As if sensing the whirling disquiet within me, he traces the curve of my jaw and hooks a lock of hair behind my ear. I relish the tingles rushing over me and breathe hard.
“Why did you cut yourself? To die or to feel something other than numbness?”
I swallow the doubt in my throat and inhale slowly to stall my response. Shame and distrust whisper through my subconscious, always present and reminding me of the bullies who’d forced me into hiding. Hesitant to answer his probing question, I fire one at him instead. “Why do you live like this... in a life with so much violence and death?”
His throat works as he swallows. For a second, I think he’ll throttle me for daring to question him. However, he stares at me for a beat, sits back in his seat, and scrubs his jaw.
“I was born into it.” He shrugs. “This life is all I know. Papá taught us to be killers, businessmen, and, above all else, the creators of a product so pure we control the global market. Competitors come for our blood simply because we’re Souzas. This way I get to decide who lives or dies before they do.” The stormy expression on his face passes like the clouds, his stiff posture relaxing a fraction. “Who wouldn’t want to own hotels, yachts, islands, jet planes... judges... federal agents?” I watch the subtle dent in his cheek deepen as he offers a smile as rare as gold dust. That small wink of a dimple does wicked things to my radioactive libido. “Your turn. What made you do it?”
I’ve encountered more men over the past few months than I have in my nineteen years in Manaus, and none of them have affected me like this. Every time he looks at me with that wolfish inquisitiveness, I’m a slave to my inner demons, to the sizzling lust in my veins.
I bite my lip, feeling my pulse thrum faster. “I was born with a weird growth directly above my upper lip. Over time, it grew bigger and completely ruined my life.” His jaw twitches as he listens. “When I slit my wrist, I was a sad little girl who wanted to escape the life she was trapped in. Salvador found me on the bathroom floor...” I’m lightheaded from my confession, panting softly against the quick beat of my heart. “He figured out a way to pay for corrective surgery. And now I’m trying to find who I am. Even if that person is…”
“Even if you’re what?” He angles into me and sinks his fingers into my hair. I gasp at the control he takes, how his fingers knead the base of my skull, and his beautifully shaped mouth looms so close I could kiss him.
All I can focus on is him. His musky cologne, the warmth of his breath caressing my skin, and the forbidden adrenaline sparking from his wandering touch. And those smoky eyes, fixed on mine like I’m the only woman in the world.
Instantly, his power ignites my skin with gasoline to match the heat between my thighs.
“Disturbed,” I whisper, barely loud enough to hear.
But he hears it loud and clear. “What makes you more disturbed than any other human being out there?”
My entire body trembles, his intoxicating closeness making me dizzy. “I want…” Twisted knots in my stomach tighten. It’s not easy to open up. My fingers find their way to his designer t-shirt. “I enjoy…” I fist the fabric, eyelashes fluttering as a wave of need aches in my core.
His nose nuzzles my hair, the warmth of an exhale sinfully erotic. “Say it,” he breathes the words. I fight hard not to moan at the seductive low rumble of his voice. “Say you enjoy fucking me even when you know you shouldn’t. That you love how I’ve found your sweet spots.”
An uncontrollable quake betrays me. His large hand floats to my bare knee, slowly tracing a shivery path beneath the floaty fabric of my dress. “I want to hear you say it, Carina.”
He leans back to catch my eye, the tips of his fingers traveling upward to the new lacy panties he’d bought me, now shamelessly wet. I bite my bottom lip to stave a groan and stare into his haunted gaze. Carefully, he tugs the damp fabric sideways and tilts to my ear, his stubble grazing my cheek. “Is this what you enjoy?”
Tomás bites my earlobe, his hot words whispering over my scalp. I whimper at the sharpness, inexplicably craving more.
“Yes,” I pant. “I want you... even when I know it's wrong.”
Masterful fingers move over my sex, cupping me possessively and squeezing hard. I unwittingly part my legs for more.
“How does it feel when I touch you here?” His hold on my neck tightens. The husky tone of his voice combined with his teeth grazing the shell of my ear, liquifies my bones.
I’m reluctant to admit my insides are a syrupy fire. How he’s the trigger to a reaction so extreme that I’m melting from his close proximity alone.
“It’s good…” He clutches my pussy harder, making me groan into his cheek. The sinful roughness drives me wild. “So good,” I say breathlessly.
“And what’s your gut reaction when I’m doing this to you?” His speech turns coarse like a whirlwind of grit, the tone urgent and alluring.
I forget all about the cartel funeral we’re attending tomorrow, and the fact I’ll be in a house full of trained killers. There is no question. No sliver of doubt. No denial. Ineedthis man.
“I like it. I want more... of this... of you…” I sigh, defeated and unbearably needy.
The hand around my nape jumps upward, securing my hair in a fist. Our foreheads butt together, and the tips of our noses collide. Face to face, we inhale together, mingling the same torrid air.
Two of his fingers leisurely dip inside my wanton heat. They aren’t forceful or stabbing, just disciplined and teasing. When his thumb sweeps my bundle of swollen nerves, I suck in, unintentionally brushing my lips against his. They cling lightly, almost claiming a kiss.
Without fully connecting, he continues to take his time, seemingly enjoying this unusually gentle finger fuck with every powerful rise and fall of his lungs.
“You’re not messed up. You’re alive,” he murmurs before angling his wrist, so wicked fingers penetrate deeper.
“It’s only taken me nineteen years to feel alive.” I confess against his chest.