by A. J. Adams
Thinking about it, I knew I would also have plenty of competition looking to take over my spot. I’d have to see that off, at least until I was sure Arturo was happy to let me make my own way again. There probably wasn’t a statutory limit on participating in mass murder, but once he trusted I would keep my mouth shut, I’d be okay. By then he’d be ready for a change, and I’d walk off, disappearing into the sunset and living happily ever after.
So there I was, talking myself into believing I could be this fantasy creature: the perfect blend of slut, spouse and slave. What a load of bollocks, right? But as I said, it steadied me. As we walked about the old part of the city, followed by the five blokes and two girls who made up the new team of minders, I watched Arturo, trying to figure out what sort of person he was. I figured that the more I understood him, the better I could work to please him.
It wasn’t easy. You’d think a cartel boss would be loud, aggressive and weighed down with bling, but Arturo was so understated that he was practically invisible. He wore black trousers and a dark blue cotton shirt just like every other city bloke making straight for the pub after work. Okay, the trousers were Issey Miyake, and the shirt was Balmain, but that just meant he looked like a successful banker or stockbroker rather than an office clone. Even the watch was discrete: a wafer-thin gold Patek Philippe.
I was expecting trouble when that drunk pitched up out of nowhere, but Arturo dealt with it so quietly that the pub bouncers didn’t even notice what was going on until it was over. I still don’t have a clue who that bloke was, and I was expecting a tonne of questions, but Arturo didn’t care. He just told me I was a heartbreaker, and then he took me to the London Eye.
Yeah, I know. Not exactly what you’d expect, right? But the second he saw me looking up at the cabs whizzing up in the air, he was grinning. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Yes!”
He waved to one of the minders, and ten minutes later we were taking our seats in a private capsule, loaded with champagne and chocolates. It was a Cupid ride, and that’s when I realised I was kidding myself.
I was sitting next to him, sipping at my iced wine as we swung into the air. Arturo put his arm around me, and I looked into those brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, and I saw they were shining with the fun of it all. Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned into him and kissed him.
His lips were soft, warm and gentle, but when I put my arms around him, he gathered me close, and then he was kissing me fiercely. As the caress deepened, warmth turned into passion. I found myself sitting on his lap, running my hands over his back, feeling those hard muscles flex under my fingers, and getting totally turned on.
I was rubbing my tits against his chest and was well on my way to melting into a puddle when he began laughing.
“Sirena, there’s a group of school kids in the next pod, and I have the feeling private shows are not welcome.”
He sat back, brushed the hair off my face with a gentle finger and grinned. And that’s when I realised that all that stuff I’d told myself was utter cobblers. I wasn’t feeling better because I had a plan, and I wasn’t playing along because I needed to – I wanted to be with him.
I knew why, too. Arturo could have done anything he liked, and he’d chosen to spoil me rotten – in bed and out of it. I know, he’d killed Escamilla in a spectacularly gruesome way, but that scumbag had threatened my mum, a helpless woman on a ventilator for chrissake, and he’d raped me mercilessly. I thought it all over and decided his suffering on the way out was only justice.
That file and the slideshow of flickering memories also told me that this was the first time in ages I’d had some fun, and it was all due to Arturo. So I looked at those dark eyes sparkling with laughter, felt the warmth and comfort of that hunky, chunky body and remembered how, after that first time in the four-poster, I’d felt I’d come home.
I snuggled up against him instinctively, and Arturo dipped his head and kissed my cheek.
“Amorcita.”
Little loved one.
The words went straight through me and lodged in my heart. I had a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, and it wasn’t booze; this man made me feel beautiful and wanted.
The rest of the Eye passed in a haze. I sat there in a glow with Arturo’s arm around me, feeling happy and safe. Afterwards we crossed the river, headed towards Soho and stopped off at every Real Ale pub we came across so Arturo could explore microbrews. As I had a G&T for every one he had, I was soon half-sloshed and giggly.
As we entered Soho, we came across a really nice looking beer garden that looked familiar. I had the feeling that I’d been there before, and when the barman nodded at me, I was certain of it. I switched to Perrier and kept my eyes and ears open, wondering if I’d get any flashes. I didn’t, but five minutes after we sat down, a familiar face appeared. James Danjuma, the fucktard who’d beaten me up.
The sight of him brought it back: that face all twisted and mean, and that fist coming towards me, “Did you talk, bitch? Did you tell them?” I blinked and the image vanished but I was steaming, and my hands were clenched into fists.
He made straight for me. “Solitaire! Babe, you’re looking beautiful!”
“Fuck off.”
That wiped the smile off his face. “Still haven’t forgiven me, huh?” He turned to Arturo. “I’d be careful, mate. She’s a frosty bitch, our Solitaire. Doesn’t forgive and doesn’t forget.”
Arturo looked him up and down, and suddenly everyone was staring at him. It was like he’d flipped a switch: the Mr-I’m-so-understated-I’m-invisible was stripped away, revealing the real man underneath. The power coming from him was tangible. This wasn’t a banker or stockbroker; this was a cartel boss, merciless and deadly. Danjuma stood paralysed, the smile slowly slipping from his face.
Arturo waited, and when the tension was at screaming point, he picked up his beer. “The lady said to leave.” He spoke quietly, but by this time the silence was so intense that you could have heard a pin drop.
Danjuma was either drunk, high or terminally stupid. Maybe he thought that being taller and bigger gave him an advantage. Frankly, he would have been safer trying to face down a mamba.
Danjuma said, “Think you can take me?”
The next bit was a blur. The table rocked, and then Danjuma was standing on tiptoe as Arturo held him by the throat. It was so fast and so brutal that he didn’t even get a chance to throw a punch. There was a gurgling gasp, and then Danjuma was clawing at his neck, trying the break the grip of those deadly fingers, his face going purple.
Arturo was completely calm. He stood there, examining the man without saying a word. Everyone could see that he was deciding whether Danjuma would live or die. We sat, we watched, and none of us dared to even breathe; we were all too frightened.
Danjuma’s body was now spasming, his eyes becoming bloodshot and his toes drumming on the floor. I thought it was all over, and then Arturo sighed and let him go. Danjuma collapsed, falling to his knees, gasping and retching. Arturo stamped his foot, and then Danjuma was clutching his hand and whimpering.
Arturo hauled him up by the collar. “My name,” he said deliberately, “is Arturo Vazquez. If I see you again, you die. Do you understand?”
“Yes! Yes!” Danjuma was babbling, clearly terrified.
Arturo pointed him towards the exit, shoved and let go. “Out.”
Danjuma crashed into the door and scrambled to his feet. He stood up, stared at Arturo for a second and then turned abruptly and left.
There was a collective intake of breath, and then everyone was talking at once. The chatter was nervous, high-pitched, and everyone was taking extra special care not to glance in Arturo’s direction. Arturo’s minders were looking purposeful, pretending that they hadn’t been affected, but I knew better. They’d frozen just like everyone else. You don’t fuck with a force of nature.
“Solitaire, what the hell did you see in him?” Arturo sat down next to me, sounding mildly interested. He was smiling at m
e, his invisibility cloak firmly back in place and all that power hidden away.
I answered automatically. “I was wondering that myself.”
“I didn’t like him much.”
Again, he sounded offhand, casual, but I wasn’t fooled. Arturo had seriously considered killing him. The room full of people hadn’t worried him at all. Arturo would do what he wanted when he wanted, and a nuclear bomb couldn’t stop him. This time he’d decided he didn’t want to kill, and so Danjuma had lived.
I sipped my water and wondered why I wasn’t afraid. By rights I should have been terrified, thinking Arturo might turn on me next, but I wasn’t. What we’d witnessed was a brutal display of power, and that was the key: it was a display. Arturo was totally in control, and Danjuma had it coming. He could have backed off, but he didn’t. He deserved what he got. Considering he’d walked away with a sore throat and a broken hand, whereas I’d ended up in hospital, he’d gotten off lightly. Actually, I was pretty pleased. That vision of his fist aiming at my face would now always be followed by this little scene.
So I wasn’t afraid, but I was curious. “Arturo, why didn’t you just shoot Escamilla?”
For a moment Arturo stilled, and then he relaxed. I’d spoken quietly, and there wasn’t anyone near us. In fact, everyone had moved away, studiously avoiding even looking at us. I could have yelled, and they would have refused to hear. They’d all decided it was safer not to notice us.
I thought Arturo might not answer, but he just shrugged. “It wouldn’t have worked.”
“Isn’t dead, dead?”
Another long pause, and then he sighed. “We talk about this now, and never again.”
“All right.”
Arturo dropped his voice, and ten minutes later I had a precise and detailed understanding of the term ‘government by fear’.
“So you do it because it’s efficient?”
“Mostly. It’s also expected. If you want to stay on top, then terror is part of business.”
My stomach did a flip-flop. “I don’t think it’s quite the done thing here in England.”
Arturo smiled. “You don’t know your history, Solitaire. What do you think the Tower of London was used for? The torture chambers are the most popular attraction.”
“But that was the past! Times were more brutal then.”
“Terror never goes out of fashion; it’s too effective. And torture is a weapon of choice that doubles as lesson and entertainment. Then and now.”
The way he said it gave me pause. “You mean you enjoyed the tour?”
“I don’t take my pleasure vicariously.”
That Princeton education was at work again, and it took me a second to get his meaning. When I did, a ripple of fear ran through me, but it was mixed with anticipation.
“How, uhm, hands-on are we talking about?” I was annoyed to hear that my voice was a little squeaky.
Arturo smiled and ran a finger up and down my arm, feeding the ripples. “I have a flogger you’ll love.”
The breath exploded from my lungs. My heart was banging away, its beat suddenly reflected in my throat, my nipples and between my legs. The finger trailing up and down my arm detoured, brushing the side of my neck. The ripples electrified. Goose-pimples sprang up over my arms, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe at all.
Arturo was chuckling softly. “I can’t wait to get you in my dungeon.”
“Grawph?” I got my vocal chords under control. “Dungeon? Seriously?” My voice was doing another mouse impersonation.
“You’ll love it.” Arturo leaned in close. “You said it yourself, when we first met: you and me, we’re the same.” I didn’t remember, but his breath in my ear, warm and sensuous, was having its effect. He was smiling, watching the goose-pimples race over my skin. “I’ll take you to the limit – and beyond.”
The heartbeat became a pulse, and I became convinced my knickers would squelch if I stood up. That tributary of the Thames was suddenly running between my legs again.
Arturo blew lightly in my ear. “Ay-yay-yay! Where’s that cold girl I keep hearing about?”
My head was on his shoulder. “She melted.”
He was stroking my back. “Come on. Let’s go buy a crop.”
As I said, if you’re looking for a sex shop, Soho is the place to go. We went to Harmony, the raunchiest place in the district. I must have been before, because when Arturo went to the service counter, my feet took me on autopilot to the vibrator section. Being a bit plastered, I spent fifteen minutes trying to put batteries into a rabbit that came with pearls for internal massage and flashing lights that were straight out of Saturday Night Fever. By the time I got it up and running, I had half of Soho standing around me, urging me to give a demo.
The cows on the minder team who were hovering protectively were not impressed, but Arturo was grinning as he reached through the crowd and pulled me away. He handed the disco rabbit to a salesgirl who was swooning all over him and piloted me outside. I was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t carrying anything.
“Didn’t you see anything you liked, Arturo?”
“Sure. It will be waiting for us when we get home.”
“They deliver?”
“They do for me.”
He must have spent a bomb, and I was instantly dying to know what he’d bought. “I saw you looking at some leather restraints,” I hinted.
“Don’t ask, sirena. It’s a surprise.”
And he wouldn’t say another word, the rat. That’s how I discovered Arturo is a tease – and I was loving it.
At this point I knew that clubbing with Arturo was going to be a blast, and I was right. It was one of those rare warm summer evenings, so everyone was out and about. Arturo headed straight for the classic English pub experience, hitting the Argyll Arms, the Dog and Duck, and the Coach and Horses in succession and feeding me a delicious beef and Guinness pie on the way.
A night in Soho not being complete without a sex show, we took in a cabaret, complete with belly dancers, drag acts and a comic snake charmer whose python had us all tied up in knots. God, I love Soho!
We finished off in a club, snagging a private booth and hitting the dance floor. They were playing salsa, and when Arturo swung me onto the floor, the feeling of his hands roaming over my body made my breath quicken. He held me lightly, dancing hip to hip, his hard thighs pressing against mine as we swayed and dipped to the music. We danced on and on, our bodies fusing and finally moving as one.
As we connected, I felt electrified. His lightest touch set a beat pulsing through my body, lighting a fire deep inside me. I closed my eyes and floated in an ocean of sensation. The beat quickened and he pulled me in close, his hands now hard on my body, but he was dropping kisses in my neck, running his hands up and down my back, cupping my arse, then turning me around, holding me against him as he ran his hands from my shoulders to my hips.
It was a dance of possession and promise, and it drove me wild. I throbbed and burned, rippling under his hands, my breath ragged as I danced for him. I whirled, dipped and arched, obedient to his every touch, a puppet responding to her master.
I don’t remember leaving. We moved from the dance floor to the dark interior of the car, its rich leather scent fuelling the fire that burned deep inside me. A brief impression of reception and the lift, and then we were ripping each other’s clothes off and falling into bed.
Just like on the dance floor, he possessed me. His hands were all over me, cupping, stroking and exploring as hard, demanding kisses rained on my neck and shoulders.
He held my wrists in one hand, pinning them high above my head as he spread my legs with the other. “Preciosa! Amorcita!”
I melted and burned, spreading my legs wide and writhing against him. His cock was hot and hard, rubbing briefly between my legs as he looked down at me, his eyes blazing with lust. Then he launched into me, piercing me, his body hard on mine. The soft words vanished, replaced by his panting breath as he began pounding into me.
> The grip on my wrists held me in place as he used my body for his pleasure. He stretched me out as his other hand slid behind my back, and then his thumb was invading my arse, thrusting deep every time his cock slammed into me. It was brutal, and I was squealing with excitement as waves of pleasure pulsed through me.
As I lifted my heels and put them in the small of his back, that thumb dug deeper, and I screamed and bucked. His body rippled along with mine, forcing my thighs high over his shoulders. He leaned up, spreading my legs wide and pulling my body tight underneath him as he pulled back, paused and rammed himself into me. Then he pulled out, paused and did it again.
Each time that hard hotness slammed into me, that thumb was forced deep inside too. I was completely helpless, my body taut, pierced and pounded mercilessly. Ram, pull, pause, ram – over and over again until I was devoured by flames, screaming and begging for him never to stop.
He picked up the pace, his breath coming out in hard, tight gasps as his hips ground into mine. I could feel a finger sliding by his thumb, threatening to stretch me further. I could hear myself wail as I shattered into a thousand pieces, my body shuddering uncontrollably as I came. I heard him gasp and then he was pulsing, exploding inside me as my body shimmered and convulsed around him.
He collapsed on top of me, his body heavy on mine, both of us slick with sweat. My heart was pounding, my body rippling with aftershocks. I was limp as a rag, my limbs trembling uncontrollably. We lay there stunned for about a million years, gasping for air, shuddering with reaction. Finally Arturo moved, and I was whimpering, my body collapsing as he pulled out of me.
“Sirena.” He kissed my neck, his lips hot and soft against my drenched skin.
“Don’t go! Never let me go!” I was clutching at him, desperate to keep him wrapped around me. “Don’t leave me!”
Arturo was holding me close, his body hot and strong against mine. “Me? Leave you? Never,” he whispered. “You’re mine forever.”
I was kissing him, wrapping myself around him, drowning in sensuous delight.
“You’re mine, Solitaire. Do you hear me?” His eyes were fierce, possessive. “I’ll kill anyone who looks at you.”