Page 6 of Mayfly

She’s so fucking wet at this point it’s like I’ve pissed inside her, but that thought only has me wanting our roles reversed.

“Fuck,” I grunt—the first sound I’ve made for far too long.

What do they look like now?

Would they hate me enough to treat me like shit?

Would they stand over me and unload on me like the toilet I am.

I can almost feel the first warm drop against my chest.

It’s far too cleansing and way more than I deserve.

If I ask nicely would they kill me?

Would they do it if I apologized first?

There it is.

My body doubles over. I wrap my arms around her and I load her with my weight as I shoot my cum inside her. Then I hold; the image of white streaked with red making every muscle in my body convulse.

Her arms shake.

I know she won’t be able to support us both for much longer, but I need this moment to last as long as possible.

Not for her.

Never for her.

Only ever for me…

By the time I’ve cleaned, disinfected, and am fully dressed, she’s only just emerging from the washroom with her underwear back on.

She tries to walk towards me, but I pick up the satchel and hang it on my shoulder, already having forgotten her name.

“Here.” I hold out a £100 note to her. “This is for my breakfast… And this,” I continue, taking another £50 from my wallet, “Is for the morning-after pill... Get it today… Don’t make another stupid mistake.”

I’m the last to step out of the small plane and into a private hangar at London City Airport. My eyes scan the open tarmac behind me out of habit, but there’s nothing to fear here. Nothing I need to worry about, anyway. The hostess could do little damage in her pencil skirt and heels, and it would have been far smarter for the captain to dispose of us somewhere over the English Channel. Still, as I take a deep breath, I’m comforted by the strain of my shoulder holster.

This city has seldom been kind to me. And in my line of work, if you don’t have eyes in the back of your head, you don’t make it out of training. Let alone ten years on the front line.

“Jude,” a female voice calls back to me, and I smile at her. Anki—the only name I’ve ever known her by—waits while I catch up. “It's not like you to be this on edge.” Her Dutch accent has always appealed to me, and her strong athletic build has served us well in the past. Both on and off the clock.

I keep my expression impassive, and shrug. “Coming home isn’t a happy experience for everyone.”

“Do you wanna meet back up for lunch after we’ve checked in?”

I contemplate her proposal, knowing full well her intentions. It’s almost a tradition at this point, and I can see in her face that she’s expecting me to accept. “Not today, I’m sorry. Being here has got me all turned around… And Anders is being more vague than usual.”

Anki is professional to a fault, and if she’s disappointed, she doesn’t let it show. “Mission briefs are only as good as their most recent update.” She’s right, and the four of us who made the flight over from Lyon, France, know it better than most. We are nothing more than pieces on a chessboard, waiting for the strategist to guide us forward.

“Oh. How stupid of me.” My reply is thick with sarcasm. “Yesterday, I was supposed to be on a plane to Mykonos. But instead, I was literally plucked up and dropped into this mess without so much as a what for.”

“You knew what you were getting yourself into when you accepted the badge.”

“But did it have to be at the expense of my first time off in three years?”

“Anders gets what Anders wants. The pretty girls in bikinis will have to wait,” Anki laughs while gripping my bicep.

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