The Fifth Kingdom

by Caridad Piñeiro

  There was no lack of life in the woman sitting beside him, enjoying with gusto each bite of food and every tidbit of knowledge they revealed. By the time they left, arms wrapped around each other, he was intoxicated from a combination of the food, wine and Deanna.

  A heady and dangerous combination it occurred to him when they entered their suite and stood in the living room, staring at one another expectantly. Wondering what to do next.

  She finally broke the standoff by saying, “It’s late. Would it be all right if we worked on the journals and maps tomorrow?”

  He thought about sitting next to her once more, intimately huddled over the papers. Too much dangerous temptation right now since he was already feeling near the edge. “It makes sense. It’s been a long day and you must be tired.”

  The last thing Deanna was feeling was tired. Anxious, nervous, needy would have probably been better descriptions of her emotions at that moment. Especially the needy part. She needed to feel his arms around her. She needed to hear that hesitant chuckle of his and see the dimple when his uncertain grin dared to emerge. She wondered how it would feel to have the weight of his big, beautiful body pressing her into the mattress. Surrounding her with the kind of comfort she had not ever experienced before in her life.

  Since she wasn’t the kind of woman to just sit back and wait for life to come to her, she went to him. When she stood barely inches from that body that she craved, she reached up and laid her hand along the side of his neck. Traced his jaw that was rough from a sandpapery evening beard.

  “I’m not that tired, Guillermo.”

  “Please don’t call me that. I stopped being that person a long time ago,” he replied, but didn’t move away.

  She understood. Guillermo was the abandoned little boy he had shut away deep inside him. Bill was the strong and capable man he had become.

  “Bill, will you come to bed with me?” she asked, stroking her thumb along the line of his jaw.

  “Direct, aren’t you?” he replied, but responded by laying his hand on her waist and applying gentle pressure to draw her close.

  “Neither of us is the kind to dawdle or make excuses. Why start now?” she challenged, inching her head up, which thanks to the heels brought her lips near his.

  He chuckled and the dimple emerged. With a shake of his head as he brought his other hand up to cradle her cheek, he said, “Some things are worth dawdling over.”

  To prove his point, he brushed his mouth across hers and began a slow and careful and oh-so-delicious exploration of her lips that had her leaning into him, wanting so much more. When she opened her mouth, he gave her that, dancing his tongue along hers, inviting her to play.

  She answered his demand, tasting him. Savoring the textures and nuances of his marvelous mouth and lips. Pressing her body to the hard muscles of his, her hand resting on that magnificent chest. Slipping beneath the edge of his tuxedo jacket to find the hard nub of his nipple beneath the smooth, slick cotton shirt.

  She laid her hand over it, cupping his pectoral and he followed her lead, raising his hand to cradle her breast. Drawing a lazy circle around the puckered tip beneath the satin of the gown until she moaned and covered his hand. Pressed it tight to her because she wanted more.

  Wetness erupted along her sex as he took her hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tweaking it gently. Each tightening pulsed through her body, escalating passion.

  He released her mouth only long enough to say, “May I taste?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sweet lord, his words alone nearly had her coming. “Yes, please,” she urged and reached behind her to undo the zipper on the gown. But he already had his hands there, lowering it with a slow rasp of the teeth. Parting the fabric, which caused the front to gape.

  She held it to her, but he quickly brought his hands around and taking hold of hers, lowered the gown down her body until she was standing before him in nothing more than her bikini panties and hose. His hands eased beneath both of them and in one move, he skimmed them down her legs and then surprised her by kneeling before her and nuzzling the curls at the juncture of her legs.

  He grasped her hips in his large hands and with a lick, ran his tongue along the cleft of her sex.

  Her knees nearly buckled with his first taste of her, not quite as she had imagined when he had so politely asked.

  There was nothing polite about his wickedly sexy actions.

  He held her close, licking and sucking at her lips and the nub between her legs until she was shaking. She cradled his head to her until she was nearly coming undone.

  The tremors in her body registered against Bill’s lips and hands, warning him that she was at the edge. So was he without her even laying a hand on him, but he wanted to be buried inside her wet heat when he came.

  Surging upward, he swept her up into his arms and strode into the bedroom where he let her slide down the length of his body. She touched him then, covering his erection with her hand as she kissed him once more.

  “May I look?” she said with a smile, mimicking his earlier words, but not waiting a moment before she ripped open his shirt and studs went flying.

  “Your tax dollars hard at work,” he teased as he yanked at his bow tie and tugged off his jacket.

  “Worth every cent.” She stroked him once again through the expensive fabric of his pants, but then leaned forward and took his hard nipple into her mouth, suckling it.

  Bill had to grit his teeth to remain in control. He fumbled awkwardly with the cummerbund, heard another rip as he pulled it off before undoing his pants. He kicked them off and his holster went with them, hitting the floor with a loud thump.

  Deanna encircled him again, her palm soft against his hardness. Exerting gentle pressure as she backed up a step and then sat on the edge of the bed before lying down. As she spread her legs, she exposed her glistening sex to him and he had to taste once again, but not before he sampled something else.

  Easing into the V of her legs, he bent and kissed her cherry-colored nipples, finding them as sweet as berries. He rolled his lips around the hard tips, yanking a satisfied moan from her.

  Deanna held his head to her with one hand and then reached down, stroked him with the other, guiding him ever closer to her center, which was throbbing for his possession. At her entrance, he held still and raised his head, glancing down at her.

  “I’m safe,” he said and she echoed the promise, wanting him inside her. Wanting to feel the slickness of flesh against flesh and heat building with each stroke.

  Slowly he slid in, allowing her body to accommodate the length and girth of him, as magnificent as everything else about his body. He stretched her. Filled her.

  Above her his body shook with his restraint and as she met his gaze, she realized that although they had made the promise about being safe, they had possibly broken another. This was not going to be just about two consenting adults sharing their bodies. It was going to be dangerously more, but she somehow couldn’t muster the strength to pull away and put a stop to it.

  Instead, she raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist, her thighs grasping his body as he finally shifted his hips outward and then drove back in, stealing the breath from her lungs at the perfection of the moment.

  She laid her hands on his chest, her gaze locked with his. His heart drumming so loudly it vibrated across the powerful muscles of his chest. Her own beating as powerfully, wondering how it was possible to share such pleasure with someone else.

  He eased in and out of her, then bent his head, kissed her once again. His kiss tender as if to reassure her that he wouldn’t take without giving. Then he bent and kissed each breast, his actions almost worshipful, bringing a catch to her breath. She had never felt so cherished.

  She wrapped her arms around him. Caressed the broad planes of his back as he worked his hips, each stroke drawing them closer and closer until with one final push, he took her over the edge.

  The warmth of her surrounded Bill.
Her arms holding him close. Her lips when she whispered a kiss across his cheek and released a long pent-up breath. Her sex, pulsing and throbbing around him as he drove into her again, savoring the vibrations of her climax. Wanting to take her to yet another.

  Her breaths grew choppier and she tightened her grip on his back as passion revived. She murmured his name and cried out her satisfaction. Urged him to his own release.

  As another wave of satisfaction washed across her body, she arched her back and the action drove him ever deeper. United them so completely, arms and legs tangled together, bodies so close, it was as if they were one at that moment.

  He came, his seed exploding into her. His body visibly shaking from the force of his climax. Weakened from the strength of the passion they had shared. Shocked at how right it felt as she soothed him, urging him down to her. Stroking her hands along his back and up into his hair lovingly.

  He sucked in a breath and all he smelled was her. Clean womanly smell, but with a hint of the muskiness from their lovemaking. He inhaled again, wanting to remember every nuance of what it was like to be with her because deep inside he knew the moment was ephemeral.

  As passion receded and reality returned, he slipped from her and rose, watching her as she likewise composed herself. She stood and pulled aside the covers. Crawled back in and laid in the center of the king-sized bed. Then she held out her hand and said, “Come and sleep.”

  He wouldn’t refuse the invitation, but it occurred to him that in the heat of the moment, he had left his weapon out in the living area of the suite. “In a second.”

  He returned to where the tuxedo and gown lay on the floor in a heap, the gown looking like a spill of blood against the black and white of his tuxedo. He hoped that vision wasn’t somehow prophetic of where this mission would end as he bent and grabbed his weapon.

  Back in the bedroom, he removed the automatic from the holster and placed it within easy reach, then he climbed into bed with her. She was lying on her side, watching his every move. Relaxed in a way that he suddenly wasn’t feeling.

  The blood-red pool of her gown had brought too vivid a reminder of why they were together. Of why they couldn’t be just two people who were attracted to one another. He reminded himself that he was supposed to protect her. That he had a mission not just to find her mother, but to possibly stop the actions of a group determined to hurt others. Extremists who might be plotting to inflict yet another wound to either his country or their own people.

  Deanna must have sensed his withdrawal. She stroked her hand down his chest to the purpling bruise at his side, misreading the reason for his change of mood.

  “Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

  “I’m okay,” he said unconvincingly. He couldn’t battle her simple touch, which was undoing every logical reason for why they shouldn’t be in bed together. So not good, he thought as she shifted closer and the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest. Between his legs his erection jumped to life once more and she shot a half glance down at it before returning her gaze to his face.

  She raised her hand, passed it along his cheek in a soothing gesture as she said, “You’re not sure this is a good thing.”

  Bill could have told her the million and one reasons flashing across his brain, but instead chose the one that stuck in his craw the most.

  “Are you sure? Or are you afraid as well of where this might lead?”

  Deanna stopped her caress then and dropped her hand to his shoulder. Her gaze drifted over features that in the short space of a couple of days had become achingly familiar. Features she wouldn’t mind seeing across from her in bed on a regular basis and yet Bill wasn’t a regular kind of guy. If she needed any proof of that, it was right there on his body in the assorted scars and bruises that were a testament to the life he lived.

  The kind of life that was more like her mother’s than hers.

  No, she wasn’t sure, but if she didn’t take the risk, she might regret it for the rest of her life.

  “We could logic this to death, but I’d rather not do that.”

  The hint of a smile quirked one side of his mouth. “What would you rather do?”

  Deanna didn’t hesitate to show him, reaching down to stroke her hand over his erection. It was still slick from their earlier lovemaking, which brought an eruption of wetness between her legs.

  He sucked in a breath and held it, but the jerk of his body in her hand confirmed that he rather liked what she was doing. She shifted her hand to the tip of his erection and ran her index finger all along the sensitive head. The breath exploded from his chest.

  “It’s hard to battle your logic,” he said wryly and skimmed his hand down across her breast, pausing to caress the peaked nipple for only a moment before he continued downward to her center.

  She raised her thigh, bringing it to rest on his to give him greater access, and he didn’t hesitate. His long graceful fingers stroked across her sex. Spread the moisture to the swollen nub of her clitoris, where he caressed her, rousing greater desire.

  Unlike before, this was a slow taking. They brought each other to a higher and higher peak with the play of their hands and mouths. When he finally entered her, they were both shaking with desire and yet they still lingered. Kissing and caressing each other until release finally came in a long, slow tide of pleasure. It flowed over them, sending satisfaction along every inch. Ebbed and then rose again until it peaked and they both came, wrapped tightly together. Neither of them moving as passion receded and was replaced by blissful peace.

  Deanna lay tucked against him, her thigh thrown over his. His body still joined with hers as his hard length slowly softened within her.

  He didn’t move other than to splay his large hand across the damp small of her back to keep her close. Not that she planned on going anywhere. It just felt too…nice to leave his arms.

  Instead, she brushed a kiss across the line of his collarbone, tucked her head beneath his chin and said, “Good night, Bill.”

  The slight movement of his chin told her he was smiling as he said, “Good night, Deanna.”

  With a satisfied smile on her own face, she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her.

  The neighborhood was the kind that decent people avoided, filled with derelict buildings housing a variety of squatters and individuals whose activities were generally criminal.

  Hector hated having to come into this part of town. It brought back too many reminders of the life he had once lived and how far he had managed to come despite being the son of a whore and a drug dealer. If it wasn’t for his belief that his actions could help put an end to neighborhoods like this by focusing on the Mexican people and restoring their pride, he would not venture into this slum.

  But this area was where Javier Ramirez had decided to house his Primera Mexica cell and its members. Where Miranda Adams was safely tucked into a basement storage room in one of the deserted warehouses. A wise choice since not even the police or military would think to patrol the area. There were just too many of them and too many risks to warrant routine searches.

  Hector swung the car around the corner and parked it behind the rusting hulk of a burned-out Dumpster. As he did so, the door to the building opened slightly as one of the guards within checked to see who had arrived. When he exited the vehicle, the guard stepped out and held the door open, an automatic machine gun in his hands.

  With a nod at the man, he slipped past him and into the gloom of the building. Only a few scattered lights along the walls provided dim illumination, but he supposed that was necessary. Anything else would attract enough attention to possibly warrant the Federales or military to come check and see what was happening within.

  At the far end of the warehouse, a group of men stood around two who were wrestling bare-chested in the center of the circle. They were exhorting them to more violence, something else of which Hector didn’t approve. He supposed that sometimes violence was the only way to get some people�
��s attention.

  Javier Ramirez was on the fringe of the group, smiling as he watched the fight. But when one of the guards from the door came to his side and motioned back toward him, the smile faded somewhat.

  Understandable, Hector thought. He was too much a reminder of just how far Javier had to go before he could be considered worthy of entrée into Mexico City’s more gentrified circles.

  Javier mumbled something to the man and then strutted toward Hector, puffing out his chest and tossing back his shoulders as if that would somehow make him a bigger man. When he reached Hector’s side, he said, “What brings you here?”

  “News, mi amigo,” he said and clapped the smaller man on the back.

  “News?” Javier asked warily.

  “Miranda’s daughter is here with her fiancé. Or at least a man who says he’s her fiancé.” Hector thought the man looked nothing like the kinds of executives he had run into during the course of his business.

  Javier placed his hands on his hips and looked toward the floor, obviously in thought before he replied, “Seems a little too coincidental with two of my men dead in New York.”

  Hector couldn’t disagree. “Even if he is with the authorities, we have the advantage. We have Miranda.”

  Javier waved him off with a frustrated swipe of his arm. “Miranda has provided us nothing. She’s only alive because we haven’t been able to get any information about Montezuma’s tomb.”

  Hector smiled. “But now we have Miranda’s daughter who says she has Miranda’s notes. If we can get her to share them—”

  “I can’t wait to kill that gringo bitch,” Javier snarled, disdain for their captive obvious in every line of his body.

  “But you will have to wait until we know for sure that her daughter can give us what we need,” Hector reminded, afraid that his hotheaded companion would jump the gun and they would never find what could be the discovery of the century.