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You won’t deny me.
“Alejandro,” I moan low, gritting my teeth as pulsing waves crash into me and my body slumps against the shower wall. It’s a euphoric high that leaves me panting, heart racing, and with the knowledge that I’ll never be the same again.
I’ve never come so hard and fast by my hand, and the man responsible isn’t here to take care of me after. He never is. I’m a virgin and deviant all in one. I’ve never let another hand touch me, but I always come with his name on my lips.
It takes me a few minutes to calm down, to wash away the evidence of my shame, but I manage and then take my tired body to bed. Naked, I crawl under the soft sheets and as I’m settling in, I feel a vibration near my thigh.
“The hell?” It stops and then starts again. Then again. Reaching down, I come across my wristlet and phone, not recalling when I tossed them here. It vibrates once more in my hold, screen illuminating, and I notice eight missed calls and one text.
My cousin, and an unknown number. All eight belong to Laura, but it’s the text I’m both terrified and excited about.
Sweet dreams, Preciosa.
7
“PATRON, SHE’S LEAVING her home now. She has two classes today at the university, and then a dancing lesson after.”
That’s a little tidbit I’ve learned in the last seventy-two hours since Codicia; the little flower is both studious and flexible. A dancer. A bailarina well-versed in both salsa and tango.
She is poised and sensual, and watching her move fluidly as she practices on my computer screen has been the greatest foreplay. A naughty little gift I’ve given myself.
Because a little money in the right hand grants you favor. A little persuasion—a gun to the temple—will earn you their fear. Both are useful, and more so while forcing the sale of the dance academy she’s a student of.
One visit is all it took.
One choice: money or bullets.
And because of their smart decision, I’m now the owner without anyone’s knowledge.
I watch her from the cameras I’ve installed. I’ve fucked my hand while Solimar moves to the rhythm of her chosen session.
Every gyration is a pump of my fist over my engorged flesh. Every smile when she completes a newly learned step pulls a pearl-like bead to the slit and down my shaft.
I’ve never wanted to fuck a woman more. To lick the very sweat from her cheek.
And more so after having her file delivered to me the morning after our heated exchange. I won’t deny that using her to piss off her father has crossed my mind. That it’s one of the reasons I followed her into that bathroom, but one look into those equally hungry eyes up close—the feel of her against my chest—changed that.
Pissing off Matias Quintero is just a bonus now.
She’s one of the good ones, and there’s something about her I can’t ignore. A pull. A draw.
Solimar is beautiful, smart, and never toes a foot out of the line set in place by her father. She’s the dutiful first daughter every second of the day, and I want to break those chains holding her down. I want to set her free just so I can catch her. I want to build her up. Own her.
Possess every delicious inch of her forbidden fruit.
“Thank you, Geronimo. Don’t lose sight of her.” At my words, my right-hand, Chiquito, gives me a perplexed look. He’s been away in Barranquilla taking care of a problem with a local dealer—the personal retrieval of a low-level wannabe who’s watched one too many movies to understand his reality. You don’t approach a man’s business associates and undermine his authority without repercussions. “Do you have the package?”
“Yes, sir. Just give the word, and I’ll deliver it personally.”
“Good. Await my call.” Ending our conversation, I place my cell atop my desk and sit back, looking at Chiquito. I’m home for the next three days, a private hacienda sitting atop a mountain at the center of farmland privately owned by me. It’s no-mans-land with over two hundred acres of heavily guarded terrain. A location I don’t hide from my enemies, associates, and is the amalgamation of my wealth—the pharmaceutical sale of my poppies and the dealings with the cartels. It’s where I plan to retire one day, and I have every commodity fit for royalty. “Where is he?”
“Sitting out back by the pool.”
“Alone?”
“Having a drink with new friends.” Chiquito’s paramilitary uniform is crisp, not a speck of dirt, and yet his gun holster has a few spots of dried blood. I see the bruising of his knuckles while he’s busy eyeing my phone, his dark brown eyes flicking between my face and the blank screen.
“Speak up.” Opening the drawer to my right, I pull out a knife and two bullets. That’s all I’ll need for this sit-down. “I only have an hour to meet with Mr. Marin.”
