We stay in that position for too many racing heartbeats, and then she digs her nails into my arms.
“Get off me,” she hisses. “You used me last night, and you know what? I used you too. That’s all it was. Two people fucking their way out of the shadows. Don’t ever touch me again.”
Second by second, what was once mine, is stolen away. Her permission.
“You’re right,little liar. You served your purpose. And until I figure out why you’re back in my life again, you’ll stay here. You’ll stop denying me, eventually. We both know what gets you off and how hard you like it.”
“Fuck you.” She squirms.
“Leave if you must. But I guarantee it won’t take long until your ass is dragged back to this villa, so you can feed my dog frosted flakes.” I unarm her body and pull myself away, the urge to claim her more powerful than the madness I’d eventually die from.
Carina scrambles away from me, her long legs working quickly to carry her out of the pool. I follow in hot pursuit, loving how her ass moves under the expensive cotton.
One ruthless order is all it would take for her to obey me, to suck my painfully hard dick the way I like it, deep and messy. But I’ll let her play out this charade and see who wins.
Her forced restraint vibrates off every inch of wet skin. She’s fighting a magnetic pull. We both are.
I watch her squeeze water from her hair and pad over to Brutus before slipping into the villa. I’m lightheaded from the surge of lust. Charged with volts of lightning, ready to strike at any second. I laugh to myself and shake my head when Brutus trots after her.
She’ll beg for it.
7
CARINA
I grabbed my boots, stormed back up the snaking staircase, stripped off his soaking shirt and threw myself onto the super king-sized bed I’d barely slept in overnight.
For the hours I’d spent alone in a stranger's bed, I hardly closed my eyes. It’s times like that when I crave my personal little sanctuary. My safety zone, tucked away in the corner of my parents’ modest house.
I’d hide in my bedroom for days with a binge-worthy book series or a gripping movie. The last film I lost myself in was Top Gun, Maverick. It had all the parts of a roller coaster—highs, lows, anticipation, thrills. And a happy freaking ending.
It’s hard for me to see where this journey with Tomás is taking me. Would I get a happy ending when this death-defying ride screeches to a halt?
I had drifted off once or twice, only to wake in a sweat when Elias called to me from far away. He might be terrorizing the afterlife now, but he’s still haunting this world. A part of him lives and breathes in Tomás, making all of this a tragic nightmare.
There’s no rational reason for being in awe of a killer or a newly crowned drug kingpin. He might call himself a king, but I can see his position for what it really is. He’s a monster. Just like all the other ruthless drug traffickers out there.
Even with that admission, he’s still the most ruthless, hottest asshole I’ve ever met. Despite his hard dick and incredibly good looks, I won't hang around here at his beck and call. Rolling onto my ass, I stare up at the ceiling and fist the sheet. I’m so turned on.
Every time he looks at me with those coal-colored eyes, there’s a rebellious cord of desire yanking us closer. It’s uncontrollable, like a throbbing vein or a silk leash attached to a leather collar. I both loathe and seek it at the same time.
I lay here in a huff, naked, for an hour at least, and my skin is still on fire. To the point I’ll combust into a poof of ashes if he comes near me again with that dimpled smirk of his. Nevertheless, I’ve made myself a promise to dodge his advances and ignore the satiny soft tip of his splendid dick. Even if it would offer me a few rounds of hardcore dirty sex—the sort of thrilling intensity I’m now hungry for. It’s like he’s popped open a carton of Pringles and I can’t stop thinking about the salty snacks.
Somehow, the guy effortlessly winds me up like a clockwork toy. He’s so certain I’ll give in to him. It’s his self-assured cockiness that makes me despise our misplaced fascination with one another even more.
I don’t want to feel this way about him and I don’t want to be locked up in the mountains with a psycho either. My hand skates to my belly where flutters swoop and dive. I sit upright and run a hand over my face. The skin feels tight after the splash in chlorinated water.
The dress I wore yesterday is a tattered mess. Without my own clothes to wear, I’m reduced to wearing his. Before I pick out another shirt from his regimented color arranged racks, I wander into the black ensuite.
Massive marble tiles are warm underfoot and twinkly lights scattered in the ceiling highlight my rosy cheeks and air-drying hair. I feel different inside, even if the reflection staring back at me is the same nineteen-year-old girl. Between my thighs is notably sensitive—in a naughty and nice way.
I grip the washbasin and let a delightful shiver race through me. This feeling is unnatural. Then again, when have my emotions ever been normal?
I search his cabinets, use a spray deodorant, and add a bit of hair product to tame my frizzy tips.
In that moment, when my thighs clench at the scent of such a man, I decide to take fate into my hands and get the hell out of his lair. Today. Now.
There’s a commotion behind the bedroom door. A hive of activity sounds from the ground floor. Cell phones ring. Dogs bark. Men call out in loud conversation. Boots stomp. And then it all goes quiet.