Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story!
Pat*eon : belamy20
Lawson didn't fight it. He stood perfectly still in the dark doorway and let the unfamiliar hands work.
A sharp, sudden intake of breath caught him off guard.
"Blake, what exactly is the game plan here?"
"Don't be so impatient, Lawson," Blake's voice teased from somewhere in the room, light and playful.
The hands gently guided him forward until the back of his knees hit the living-room sofa. He sat. Almost immediately, something warm and damp traced a slow, wet line across his skin, making him flinch.
"Blake, seriously — what are you doing?"
"Just relax and enjoy it, Lawson. Don't overthink it!" Blake's voice came from directly behind the sofa now, right as a pair of soft, plush cushions pressed against the back of his neck.
Lawson's brain short-circuited. If Blake was standing behind the sofa… then who the hell was in front of him?
He reached out blindly. His hand instantly found purchase on a pair of massive, unmistakable breasts — the same ones he'd accidentally grabbed once before.
His expression turned comically stunned.
What the hell is going on today? Why are all the women in my life suddenly teaming up on me?
Before he could process the ambush, the woman kneeling between his legs leaned in. Her warm breath ghosted over his cock as she took him into her mouth with eager, hungry enthusiasm.
Lawson let out a slow, heavy exhale. He sank back into the plush cushions and decided to turn his brain off and just enjoy the ride.
Blake stood dutifully behind the sofa, giving him an incredible scalp massage with her slender fingers, while the mystery woman in front worked his cock with wet, sloppy devotion — sucking, licking, and swirling her tongue like she was starving for him.
Absolute luxury.
A few minutes later the weight on his lap shifted.
The "enemy" had mounted her offensive, and Lawson instantly realized he was dealing with a heavyweight. The raw core strength and freakish athleticism pressing down on him was no joke.
He was facing a legitimate threat.
After the brutal two-on-one war of attrition with Svafa and Sofia all afternoon, his reserves were already low. The Iron Man Trump Card was a cheat code, but he wasn't Superman. Even he had limits.
He sharpened his focus. If he underperformed now, whoever was riding him was definitely going to hold it over his head forever.
"Lawson…" the woman whispered, leaning down to bite his earlobe. Her voice trembled with adrenaline and pure teasing. "You aren't nearly as tough as Blake made you sound."
That was the final straw.
Lawson had planned to play defense, let her tire herself out, then counter hard.
But the blatant disrespect flipped a switch.
He reached up and violently ripped the silk blindfold off his face. Blinking in the dim apartment light, he stared up at a heavily flushed, heavily breathing Daisy.
"You ready?" Lawson asked, eyes turning dark and dangerous. "Because the warm-up is over."
Daisy's pupils blew wide. "Wait, what—Holy shit!"
Lawson didn't hold back.
He gave Daisy the exact same ruthless, heavy-handed treatment he'd used to break Svafa — deep, punishing strokes that left no room for mercy.
Daisy was an absolute physical specimen. Her raw power might have even eclipsed the Swedish assassin's. But against Lawson's fully unleashed rhythm she started to crumble spectacularly.
From the sidelines, Blake watched with genuine terror.
Lawson was always so gentle and patient with her. This was the first time she'd ever seen him fuck like a savage.
"Lawson, take it easy! You're going to hurt her!" Blake pleaded.
Her warning made him dial it back — just a fraction.
But Daisy wasn't having it.
"Fuck that! Blake, I'm fine!" she gasped, glaring down at him with glassy, stubborn eyes. "Is that all you've got, Lawson?! I'm not scared of you!"
Green light given.
Lawson removed every limiter.
An hour later, Daisy was convulsing, eyes rolled back, passed out cold. Her skin was flushed a violent crimson — looking like a boiled lobster. Her breathing was shallow, bordering on shock.
Blake panicked. "Lawson! Is she okay?!"
Lawson ran a quick medical check — a skill drilled into him at Quantico. Airway, pulse, heart rate — all good.
"She's fine," he reassured her. "Just short-circuited from sensory overload."
Blake sighed in massive relief, then looked down at herself, suddenly nervous.
"Lawson… I…"
"Don't worry, Blake," he smiled softly. "I'll be gentle."
He had to be. After the multi-stage gauntlet from afternoon straight into night, he desperately needed a slower pace. Blake's fragile little body was exactly what he needed to cool down.
Blake, however, was deeply moved. She thought he was holding back just for her comfort.
"Thank you, Lawson," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him deeply, not caring about the sweat on his face. "Love me."
Under Lawson's careful, tender guidance, Blake slowly drifted into heaven.
By the end of the night, Lawson carried both unconscious women into the bedroom, dropped them onto the mattress, and practically passed out before his head hit the pillow.
It was too much. He desperately needed better time management, or he was going to end up a hollowed-out husk.
---
Lawson had no idea how long he'd been asleep when a frantic ringing shattered the silence.
He reached blindly for his phone on the nightstand and accidentally grabbed a handful of something soft and yielding instead. A sleepy, irritated groan sounded beside him.
"Blake… Daisy… someone hand me my phone."
A phone was slapped into his palm. Squinting at the bright screen, he saw Brian's name.
Lawson shot upright, instantly awake. He'd completely overslept.
He answered. "Brian?"
"Lawson! Jesus, are you okay?!" Brian's voice was pure panic.
"I'm fine. Just slept through my alarm."
"Thank God. Man, you had me sweating. I thought someone made you."
In undercover work, a missed check-in usually meant you were in a trunk or a ditch. Brian had every right to be paranoid.
"Nothing like that," Lawson lied smoothly. "Just had way too much to drink last night."
"Too much to drink? Lawson, I've seen you drink. Your tolerance is legendary."
It was true. Thanks to the Payday App's magical hangover cures, Lawson had never lost a drinking contest in his life.
Lawson laughed awkwardly. "Are you at the spot?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Give me thirty minutes. I'm on my way."
Hanging up, Lawson surveyed the disaster zone of a bedroom. Daisy was still dead to the world, snoring softly. Her exhaustion rivaled his own.
Blake, however, was awake, watching him from under the duvet with a shy, thoroughly satisfied smile.
Lawson checked the wall clock. Almost noon. On a Friday.
"Blake, don't you have class today?"
Blake's eyes went wide. "Oh my God! Daisy, wake up!"
Lawson ignored the chaos and quickly threw on his signature tailored suit.
Behind him, Blake was desperately trying to wake her best friend. Daisy was practically comatose. Even when Blake smacked her ass aggressively, the blonde didn't flinch.
"Blake, blunt force isn't gonna work," Lawson said, adjusting his cuffs. "Just dump a glass of cold water on her."
Blake's eyes lit up. "Genius!"
Before she ran to the bathroom, she noticed Lawson struggling with his tie and rushed over. "Here, let me do it!"
She looped the silk around his collar, gave it a hard yank — and nearly crushed his windpipe.
"Ack! Blake, wait!" Lawson coughed, prying her hands away. "Let me show you a proper Windsor knot. Over, under, through the loop… and tighten."
Following his hands, Blake finally tied a perfect knot.
"I got it!" she beamed. "I'm going to practice. Next time I'll do it perfectly!"
Lawson leaned down and kissed her softly. "I'm looking forward to it."
Blake practically melted. She stood in the doorway watching him leave with a deeply lovestruck smile.
A few minutes later she snapped out of her daze, marched into the bathroom, filled a cup with freezing tap water, and dumped it straight onto Daisy's face.
"Gah! What the fuck, Blake?!" Daisy sputtered, thrashing wildly.
"You're finally awake! Do you know what time it is?!"
"I don't care! What time is it?"
"It's 12:47! If you don't get up right now we're going to miss our afternoon seminar!"
Daisy lazily wiped the water off her face and collapsed back into the pillows, completely unfazed. "Blake, skipping one class isn't going to kill us. Besides, my entire body feels like it got hit by a Mack truck. I physically cannot walk."
Blake, currently cleaning up the living-room chaos, nodded in total sympathy.
"I know the feeling. The first time I was alone with him I couldn't move the next day either. Honestly, Daisy, thank God you were here last night. If I had to take all of that by myself, I'd be in the hospital."
Daisy rolled over, her massive breasts spilling out over the sheets. "Hey, what are best friends for? But seriously… I had no idea Lawson was an actual machine. No wonder you couldn't handle him alone."
The words sent a shiver of retrospective fear down Blake's spine. "I know. Turns out he's been holding back this whole time because I'm too fragile."
Daisy buried her face in Lawson's pillow, inhaling the mix of his cologne and the heavy scent of last night's activities. She loved it.
"Blake, do me a favor. Call the school and tell them I'm sick. I'm not moving."
"Fine. I'll get ready and head out."
"You're the best! Mwah!" Daisy blew her a lazy kiss before immediately drifting back to sleep.
---
Across town in Long Beach, Lawson pulled up to a small, rundown auto repair shop, casually eating a takeout taco.
It looked eerily similar to Dominic Toretto's old garage — just without the makeshift café attached.
"Brian. How've you been?"
"Surviving," Brian said, turning around. The moment he got a good look at Lawson, he actually flinched. "Jesus, Lawson. What the hell happened to you?"
Lawson's face was pale, eyes bloodshot, carrying the heavy, exhausted aura of a man who'd been awake for three days straight. He looked nothing like his usual sharp, intimidating self.
"I told you on the phone. Hungover."
"Hungover? Bro, you look like you fell into a vat at the Jack Daniel's distillery and drowned."
Lawson chuckled. "Whiskey doesn't do this to me. Takes 192-proof Polish vodka to put me in the dirt."
"Lawson, are you drinking alcohol or medical-grade disinfectant?"
"Honestly? Couldn't tell the difference by the end of the night."
Finishing his taco, Lawson wiped his hands and got straight to business. "Alright, down to it. Brian, I need your help."
"Name it."
"The Bureau wants me back under. Target is the Irish."
Brian frowned, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. "The FBI is finally moving on the Irish syndicate?"
"You know how reckless they've been getting. Especially Frank Castro."
Brian nodded. Even isolated in his own crew, he'd heard the terrifying rumors about Frank's recent purges. "Yeah, I know. But right now I'm running with the Byrne Crew."
Brian quickly brought him up to speed.
Infiltrating the Irish — whether Byrne, Castro, or the New Irish — was notoriously difficult. These guys were career criminals. They vetted new blood hard. No violent felony rap sheet or family ties? You were invisible.
Brian had gotten lucky. Two months ago the Byrne Crew's primary smuggler got popped. Adams Byrne held an underground street race to find a new wheelman.
With Lawson and Dominic out of the picture, Brian was arguably the best street racer left in Los Angeles. He crushed the competition and won the job.
But winning a race didn't buy loyalty. Brian was still an outsider. He hadn't been trusted with a single major shipment yet.
"Because of that, I don't really know how to pull you in," Brian admitted, frustrated.
Lawson stayed quiet, eyes scanning the hydraulic lifts and scattered tools. A brilliant idea sparked.
"Brian… what if I don't come in as muscle? What if I come in as a master mechanic?"
Brian blinked, brain racing through the angle.
He knew exactly how terrifying Lawson's tuning skills were. During the Need for Speed runs and brutal police chases, Lawson had pushed cars far beyond their mechanical limits.
"That… that could actually work," Brian said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "But you'd need a legitimate front. A real chop shop. I can start bringing the Byrne Crew's fleet to you for repairs and upgrades. Once they see what you can do under the hood, they'll be begging to keep you around."
Lawson smiled. "Then let's get to work."
---