by Box Set
Andres wraps one arm around my waist, lifts me and tips me back. “Put your legs over the chair,” he commands, his voice rough.
I hurry to comply, opening myself to him. I’d lost all sense of shyness around this man years ago once I’d learned exactly what he could do to my body. Now I am eager for the orgasm I see promised in his glowing crystal eyes. I stretch my legs over the arms of the chair and lean back against his arm, trusting that he will hold me up.
I am barely in position before he’s sliding two long, thick fingers into me. In this position we can look each other in the eyes while he does it. I moan, the sound hoarse and strained as he rubs my g-spot with leisurely strokes. I can see so many emotions in his eyes, all forged together through the fires of passion.
“Are you my good girl, Luna?” he asks.
His deep voice, saying those words send shafts of pleasure right through my body. I can feel myself clamping down on his fingers as they continue to pump in and out of my pussy. I’m so wet he has no trouble at all. He uses his thumb to flick my clit in an uneven pattern that drives me crazy. I know he’s asking me a trick question. There’s no right or wrong answer.
I lick my lips, force my gaze up to his and answer. “I’ve been a bad girl, Andres.”
He nods and I see satisfaction cross his face. He deepens his strokes and I spread my legs even more, rocking my hips in time with his pumping fingers. He rubs his thumb over my clit with increasing frequency. I suck my breath in and fling my head back. I can feel the tips of my hair brushing the floor and I wonder at the incredible strength he must have to be holding me up like this.
“Do bad girls get to come, Luna?” he demands, his voice dropping to a growl.
I whimper as I get closer to my magical peak. But I can tell from his words that he probably won’t let me get there. I try to sneak a hand toward my clitoris, but he snaps at me to keep my hands to myself and answer the question. “No, bad girls don’t get to come!” I gasp, tears pooling in my eyes. I really feel like I’m going to die if he won’t let me come.
“That’s what I thought,” Andres says, and then leans forward and says against my lips. “But this bad girl fucks me so good I’ll let her have it anyway.”
He presses his fingers hard against me and rubs my clit furiously while shoving his tongue deep in my mouth. Then he drops his mouth to my breast while I arch back against his arm. He bites down on my nipple, sending me soaring over the edge. Shivers ripple through my body and I shout my ecstasy while I explode in his arms. I can hear him grunting as he watches me fall apart, my hips jerking on his lap, taking everything his fingers have to give. I picture those blue slits, glittering as he stares at me. I love the way my Andres watches me.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. He slides his hand from my now soaking pussy, picks me right up off the chair and walks me backward until my back hits the wall. He uses his arm to protect me from the impact, but we still hit hard enough that I feel the wall shake and something on the other side, in the kitchen, falls and shatters.
“Andres!” I cry out, gripping his shoulder with my good hand and trying to get my balance.
He doesn’t give me a chance. He yanks my leg up to his hip and slams himself home, sliding deep inside. I gasp, digging my nails into the skin of his shoulders. My orgasm begins to crest again and I lift my other leg, wrapping it around his waist and locking my ankles around his back as stars burst behind my eyelids. I shriek in ecstasy and grind my hips forward just as Andres begins slamming into me. I can tell that my frantic, orgasmic movements are driving him crazy but I can’t control myself. He bites down on my shoulder and then slams his hand into the wall next to my head, shaking the whole thing again. I dimly note a thin layer of dust falling all around us.
Suddenly I’m being spun around and Andres is walking with me, then I’m falling. I scream out and wrap my arms around Andres, fully expecting to hit the floor hard, but I don’t. My back hits something, jarring me for a second. A quick glance tells me I’m now laying on the kitchen table. As Andres thrusts back inside me I realize that he moved us so he can go deeper, fuck me harder than he could against the wall.
He cups my head and forces my face up. “Look at me, Luna.” I stare up at him, at the intense gorgeous man that loves me like no one else. “Love looking at you, cariño.”
“I know,” I whisper back and reach up to cling to him, running my hands over his head and shoulders, scratching him lightly, just the way I know he loves. I can feel his cock growing wider inside me and I throw my head back, bringing his head down to my chest, clutching him against me, holding him while he fucks me hard against the table. He finishes deep inside me, bathing me with his seed, warming me from the inside.
After, I hold him close, stroking his naked shoulders until his breathing evens out, which happens far sooner than mine. My throat is very sore and now that I’m no longer flooded with pleasurable endorphins I can definitely feel the pain. Andres leans back on his elbow and strokes his finger gently across the bruises. I can see the sparkle in his eyes dim as his troubles begin to resurface. He rolls off the table and reaches for me. Gently he lifts me and carries me to the living room where he collapses backwards onto the chair with me cradled in his arms.
15
Andres
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you,” she murmurs, her voice a husky whisper against my throat.
We’ve been sitting together in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour, naked in each other’s arms. I have an excellent internal clock so I can usually tell the time, even when there is no clock available. It doesn’t surprise me that Luna is the first to break our silence. What does surprise me is how long it took for her to speak. I stroke the hair from her face in gentle swipes, sifting my fingers through the silky strands. Despite the topic of conversation we are about to discuss I feel completely relaxed, still basking in the afterglow of great sex.
“Yes, I’ve been here several times,” I tell her. “I own this house and the land it sits on.”
She nods and I know this revelation doesn’t shock her. She’s a smart woman, she probably figured out who owned the land as soon as we arrived. Decena men like to be in control of their surroundings. I wouldn’t have brought my wife, in such a delicate situation, to a place I didn’t have complete control over.
“I’ve never been here before,” she comments.
She’s inviting me to lead this conversation. We both know it won’t be casual. If she hasn’t been out to a property that I own then it’s most likely connected to work and related to something I won’t discuss with my wife. But she’s here now, there’s no reason to keep this secret from her. Only this property isn’t connected to business. It has nothing to do with the Los Zetas. This is my personal property. No one knows it exists except for myself… and now Luna.
I glance up at a spot on the wall, the bullet hole I drilled through the wood two years ago. “This place was where I came when things became too dark for me, Luna,” I say gruffly, tightening my arms around her, holding her lush curves against me, taking in her warmth. “I shut myself in and shot myself up so I wouldn’t go home to you, Cristo and our unborn child with the bad things that were in my head.” I pause, giving her the chance to speak. When she doesn’t I continue, “I knew if I saw you at that time, with that filthy shit in my head that I’d take it out on you. That I’d hurt you… maybe worse.”
I grit my teeth, waiting to hear her gasp of shock or anger. Waiting for her to push away from me. I hold her tighter than I know I should, digging my fingers into her rounded hip, anchoring her against me so she can’t run away. Instead of the recriminations I know I deserve, she clings to me even closer, pressing her lips against my throat in comfort.
“I know,” she whispers. “I’ve always known why you did what you did… why you took those drugs. But you should’ve trusted me more, Andres. You should’ve trusted me to be the one to lead you from the darkness.”
I shake my head, leaning
my chin on top of her head. She couldn’t have chased away the demons that haunted me. That still haunt me. My sweet naïve Luna has no idea what things I have seen and done in my time. The images flash through my mind like a gruesome snuff film on repeat. I’ve never had the ability to compartmentalize that part of my job, to separate the horrific images from my regular life. They all blend together until I can’t tell what’s right and wrong. I know my brothers think I’m soft, that I’m too easily touched by the darkness. Maybe I am. I know these past two years have hardened me until I’ve grown as cold as they are. I thought Luna was my saving grace, the one thing that could still bring me back… until I lost her too.
My gaze lingers on the wall, the bullet hole. I can no longer see it as the room is too steeped in shadows. But I know that it’s there. Head height for Luna. The ghost I could never banish; either from my mind or my heart. She has always been entrenched. A part of me, so deeply buried, that it would kill me if I tried to remove her.
She leans back in my arms, her dark knowing look caressing my face. “Can you tell me what it was like?” she asks. Before I can ask her what she means, she continues, “Coming here by yourself. The… the heroin. What was it like? I guess I always thought of it from my own point of view. I knew I hated it… hated what it did to you. I despised how you would come home weeks or sometimes even months after a job, weak and sad. You were a different man from the husband I knew. It took you ages to get back on track. But I want to know what it was like for you?”
I look down at her face, now shrouded in shadows. I touch a tear that threatens to spill from her bottom lash and rub it between my thumb and forefinger as I consider her question. This is very introspective for my Luna. She is a wonderful, smart woman that is capable of great feelings of love. But ultimately she is a selfish woman, doesn’t look too deeply into the thoughts and motives of others.
However, she seems to truly want to understand. And though I despise the idea of bringing Luna into my dark, disgusting world of addiction, I think we need to take this step together. Perhaps she should know. I nod and stretch, pushing the chair so it inclines back, holding her in my arms so she’s forced to sprawl on top of me. She snuggles against me with a shiver. We are both naked still and though summers in Spain are warm, a chill is beginning to set in as fall nears.
“I used to fly here after particularly nasty jobs,” I tell her. “So I could be alone. I wasn’t fit to be near anyone, let alone you and Cristo.”
“Where exactly are we?” she asks softly.
I hear the hesitation in her voice. She knows she is pushing boundaries by asking, but she’s desperate to know. I consider telling her but decide against it. I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. A shudder runs through her body and she stiffens against me. I feel a catch in her breathing where her breasts brush my chest. I realize what she thinks and curse my own stupidity. “No, Luna, it’s not what you think. I promise, I’ll never hurt you like that again.” I tilt her chin so I can look into her eyes, promise her with words as well as without. “Doing what I did to you… it was like tearing out my own beating heart, impossible. I just can’t. But for now, we’re still at an impasse. Until I decide how to proceed, it’s safer for you if you don’t know where you are.”
She frowns but doesn’t disagree. “Okay, Andres. I trust that you know best.” The stiffness gradually melts from her limbs and she snuggles back against my side. I run my hand along her curves. “Please continue.”
I hold her tight against me as I talk, staring down at her, reminding myself that I’m here with Luna, not back in another time. “It was the best, most wonderful thing I’ve ever experienced. Nothing, and I mean nothing compares to the feeling of heroin speeding through my veins.” She makes a sound and I know she doesn’t like what I’ve said. It doesn’t matter. She wanted to hear the truth and this is what I give her. “I came here to forget everything. Forget the people we hunted and tortured. The women we ordered our men to brutalize, rape and dismember.” Her breath catches and her nails dig into my side. I understand. She knows what cartel is about, but the details are brutal. This is what she was trying to save our son from.
“I understand,” she whispers. “You needed to forget the things you saw.”
I shake my head and stare down at her, wanting her to really understand. “The things I did, Luna. Don’t pretend I’m an innocent, I’m not. I’m a weapon. I do as I’m ordered. I get told to hunt and kill, then I fucking do it.” Tears glitter in her dark eyes turning them to onyx. “I came here to forget everything. The cartel, my brothers… even you.”
“Me,” she repeats, her voice catching.
“How can I do my job with someone like you in my head?” I ask, a hard edge to my voice now. “How can I purge that shit with you still in my head? I think about you constantly. You’re my everything, but I can’t do what I have to do while you’re constantly there. So I came here, slammed as much of that shit as I could until I forgot everything, until I turned numb.”
“Did it work?”
“No,” I admit, running my thumb over her collarbone, reminding myself that she’s real. “You were always here. You’ve never truly left me.”
I can see the glitter of her white teeth flash as her lips stretch in a quick grin. “Good.” I don’t mention the time I shot her ghost trying to banish her from ruining my high. Something tells me she won’t like that. “But you were always clean when you came home?”
The way she says it is part question, part statement. “Yes,” I run my hand over her, touching her breast softly. “After Charlie pushed me to sober up, showed me how, I started doing it on my own when I came out here. I’d go on a bender, fuck myself up until I thought I could manage my own thoughts, then I’d force myself to clean-up.”
“How did you do that?” she asks curiously, innocently.
I shudder, unable to hold my reaction back. The images flash though my brain, almost as bad as the hideous things I’ve done to my victims. Didn’t have a choice though, I’d inject the heroin until I was out. Then I had no choice but to detox. The debilitating pain of sobering up is almost indescribable. My body would bend until it nearly broke, shivering, shuddering, purging, essentially dying, until it rid itself of the toxin. This would last for days, sometimes up to a week. I would lay in my own filth until I was once more coherent enough to crawl to the washroom.
Perhaps the withdrawal is what I wanted, even more than the drug. After my brother forced me off heroin the first time, I discovered absolution in withdrawal. There is no judge or jury in my line of work. I have only myself as a moral compass. I know I do things that I will regret, things that will put a black stain on my soul for the rest of my life. The pain of withdrawal is the closest I can come to death without maiming myself or committing suicide. It brings me comfort in the sea of disgust I feel for myself and the things I have done.
Instead of explaining this to Luna I kiss the top of her head and murmur, “Let’s get something to eat.”
She nods and tips her head back so I can kiss her lips. She understands that this topic of conversation is closed. “I think I saw another soup and a couple cans of peaches in the pantry,” she says, crawling off my lap.
She reaches back to catch my hand and leads me from the room that holds too many ghosts.
16
Luna
It’s morning and we’ve been here for a full day. I still don’t know where here is. Andres has left to pick up groceries and other supplies. While he’s away I decide to go for a walk. I pull on a fuchsia tank top and a pair of white shorts that show off my tanned legs. I find a pair of cheap floppy sandals in the bottom of the duffel bag and pull them out. They have those plastic things that go between the toes. I make a face, deciding grimly that Andres really must have been planning on killing me because no way would I have worn these unless I had no other choice except death.
I smile and stretch my arms wide, welcoming the sun as I step out the front door. My problems feel as
though they melt away in the warmth that touches my bare skin. Most of our family and friends think that we named our daughter Sola because my name is Luna, because she is the sun to my moon. This is only partly true. We named her this way because I have always been a worshipper of the sun, because she lights up my life and brings sunshine to everything around her. How can she not? She is innocence.
I feel an ache in my chest as I think of my daughter. I’m reminded of why I’m here, that my future is still uncertain. So far, I’ve tried hard not to think of my children. I’ve vacationed often without them and they’ve been fine, more than fine, in the care of their excellent nanny. There is no reason why this separation should be any different. Andres and I will fix things and then we’ll go back to our children.
I wander as far from the house as I dare, which isn’t very far. First, I go to the edge of the cliff and then around to the driveway. I walk up the road, but I don’t want to lose sight of the house so I turn back before reaching any main roads. I shade my eyes, one hand on my hip and turn around in all directions but I can’t see any other people or houses. Just tall, baked grass and a few scraggly trees. I think about climbing down the cliff where it’s less steep to walk along the beach but I’d noticed driftwood on the sand indicating the tide comes right up to the cliffs. Unsure what time that would be, I decide against this plan. Besides, if Andres comes back and finds me missing he would freak.
So I return to the house and set about dusting the layers of grime from all the surfaces. I shake my head at the lack of furniture and personal touches. The place reminds me of Andres’ home at The Site before I moved in with him. It was sparse and uncomplicated, like him. A smile twitches my lips as I remember our first months together. He’d given me carte blanche with his credit cards and flown me to some of the best cities in the world for shopping. When I’d gotten over my initial shock, I’d done those cards justice, sending shipment after shipment of purchases back to the house. After seeing what I’d done to Andres’ home, several of the Los Zetas wives asked for my decorating and fashion advice, which, of course, I was happy to give. If I hadn’t married Andres and settled down as his wife, I do believe I could have become an interior decorator.