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Pouty lips open and her eyes roll back as the first wave of pleasure slams into her. There are no screams or curses, but I feel every shake beneath me and the pulsing wetness that covers me down to my thighs. Her pleasure is beautiful. Her body is mine.
And it’s that thought that brings me to my peak as I pull out and with a tight grip, fuck my hand. Two pumps and I groan, watching as a thick rope of come lands across her clit. Another stroke and the next covers her pink lips on the left and I make sure the rest of my seed covers the neglected right.
It’s a gorgeous sight.
She’s wearing me. Smells of me.
Came for me.
“You look very proud of yourself.” Solimar’s voice pulls me from her perfect core, and I raise a brow as our eyes meet. Her words are a bit sassy and playful, but the blush spreading across her cheeks and down her chest is bashful. “You broke me and I’m still a virgin.”
Christ, this girl.
“Soon, Miss Quintero.” Not giving a single fuck about the mess on her body, I lower mine across hers. Cover her from head to toe and nip her bottom lip. “I’m just getting started with you.”
Leaving her to take a shower in my room after a few chaste kisses, I take one myself in the guest bath downstairs and head for the kitchen to start breakfast. There’s no one working in the house this morning, per my request, and I have plans to show Solimar the grounds before Carlos picks her up late tomorrow afternoon.
I’m not hiding anything from her. I want her to know exactly what kind of man she chose.
Because there is no going back for us.
Fate is a cruel mistress. She placed me in the path of this innocent woman, knowing I’d become obsessed with her. That I’d kill to consume her. To own her heart.
And if I were a better man, I’d feel bad about it. But I’m not, and I don’t.
Knowing from the staff inside of the presidential home that my little flower loves coffee, I start there. The beans have been roasted but not ground, as I prefer to have that done freshly each morning. I still have the special machine my mother used at home from our days on the coffee plantation and I walk over, grabbing the container with the specialty blend.
It’s cultivated on a farm I own that’s run by a friend of mine. I don’t sell the product to anyone. It’s for private consumption, and I have it delivered once a week to four of my six properties around the country.
The machine turns on, churning as I add enough for a few cups throughout the day if need be. With that going, I turn my attention to something simple for breakfast. Cooking is something my mother loved to do and instilled in all her children, making sure that no matter where we’d go in life, we wouldn’t starve.
Moreover, while I have staff in all my properties, I still cook a good amount of my meals.
Walking to the fridge, I take out what I need and set it on the counter. I’m keeping it simple today, something Solimar likes: scrambled eggs with tomato and onions accompanied by an arepa with fresh cheese. That sweet girl can appreciate a fancy meal but yearns for comfort and ease.
I saw it in the way she enjoyed our lunch date.
I saw it last night when Geronimo offered her a quick bite only available to her during the gala.
Something so simple brought a smile to her face that lit up the entire room. Doing that for her made me feel ten feet tall.
The soft padding of feet meets my ears as she descends the stairs. “Alejandro?”
“In the kitchen. Turn left and follow the corridor,” I call back, grabbing a cutting board and knife to begin prep. Sol finds me quickly, coming to a stop beside me as I dice the tomato first. My face turns toward hers and I bend over a bit, laying a kiss on her cheek. “Morning, Preciosa.”
“Buenos Dias.”
19
I’M STANDING BENEATH the waterfall shower head in his bathroom, eyes closed and fighting to get my breathing under control after he left. I’m alone with my thoughts now, missing his touch while accepting how weak I am when it comes to Alejandro Lucas.
His scent is addictive.
His touch is a soul-destroying catastrophe.
He owns me, and the truth is I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
“I’m screwed.” It’s my reality and fear. Our relationship—this crazy affair—is forbidden and while I see no happy ending in sight, I don’t care.
