The whole day had been marked by mixed emotions: fear, elation, uncertainty. But there was nothing uncertain about the way her and Tucker’s lips felt together. The way his body wrapped around hers in a strong and hungry lock. Even his kisses, strong and forceful. There was almost a desperation about it, how he devoured her as if it was the last time. Maybe he’d learned a lesson about that.

It really wasn’t her plan to lock him inside the container like this. Originally, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to see him for the rest of the night. But after watching Tucker stand there in the doorway, looking for her, and after they’d stumbled in together and the door locked behind, Macy’s hesitations melted away. It was like ice thawing between them, their passion warming the distance between until they were melting together as one.

She was flying.

In her head, out of her body, her mind began traveling away from the cramped confines of the shipping container, away from the cargo ship, away from Africa. Tucker took her up in his arms, lifting her body though the dark, both of them moving back together. She wrapped her legs around his waist for support, her hands tensing around his strong back, her head buried between his shoulder and his neck as he lifted her. He walked casually with her, as if he’d still just been carrying the folded bed sheet. Certainly not a full-grown woman. Though he carried her that way, the way a woman should be carried, snugly against hardened biceps. And then lowered somewhere through the dark, where Macy couldn’t see, but where she trusted would be the soft landing of a bed.

For a half second it felt like the bed would never come, that she’d be falling through darkness forever. And then she realized all along that she’d been on the bed, and it was her head that was spinning, drunk with passion now, with a hunger for Tucker. As soon as she got her bearings, she clutched the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and over his shoulders. He leaned back, helping, his head momentarily stuck and laughing a little as he pulled away in the dark. When Tucker came back, it was the warm, bare skin of his chest pressing down into her, against the bed. Her fingers explored each contour of his muscled back as it flexed and heaved, his breathing getting deeper as he nuzzled into her neck, as his hands moved up her shirt, fingers sliding under the cups of her bra. His mouth moved along the side of her neck, finishing the job he’d started in the hotel, the gentle sucking, the possibility of him leaving a mark. She wanted that. She wanted to be marked up by him, by his mouth. His body. She wanted bruises along her inner thighs, damage from his hips, from his fingers gripping her as he fucked her. Hard. She wanted something to remember him by, even if it hurt a little.

It was happening so fast, her arms already raised above her head, her shirt peeling up and off her body. Their skin, touching, melting into each other’s. The contact felt better than she’d imagined, especially the silence of it. They had talked for too long, gone over too much of the past. They’d complicated things with their brains, the talking, the accusing, and the paranoia getting in the way of what their bodies should have been doing all along. Every hour of the last two days, it should have been like this. It should have been Tucker’s mouth, not a source of words, but of ravaging.

Macy had filled her mouth, too, along the thick convex of his pectoral muscle, ending up on his nipple and licking there, making him moan with pleasure. It was exhilarating, taking such a tough, hulk of a man and then breaking him with the simplest little sensation. Tucker was a target she’d wanted for a long time. And although she may have broken him in another way, a horrible way, in the past, she wanted to make up for her misdeeds, starting here.

Would he let her?

Tucker pulled away, sliding down her body. Her hands were already there, loosening her jeans for him. Then she realized she’d been mistaken. Tucker wasn’t helping her undress. He had his own work to do. She could hear the clatter of Tucker’s belt buckle as his pants landed on the floor next to the bed. He was in a hurry. And so was she, faster now with her pants, taking them off one leg, and then helped by Tucker with the other as he returned, his warmth sliding back to her, into her, between her legs and burning there. She wrapped her thighs around his hips, her ankles feeling bare skin in place of his boxers. The muscles around his lower abdomen flexed hard as he pulled her in closer. His skin burned against her thigh, his bare cock, the firm immensity of it, the idea of it inside her already burning through her mind. A scalding hot idea. Now she wanted to be burned as well as bruised by him, and whatever other destruction he could accomplish with her in this container meant for lifeless inanities like pallets and cargo and kitchen appliances.

When Tucker’s face neared hers again, she held back nothing. Her tongue, especially, plunging into his mouth, tasting him there, knowing him. She was that girl again, years younger. Foolish and innocent. Stupid and horny and living for the moment. She could be unreasonable and wanting and brain-damaged with lust for him.

“Fuck me,” she said, barely vocalizing, whispering. Perhaps not even saying it at all, but just mouthing it into the air between their faces, between kisses. She closed her eyes and said it again, this time even quieter. In anticipation of his body, his cock filling her, she had lost all resistance, all worries. Everything had faded away. She was ready.

Tucker’s hands were already between her thighs, rising up smoothly along one side, then inside, over her panties. She could feel only his hand’s pressure over her. Then he moved his hand away, and rocked his hips in place, and suddenly she felt a different kind of pressure. Something sharper than a hand, harder. He ran the head of his cock over her, up and down through her panties, brushing over the thin, wet fabric. God, it would be so easy just to slip inside . . . just a little bit closer. He was so close now.

She reached down and felt him, starting at his thickened head and then running down the length of him, holding his balls in the palm of her other hand. They felt so full for her. His cock so hard and ready. Her body wet and opening for him. She felt it herself, dropping her hand to her underwear and dipping inside. She was soaked. With one hand pressing against her clit through the fabric of her panties and the other stroking his length, she massaged them both. Only seconds passed before she couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed her panties down, out of the way, and then grabbed the head of his cock, guiding him. Tucker groaned and surged his hips forward, sliding into place, deep inside her with a single thrust. She’d become so wet for him, so hungry, that it was effortless.

He held himself there for a moment, taking a deep breath before thrusting forward, splitting her open. It made her breath gasp in, the sensation almost shocking her. But she wanted more. She pulled her hands around his ass and pressed him into her, a little deeper, a little faster, until she had all of him, that amazing feeling of completeness once he’d slid himself completely inside and their bodies connected at the hipbone with a quiet thud. A deep and locking thud, their bodies held together there, his cock throbbing inside of her.

He began slowly, rocking himself back and forth, his thrusts more and more lubricated with each stroke into her. She’d almost forgotten about her underwear. It dangled from one ankle, and she kicked it off. Her hands were free to roam him, exploring the contours of his chest, and then around his back, feeling it flex as he propelled himself, as the work got busier. Soon, she considered bringing her hands back to her own body, to her mouth, to stifle the little gasps that left it. She couldn’t help them, the little noises getting louder and more pronounced until she was almost whimpering with the pain and pleasure of his fucking. And then came another sound, not from her, or even him, but from the side of container. The mattress slamming into the metal, the thudding of their bodies mixed with a much deeper echoing that came with each of his plunges into her. He went faster now, ignoring the noise—both from the bed and her. She didn’t care, either, how it sounded to the outside world. How suspicious it may have seemed to the inspectors who were no doubt boarding the ship right as they fucked. She even peeled back her forearm from covering her mouth. She needed the air, each gasping breath a measure of how hard he was taking her, fucking her. She felt like she was suffocating, drowning, crushed by his body and his strength, the combined lust of all those needing years coming back now and ravaging her into oblivion.

Tucker was working so hard. She could feel beads of sweat dropping onto her skin. He gasped for breath, too, as he worked even faster, his cock pushing into her, over and over again, the heat between her legs almost unbearable. His cock slid inside again, this time deeper, to her very limit, before pulling out almost to the tip and thrusting back in to the hilt

“God, Macy,” he said, panting out the word.

He fought to catch his breath and she took the moment, pushing at his chest.

“Wait,” she said. She slid out from under him, and his cock slid out of her, leaving her feeling empty—if only momentarily. She would fix that. In a hurry.

“Roll over.” The strength was returning to her voice and her body. She quickly got out from under him and then rolled on top of his body, groping at his cock, still erect and harder still, his girth slipping nicely in and out of her hand. He felt so hard now, and likely ready to blow. And if he was, she’d take the greatest pleasure, knowing she was the one to make him explode.

Her body was shaking as she climbed on top of him, adrenaline racing through her. She felt like a school girl again, the shakiness of a first heavy make-out session.

Or was it withdrawals already?

She was ready for another dose, straddling and guiding him inside, where she needed it, his dick filling her completely, perfectly, like her was meant to stay inside her forever. Like it hadn’t been years since she’d seen him. Like they hadn’t just gone through hell together and now were being shipped across the ocean in a metal box.

It was better that way, tight and close and cramped. Even better with Macy on top and grinding over him, straddling his body with her knees pushed into the mattress, the motion of her hips keeping him deep, keeping him hard. But more than hard, Macy kept him happy. His breath came in pants now, shallow and frenetic. It was the sound of a man trying not to explode. It must have been some struggle for him. Probably his most fun mission yet. She knew it was hers.

There were sounds underneath her, Tucker’s low groaning almost hidden by the sound of the mattress. The sheets that they had so hastily strewn under them had been pushed off to the side, and now they were on top of the bare Naugahyde. But it hardly mattered. They could have been out in the middle of a Luandan wind storm and still be fucking like animals. Nothing else mattered but the warm feeling deep inside her belly as she leaned back, grabbing hold of Tucker’s hands for support while her hips kept grinding, until glowing waves of ecstasy washed over her body, an explosion of a million bright lights through her mind as she shook with her orgasm while Tucker pulsed inside her.

Moments later, through the haze of the aftermath, she opened her eyes again, but saw nothing but darkness. There were some clues. The smell of him near. Her head on his heaving chest. They were both struggling to catch their breath in the shipping container’s stuffy air. Only now had she become aware of how hot she was, how much sweat they’d dripped together, their bodies almost stuck with it.

“Goddamn,” she murmured into his chest. She felt heavy, almost drunk with it. Wasted and oh so wonderfully sated. Tucker moaned something in response, the sound having gone weak and unintelligible, the vibration of it coming through his chest. He was growing hard again already, his cock rigid against her thigh as they lay together, as she lay atop this wonderful specimen of a man. She reached down to stroke him, to stoke the fire a little more, to keep both of them warm for a longer session. No small talk in between, but just breathing, smiling, stroking.

When he shifted his body out from under her, she knew it was time to face whatever wrath he’d saved up for her, what would surely be the grand finale, for now, of the most unexpected but uninhibited fucking she’d ever known. Macy took a deep breath into her pillow of a folded-up sheet. By the feel of his erection, now stronger and hotter than ever against her bare ass, she suspected that maybe now Tucker would finally take it out on her. All of it. Getting what he was owed from all the grief she’d caused him. It was the only way she wanted to really apologize to him, offering it all up to him, her body and her soul. She arched her ass up in the air, available for his doing. He worked his way up to her, between her, spreading, and then that smooth tip of his thick cock sliding up and back into her core as his hands gripped her firmly at her hips. She closed her eyes and heard the pounding of the mattress start again into the wall.

But it was impossible. The bed wasn’t moving.

And Tucker’s weight was no longer on top of her.

“Tucker?”

He wasn’t even on the bed.

Still, she heard the pounding.

“Tucker?” she said. “What is that?”

Macy had an idea about what it might be, but she couldn’t let herself believe it. She couldn’t believe the interruption, the timing, the embarrassment that would be soon to follow.

Neither could Tucker, by the way he was cursing softly in dark.

The knocking continued. And then a voice, muffled, outside the container.

Macy was cursing now, too, the frustration and the volume growing louder as she scrambled around in the dark for her clothes. With no time to search in the dark for her ruined panties, she started with her pants, pulling the legs back through the inside as she sprang from the bed. She balanced awkwardly on one leg, struggling the whole time to comprehend just what the hell was happening outside the container. Her face glowed hot. Had they heard the slapping of the bed against the wall? Of course they had, how could anyone have possibly missed it? But it was only when she finished with her shirt did she hear the voice from outside, clear as day, say her name. “Macy Chandler? We know you’re in there.”

“Who the fuck is that?” she whisper-yelled to Tucker.

He had nothing to say as he fixed his belt into place, the buckle ringing out loud and then him swearing again.

“Careful,” Macy said, careful to keep her own voice and buckle quiet.

Tucker fell silent, until the silence broke with the sound of squeaking metal, and then the harsh glare spilling into the once pitch-black shipping container. Immediately, she heard voices outside, many of them. The light got brighter, and now she could see Tucker, as he approached the door, the side of his body lit up fully as he peered outside.

“Tucker?”

He was saying something, but Macy could barely hear him through the rest of the voices, the noise coming on at once now.

“Tucker,” she said louder, “who is it?”

She could see him when he finally turned around to answer, Tucker’s face fully lit and frozen pale.