by Pam Godwin
Because a prude was one thing Tiago was not.
As the warm trickle slowed, he sighed as if he’d just jerked himself off on her legs.
“Look at you.” He swayed back enough to let her see down the length of her defiled body. “So goddamn beautiful.”
“Yeah.” She unraveled her hand from his as modesty and shame crowded in. “I’m a glowing matriarch for women’s rights.”
Somehow, she’d forgotten to scream and fight him off while he was peeing on her.
“Hate me all you want.” He clutched her chin and put his face in hers. “But never hate your desires. Never be ashamed of what you want.”
“You pissed on me. I can’t want that.”
“Says who? You? Or the world you were raised in?” He released her to turn on the faucet and adjust the water temperature.
“It’s dirty,” she said lamely.
“I don’t have an infection.” He positioned her under the shower head. “It’s sterile enough to drink.”
“Where do you draw the line?”
“No shitting and no sharing.” He grabbed a bar of soap. “Those are our limits.”
“You can’t tell me my limits.”
“I just did.”
He proceeded to wash her body. Then his own. His dick, fully erect now, jutted from the apex of his powerful legs. But he ignored it as he focused on cleaning away the blood and urine.
She was at a loss. Part of her warmed at the thought that he didn’t want to share her. When he’d offered her to Arturo in the kitchen, it had been the worst possible scenario. Worse than Tiago finishing the job himself.
Why was that? Wouldn’t a quick fuck by a random guard have been better than the hours she endured with Tiago?
The voice in her head screamed no.
“Do you still want to kill me?” she asked quietly.
“No.” Grasping her hips, he spun her to face away. “Put your hands on the wall.”
Exhaustion sluiced away her resistance. She flattened her palms on the tiles and let her head drop between her arms. “But you’ll kill me if you need to.”
“I should’ve killed you weeks ago.” He set the soap aside and ran lathered hands up and down her back and shoulders. Then his fingers curled around her throat. “There are other forms of punishment if you try to escape.”
“Torture.”
“I have endless energy when it comes to you.” He lowered his other hand to her abdomen and sank his fingers between her legs, pushing one inside. “I can torture your pussy for days. If you lose consciousness, I’ll dunk you in cold water and start again, sucking, licking, biting, fucking, and never letting you come.” He thrust that long digit in and out, racing her pulse. “If that doesn’t convince you, you should know I won’t hesitate to hunt down your friends.”
The implication he would kill them slammed into her gut, but he didn’t voice it. He didn’t need to.
I hate you leapt to her tongue, and she bit it back. She’d said it so much it’d become trite and predictable.
“What are the rules?” she asked. “How do I guarantee their safety?”
“Don’t try to escape and no murder attempts against me or those in my employ.”
“But I can defend myself? I can fight and disobey you if I don’t like what you’re doing to me?”
He leaned his chest against her back and put his mouth at her ear. “Be my guest.”
Strength revisited her muscles and joints. Determination wound around her spine. As he kicked her feet apart and sped up the finger inside her, his intent was clear.
She pulled in a breath, knowing he expected her to start struggling. Instead, she held still, anticipating the right moment.
He seized her from behind, banding both arms around her. His teeth went to her neck, and she dropped like a rock to the floor, breaking the hold. He lurched after her, but she was already swinging.
Her fist collided with his erection and the meaty sac of his nuts. She put all her strength into it, certain the hit was hard enough to drop him.
Except he remained on his feet. He didn’t even let out a grunt or reach down to cup himself. Pain drew his lips into a flat line, but that was it.
She gave him a point for barely reacting, knowing full well that behind that stoic expression, he was battling the need to double-over and roar.
Water rained down upon her, and she blinked through the deluge, watching him, terrified.
After several heartbeats, he glared down at her and blew out a swift expulsion of air. His body seemed to widen before her eyes, flexing with testosterone and aggression, his nostrils flaring with a surge of heavy breaths. Like a bull preparing to charge. To fight, fuck, and maul.
Instead of attacking, he tilted his head and considered her. “I didn’t give you that hit.”
“Yeah, well, I took it.” Point for her.
Begging for forgiveness was her best option at this point, but she wasn’t feeling apologetic. So she swung again.
This time, he caught her fist and wrenched her to her feet. The shower stall spun around her, and her cheek smacked against the tile wall. His body pinned there, his hand at her throat, cutting her air.
He was teaching her a lesson, proving he had the upper hand. He could crush her throat—her trachea, esophagus, and whatever else she needed to stay alive—with nothing but a squeeze of his fingers.
Pain pulsed beneath his grip, and she pawed at it, eyes watering and lungs burning for oxygen. Her fear was deep and cold, stinging without mercy. He said he wouldn’t kill her, and she hung onto that promise as dots blackened her vision.
“I’m going to take you right to the edge, Kate. Over and over again.” He let go of her.
She gasped, clutching at her throat and savoring the weightlessness of unbridled breath.
Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he pressed his mouth to her jaw. “You hate me for it now, but someday, if I earn your trust, that razored edge will set you free.”
He was completely unhinged if he thought she could ever trust him.
Grabbing her hands, he placed them on the wall before her. Then his fingers slid between her legs.
He worked her the way she knew he would—passionately and persuasively. Every touch rubbed salt in the wound of desire. His lips at her neck wobbled her knees. His hard, long cock against her backside coaxed cravings she didn’t want.
Engaged in a constant war, with him, with herself, she was tired. So goddamn tired.
As he sensed her body begin to yield, he braced his bleeding arm on the wall beside hers and guided her other hand between her legs. She was wet, not just from the shower but from her treacherous arousal.
Twining their fingers together, he glided them through her folds and around her clit. He stroked himself, stroked her, his foreplay an endless night of mind-fucking torment.
By the time he stuffed his cock into her from behind, she was grinding in his arms and panting raggedly.
He banged her against the wall, with his hand trapping hers where they were joined. Just another of his wicked tortures, forcing her to feel his strokes with her fingers, using their hands to caress each glide of his length as he thrust.
That erotic touch brought an awareness to the connection she couldn’t ignore. Sparks of pleasure shimmered across her fevered skin. Pleasure that belonged only to them. She couldn’t fight it, didn’t want to.
Greedy and mindless, she surrendered to the climax, moaning and rocking and clawing at the shower wall.
He pulled out, spun her around, and took her again, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, hiking her up his body, so he could kiss her as deeply as he pounded into her. He came fast and hard, roaring her name and shaking from head to toe.
“Never letting you go,” he whispered long after he finished, still buried inside her, still chanting her name as he caught his breath.
It wasn’t the last time he fucked her in the shower. Over the next two weeks, he took her there, on the mattress, the floor, an
d everywhere.
He moved her into his room, made her sleep in his bed, and spent more time inside her than out of her.
His headaches came and went. Some days, he exercised downstairs. Every day, he worked out in her body.
When she found the energy to fight him, he restrained her with rope. When she felt herself slipping under his seductive spell, she remembered Tate.
Tate, sitting alone in a shack, with a bucket to shit in and a tattoo of the woman he loved.
That reminder helped her cling to her hatred. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto the anger forever.
Tiago was inside her, possessing her like a demon and cherishing her like a man.
She saw the truth in the devoted way he kissed her, in those breathless moments when she returned his passion with a fire of her own, in the homage that scratched his voice as he said her name.
The chemistry between them burned so hot she had to shield her eyes and look away. But she still saw it. It was Tiago who didn’t know it went both ways.
She told him she hated him, and he never doubted it. He didn’t know about the times when she felt herself swaying, softening, falling.
Someday, Tate would be free, but she would still be here, staring at the crime lord who stood at the edge of hell, with his arms open, waiting to catch her.
Tiago pushed through his work out, tossing up weights and annihilating his cardio routine with a nourishing burn in his lungs.
His strength had returned, his headaches completely gone, his health back to normal.
He might’ve been fifteen years older than Kate, but he’d spent the past two weeks fucking her like he was in his twenties.
With a grunt, he grabbed a heavier weight and heaved it through a set of bicep curls. He should’ve been focused on his upcoming return to Caracas, but his thoughts constantly wandered back to her.
What was she doing right now? Was she staring at the front door and plotting her escape? Or was she caressing the lush curves of her greedy body and thinking about his hands?
She despised him with every breath she took, but she loved the way he touched her, kissed her, and moved inside the tight clasp of her cunt.
“Goddamn.” His skin tingled and heated.
He dropped the weight and dragged a towel down his face.
They were leaving for Caracas in just a few days. He didn’t want her anywhere near the cesspool of his organization, but he would never leave without her. Hell, he couldn’t even bear being in a different part of the house than her.
Finished with the work out, he exited the backroom and stepped into the hall.
Iliana had stayed out of his way since he set the record straight. She and the other guards received the same message two weeks ago.
He and Kate were off-limits.
No more touching or flirting.
No sharing.
Kate would be treated with the same respect as Boones. Keeping her and the old doctor safe was his top priority, and he made certain his security team knew it was theirs, too.
As he prowled down the hall toward the kitchen, the sweet sound of her voice reached his ears. He peered around the corner and found her at the table with Boones.
Arturo stood in the front room. When Tiago gave him a nod, he soundlessly headed down the hall in the direction Tiago just came from.
With their backs to the doorway, Kate and Boones didn’t notice the change of guard.
“Who is she?” She leaned over a crinkled photograph in Boones’ hand, the one he always carried in his pocket.
Boones stroked the black-and-white image of the gorgeous Eritrean woman. “Her name was Semira.”
On a stunned exhale, Kate whispered, “Tiago’s wife.” Another gasp. “She was your daughter?”
“My only child.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
In the doorway behind them, Tiago stared at his feet as a mace of memories formed in his stomach, all sharp, pointy spikes, piercing and heavy.
Semira wore a traditional Tigrinya dress and gold head jewelry in that picture. Tiago had been behind the camera, capturing the snapshot of the mischievous smile she’d so often thrown at him. As beautiful as she was strong, she’d ripped his heart out of his chest the first time he’d seen her.
“He told you about her?” Boones clutched her arm, his toothy smile glimmering with hope.
“He shared some of the painful highlights but was rather stingy with the details. I’d love to hear more.” She entwined her fingers with his. “How did he meet your daughter?”
Tiago silently shifted back into the hallway and let his head rest against the wall. He trusted Boones to share only the parts that were safe to speak out loud. Her question was one Tiago would’ve answered himself. But she hated him too much to ask him directly.
“Tiago met my daughter when his family moved to my country,” Boones said. “His father originated in Venezuela as a pharmacist, and that’s where Tiago was raised. When Tiago finished school and took a job in America, his father moved his mother and younger brother out of Venezuela. His father’s expertise in medicinal botany brought him to…” He coughed. “My village.”
“Why is the location of your home such a big secret?”
“Tiago has enemies from his old life, as well as this one. Now that my brothers have returned home, he can’t keep them as safe as he would like. He doesn’t want anyone to know where to look for them.”
“Wait. Your brothers? They’re the other doctors on your medical team?”
“Yes. Semira, her uncles, and me. All doctors.”
“So Tiago was raised in Venezuela? And when he returned, you and your brothers followed him back here?”
“Of course.” A sad smile sifted through his voice. “We’re his only family.”
“That’s why he’s so protective of you.” Realization softened her tone. “His parents…? They’re not alive?”
Tiago ran a tense hand through his hair, fighting the impulse to make his presence known and end the conversation.
“They died,” Boones said. “His father was my dearest friend. We worked together for years, while Tiago was off traveling the world, immersed in his career. But Tiago visited my village often, mostly to court my daughter. He loved her.”
“He said she didn’t love him back.”
Boones sat quietly for a long moment. Tiago didn’t need to see his father-in-law’s scarred face to read the troubled thoughts in his head.
“She fell in love with his looks and the safety he could provide,” Boones finally said. “He has a big presence, powerful and handsome, but you already know that.”
His military background in America was what drew Semira to him. The political climate in Eritrea wasn’t good, hadn’t been good for decades. Repression ran rife throughout the country. Citizens lived in constant fear, unable to speak out against the government. News outlets were closely controlled. Everything was locked down.
For Semira, Tiago had represented freedom. A way for her and her family to escape the repression.
He’d been in the process of moving them out of the country when she was attacked. How ironic that instead of keeping her safe, he was the one who got her killed.
“She never loved him the way he loved her.” Boones’ voice carried years of regret. “We fought about it, she and I.”
“Because you love him,” Kate said.
“Like a son.”
Tiago closed his eyes. The best thing that came out of Eritrea was that stubborn old man. Boones had stuck by his side through the worst, brought him back to life multiple times, watched him do things no one should ever have to witness, and not once did Boones give up on him.
“You have to understand,” Boones said. “Tiago didn’t just lose his wife that day. He lost his father, mother, and little brother. His entire family was slaughtered in front of him.”
Her gasp cleaved through Tiago, but it was Boones’ next words that twisted the knife of shame.
&
nbsp; “He needs a woman’s love.”
Enough of this.
Tiago charged into the kitchen, circled the table, and stood on the other side to glare down at Boones, then Kate.
He braced himself for the pity she wouldn’t be able to hide in her honest eyes, but when he peered closely, he didn’t find it.
She tilted her head and raised a brow, her lips pursing as if she were annoyed by his intrusion.
Fucking incredible.
He turned his gaze to Boones and spoke in Tigrayit. “I don’t need love, you meddling old fuck.”
“Idiot,” Boones said in the same language. “You need it more than ever now that you have brain damage.”
“You said the injuries didn’t damage my brain.”
“I changed my mind.”
Irritation slithered beneath his skin. He switched to English. “Tell her what happened after I watched my family die.”
Boones bit down on his thin lips. He didn’t like this part.
“That’s okay.” Kate patted Boones’ arm. “I have a pretty good idea.”
“I don’t think you do.” Tiago paced around the table, his hands clasped behind him. “I killed everyone involved. Those who coordinated the attack on my family and everyone associated with those people. I murdered handlers, operatives, and officials, which put me on wanted lists for multiple countries and all the three-letter agencies.”
Her face paled.
“I didn’t just walk away from my job.” He paused beside her and leaned down, gripping the edge of the table. “I went rogue, killed a bunch of important people, and took Boones and his family down with me.”
“Don’t you start on that.” Boones stood and pointed a finger at Tiago. “We demanded to go with you.”
“I shouldn’t have allowed it.” He’d ruined their lives, tainted their gentle souls with his filth.
Boones slammed a fist against the tabletop, his body stiff with rage as he turned to Kate. “I was as close to his father as he was. We were all close, his family, my family. The day they died, we all changed. My brothers and I needed revenge just as badly as Tiago. That’s why we went with him.” His accent thickened, vibrating with vehemence. “We followed him from city to city, waited as he took each life, and patched up his broken bones and wounds. Then we followed him here to Venezuela.” He cut his eyes to Tiago, the white scars on his cheeks glowing against his black skin. “I made my own choices. You don’t get to take credit for my crimes.”