Page 74 of The Sterling Acquisition
With a rumble that vibrated through the floor, the van’s engine started. Beside him, Dante felt Orion tense in the darkness. The space was so small that they were pressed together from shoulder to hip, and every breath Dante took was saturated with the complex cocktail of Orion’s heat-affected pheromones.
“How long?” Orion asked, his voice barely audible over the engine noise.
“Twenty minutes to the checkpoint, maybe thirty if traffic’s bad.” Dante shifted closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper nearOrion’s ear. “Plenty of time for you to get comfortable. In fact, I’d encourage it. That cold flash is going to get worse before it gets better.”
Orion’s potential response was cut off by another violent shiver, this one strong enough that Dante could feel it through the contact between them. The cold flash was intensifying, and with it, Dante’s unprofessional desire to wrap himself around Orion and provide the heat his body was crying out for.
“Come here,” Dante murmured, his arm sliding around Orion’s waist to pull him closer. “Stop being a brat and let me warm you up. Consider it a tactical advantage—you’ll be more functional when we reach the checkpoint.”
For a moment, Orion went pliant against him, his body seeking the heat Dante offered as Orion’s nose nuzzled into his neck. Then, almost unconsciously, he began to move—small, desperate motions that pressed him closer, grinding against Dante’s hip with the kind of need that had nothing to do with warmth and everything to do with the heat building in his system.
Dante let himself enjoy it for a moment—the way Orion’s breathing hitched, the small sounds he was trying to suppress, the desperate quality of his movements. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, Orion went rigid and tried to pull away.
“No,” Dante scolded. His hand dropped to Orion’s ass, fingers digging in as he pulled him back into the grinding motion. “Keep going. We’ve got time to kill.”
“Stop,” Orion gasped, even as he continued to rub against Dante. “Dante, stop—go fuck yourself.”
“I’d much rather fuck you,” Dante replied, his mouth against Orion’s ear.
The sharp intake of breath that followed was worth every risk they were taking. Orion’s attempts to hide his pleasure were failing, smallwhimpers escaping despite his best efforts. Dante found himself wondering about the logistics of sex in a space not quite large enough for two people, cataloging angles and possibilities with the same tactical precision he used to plan their escape.
Slowing vehicle movement made both of them freeze in place. Through the thin partition, Dante heard Labrador’s voice, talking to someone outside. The checkpoint—they were going to make it through SVI’s security cordon without having to shoot their way out. It was almost anticlimactic.
“Routine delivery,” Labrador was saying. “Same route as always, same cargo as always. You want to check the manifest?”
Dante held his breath as footsteps approached the van, listening to the muffled conversation between Labrador and the checkpoint guards. Beside him, Orion’s breathing was becoming more labored, and the scent of his distress was starting to overlay the heat-driven pheromones with something sharper and more desperate.
The footsteps moved away, and the van began moving again. They made it through.
“See?” Dante whispered, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. “Textbook extraction. Nothing to worry about.”
That was, of course, the exact moment when Orion’s cold flash broke like a fever, replaced by a wave of heat so intense that Dante could feel it radiating from his skin. The cramped compartment filled with the scent of a natural heat cycle hitting its stride—not the controlled, manageable version they’d been dealing with, but Orion’s body free to follow its own biological rhythm.
“Fuck,” Orion gasped, his body going rigid against Dante’s side. “This is—”
“Your body is doing what it’s supposed to do,” Dante finished, his voice rougher than he intended as he began to feel drunk on Orion’spheromonal assault. “No more stress, no more Leo’s incompetent attempts at control. Just you, getting what you need.”
“And what’s that s-supposed to mean?” Orion’s snapped..
The van slowed again, and Dante heard Labrador curse from the driver’s seat. The engine cut out, and footsteps approached the rear doors.
“We’ve got a problem,” Labrador called out, his voice tight with strain. “I can’t—Jesus Christ, I can’t breathe up there. There was never any mention of this when I took the job, I don’t think I can—”
Dante closed his eyes, recognizing the inevitable moment when careful planning met uncontrollable reality. “How much do you need?”
“What?”
“How much more money do you need to finish the job?”
There was a pause, and when Labrador spoke again, his voice was calculating despite the obvious distress. “Double. No, triple. This wasn’t part of the deal, and I’ve got a reputation to maintain. I can’t deliver goods if I’m unconscious.”
Dante’s hand moved to the knife at his thigh, the motion automatic and without conscious thought. He was tired—tired of complications, tired of variables he couldn’t control, tired of people who saw crisis as an opportunity for profit.
“Dante,” Orion said, his voice cutting through the haze of frustration and biological imperative. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking,” Dante replied, his voice carrying the same conversational tone he used to discuss vaccine production efficiency with Leo, “that our friend Labrador has become a liability. And I’m thinking that I’m capable of driving a bakery van through a Neutral Zone checkpoint.”
Dante slid back the panel they were hidden behind as the rear doors opened, and Labrador’s face appeared, pale and sweating behind his mask. “So, about that additional compensation—”
