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Indecent perfection.
I shift my upper body back, just enough to get a better look.
She’s wet; the evidence makes the almost translucent material completely see-through.
My eyes snap up when a needy whimper passes through her lips. “Answer me.”
“Papi, I... please!”
“Answer me, Preciosa.” Lower, my hand encounters her round and firm asscheek. I palm the flesh—squeeze hard enough to make her mewl before gripping the tattered remnants of her panties and tugging them off.
A single pull and she hisses, shaking in my hold when the delicate material rubs harshly over her sex. My little Solimar bites down on her bottom lip, withholding the moans that want to slip free so we—I—don’t get caught, and I find the action sweet. Endearing.
Pointless, since I’m here to end it all tonight. To collect on a fifteen-year-old debt.
“Say. It.”
“I belong to you, Alejandro. Only you,” she moans out, lips parting just enough to see the tip of her tongue peek out. I follow how she slides it over the very edge of her Cupid’s bow. How her cheeks flush and perspiration beads over her neck. “I love you.”
At those words, my eyes close and I breathe in deeply. A unique scent—her sweet, sugary decadence surrounds me, and I groan. I feel her heat. Her wetness as it seeps through and caresses my cock through my slacks sans underwear.
I’m hard for her.
I’m throbbing.
I’m hers.
My hips snap forward and my dick rubs against the juncture of her thighs, finger slipping a bit deeper inside her puckered hole. There are a few por favor and mas, but I don’t give in. Not yet.
Not here.
We’ll be leaving soon enough.
That thought sobers me at once and after another pump, I slip from inside her tightness and right her clothing. My forehead falls to hers and my eyes snap open just as she whines, her pretty mouth set in a pout. “None of that.”
“But Alejandro—”
I silence her with a quick and harsh kiss. “I love you, too.”
“Baby, I—”
The click of a single gun interrupts our moment, and I shift my head minutely to catch sight of the asshole responsible. It’s a man I loathe. Someone whose history with my family brought us full circle and to this moment.
“You’re a dead man, Lucas,” he says, and my smirk only deepens.
“Good evening, Señor Presidente.”
“I’m going to enjoy every second of…” Quintero’s words trail off as several high-powered rifles are cocked. His men—those that work the grounds day in and out—along with mine, surround us from all angles with their barrels pointing at an ashen man whose purpose in life should’ve been to take care of his family. It takes him a moment to compose himself, to hide the nervous shaking of his hands as the men come a little closer. Five steps forward and stop. “Arrest him! Have him placed—”
“They’re not here for me, Quintero.” His eyes shift to mine, and the expression of his face is one I’ve been waiting for: fifteen years’ worth of patience and planning. He’s scared as I face him. Intimidated as those around us make no moves to detain me. “Please remove the president and escort him to his room for the evening. He’s not allowed outside under any circumstances until called upon tomorrow at ten.”
“Yes, sir,” multiple voices answer in unison.
“What are you doing? Get your hands off!” Jonny and another guard, both good friends of Carlos, knock the back of his legs and Matias falls to his knees. His eyes are wide while I smile and pull out my phone. The number on hold rings twice as I put it on speakerphone so Mr. President can witness this conversation and participate. “Patron?”
“Is Emiliano there?”
“He’s listening, and bags are packed. All we need is the conformation for release.”
