Page 7 of Cartel Devil

Up to heaven—a saint.

Down to hell—a sinner.

Angel or devil?

Both?

There’s a triangle over his heart with a pair of eyes. I’ve never seen that before—only ever the single eye.

“Mamá and Papá watching over my brothers and me.”

I shift my focus up to his face before looking back at the tattoo. I want to touch it, but it seems sacrilegious to do that.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment. I love that.”

There’s a hawk and a dove flying toward three clouds. I’m tempted to brush my fingertips over that too, wanting to show reverence since I suspect it represents his parents and his brothers too. But I don’t want to cover it at all either.

“Mamá’s the hawk.” He chuckles as he draws my hand up to run my fingers over it.

“She watches you like one. I saw that look as we walked by.”

I watch him withdraw, and I don’t know why. I didn’t mean to insult his mother or him, but he shifts his weight and looks over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry if she embarrassed you.”

His voice is softer like it was when he promised to never let me fall. I study him, and I realize it’s not disinterest now.

He’s shy!

I wouldn’t have guessed that from the bravado he presents to the rest of the world, but I get why he does. In our world, a lack of machismo means a lack of life—as in life’s short if anyone thinks you’re weak. He’d be a target and so would his family if anyone believed he’s a pushover or timid.

But that forceful presence isn’t natural for him.

Interesting.

“Do you have any tattoos?”

“I found yours by looking. I suppose you’ll have to do the same.”

I reach back to unzip my gown, but he gently draws my hands away before he eases my dress open. It’s strapless, so it slips down my body and pools around my feet. I have a sapphire front-fasten bustier and thong on but no garters because I avoid panty hose and thigh highs when it isn’t the middle of a frozen Boston winter.

It’s Joaquin’s turn to brush his fingertips over my chest. He runs them over the swells of my breasts that are practically popping out of the top of my lingerie. I’ve been dying to adjust it for hours, but now he’s undoing each hook. He spreads it wide before it lands on the bed with his suit coat, bow tie, and shirt. I step out of my gown, and he picks it up for me. He’s more careful as he drapes it over the bed.

I’m unprepared for his arm to go around my waist again and lift me onto the bed to sit. He sinks to one knee and unfastens my high-heeled sandals. He runs his thumbnail along my instep, and my foot twitches. He grins and does it to the other foot. He unties his dress shoe before rising to do the other.

He’s not going to fuck me with his socks on, is he?

I reach for his belt as he toes his shoes off. I’m unfastening his pants as he shifts from one foot to the other to take off his socks.

Phew.

His hands grasp my hips and pull me to the edge as he lowers himself to his knee again. He nudges my legs apart, his shoulders making me spread them more. He tugs again until my ass is practically hanging off the bed. He kisses along the inside of my left thigh before grazing his teeth over the same path.

Each movement causes a flutter in my belly. I’m eager to see whether he’s going to continue along this course or change paths. I ache for him to touch me in the one place I’ve craved his attention all night. My tits ache for his touch too. I close my eyes for a moment, picturing him sucking my nipples and the sensations that would shoot from them to my cunt.

He nips at the bottom of my thigh where it’s not muscle or bone. He playfully bites the place I dislike. It’s not like I think about my less-than-toned thighs all that often now that I’m not a teenager, but if he didn’t seem to enjoy what he found, I wouldn’t be thrilled at the attention he’s paying that spot. He does the same thing to the other leg before kissing the top of my pussy that’s still covered by the satiny thong.

He cups my breasts before licking each nipple. He whirls his tongue over each until they’re both tight little darts. He sucks on the right one as he pinches the left.