by K. Webster
“I-I…w-was…just…”
He slides his hand into the top of my panties and his longest finger slips between the lips of my pussy. A groan pushes out of my mouth. Something resembling a feral growl rattles through him as his finger seeks my warmth. I’m so focused on what he’s doing that I forget what I am…who I am…I forget everything. A thick finger pushes into me and I cry out. He curls it, his long digit stroking a place I never knew existed. I’m embarrassingly wet for him and I can’t make sense of that.
I’m sick.
This shouldn’t be happening.
I need to push him away and run.
His thumb finds my clit and he begins fingering me in a way that erases all my stress and worry. I’m with one of the biggest monsters the CIA is after and I’m willingly letting him bring me to orgasm.
“Tell me,” he orders, his husky voice nearly my undoing. When I don’t answer, he uses the knife to rid me of my top two buttons.
“I was looking for Araceli,” I admit in defeat. I close my eyes and wait for him to slit my throat.
His fingers keep playing me until stars glitter behind my lids. My knees buckle, but I don’t fall. A harsh, unexpected orgasm ripples through me, drawing out a loud moan from me. I ride the waves until I feel dizzy. I’m blacking out. Either from pleasure or fear. He slips his finger from inside of me and pulls me against him. I can feel every single hard muscle in his chest through his T-shirt. My own chest is bare, aside from my bra. A bad man shouldn’t feel this good. The tip of his blade scores the material along my spine. I bury my face against him in an effort to escape the knife.
“She is none of your concern,” he demands lowly. “Your concern is this house. That is your job. That is what I pay you to do. Are we clear?”
I nod, hot tears leaking from my eyes and soaking his shirt. His hand cradles the back of my head and for a moment I wonder if he’ll yank my head back and cut my throat. He doesn’t cut me, though. Simply runs his fingers through my hair. The small act of affection, from a monster no less, has me sagging against him.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I was just worried about her.”
“I’ve killed men for lesser offenses,” he utters. “Don’t get yourself killed because you’re worried about a woman who is not even your blood.”
He tosses his knife on the desk with a clatter. Then, his palm slides to my ass and his other hand keeps stroking through my hair. He squeezes my bottom and inhales my hair.
“It’s your day off,” he rumbles before stepping away. His intense brown eyes rake over the naked parts of my body, hunger flickering in his gaze. “Take the day off and come back to work tomorrow focused. Where will you go?”
I swallow. “To see my father.”
“Good.”
I clutch my dress together to hide my nakedness. My eyes drop to the floor. I can’t look at him. His finger was inside of me. He just got me off. He is the enemy.
Fuck.
I push past him and all but run to the door. I’m just opening the door when his commanding voice stops me.
“Rosa, I will kill you if I have to.”
His threat is loud and clear, reminding me he is evil and a monster.
I’m vulnerable.
In desperate need for comfort.
Ready to maul Michael.
After the confusing, terrifying, and hot moment with Javier, I’ve been on edge ever since. I’d gone back to my room and spent a lot of time getting ready. I borrowed one of Yolanda’s yellow dresses and worked hard on my makeup. Winged eyeliner. Rosy cheeks. Dark, thick lashes. And blood red lips.
I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
Beautiful.
I knock on the door and Michael opens it. His gaze goes from bored to hungry in a matter of moments. I knew I could fix us. I’d grown too comfortable. Assumed he didn’t need me to dress up for him. But he’s a man, after all. He likes pretty things. And I’m a helluva lot prettier than that woman from last night, who I later learned was a prostitute.
Somehow knowing she was a whore and not someone who he actually had feelings for helped his betrayal against me.
“Rosa,” he murmurs.
I launch myself into his arms. Our lips meet and I kiss him hard. His palms find my hips but instead of pulling me closer, he pushes me away.
“Stokes is waiting on a report. You’re late,” he reminds me. My red lipstick is smeared on his face and it brings back memories from last night.
I drag myself away from him, ignoring the hurt throbbing through me. “Something happened,” I whisper. I’m playing a dangerous game, but my heart is calling the shots. I want him to feel the stab of hurt I felt. “This morning, Javier caught me.”
His eyes widen. “You were made?”
“What? No,” I rush out. I’m about to tell him about searching for Araceli, but then I remember the way he struck me last night. He doesn’t need to know the whys. “I was in his office and I wasn’t supposed to be. I’d ended up hiding under his desk. He pulled me out and then…”
His brows scrunch together and his lips are pursed. “Did he hurt you?”
“He fingered me,” I whisper, my eyes wide.
He turns away from me and walks over to his computer. With his back to me, he says, “Did you like it?”
“What? Of course I didn’t like it,” I lie, my voice shrill. I don’t tell him I came harder than I ever have in my life.
“So he knew you were snooping and then he fingered you before letting you go?”
“Yeah.”
“This is perfect.”
I blink in shock. “Excuse me?”
He turns and a devious grin is on his face. It crushes my heart that he doesn’t even ask how I felt about it. “This is perfect. You can get closer to him. If he likes you, work that to your advantage. He’ll give you access to information we desperately need.” He motions at me. “Look at you, Rosa, you were made to seduce a man. You can do this.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m fucking thrilled,” he elaborates. “This is the best progress we’ve had in years.”
My heart sinks. “Stokes will think this is okay?”
“Stokes doesn’t have to know right now. Just do more of this,” he says as he motions to my dress.
He approaches me and I melt in his arms. Last night I didn’t want to sleep with him because he’d had the prostitute here and my heart was broken, but today, I need to remind him why he wants me. I reach for my zipper and he swats my hand away.
“Leave it on, baby. It’s too sexy to take off.” He twists me and urges me to bend over the bed. With my palms on the covers, I try not to be bitter as he slides my dress up over my ass. He tugs my panties down and they drop to my ankles above my borrowed sandals. Within seconds his naked cock is out rubbing against my ass.
“Condom,” I choke out, a shudder rippling through me.
“Right,” he snaps. His tone is irritated.
I wait, my ass bared to him, for him to sheath his cock. He presses into me and I wince. I’m still aching from Javier’s thick, expert finger. In a mechanical way, Michael pistons against me.
Slapslapslapslapslap.
Our skins make sounds and it reminds me of earlier.
The sounds my body was making was wetter. Juicier. Needier. The barely stifled moans coming from me were desperate and wild. A jolt of pleasure trickles through me at the reminder. I want Michael to get me off, to bring me back into the moment with him, but he’s focused on his own release.
What am I even doing?
One sick, twisted morning in Javier Estrada’s office and I’m suddenly questioning everything with Michael.
The thought is a dangerous one.
Have I been undercover too long? Am I losing my mind?
Michael comes with a hiss and I feel his heat rushing out, thankfully protected by the condom. I’d always wanted to protect myself against pregnancy since I’m in no point in my life ready to be a mother, but after
last night and seeing that prostitute, I want to protect myself from much more. He pulls out and deposits the condom in the restroom. I jerk my panties up my thighs and cross my arms, my stance defensive.
“Let’s have dinner together,” I murmur.
He rights his clothes and scowls. “I’ve got work to do.” He points at the door. “And so do you.”
I glower at him, a spark of the real me climbing to the surface. I’ve spent four years being someone else that I’ve nearly snuffed out Rosa Daza. I flip him off and start for the door. I’ve just yanked it open when he grips my elbow painfully.
“Rosa,” he snaps. “What the fuck is your problem?”
I try to jerk my arm from his grip to no avail. “I’m just so over this,” I admit, tears threatening.
“There is no this,” he reminds me. “There was never a this.”
I recoil at his harsh words. “Let me go.”
“I’ll walk you home,” he offers as he releases me. “It’s dark.”
“No need,” a deep, dangerous voice rumbles from the hallway. “I’ll take over from here.”
Javier Estrada, dressed to the nines in a fancy pale gray three-piece suit, is leaned against the scummy peeling wallpaper looking incredibly out of place. I’m frozen to the dirty carpet, a deer caught in the headlights.
How much did he hear?
He must read my expression because he chuckles. “He doesn’t look old enough to be your father. But it appears I misunderstood. He’s your daddy.” He smirks as he straightens and steps forward.
Michael pushes past me, his body blocking mine from Javier’s approach. My heart sails at his protecting me. “We’re nothing anymore. We broke up.”
Pain cuts through my abdomen.
I think the words are more for me than Javier.
Javier’s brown eyes dart to mine and he gauges my reaction. I flinch because, in essence, that’s exactly what just happened. Bowing my head, I attempt to calm my nerves.
“Come, manzanita,” Javier says, his voice commanding and somehow soothing all at once. “I will escort you.” He opens his jacket to reveal his piece strapped to his body. Not only is he always carrying, but he’s like the big man in this city. The one they all fear, worship, or respect. With him, nobody would touch me.
“We can still be friends,” Michael murmurs. “I’ll take you out to dinner on your next day off.” His eyes pin me and I know he wants me to play along.
I give him a clipped nod that I understand. I understand the mission, but I do not understand why he’s thrown my heart in the blender. Has it always been one-sided? Michael retreats into the room and closes the door. I’m left standing alone with my boss, leader of the cartel, and the man whose finger was inside of me this morning. I’m caught somewhere in between my chest aching from Michael being so cold to my skin feeling inflamed from Javier’s scorching stare.
“Have you eaten?” he asks, his voice low so that if Michael is listening, he can’t be heard.
I lift my eyes and regard him in confusion. “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”
His gaze rakes over my dress and he flashes me an impish grin. “I followed the dress, mami.” His dimple forms and a flash of heat surges through me.
Seduce him.
Simple.
I can do this.
Javier
“The dress wasn’t for you,” she throws back at me saucily.
Oh, the dress was for me. The moment I caught a glimpse of her walking by in that dress, I knew it was for me. I’d stood and followed her right out of the house, knowing that every asshole in Acapulco would want a piece of my hot fucking maid in her little yellow dress. And I needed every single one of them to know it was my dress. My maid. Mine.
“Of course not, manzanita.” I smirk at her as I offer her my elbow.
She eyes it warily, her normally completely composed demeanor shattered from that fuckwad. Her father. The stink of sex permeating from the room when the door opened had my hackles raised. I may not have truly spoken to her much during her employment, but I’m not blind. A man can identify a gorgeous woman when she lives in his home and cleans his space. Her scent—sweet like apples—clings to my belongings, and quite frankly, I enjoy it.
But if there’s anything my padre ever taught me, it’s don’t fuck the people you pay to do you a job. Feelings cloud their judgment and then you lose someone good because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.
For four years, I’ve appreciated her feminine curves and attention to detail. Yet, the night when she showed up battered in the kitchen, she awoke something inside me. Curiosity if you will. A desire to bend my father’s rules. Bend her. Specifically, over my desk.
She lets out a heavy sigh and clutches onto my elbow. “You don’t have to take me home. I can walk.”
Over my dead body.
Last time, she almost got herself killed.
“I’m not taking you home,” I rumble as we walk through the scuzzy hotel. When I’d followed her, I called Alejandro and asked him to meet me at the hotel. And as we walk outside, he’s standing beside his white Hummer with his arms crossed against his chest. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of Rosa.
Appreciation.
I think she has the same effect on every man who crosses her path.
Well, except the overweight, balding motherfucker who clearly fucked her one last time before breaking her heart. That I will never comprehend.
Leaning into her as we walk, my lips brush against her hair. “He is blind and fucking stupid.”
She stiffens but gives me the briefest nod. I smirk as I guide her to the passenger side of the vehicle. Her brows scrunch together when I open the door for her.
“You don’t have to be so nice,” she mumbles as she slides in. Her short yellow dress rides up her tanned thighs as she settles on the leather seat.
I grab the seatbelt and reach across her chest, my arm brushing against her fat tits as I buckle her in. “Who says I’m nice?” I arch a brow at her. Our faces are inches apart—so close I can almost taste her. The idea of having her is becoming every bit a goal of mine as all the shit I do for my father.
It’s what we Estrada men do.
We calculate, we conquer, we own.
Right now, I’m calculating how I can make this happen without having it blow up in my face. I'll read her tells and pay attention to her personality. Once I’ve deduced she isn’t going to go batshit crazy after a wild fuck or two, then I will conquer her sweet, supple body. And I already fucking own her, so that’s that.
She clears her throat and Alejandro chuckles under his breath from the backseat. I ignore him and close her inside. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I scan the streets. This evening is semi calm. Normally, I’d be stirring shit up to keep the momentum of this city’s descent into hell going. But not now. Now, I need to take care of fucking business.
When we pass the estate, Rosa sits up and jerks her head my way, suddenly alert and not feeling sorry for herself. “Where are we going?”
“Errands.”
Another snort from the backseat.
“Are we going to go get Araceli? Is she safe?” She turns in her seat and bites on her bottom lip. It’s plump and painted red. Fuck, she’s hot. And she isn’t even trying. The woman doesn’t even realize she’s so goddamned pretty.
“She’s fine—” Alejandro offers from the backseat, but his words die in his throat when he catches my furious glare in the mirror.
At hearing this, she relaxes some, but I don’t miss the way her eyes scan the roads. She’s vigilant. Always watching. It’s something I’ve noticed about her at the house. Nothing gets by her with her staff. Makes me wonder how much of my shit she notices.
Marco Antonio’s words buzz in my head.
“I’m telling you. The way she hit him, with such force, and then the way she pinned him. That’s professional, jefe.”
I flit my gaze over to her hands. She wrings the bottom of he
r dress in a nervous manner. If she was fucking spying like Mr. Conspiracy Theory thinks, she’d be relaxed. Not this. The woman is rattled. A bit curious but mostly uneasy. But she’s riding around with Guerrero’s biggest monster. A devil in an expensive suit with a disarming smile. She better feel unnerved.
She doesn’t ask any more questions until we pull up to the shed.
“Stay,” I bark, pinning her with a hard stare. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Alejandro grumbles. “I don’t get to come, do I?”
He knows his job. Fucking babysit my hot maid.
“Nope.”
“Figures. I really hate that dickhead.”
I shrug as I climb out of the Hummer. “I’ll save you a finger.”
Rosa gasps, but I don’t spare her a glance. Most women in the city know the level of crime here. And, she of all people, knows I’m the one who stirs the fucking pot. I stride over to the key panel and punch in the code. I’m gained entry and I step into the dark metal building. As soon as the door slams closed behind me, I hear him.
“Help! Someone help me!”
Velez.
I crack my neck and roll it along my shoulders to stretch out the tension. Having Rosa on my mind is screwing with my thoughts. It’s not often I’d prefer to take home a woman than rip off a man’s fingers with a pair of pliers.
I walk through the empty building until I find the room in the back. Bright light shines below the door. Pushing into the room, I let satisfaction roll through me to see my victim sitting bound to a chair.
Naked.
Mayor Velez likes to get naked after all.
With fucking underage boys.
As soon as he sees me, his face crumples. Tears stream down his face and I haven’t even done anything. Yet.
“Buenas tardes, Alcalde.” Good evening, Mayor. I unbutton my smoke-gray linen Versace jacket and slide it down my arms. I hang it from a hook on the wall. This suit cost me nearly fifty-six thousand pesos. I’m not keen on soiling it with the mayor’s blood, sweat, and tears. A lightweight durable suit where you don’t sweat your balls off in the Acapulco heat is hard to come by.