Salas noticed me looking and assumed I was checking him out. A toothy grin spread across his face. "Tell me your name," he said.
"Clara," I lied, swirling the honey-colored liquor in the glass as I walked to one of the windows.
"You speak Spanish well, Clara, but your accent isn't Colombian."
"I grew up in America," I said. "My mother was Cuban." Even spies don't lie when they can avoid it. It's too easy to forget the little details and trap yourself in a corner. Fortunately, the CIA had set up a rock-solid backstory before sending me to Colombia. I stuck to it as closely as I could. Salas was the top drug lord in Colombia, and he had enough corrupt officials on his payroll to verify anything I said. "I came to Colombia with my rat of a boyfriend, but he's been cheating on me."
"So you came here to find him? And do what, exactly?"
I shrugged and looked over my shoulder at him. "I wasn't thinking that far ahead."
Salas laughed. "Aguardiente courage!"
I smiled. "Maybe so."
I pretended to stare out the window, but I was really watching Salas in the dim reflection on the glass. He loomed behind me like a shadow. "Courage is admirable," he said. "But results are the true measure of success."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Fierro Salas stepped closer, his broach chest just inches from my back. He put his hands on my upper arms, and a chill ran up my spine. How could he be so forward? Then again, why wouldn't he? This was a man used to taking what he wanted, with no one to tell him no.
I tensed, but didn't pull away.
"You're a strong woman, Clara," Salas said, his voice like the soothing hum of a bumblebee in my ear, deep and intoxicating. "Do you think this man Ricardo would respect you if you barged into his hotel room?"
"I don't care what he thinks," I said.
"Of course you do," Salas said, stroking my upper arms, sending a chill through my body as gooseflesh dimpled my skin. His voice was almost hypnotic, and I felt myself lulled like a mouse staring into a snake's eyes as he pulled me back against his thick, hard chest. "But if you want to hurt a man, you must fight fire with fire. You worry about what he's doing right now, sí?"
I nodded.
"Do you think he's worrying about you? Or are you his dependable woman, waiting faithfully at home."
I froze, meeting Salas's eyes in the reflection from the window as I turned the corners of my mouth down in a thoughtful frown. "No," I said. "He's not worried about me."
"Then make him worry, Clara." Salas's arms slid down and wrapped around my waist, tightening as he caressed my skin through the think silk of my blouse. I took a deep, surprised breath as he brought his hands up to cup my breasts, squeezing them even as his mouth found my neck.
I tensed for a moment, started to pull away, but Salas pulled me tight against him. His strength was overwhelming; I knew I couldn't get away. I remembered the wild stallions he liked to break to his will, and I softly whispered, "No," as I pulled away again.
I turned to face Salas and saw the anger flash in his dark eyes. "I should go," I said. He grabbed my wrist as I tried to step around him, his grip tight, but not painful.
"If you leave, he'll never respect you, Clara. I can make him appreciate you. Stay with me tonight. Let him wonder."
I tried to twist out of his grip, offering just enough resistance to anger him. Salas pulled me against his chest as he looked down into my eyes. I put my hand on one broad pectoral muscle and started to push away, but my push became a caress as my hand slid down toward his washboard abs.
Salas took my ass in his hands, squeezing and kneading as he pulled me close. I could feel the bulge of his manhood through his linen trousers, thick and huge against my belly, but I didn't pull away this time.
"Take off your clothes, Clara," Salas commanded. "Let me see your body."
I had hoped to set my purse down beside his phone and trigger the earring to begin downloading its hard drive while I stalled for thirty minutes. But the earring only had so much batter power, and I didn't even know if the phone was here.
Now Salas had forced my hand, and I was trapped by my own impulsive actions. I shook my head. "I don't even know you," I said.
"Then think of Ricardo," Salas said. "Imagine his jealousy at knowing that another man is looking at your body even as he is no doubt watching some other woman." Salas stood over me, watching, expecting my obedience. Even though there was no Ricardo, aside from a fictional identity invented by the CIA, his words struck a chord with me, and despite all I knew of Fierro Salas, I found myself wanting to obey.
I swallowed my fear and began to unbutton my blouse. Lust flared in Salas's eyes as I slid it off my shoulders, then peeled off the undershirt beneath. My ample breasts strained against the black lace cups, and my wool slacks hugged the curve of my hip, low enough to expose a promising expanse of flat stomach broken only by the dark dimple of my navel. In the soft light of the suite's lamps, my skin glowed like bronze.
Salas watched as I unbuckled my belt and slipped out of my pants. I could feel his arousal grow as he admired my long, toned legs, tight, smooth skin over the firm thighs and calves of a dedicated runner.
"Turn around," Salas said, his voice soft, but taut as a drawn bowstring.
I pivoted slowly, letting him admire the swell of my bosom, the curve of my tight ass. When my back was to him, I waited. Time stretched out in interminable seconds. His eyes were a heavy weight on me, but I dared not move. Salas was in full control, and I could only give him what he wanted and hope it was enough to hold his interest.
"Dance for me, my little Cubana," he said. "Show me why this man Ricardo would want you."
My heart hammered in my chest, and I felt flush with excitement and fear. I stood in the private suite of Colombia's most powerful drug lord, a CIA agent undercover with no real backup wearing only her underwear. I didn't even have a pistol with me. I felt incredibly vulnerable, but I reminded myself of the importance of my mission and resolved to do whatever was necessary.
There was no music, but I began to move my hips in a slow, sensual roll, swaying from side to side, enticing Salas with the undulating motion of my body. I raised my arms over my head and raked my fingers through my black hair, pulling it up to expose the delicate curve of my slender neck as I turned my head to watch him. Our eyes met, the master and his helpless slave, a thrall bound by chains of emotion forged by a skilled manipulator. Even though my cover story was pure fiction, I found myself wanting to please Fierro Salas for reasons that had little to do with the Mountain Wolf on the other side of the world.
My dance grew more passionate, my entire body writhing and pulsing to the beat of a song only I could hear, a deep pulse that accelerated with the beat of my heart.
I don't know how long I danced, but at some point Salas was there, his body against mine. His shirt was off now, and our skin pressed together, warm and smooth, two bodies drawn to one another with irresistible intensity.
He took my chin in one strong hand and raised my face to his. I could smell him then, expensive Scotch, leather, mountain air, horses, and something darker, the deep musk of a man who lives without inhibitions, acting on instinct, taking what he desires. The scent swirled in my nostrils, as intoxicating as the aguardiente I'd hastily drunk on the way to his hotel.
Salas's eyes were deep, black pools that drew me in, and when he kissed me, I couldn't resist, even if I wanted to. His mouth pressed against mine, and I felt his coarse, thick stubble on my smooth skin as I opened myself to him. His tongue slid between my teeth, penetrating, questing. Strong hands encircled my waist, slid up my back, and unfastened my bra. I leaned back and let its straps tumble from my shoulders, baring my breasts to this brutal man who held me captive. My dark hair spilled out behind me as Salas's tongue slid down along my neck, leaving a wet, warm trail on my skin, and heat rose from my chest as the skin flushed in response to his touch. My breasts felt full and tight, swollen with a desire I didn't want to acknowledge. An
image of Cal flickered in my mind, and I pushed it away. Cal couldn't make me feel this exhilarating mixture of fear and lust.
Salas kissed the soft slope of my left breast as his hand came up to fondle the right. My nipple grew firm as his fingers moved over it, creating an electric sensation that spread through my body. When he took the other nipple in his mouth, I let out a shuddering sigh. His tongue swirled around the swollen red bud at the tip of my breast as he suckled against my soft flesh. I could feel his own desire rising as his motions grew more intense, more urgent, and I ran my fingers through his thick dark hair, moaning. "Don Salas, please, no..."
My feeble protest only encouraged him. The hand on the small of my back slid down beneath the elastic band of my panties, and with one strong yank, he tore them from me, leaving me naked before him.
I started to push away, but I couldn't come close to matching his strength. Utterly at his mercy, my small hands pounded against the hard muscles of his chest, but my weak attempts at resistance faded and became something else. My fingers slid down his hard torso, and I pressed my hand against the swollen bulge beneath his fly, rubbing the length of his manhood through the linen fabric.
He pulled away from me then, his breathing heavy and dark, his eyes full of fire. "Get on your knees, Clara."
I shook my head weakly, and Salas put his hands on my shoulders, pushing down until my knees buckled and I sank to the thick rug. Salas unzipped his trousers, and his cock spilled out, thick and long and dark with the blood and desire that coursed through its throbbing length.
"Please me with your mouth," he commanded, and when I tried to turn my head away, he grabbed a handful of my thick hair and held my head in place. "Show me pleasure why Ricardo is a fool to take you for granted."
I looked up into his eyes, and the intensity of his arousal shocked me. I'd seen men driven to the brink of sanity by their lust before, but always they'd been restrained, held in check by their own morals, by the law, by fear.
Fierro Salas felt none of those things. This was a man driven by pure animal instinct with no thought of consequence. I realized that there would be no consequence. Salas could take what he wanted from me, and the corrupt officials bought by his drug money would protect him.
As he gazed down at me, I wrapped a hand around his cock and guided it to my open mouth. As he pulled my head forward, impaling me upon his stiff rod, my first thought was to marvel at how big around he was. My lips were tight around him, and I stretched my mouth until the hinges of my jaw ached with dull pain.
The underbelly of his cock felt deceptively soft and smooth against my tongue, the head swollen and tender as it slid deep into my mouth and pressed against the back of my throat. Salas's fist tightened in my hair when I tried to pull back, and I forced myself not to gag, taking quick little breaths through my nose. I could smell the earthy odor of his loins, taste the salty flavor of his sweat on his rod, but I made myself suck him, moving my tongue back and forth along his shaft as Salas began to move his hips.
He stared down at me as he fucked my mouth, and when I looked up, those dark eyes held me. As my resistance crumbled, his excitement grew. I could feel it in my mouth, a strong pulse quickening in the hard length of meat between my lips. Then, just when it felt as if Salas would explode in my mouth, he pulled back.
I bent forward, gasping for air, but Salas pulled me to my feet. Before I could recover, he swept me to the bed and pushed me down onto a soft bedspread. I landed on my bottom and bounced a little on the firm mattress, but caught myself with my hands.
"Lay back and spread your legs, Clara."
I obeyed, parting my thighs so that my most private secrets were revealed to the drug lord. This time it was he who knelt. The big man took each thigh in a hand and bent my legs back as he bent and kissed my exposed sex.
Salas inhaled deeply, then nuzzled against the inside of one thigh. His hot breath on my skin ignited my desire, and I writhed and moaned, rolling my hips upward. He kissed me, moving down toward the junction of my legs with agonizing slowness, sensing my need, teasing it, tempting me with the promise of his next kiss.
When his lips finally touched my swollen, quivering sex, they found me wet and hot. Instead of the timidity with which most men approach cunnilingus, Salas began low, pressing his tongue against my taint, massaging it for a long moment before sliding upward, parting my wet slit and slipping inside me.
My eyes bulged, and I thrashed in his grip as his lips pressed against my hole. His tongue wriggled inside me, and I craved more. His tongue slid out, and his mouth sealed around my clit, sucking as his tongue flickered over that bulb of needy flesh, filling me with intense pleasure. I cried out and writhed against him, urging him on.
I remembered his fat cock in my mouth, imagined that between my legs, and all thoughts of my mission fled as I imagined my pussy stretching as he pounded me relentlessly. "Oh god, Don Salas, fuck me, please!" My voice was a harsh whisper, and I was alarmed to hear the same desperation that Ana had shown. I'd been distraught when I heard it in her voice, but now I understood. Fortunately, Salas was too far gone to stop now.
He rose to his feet and took my legs in either hand, pushing them back even further, until my knees almost touched my ears. Before I realized what was happening, he fell atop me, and I could feel the weight of his bull's body as he plunged his cock into my open hole with such suddenness that I gasped in shock. There was a quick flash of pain as he stretched me, but I was wet and ready, and as he began to move, waves of pleasure rolled out from my abdomen. I could feel him deep inside, every inch of him moving with selfish desire that somehow gave me what I needed.
With his weight on my legs, Salas had me pinned beneath him. I grabbed handfuls of the bed linens and tightened my grasp as ecstasy rocked me. Salas's breath was hot and fast against my neck, and his hips pumped up and down with the quick power of a jackhammer, his every stroke plunging deeper inside than any man had ever been. His heavy ballsack slapped against my taint, pushing me backwards on the bed.
Salas ravaged me with the frenzy of a wild animal, and even knowing that Cal and Mike could almost certainly hear the muffled sounds of our fucking, and even though I was scared out of my mind, I could help but enjoy it. His thick, hard shaft moved inside me, each hot thrust raising new sensations along the slick inner skin of my tight canal. My knuckles grew white as I squeezed the bedspread, and spasms rippled through my stomach muscles in a vain effort to contain the rising sensation between my legs, a building pressure that needed release.
The climax hit me with blinding intensity, stronger than anything I'd ever felt, as though enhanced by my heightened emotions, feeding on my fear, enhancing my arousal. I screamed in pure ecstasy, convulsing beneath Salas, forcing him to press down harder to keep me in place as my orgasm rolled through my body like a shockwave, driving all the worry and fear and tension out of my head as my fingers clawed at the bed.
. In the back corner of my mind where thought was still possible, I knew Cal and Mike would have heard that scream through the earring transmitter in my purse. I had to let them know I wasn't hurt. "Fuck me, Don Salas," I cried. "Fuck me harder!"
Fierro Salas obliged, pounding me with long, heavy strokes that took him deep. Then he stood, and I gasped at the sudden emptiness I felt as his cock slid out. But a moment later, Salas took my hips in his strong hands and rolled me over on the bed as if I weighed less than a child's doll.
Before I could react, I felt his teeth on my ass. I cried out as he bit my buttock hard enough to bring a sharp, throbbing pain without quite breaking the skin. Then he pulled himself up along the bed until he lay atop me, and I raised my ass up as his cock slid back into my pussy.
Salas gripped my hands in his, pushing me down on the bed. His panting breath was hot and moist on my cheek, each ragged inhalation followed quickly by grunts of almost feral pleasure. I moved my hips against him, feeling him slide in and out of the tight, wet glove of my flesh.
I put my hands on h
is bulging deltoids, feeling the hard muscles of his arms shift and tighten beneath my fingers as his thrusts grew more and more intense.
Suddenly, he gasped and pulled out, then rolled me over on my back as he straddled my chest. "Open your mouth," he said, his voice thick and heavy with the inevitability of his oncoming orgasm.
I obeyed immediately, parting my lips and tilting my head back as I watched him stroke his huge, hard cock. I had only a moment's warning as it throbbed and twitched in his hands, then thick white jets began spurting from its swollen tip in rapid pulses.
The first flew across my face, landing in a glistening ribbon that stretched from one eyebrow, across the bridge of my nose, and down to the corner of my mouth. The next shot was more accurate, and Salas shot the rest of his load directly into my mouth. His hot, salty wad coated my tongue, and I wrapped my lips around his cock to help him finish.
The powerful beast of a man atop my chest shuddered as though my touch was too much, but I gripped his manhood in one hand, milking out every last drop as his forceful climax slowly diminished.
Salas wore a satisfied grin as he looked down at me, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.
I reached up to wipe away the jism on my face, but he shook his head.
"Swallow it," he commanded.
I made myself gulp down what was already in my mouth, and it went down thick and hot, like a mouthful of salty white gravy.
"All of it," Salas said.
I swiped my finger down across my nose, scooping up the rest of the white goo, then licking the finger dry as I looked into his eyes. A part of me couldn't believe what I was doing, but the CIA, the Mountain Wolf, and even Cal Turner seemed very distant at that moment. My whole world had shrunk to the man who loomed over me on the bed.
"You'll sleep here tonight," he said, then swung his leg over me and stretched out on the bed. "Let Ricardo wonder." It wasn't an invitation, it was a command, and I had no choice but to sidle up next to him and press my naked body against his.
Submitting to the Enemy: Colombian Concubine (BDSM Domination Erotica) Page 3