A harsh sob wracked her body. “Please, Adrián. Please stop.”
The desperate rasp of her voice on my name made my rage burn hotter. “From now on, the only words out of your mouth will be ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘No, sir.’ You don’t speak to me without permission. You don’t do anything without my permission. And you do not run from me. Do you understand?”
She stiffened in my hold, and I released her pussy just long enough to deliver a harsh slap to her labia. “Answer me. And I’ll advise you that ‘No, sir’ is not a wise response. Do you understand?” I repeated, punctuating the question with another spanking.
All the tension left her body, and she softened against me as she submitted. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
My cock jerked against her hip, and I ran my fingers over her abused flesh, petting her enflamed sex. It was hot beneath my touch, her panties soaked through. Valentina still responded to me, after all these years. Had she thought about me over the last decade, when she touched herself in the dark? I’d taught her that particular pleasure, taught her how to wring ecstasy from her own body. Did she still think of me every time she touched her pretty pink pussy?
I still thought about her when I reached orgasm.
Every fucking time.
I bit back a growl and jerked my hand away from her enticing warmth before I did something I’d regret. I couldn’t give in to her allure. She might belong to me, but I wouldn’t give my body to her. She could be my possession without being branded with my cum.
I grasped her waist and lifted her off me, easily shifting her where I wanted her. She didn’t fight me; she compliantly allowed me to arrange her body on the bed beside me. I laid on my back, willing my lust to subside. It would be far too uncomfortable to feel her delicious curves pressed against my front, so I tugged her tightly to my side. I made her curl up against me, tucking her face into my shoulder. I hadn’t held her like this in years.
It felt too fucking good.
Even her hot tears soaking my shirt felt good. I’d held her while she cried when we were teenagers, but these tears were for me. The knowledge filled me with dark, savage satisfaction.
My arm was braced around her shoulders, caging her where I wanted her. She might have promised not to try to escape, but I wouldn’t give her the chance to evade me again.
Valentina was mine, and she wasn’t going anywhere.Chapter 5ValentinaI shifted my weight, trying to alleviate some of the uncomfortable pressure on my sore bottom. We’d been riding in the car for an hour. And while I was grateful that Mateo had managed to procure a car that wouldn’t be tracked—a nondescript navy-blue Chevrolet Spark—the back seat wasn’t nearly padded enough to alleviate my discomfiture.
We had seven more hours of driving ahead of us to reach Medellín, and the prospect of enduring this dull throbbing stoked my burning resentment.
I took a breath to quash my rising ire. At least we were out of Bogotá. I was putting distance between myself and my tormentors—Hugo and Vicente.
Adrián had proven to be a new tormentor. The boy who had once held me with harsh passion had grown into a sadistic man. He’d been rough with me when we were teenagers, the forbidden attraction between us driving him to the edge of violence at times. But he’d never beaten me.
Memories of the nights he’d snuck into my bedroom to cuddle with me flooded my mind, making my stomach turn. He’d held me last night. After he’d punished me. After he’d forced me to agree to obey his commands.
After telling me I was his.
My fingernails cut into my palms as I curled my fists in my lap. I’d promised my heart to the boy I’d loved. I did not belong to this cruel drug lord who wore his face.
He’d stolen me from Hugo, but I would never belong to him. I would run from him at the first opportunity. I’d attain my freedom, no matter what it took. He could beat me, but I wouldn’t stop trying to get away from him.
But he hadn’t simply beaten me. What he’d done to my body had been far more humiliating than physical abuse. His hand had burned my flesh when he’d spanked my ass, but he hadn’t inflicted any real damage. Not like Hugo did.
My traitorous body had reacted to his big hands touching my most intimate places. I hadn’t fantasized about his touch in years—I’d killed that fantasy a long time ago. But when I was still young and naïve, I’d ached for it. He’d never put his hands on my secret places, but last night, he’d held me as though he had every right.