was blonde and styled with just enough product to look effortlessly perfect.
He looked like he'd stepped out of a cologne advertisement. Or a very expensive porn film.
"Agent Wolfe," Vick said, his voice carrying that particular tone of disappointment that made me feel like a schoolboy caught cheating on an exam. "Glad you could join us. This is Agent Kal Jacobs, CIA."
The American stepped forward and extended his hand, and I caught a whiff of his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made my hindbrain sit up and take notice. His grip was firm, his palm warm, and he held the handshake just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
"Agent Wolfe," he said, and his voice was smooth and deep with just a hint of a Southern accent. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I'm sure you have," I said dryly, releasing his hand.
Kal's lips quirked into a smirk that was equal parts amused and challenging. "Actually, I was going to say I've heard you're one of MI6’s finest."
There was something in the way he said it—not quite mocking, but definitely teasing. I felt my jaw tighten. This guy was already getting under my skin, and we'd been in the same room for less than thirty seconds.
"Sit down, both of you," Vick said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. "We have a lot to discuss."
I took the chair on the left. Kal took the one on the right, and I was acutely aware of how close we were sitting, our shoulders almost touching. He smelled good—too good. I forced myself to focus on Vick.
"I assume you know why Agent Jacobs is here," Vick said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.
"The Americans want their intelligence back," I said. "Can't say I blame them."
"It's more than that," Kal interjected, and I turned to look at him. He was watching me with those intense blue eyes, and I felt something electric pass between us. "Dmitri Volkov isn't just a corrupt oligarch. He's funding a terror cell operating in the United States. We need to know who's on his payroll—politicians, military contractors, anyone with access to sensitive information."
"The USB drive contains financial records that could expose the entire network," Vick added. "Which is why losing it is such a monumental fuck-up."
I winced. "I know. I—"
"You let your dick compromise a mission," Vick said bluntly. "You're lucky I'm not pulling you off this entirely."
"So why aren't you?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. I was the only one who'd seen Misha up close, who knew what he looked like, how he moved, how he thought. I was the best chance they had of getting the drive back.
"Because you're still our best asset," Vick said. "And because Agent Jacobs specifically requested to work with you."
I glanced at Kal, surprised. He was still watching me with that infuriatingly confident smirk.
"I like a challenge," he said simply.
"I work alone," I said, more out of habit than conviction.
"Not this time." Vick pulled up a file on his computer and turned the screen toward us. "We've tracked Misha Volkov to Monaco. He's staying at the Hotel de Paris, and our intelligence suggests he's planning to hand off the USB drive to his father's men within the next forty-eight hours."
The screen showed surveillance photos of Misha—walking through the Monte Carlo casino, lounging by a pool, getting into a black Mercedes. He looked just as beautiful in the photos as he had in person, and I felt a complicated mix of anger and arousal looking at him.
"You and Agent Jacobs will fly to Monaco immediately," Vick continued. "Your mission is to retrieve the drive by any means necessary. Preferably without starting an international incident."
"I still think I'd be more effective solo," I said, though even I could hear how weak the argument sounded.
Vick's expression hardened. "You lost the drive because you were solo, Wolfe. You let a pretty boy cloud your judgment. This time, you'll have backup." He glanced between us. "And maybe you two can keep each other... focused."
There was something in the way he said it—a slight emphasis on the word "focused"—that made me wonder if he knew exactly what kind of tension was crackling between Kal and me. Vick had always been perceptive. It was part of what made him such a good handler.
"We'll get it done," Kal said confidently, standing up. "When do we leave?"
"There's a jet waiting at City Airport," Vick said. "Wheels up in one hour."
I stood as well, and found myself standing very close to Kal. He was maybe two inches shorter than me, but his presence was just as commanding. We locked eyes for a moment, and I saw the challenge there—the unspoken competition between two alpha males forced to work together.
"Try to keep up," I said.
His smirk widened. "I was about to say the same thing to you."
An hour later, we were boarding a small chartered jet at London City Airport. It was one of those luxury private planes that the Agency kept for high-priority missions—all leather seats and polished wood, with enough room for maybe eight passengers but configured for privacy and comfort rather than capacity.
The pilots were already in the cockpit running pre-flight checks. The only other person on board was the steward—a young Spanish guy who looked like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. He couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty, with smooth olive skin, long dark eyelashes, and a face that was almost feminine in its beauty. His uniform was tailored to show off a lean, toned body, and when he turned to stow our bags, I got a perfect view of his ass—round and firm and straining against his tight black pants.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said in accented English, flashing a smile that showed perfect white teeth. "My name is Carlos. I'll be taking care of you during the flight to Monaco. Can I get you anything to drink before we take off?"
"Whiskey," I said. "Neat."
"Make that two," Kal added, settling into the seat across from mine. The cabin was configured with four large leather seats facing each other, with a small table between them. It was intimate—too intimate. I could smell Kal's cologne again, mixed with something else. His natural scent, maybe. It was distracting.
Carlos returned with our drinks, and I watched Kal watch him. The American's eyes traveled slowly down Carlos's body, lingering on his ass as he bent to place the glasses on the table. When Carlos straightened up, Kal gave him a smile that was pure sex.
"Thanks, Carlos," he said smoothly. "That's a great name. Spanish?"
"Sí, señor," Carlos said, and I could see the flush creeping up his neck. "From Barcelona."
"Beautiful city," Kal said. "Almost as beautiful as you."
Jesus Christ. The guy didn't waste any time.
Carlos giggled—actually giggled—and I rolled my eyes. "Let me know if you need anything else," he said, retreating toward the galley at the back of the plane.
"Subtle," I said dryly, taking a sip of my whiskey.
Kal shrugged, that infuriating smirk still on his face. "Life's too short not to appreciate beauty when you see it." He leaned back in his seat, spreading his legs slightly, and I tried not to notice the way his thighs strained against his suit pants. "Speaking of which... I heard Misha Volkov put you to sleep with a wild, intense fuck. That true?"
I felt my jaw clench. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Intelligence community's a small world," Kal said. "Word gets around. Especially when it involves one of MI6's top agents getting honeypotted." He took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine. "Must've been some fuck."
"It was a mistake," I said flatly.
"Oh, I'm sure it was." Kal's smirk widened. "But was it a good mistake? I mean, he must be something special to get past your defenses like that."
I didn't answer. The truth was, Misha had been incredible—the best sex I'd had in years, maybe ever. But admitting that to this cocky American felt like admitting defeat.
The plane's engines roared to life, and the captain's voice came over the intercom announcing our departure. I drained the rest of my whiskey and closed my eyes, leaning back in my seat. I needed to rest, to clear my head, to focus on the mission instead of the memory of Misha's perfect ass bouncing on my cock.
And I definitely needed to stop thinking about the way Kal's suit jacket strained across his chest, or the way his cologne was making my cock take interest despite my best efforts to ignore it.
"Not much of a talker, huh?" Kal said.
"Not when I'm trying to sleep," I muttered, keeping my eyes closed.
"Fair enough." I heard him shift in his seat. "Sweet dreams, Agent Wolfe."
The plane lifted off, and I felt the familiar sensation of acceleration pressing me back into the leather seat. The whiskey was warm in my stomach, and exhaustion was pulling at me.
I drifted off quickly, but sleep didn't bring peace.
Instead, I found myself back in that hotel suite, back in that massive bed with Misha straddling my lap. He was riding me slow and deep, his perfect bubble butt rising and falling on my cock, his head thrown back in pleasure. I could feel every inch of his tight hole gripping me, could hear his moans filling the room.
"Dean," he gasped, and his voice was breathy and desperate. "Fuck, Dean, you feel so good."
My hands were on his ass, squeezing those perfect round cheeks, pulling him down harder onto my cock. "That's it," I growled. "Take it all. Take every fucking inch."
"Yes," Misha moaned, and his voice was getting deeper somehow, rougher. "Fuck, yes, give it to me."
He was bouncing faster now, his ass slapping against my thighs with wet, obscene sounds. His moans were getting louder, filling my head, but something was wrong. The pitch was changing, dropping lower and lower until it didn't sound like Misha at all.
It sounded like a man. A deep-voiced, masculine man grunting and moaning with pleasure.
I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was Kal, sitting in the seat across from me with his legs spread wide. His tie was undone and hanging loose around his neck, and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the most spectacular pecs I'd ever seen. They were huge—easily as big as mine, maybe bigger—and completely smooth, the muscle definition so sharp it looked carved from marble. His nipples were small and pink and hard, standing out against the pale skin.
He was breathing hard, his chest heaving with each breath, and his head was tilted back slightly, his eyes half-closed in pleasure. One hand was tangled in dark hair, and that's when I realized what I was looking at.
Carlos was on his knees between Kal's spread legs, wearing nothing but a tiny white thong that did absolutely nothing to hide his perfect bubble butt. His head was bobbing up and down in Kal's lap, and I could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of him sucking cock—the slurp of saliva, the occasional gag when he went too deep, the obscene pop when he pulled off to catch his breath.
"Fuck," Kal groaned, and his voice was rough with pleasure. "That's it, baby. Take it deeper."
He pushed Carlos's head down, and I watched the boy's throat bulge as he swallowed what had to be a massive cock. Carlos gagged, his body jerking, but Kal held him there for a few seconds before letting him pull back. When Carlos came up for air, his lips were red and swollen, stretched obscenely wide, and strings of saliva connected his mouth to Kal's cock.
And what a cock it was. Even from across the cabin, I could see it was impressive—easily ten inches, thick and veiny and flushed dark with arousal. The head was slick with spit and precum, and as I watched, Carlos dove back down and took it all the way to the base, his nose pressed against Kal's pelvis.
"Good morning," Kal said, and I realized he was looking at me. That infuriating smirk was on his face, but his eyes were dark with lust. He pushed Carlos's head down harder, making the boy choke and moan around his cock. "Sleep well?"
I couldn't speak. My mouth was dry, my cock was rock-hard in my pants, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me.
"Carlos here has a hot, wet throat," Kal continued, his voice a low rumble. "You should try it out."
I should have said no. Should have told him to button up his shirt and act professional. Should have reminded him we were on a mission, not a pleasure cruise.
Instead, I watched as Kal pulled his shirt open even wider, fully exposing those massive pecs. He brought both hands up and cupped them, squeezing the heavy muscle, his thumbs brushing over his hard nipples. He let out a low, sexy moan that went straight to my cock.
"Fuck," I breathed.
Kal's smirk widened. "That's what I thought."
My hands were moving before my brain could catch up, unbuckling my belt, popping the button on my pants, lowering the zipper. My cock sprang free, already fully hard and leaking precum onto my shirt. I wrapped one hand around the thick shaft and started stroking slowly, my eyes locked on Kal's.
He was watching me now, his gaze dropping to my cock, and I saw his eyes widen slightly. Yeah, I was big. Bigger than him, probably, though it was hard to tell from this angle. I stroked myself slowly, letting him see every inch, watching his reaction.
"Jesus Christ," Kal muttered. "The rumors really are true."
"What rumors?" I asked, my voice rough.
"That you're hung like a fucking horse." He licked his lips. "Carlos, baby, I think Agent Wolfe needs some attention."
Carlos pulled off Kal's cock with a wet pop and turned to look at me. His eyes went wide when he saw my cock, and he licked his lips hungrily. He crawled across the small space between us, and I spread my legs to give him room.
"Fuck," Carlos breathed, kneeling between my thighs. "You're so big, señor."
He leaned forward and dragged his tongue up the length of my shaft, from base to tip, and I groaned at the sensation. His tongue was hot and wet, and when he reached the head, he swirled it around the sensitive crown, lapping up the precum that was leaking steadily.
"That's it," I muttered, running my hand through his soft dark hair. "Get it nice and wet."
Carlos opened his mouth and took just the head inside, his lips stretching wide around my girth. His tongue worked the slit, drinking up my precum, and I could feel more leaking out with every swirl of his tongue. He looked up at me with those big dark eyes, his long lashes fluttering, and the sight was so erotic I nearly came right then.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," I groaned, pushing his head down slightly. "Take more. Show me what that pretty mouth can do."
He obeyed, sinking down on my cock inch by inch, his throat opening up to accommodate my size. I could feel the tight heat of his mouth, the wet slide of his tongue, the occasional gag when he went too deep. He was good—really good—and I found myself wondering how many cocks he'd sucked to get this skilled.
Movement caught my eye, and I looked up to see Kal standing up.
"Fuck, that's hot," Kal said, stroking his cock as he watched Carlos work on mine. "You look good like that, Wolfe. All powerful and dominant."
"You don't look so bad yourself," I admitted, my eyes traveling up his body. His abs were a perfect six-pack, his obliques sharp and defined. And those pecs—Christ, those pecs were incredible. I wanted to touch them, to feel the weight of them, to suck on those hard pink nipples.
Kal moved behind Carlos, and I watched as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of the boy's tiny thong and pulled it aside. Carlos's ass was even more perfect than I'd imagined—round and smooth and firm, with a tight pink hole that was already glistening with what looked like lube.
"Someone came prepared," I said.
Kal grinned. "I like to be ready for anything." He gripped his cock and slid it up and down between Carlos's ass cheeks, teasing the boy's hole with the head. "You ready for this, baby?"
Carlos pulled off my cock long enough to gasp, "Yes, please, fuck me."
"Good boy," Kal said, and then he was pushing inside.
I watched Carlos's face as Kal's cock breached his hole—the way his eyes went wide, the way his mouth fell open in a silent moan, the way his whole body tensed and then relaxed as he adjusted to the intrusion. When Kal was fully seated, his pelvis pressed against Carlos's ass, he let out a low groan of pleasure.
"Fuck, you're tight," Kal muttered, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts.
Carlos moaned around my cock, the vibration traveling through my shaft straight to my balls. I grabbed his hair and started fucking his throat in earnest, matching Kal's rhythm. Every time Kal thrust forward, Carlos was pushed onto my cock, taking me deeper.
The cabin filled with the sounds of sex—wet slapping, moans and grunts, the creak of leather seats, the obscene squelch of Carlos's throat working around my cock. My eyes kept moving between three points: Carlos's beautiful face stretched around my shaft, Kal's massive pecs bouncing with each thrust, and Kal's thick cock disappearing into Carlos's tight hole.
"Fuck, this is hot," Kal groaned, his eyes meeting mine. "You like watching me fuck him?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "You've got a nice cock."
"You too." Kal's gaze dropped to where my cock was disappearing into Carlos's mouth. "Fuck, you're huge. How does that even fit?"
"Practice," I said with a smirk.
Kal laughed, then groaned as Carlos clenched around him. "Shit, this boy knows what he's doing."
He started fucking Carlos harder, his hips snapping forward with brutal force, and Carlos moaned louder around my cock. I could see Kal's abs flexing with each thrust, could see the way his pecs bounced, could see the concentration on his face as he chased his pleasure.
"Come here," I said suddenly, pulling Carlos off my cock.
The boy whimpered at the loss, but I was already lifting him up, positioning him over my lap. Kal pulled out of him, and I saw his hole was red and swollen, gaping slightly from the pounding. I lined up my cock and pulled Carlos down onto it in one smooth motion.
"Fuck!" Carlos cried out, his back arching as my cock filled him completely. "So big, so deep!"
I groaned at the sensation—he was incredibly tight, his hole gripping my shaft like a vice, and I could feel Kal's precum inside him, making everything slick and hot. I grabbed Carlos's hips and started bouncing him on my cock, using my strength to control the pace.
"That's it," I growled. "Take it all. Every fucking inch."
Kal moved to stand in front of us, his cock level with Carlos's face. "Open up, baby," he said, and Carlos obeyed immediately, taking Kal's cock into his mouth.
Now we were really fucking him—me pounding up into his ass, Kal fucking his throat, both of us using him for our pleasure. Carlos was moaning constantly, the sounds muffled by Kal's cock, and I could feel his hole fluttering around me.
"Fuck, you look good like this," Kal said, and I realized he was talking to me. "All sweaty and powerful. Like a fucking god."
"You too," I said, my eyes on his bouncing pecs. "Those tits are incredible."
"You want to touch them?" Kal asked, and there was a challenge in his voice.
I didn't answer with words. Instead, I reached up with one hand and grabbed his left pec, squeezing the heavy muscle. It was firm and warm, and when I brushed my thumb over his nipple, Kal let out a low moan.
"Fuck yes," he groaned. "Harder."
I squeezed harder, pinching his nipple between my fingers, and Kal's hips jerked forward, driving his cock deeper into Carlos's throat. The boy gagged but didn't pull away, and I felt his hole clench around my cock in response.
"You like that?" I asked, switching to Kal's other pec, giving it the same treatment.
"Fuck yes," Kal repeated. "Your hands feel amazing."
I pulled my shirt off completely, wanting to feel the air on my skin, and Kal's eyes went wide as he took in my body. I knew what he was seeing—broad shoulders, massive pecs, ridged abs, powerful arms. I'd worked hard for this body, and the appreciation in Kal's eyes made my cock throb.
"Jesus Christ," Kal breathed. "You're fucking perfect."
We locked eyes as we continued to fuck Carlos, and something passed between us—an understanding, maybe, or a recognition. We were the same, Kal and I. Two alpha males, both used to being the dominant one, both used to being in control. But right now, in this moment, we were equals. Partners.
"Fuck him harder," Kal said, his voice rough. "I want to see that ass bounce."
I obliged, slamming Carlos down onto my cock with brutal force. His ass jiggled with each impact, the round cheeks rippling, and the wet slapping sounds got louder. Carlos was moaning constantly now, his whole body shaking with pleasure.
"Please," he gasped when Kal pulled out of his mouth to let him breathe. "Please, I need to cum."
"Not yet," I growled, even though my own orgasm was building fast. "You cum when we say you can."
"Fuck, that's hot," Kal said, pushing his cock back into Carlos's mouth. "You're such a good dom, Wolfe."
"You're not so bad yourself," I said, my hand going back to his pecs, squeezing and kneading the muscle.
We fucked like that for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes—me pounding up into Carlos's tight hole, Kal fucking his throat, both of us touching each other, admiring each other, pushing each other higher. The cabin was filled with the sounds and smells of sex—sweat and precum and the musk of three aroused men.
"I'm close," Kal warned, his thrusts getting erratic. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."
"Do it," I said, my own orgasm building at the base of my spine. "Cum all over him."
Kal pulled out of Carlos's mouth and started stroking his cock fast and hard. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted, and then he was coming, thick ropes of cum shooting out and painting Carlos's face. Some of it hit me too, landing on my chest and abs, and the sight and sensation pushed me over the edge.
"Fuck!" I roared, slamming Carlos down one last time as my cock erupted inside him. I could feel my cum flooding his hole, pulse after pulse of it, more than I'd ever come before. My whole body was shaking with the force of my orgasm, and I heard myself making sounds I'd never made before—deep, primal grunts of pleasure.
Carlos came too, his cock spurting untouched between us, his hole clenching rhythmically around my shaft, milking every last drop from me. When it was finally over, we all collapsed in a sweaty, satisfied heap.
Kal sat back in his seat, his chest still heaving, his cock softening against his thigh. Carlos slid off my lap with a whimper, my cum leaking out of his well-fucked hole, and stumbled toward the back of the plane to clean up. I just sat there, my cock still half-hard, covered in sweat and cum and completely satisfied.
"Fuck," Kal said after a moment, and then he started laughing. "That was..."
"Yeah," I agreed, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.
The intercom crackled to life. "Gentlemen, we'll be landing in Monaco in approximately ten minutes. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."
Kal and I looked at each other and burst out laughing again. Carlos emerged from the galley, cleaned up and back in his uniform, though his face was still flushed and his lips were swollen.
"Thank you, señors," he said shyly. "That was... incredible."
"The pleasure was ours," Kal said with a wink.
I pulled my clothes back on, tucking my spent cock back into my pants, and settled into my seat properly. Kal did the same, though he left his shirt unbuttoned a bit longer than necessary, giving me one last look at those incredible pecs.
As the plane began its descent, Kal leaned across the aisle and caught my eye. That infuriating smirk was back, but now it felt different—less challenging, more conspiratorial.
"I think we're going to make great partners, Wolfe," he said.
I looked at him—at his tousled blonde hair, his satisfied smile, his powerful body—and felt something shift in my chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe this partnership wouldn't be so bad after all.
The wheels touched down on the Monaco tarmac, and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that came with a new mission. Misha Volkov was somewhere in this city, and I was going to find him. I was going to get that USB drive back.
And this time, I had backup. Very attractive, very capable backup.
This was going to be interesting.