The Fucking Masterpiece

"Oh, holy shit! Charlotte... you suck my soul."

My head bobbed up and down, my tongue swirling from his tip down to bottom.

"...Well, do you want to know how this happened? Well, it's a long story..."

It started like any other mission. At least, that's what I told myself when they sent us to this godforsaken place. Some desolate patch of land with no cell signal and no support. Standard operation, right? Except we didn't know what we were really walking into—just a vague promise of a "high-priority" mission and the usual runaround.

Frank Drake, though? He was different.

I couldn't put my finger on it at first, but there was something about him.

Stoic. Hard to read.

And that made him... interesting.

I wasn't exactly trying to get his attention, but when you're stuck out in the middle of nowhere with one person for too long, the walls start closing in.

And I wasn't about to let myself get bored.

At first, it was harmless—some teasing, the kind of playful jabs that only made the silence of the place bearable. But then it wasn't harmless anymore.

The tension between us grew with every passing hour, every laugh we shared in the dark, every unspoken word that hung in the air like a challenge.

And when he touched me, I could feel the shift.

His touch was light, but it made something inside me snap—just a little. I knew he was trying to keep it professional, but I also knew that wasn't going to work for long.

Hell, I wasn't even sure I wanted it to.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Frank's voice slices through the moment, panic threading his words. "We are on a mission!"

I freeze, lips still hovering near his skin. But then, I smile—so slow, so deliberate.

"Mission?" I repeat, tilting my head slightly, voice dripping with mock innocence.

"That's what you're worried about? Really?"

He's breathing heavier now, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape.

His panic is almost palpable, but it only fuels the fire inside me. He's trying so damn hard to keep it together, but it's becoming clear—he's losing control.

I lean in, my voice low and teasing. "Frank, relax. We've been here for hours, no one's coming for us, and there's nothing to do but sit and wait."

I stand, briefly giving him a moment to catch his breath, but then I move again. My knees hit the cold, cracked floor with a soft thud, and my eyes lock onto his.

He stumbles backward, eyes wide in alarm. "Charlotte, what the hell are you—"

"Shh," I whisper, a finger pressed to his lips, silencing him. My hand rests against his thigh, just lightly enough to feel the tension in his muscles.

"Relax, Frank. You're going to be just fine."

I can feel him tense, every part of him rigid, but it's too late. I'm already in control now. He wants to fight it, wants to keep pretending we're still on some mission, but I've made it clear—I've been in charge of this situation for a while.

And now? Well, now it's his turn to realize that.

* * *

"Holy fuck... I'm close!"

His breath hitched, chest rising like he was trying to keep it together, but I already knew he'd lost the battle long before I touched him.

I didn't rush.

Just tilted my head and leaned in with the kind of calm that only comes when you already know how the game ends.

One smooth motion—no hesitation, no ceremony. Like I'd claimed him the moment I dropped to my knees and everything after that was just a formality.

The heat, the weight, the quiet gasp that escaped him—it all hit at once, but I stayed in control. Always in control. He pulsed against my tongue, sharp and helpless, and I didn't so much as blink. Just tightened my grip on his thigh, held him steady while everything inside him came undone.

And I took it all.

Neatly. Completely. Like the act of swallowing was just another statement of power, one he couldn't fight even if he tried. Which he didn't.

When I finally pulled back, the silence felt reverent. I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, then glanced up at him—cool, unaffected—like I hadn't just shattered the structure of his entire nervous system.

"Messy," I murmured, half amused, half bored, and let a crooked smirk curl across my lips. "You're lucky I'm generous."

His legs were still shaking, couldn't escape from the pleasure.

But suddenly, he caressed my thighs.

"What do you mean by generous, here? That's supposed to be my line."

"Now, time for me to take a charge. We are not done until I say we are."

In a swift motion, he held my hips, forcing me to take his gun from behind.

"Ahhh, fuck. You are just a heartless fucker!"

"Oh, do you think so?"

He relentlessly pushed his into one motion, leaving me breathless and dominated.

Each thrust hit deeper, steadier, until I felt like I was being pounded into the earth itself. My breath caught in fragments, ragged and uneven, while his grip on my hips tightened—possessive, unforgiving.

I cursed under my breath, clinging to the remnants of composure. "You're… not in charge," I managed between gasps, though the tremble in my voice betrayed me.

Drake leaned forward, chest flush against my back now, every inch of him pressed into me like he wanted to brand the shape of himself into my spine. His voice was low, smooth—infuriatingly steady.

"No," he murmured, lips brushing my neck, "but I am the one making you forget your name."

My entire body jolted as he angled just right, dragging a cry from my throat before I could swallow it back. My fingers curled into fists. I hated how good he was at this. Hated how much I didn't hate it at all.

His rhythm turned relentless. Purposeful. Every snap of his hips sent white heat spiraling down my spine, until the pressure coiled unbearably tight inside me.

"Say it," he growled. "Say you're mine right now."

"Go to hell," I bit out.

But my voice cracked.

And then—fire. My whole body seized, toes curling, vision flashing white. It ripped through me like lightning, no control, no warning. I felt myself clench around him as I came hard, shaking, swearing, undone. Completely undone.

He followed a heartbeat later, teeth sinking into the curve of my shoulder as he spilled into me with a guttural sound I'd never heard from him before—raw, unfiltered, real.

We collapsed, breathless, the ground cold beneath us and his weight heavy on my back. Silence returned, broken only by the sound of our staggered breathing and the wild rhythm of our hearts, slowly calming in tandem.

He didn't move. Just stayed there, arms looped loosely around my middle, like some part of him wasn't ready to let go yet. His breath ghosted over my neck—warm, shaky.

I should've said something cutting. Something to take the power back.

But instead, I just let myself breathe. Let myself feel the way he fit against me, the way our skin stuck together, the way the afterglow buzzed like static under my skin.

"Next time," I murmured finally, a lazy smirk tugging at my lips, "I'll ruin you."

Frank let out a breath of a laugh, low and spent. "You already did."

We then slept waiting for the uncertainty, only to get caught by one of us.

didn't move.

Didn't breathe, even when the voice cut through the dark like a blade.

Frank stiffened behind me. I could feel it in the way his fingers twitched, hesitated.

But he didn't say anything.

Smart man.

Eventually, whoever it was walked away. No words, no gunfire. Just the kind of silence that meant we weren't out of trouble—we were being watched. Noted. Tucked away in someone's back pocket for later.

I kept my eyes closed. Felt the tension in Drake's body ease just enough for him to think I was still asleep.

He didn't know I was awake when he pulled his coat over me.

Didn't know I heard him sigh—long, quiet, exhausted.

And he definitely didn't know I felt him hesitate when he brushed a strand of hair away from my face like he didn't mean to care.

* * *

Later, I woke up to cheap lighting and the sterile scent of my apartment.

The kind of homecoming that reeked of debriefings and regret.

"Well," I said aloud, to no one in particular, "that's how I ended up here."

I stood, wobbling slightly, and gave the empty room a dry, crooked smile.

"That stranger motherfucker did this to me."

And that's exactly why he was now a stranger. A bastard two-faced one.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, its screen lighting up the darkened room.

"Мамочка" — Mamochka.

She blinked at the name, her breath hitching for a moment.

After everything with Frank... after what happened to her...

She didn't hesitate. She swiped to answer.