Vice

by Callie Hart

  The insides of her legs are glistening, wet with her desire for me, letting me know just how unbelievably turned on she is already. That’s a good sign. A seriously good sign. I reach down and stroke my fingers over her pussy, my pulse skipping all over the place when she grinds herself into my hand, searching for more pressure against her clit.

  “Damn,” I hiss. “Greedy girl. You want me to touch you there? You want me to make you feel good?” I can’t see her face, and she’s not in a position to speak, but I can tell that the answer is yes. She rolls her hips, her legs shaking as she seeks out her pleasure, and I have to hold myself back.

  Not yet. Not yet. Damn it, this is hard.

  Natalia’s back arches clear off the bed as she moans loudly. Clearly my cock isn’t shutting her up sufficiently. I stand up, and I cup the back of her head in my hands, looking down into her eyes. “Take a deep breath, baby,” I advise her.

  I feel the cold air rushing over my balls as she sucks in a lungful of oxygen through her nose. “I’m going to choke you with my cock now, okay? I’m going to make you gag on me, and you’re going to love it.”

  Natalia doesn’t shy away. There’s nothing but lust in her eyes. I wait to see if she’s going to object, to shake her head or flat out tell me she doesn’t want me to, but instead she nods. Her eyes close, and so I do it. I sink myself deep into her throat.

  Fuck, it feels so good. I begin to thrust, allowing myself to get just that little bit deeper each time. With her head kicked back, hanging off the edge of the bed, Natalia’s able to take all of me, right down to the base of my shaft. The very first time I feel the back of her throat, feel her gag reflex kick in, and her throat spasm, I pull out entirely, grabbing hold of my dick, stroking my hand up and down myself. I’m so wet from her mouth, covered in her saliva. I’m soaked down to my balls. Natalia gasps, her eyes wide. She’s so fucking good. I have to stop myself here, or I’m going to be tempted to get rougher, to hold her head in place while I fuck her mouth, and I don’t think either of us are ready for that. Not yet.

  “Turn around,” I grind out. “Show me your pussy.”

  Natalia moans again, and the sound is filled with need. She spins around on the bed, her cheeks red, the base of her neck the same flushed crimson. I spread her legs as wide as they will go, roughly pulling her toward me so that her pussy is now in alignment with the edge of the bed, instead of her head.

  “God, you’re amazing,” I tell her. I can hardly believe how wet she is right now. How wet, and pink, and delicious. She props herself up on her elbows, watching me as I sink to my knees. She’s probably expecting me to go down on her, but I’m not. I’m going to indulge myself in vice number three: ass play.

  As soon as my tongue hits her asshole, Natalia lets out a breathless shriek. I immediately stop what I’m doing. “Shhh. Don’t make a sound,” I command. “I mean it. Not a sound, Natalia.”

  Her eyes roll back in her head as I take my tongue to her again. She tastes clean and sweet, and I can taste her pussy all over her. The smell of her excitement fills my head as I massage her with my tongue. I’m harder than I’ve ever been now. Harder than I probably ever will be. Natalia shakes and shivers as I stroke my tongue up and down over her ass. I can’t help myself as I probe; she tastes so fucking good that I just have to lick her everywhere. I tend to her in broad, long strokes, sweeping my tongue from her ass all the way up, sucking and licking at her swollen clit, and she shudders, her entire body trembling violently as I bring her close to orgasm. She digs her fingers into my hair, pulling, closing her legs around my head as I gently begin to tease her ass with my finger. Soon, I have my index finger easing its way into her ass, my middle finger inside her pussy, and my tongue still flicking and laving at her clit.

  It must be an intense experience for her. It must be an overwhelming experience for her. One second she’s rocking against my mouth and my hand, the next she’s holding her breath and her legs are locked around my head as she comes.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  I’ve never been this turned on before. Never. As she locks up, frozen, unable to move as her body reacts to me, I push my tongue inside her pussy, groaning, while I rub the pad of my thumb over her clit in firm, quick circles.

  “Shit. Oh shit. Please. Please!”

  “Please what, Natalia? Please what?” I growl.

  “Please fuck me. Please…fuck me…now,” she pants.

  I’m more than willing to oblige her. I’m on the point of coming myself. I grab hold of the end of my dick, squeezing hard, trying to tamp down the feeling that I’m about to explode, but it doesn’t really help. I’m cursing, hissing the most colorful profanities when I slowly guide myself inside her. It feels…it feels like nothing else. She’s so fucking tight, for god’s sake.

  Time to partake in vice number 4: choking.

  I hold myself over her as I push myself deeper, and Natalia cried out. Just as I did back at the tree house, I cup my hand over her mouth, preventing her from making a sound. At the same time, I close my other hand around her throat, carefully closing off her windpipe. Her eyes round out, growing wide, and she holds onto my arm as I fuck her, driving myself inside her harder and harder each time.

  “Come on my dick, Natalia. That’s it. That’s a good girl. Soak me. Drench me. I wanna feel you squirting all over my cock.”

  To all of the women out there who claim they’re incapable of squirting, think again. You just haven’t had the right guy inside you yet. You haven’t had my cock inside you, pressing up against your g-spot, pushing you closer and closer toward an eventuality that simply can’t be avoided. My dick can make anyone squirt, and that’s a fucking fact.

  Natalia finds this out as I hold my hands around her throat, slamming myself inside her, no longer holding back. As soon as I feel her muscles tense, her fingernails digging into my forearm, and I see her eyes roll back into her head, I know it’s about to happen. I let myself go. I’ve been warring with myself, holding off my own climax—a nearly fucking impossible task, given how amazing her pussy feels—but now I release control, and a wall of fire and insanity overcomes me. My cock throbs inside her as I come, and I plunge myself inside her as deep and as hard as I can, over and over again, spurred on by how wet Natalia is now that she’s done as I commanded and has come all over me.

  “Good girl,” I tell her, brushing her hair back out of her face. “Such a good girl.” I release my hold on her throat, and she sucks in a relieved, frantic gasp of air.

  “Oh my god. Oh my god, Cade,” she chants.

  I kiss her, licking at her lips with my tongue, savoring the taste of sweat and passion on her mouth, knowing she will be able to taste her own pussy on mine. I shake my head, smiling a little as we both recover ourselves. I press my nose to the crook of her neck and I inhale deeply, commemorating the scent of her to my memory forever. Natalia runs her fingers gently up and down my back.

  “I don’t want to go back to my room,” she whispers. “I want to stay here. With you.”

  “Then stay.” It’s reckless and so fucking dangerous for her to sleep here, but I can’t bring myself to let her go just yet. As I roll over, spinning her over too, so that her head is lying on my chest, I realize something, and it’s pretty fucking scary.

  I don’t ever want to let her go.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CROQUET

  Three days later

  Croquet. On the same fucking lawn where Persephone was mauled to death by wolves only a few days ago. Fernando is one sick, sick bastard.

  He is red and yellow; I am black and blue. He expertly knocks his first yellow, and it rolls right through his intended hoop, scoring him a point. I’ve never played croquet in my fucking life. I have no idea what the rules are, even though I briefly Googled them before we came down here. I’m probably going to screw up any second now, but when Fernando Villalobos asks you to come play a game with him, any game, you say yes, or you brace for trouble. The lawn is damp underfoot, the g
round soft and sticky with mud. The rains have been consistent, showing up around eleven in the morning every day, sticking around for a couple of hours, oversized raindrops hammering into the earth, and then stopping in the most abrupt way, like a showerhead being turned off.

  “You have been here for a while now, Kechu,” Fernando says. He has a small cigarillo hanging out of his mouth—surprising, since I haven’t seen him smoking before, and he doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who would conform to such a trite addiction. “Are you happy here? I was wondering, because you seem a little…tense.”

  Tense is not the right word. Livid is a good substitute. Furious. Consumed by rage. I am all of these things and more, and trying to hide my feelings is growing harder and harder by the day. That’s what Fernando is sensing: my overwhelming need to dash his brains out of his head with my croquet mallet.

  “Oh, y’know,” I say. “New York’s a crazy city. It’s a lot quieter here. I’m busy all of the time. I’m adjusting to having more time on my hands here in Orellana.”

  Fernando leans on the end of his mallet, listening to me intently. He seems to mull over everything I say, pondering deeply. After a while, he stands straight, smiling at me like he’s an old friend. “I understand. You need something to do here, and I know just the thing. You must teach Natalia about America. For so long she has wanted to know about the country where her mother was born, and I’m ashamed to say I’ve discouraged her from her research. I don’t like to leave Ecuador, let alone visit the United States. It is my hope that Natalia won’t either. But she is a young woman, and young women rebel if they are told not to do something. Perhaps if she learns the good and the bad about America from one of the country’s own citizens, she will see how much better life here in Ecuador is.”

  I take my shot, and I miss the hoop. I’m glad. Jamie would have a goddamn field day if he knew I was whacking a ball around a manicured lawn like this. It’s just not right. “So you want me to make the place sound terrible?” I ask.

  “No. I simply want you to tell the truth. People here have a very warped idea of what life is like in America. They think it’s all sunshine and roses. That the politicians and the police are not corrupt. That the government are all seeing, and all powerful. That there is no poverty. No crime. No homelessness. If you are honest with Natalia about the true state of affairs in your country, she might not be so eager to charge over there, expecting every city to look like Hollywood.” Fernando takes his shot. The ball speeds through the hoop again with ease; he must play a lot.

  “Well, I can certainly try.”

  “Thank you, Kechu. You know, despite the hiccups we’ve encountered since you arrived, I find myself considering you a friend. Does that surprise you?”

  “Uh, yeah. It does a little.” How about a whole fucking lot? I’m fairly sure he was hunting me in the forest the other day, while Natalia and I were in her hideaway. And he threatens me with death every time we meet. I guess when you’re a violent, insane dictator, you have a warped view of what friendship looks like, though.

  Fernando nods. “Natalia thinks of you as a brother, and that warms me.”

  I try not to react to this, but I’m crowing in my head like a madman. Yeah, she thinks of me as a brother all right. A brother she likes to fuck. Shit, if only he knew.

  I’m about to take my turn, trying to think of something to say that won’t sound suspicious whatsoever, when Harrison appears, hurrying across the lawn toward us. He has a phone in his hand, and he looks like he’s just discovered the location of the lost city of El Dorado.

  “What is it?” Fernando asks.

  “One of our guys in the States,” he answers.

  “And what do they want?”

  “He wouldn’t say. Just that he has information he thinks you might find interesting.” Harrison’s gaze flickers to me, and his meaning is clear: he thinks he might have interesting information about me. Fernando’s eyes roll. He sighs like a frustrated father being pushed to his limit by a persistent son. Taking the phone from Harrison, he walks away slowly, holding the device to his ear. He speaks, but his voice is lulled, low and soft, and I can’t make out what he’s saying.

  “I’m going to sleep so well tonight, motherfucker,” Harrison hisses out of the side of his mouth. “Like the dead. Like a baby. Like a stone. It’s going to be the most peaceful night’s sleep I’ve had in years, and it’s all thanks to you. I owe you, man.”

  Damn. That sounds worrying. Harrison knows I was in the military. What if he’s gone snooping? What if he’s discovered I’m not Sam Garrett, but Cade Preston, vice president of a motorcycle club hell bent on bringing down sex trafficking rings and murdering people like his boss? Doubt that would go down well. Then there’s the matter of my sister. Julio’s men know exactly who I am, and who I’m looking for. If they know I am the one who killed Julio, then what’s the stop them from spreading the word? Someone already told Fernando a guy on a motorcycle killed the bastard. How many pieces of this puzzle need to be put together before they figure out who I really am?

  “The fuck are you talking about?” I snap.

  Harrison bounces on the balls of his feet like a live wire, full of energy. “I couldn’t possibly say,” he tells me. “It’s just too fucking good. I’ll let Fernando explain, I think.”

  Fifteen feet away, still with his croquet stick in his hand, Fernando goes still, standing like a life-size statue of someone who just heard something entirely unbelievable. He turns, his eyes fixing on me. He doesn’t say anything else. He listens, and then he hangs up the phone.

  He holds the cell out to Harrison, who goes to take it from him. Fernando moves quicker than lightning, snatching hold of Harrison by his neck. For such a thin, frail-looking man, Fernando’s a hell of a lot stronger than he seems. Or maybe Harrison tolerates him grabbing hold of him. Either way, Fernando maintains a grip on him as he walks in between the metal loops of our croquet game, driven into the ground.

  I try not to act surprised as Fernando shoves Harrison away from him, growling under his breath. “My friend in America just told me something interesting, Kechu,” he says.

  “Oh?”

  “He went to pay a visit to your employer in New York. To check in with him on my behalf, to see if his personal matter is almost resolved so that he can come and meet with me. He said that the office assigned to your Louis James Aubertin was unoccupied. Can you explain why this might be, Kechu?”

  I shrug. “Sure. His office is a front. He needs an address for tax purposes. A place where he can have certain mail delivered. If you’d told me you wanted to call in on him, I could have arranged a meet in New York, on mutually safe ground. It wouldn’t have been a problem.” The lie comes quick and easy. I sound so nonchalant that it seems obvious that this would be the case, that Jamie would never keep an official business address where anyone could drop in and see him.

  Harrison’s cheeks redden. “That is such bullshit, Fernando. Bullshit!”

  Fernando shoves Harrison away, groaning in disgust. “Why would you come to me with something as insignificant as this? You are grasping at straws. Honestly, I am growing sick of this nonsense.”

  Harrison looks dumbfounded. “I’m just trying to prove a point. They’re keeping secrets. This man is not who he’s pretending to be.”

  “He is not a representative of this businessman?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And he did he not give us fifty thousand dollars as a show of good faith?”

  “He did.”

  “Then I’d say he’s representing himself fairly accurately.”

  “Fernando—”

  Fernando spins, teeth bared, his hand gripping his croquet mallet tightly in his hand. For a moment I think he’s going to use it the way I had envisioned myself only a few minutes ago, bringing it down on Harrison’s head. He doesn’t, though. He throws it down on the ground, snarling like one of his wolves. “No! No more! I am sick and tired of this conversation. How many t
imes have I told you I do not wish to discuss this with you?”

  Harrison doesn’t answer. He glares at the ground in front of him, his chest quickly rising and falling as he pants; he’s desperate to argue, to talk back, to plead his case further, but Fernando looks like a pot about to boil over. Riling him up was surely Harrison’s intention when he came hurrying out here with that cell phone in his hand, but he definitely didn’t intend for his boss’s anger to be directed at him.

  “I want no more of this,” Fernando spits. “I make a promise to you, Harrison. If you continue down this path, trying to cast aspersions against my Kechu, I will be forced to set you aside. Do you understand?”

  What the fuck does “set him aside” mean? Kill him? Fire him? Have him escorted out of Ecuador? And my Kechu? Since when has he liked me well enough to claim ownership of me, like I’m his goddamn pet?

  Harrison pales. “Yes, Fernando. Please…forgive me. I only want what’s best. I see now that you have everything under control, though...” He speaks slowly, as though apologizing this way is costing him dearly. “I’ll drop the matter. You have my word.”

  “Good. Now leave. You’re giving me a migraine.”

  Harrison bows his head, gets up, and stalks back to the house. I can tell how furious he is by the set of his shoulders. I don’t think the scolding he just received has done anything to distract him from his mission to destroy me, though. If anything, I think it’s only made him more determined.

  Fernando huffs like a child. “I cannot concentrate on this now,” he says, gesturing to our croquet balls, and his mallet, flung halfway across the lawn. “It’s ruined.” He spies a gardener working close to the tree line, where the gardens end and the forest begins, and he sighs. “I swear. These men just want to die. I’m afraid I must leave you now, Kechu. You’ll excuse me. Perhaps go and find my daughter. You can start on those lessons we discussed.”