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Goodbye for now, Miss Quintero.
6
THIS IS BAD. Really bad.
So bad, that I don’t know how to react or decipher our stolen moment now that I’m back inside my cousin’s apartment. Now that there’s no haze of attraction clouding my mind. No crazy need dominating my actions.
And yet, I can’t find it in me to be upset.
Worried? Yes.
Scared? A little.
Sorry that I skipped out on Laura and sent her a text once I was away from Codicia? Not in the least.
“This can’t happen. I can’t see him again,” I whisper low, dropping my keys in a bowl near the entryway before toeing off my heels. It feels good to be barefoot, and the plush carpet beneath my feet is like heaven after running away from the very man I’ve crushed on since my adolescence.
Christ, having him so close was both heaven and hell—a dream and reminder of what I can never have because of who my family is. Because of a war that I’ve never been a part of.
My life’s path has been chosen for me. Love isn’t in the cards.
Taking a couple of steps toward the kitchen, my knees wobble and I fall back, placing both hands flat against the wall behind me for support. I’ve been a shaky mess since walking out with Alejandro’s permission, luckily with no one following, and getting into an already waiting car.
I didn’t question why the all-black SUV was waiting.
I didn’t question why they didn’t accept my payment.
I didn’t question why my security guard and friend were there to guide me inside without reproach.
All I wanted at that moment was to get back here and hide from the world. There were traces of my shame mixed with desire and something else that I just didn’t know how to explain. He made me feel alive inside that bathroom. He made every fantasy I’ve had of him since the age of seventeen pale in comparison.
And while I knew I could never have him, that didn’t stop my daydreams.
My attraction to him has always been a mixture of forbidden and idiotic, and more so after I stumbled upon an old interview online he’d done for a fashion magazine that crowned him the most eligible bachelor in the world. Those thirty minutes changed me, but it was the glimpse of the accompanying photoshoot—his bare chest glistening with a few strategically placed suds while inside of a claw-foot tub—that ruined my innocence. He left his mark on me without so much as being in the same room.
It was right after he made a lucrative deal with an American pharmaceutical company. The proverbial flipping off to my grandfather.
His fields produced most of the world’s opioids. He’d gone from a criminal to untouchable. From someone my father disliked to an obsession.
“He’s not the only one who’s obsessed.” A truth I’ll never admit aloud to anyone. Most of all him. Diosito, please help me out of this. My rapid heart calms after a minute or two, and so does the shaking of my limbs. Enough so that I’m able to stand upright and walk to the guest bedroom without incident or getting the bottle of water I originally wanted.
I’m on autopilot. Lost inside my head while my clothes fall off in a haste.
One minute I’m trying to remind myself that life isn’t made up of wishful thinking or kismet opportunities, and the next, cold water slides down my heated skin.
It awakens my senses. Slams back into reality what I let him do to me.
His touch. His voice. The demands he made that I dutifully followed.
“Oh God.” It’s a throaty moan, giving in to the feverish sensations that I bit back when his hands gripped me and now I can embrace shamelessly. My hand slips between my thighs, fingers grazing over my clit, and I clench. The sensibility—the pleasure rocks me with one simple touch and I circle the trembling bundle of nerves again. And again.
I can’t control the movement of my hips. They gyrate without my consent, forcing my fingers lower where they find their place at my entrance. Two slip inside to the first knuckle and I slam my free hand against the marble tile as the water beats down my back. I’m bucking against my hand, riding my fingers, as his earlier words run through my mind.
Taunting me. Making me crave more. Wishing he was here.
I will call, and you will come to me.
The sweetest motherfucking temptation, Preciosa.
