Corrupt

by Elena M. Reyes

  “In the kitchen. Turn left and follow the corridor,” I call back, grabbing a cutting board and knife to begin prep. Sol finds me quickly, coming to a stop beside me as I dice the tomato first. My face turns toward hers and I bend over a bit, laying a kiss on her cheek. “Morning, Preciosa.”

  “Buenos Dias.”

  19

  I’M STANDING BENEATH the waterfall shower head in his bathroom, eyes closed and fighting to get my breathing under control after he left. I’m alone with my thoughts now, missing his touch while accepting how weak I am when it comes to Alejandro Lucas.

  His scent is addictive.

  His touch is a soul-destroying catastrophe.

  He owns me, and the truth is I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

  “I’m screwed.” It’s my reality and fear. Our relationship—this crazy affair—is forbidden and while I see no happy ending in sight, I don’t care.

  My family won’t approve. I’ve been promised to another—an obnoxious jerk—without my permission, and all I want is to choose him.

  Alejandro is who I want. I deserve to be happy.

  And wearing him between my thighs does that. Feeling his lips on mine while my hips cradle his, gives me the sense of home and comfort I’ve been missing.

  I cried out for more.

  I never want to leave.

  For once, I’m doing what my heart tells me and not following an order and I’ve never felt freer. Unbidden. Calm.

  “Why him?” I ask myself, even though I know the answer. It’s been there all these years as I followed him through the media’s eyes. Through my father’s hatred. There’s always been something that draws me in and holds me captive.

  That keeps me coming back.

  I’m a stalker.

  I’m weak.

  I’m his.

  My eyes close as the sight of him above me replays through my mind. How his lip curled and grip tightened. The way his cognac eyes never left mine as he marked my skin with his release and then kissed my lips.

  Lost in my desire, my right hand travels down my stomach and lower, not stopping until the proof of his lust covers my fingertips. It’s a heady feeling and I shiver, his release and mine coating my labia, and I’m tempted to slip my slick finger inside.

  To coat my walls with his essence, but I don’t.

  Not like this.

  Instead, I focus on the memory I want to relive again. And again.

  I’m sensitive to the touch, and my clit trembles beneath my soft touch. My thighs tremble and core clenches.

  So close.

  Just one more—

  “No. Not without him,” I hiss out, pulling my hand from between my thigh and slapping the white marble tile inside his shower. I’m sensitive and turned on but don’t want to come without him.

  I need him.

  “Then go find him.”

  My heart thumps harshly inside my chest the moment I step into his kitchen. It beats at a fast cadence while goose bumps rise across my flesh, and the sight before me makes me want to pat my own back.

  I rushed through my shower. I almost ran down the stairs.

  This is my reward.

  There’s something so sexy about a man that can cook.

  Maybe it’s the fact he can take care of himself. Maybe it’s the sight of his arms, the thick cords of muscles rippling as he wields a knife against the chopping block while preparing a meal. Or maybe it’s the heat in Alejandro’s eyes when he says good morning after kissing my cheek.

  He’s trouble and fire, and I’ll proudly dance inside those flames for him.

  “Buenos dias.” It leaves me on a breathless whisper and his lips quirk up. Alejandro doesn’t hide his smirk, nor is he apologetic in his perusal of my body. From head to toe, he takes in my lack of clothing choice with a spark of mischief in his eyes.

  I’m wearing an old shirt I found in his dresser with nothing beneath; my dress would be uncomfortable, and my panties are drying in his bathroom after I hand-washed them. So with little choice in the matter, I opened his drawers and snooped a bit before grabbing an old, threadbare El Pibe jersey and slipping it on. It’s smaller in size than his other clothing and definitely from his youth but fits me loose with the hem falling just above my knee.

  It’s soft and smells like him, and I won’t deny loving the woodsy scent surrounding as I stand here.

  “I’m hungry, Solimar.” Alejandro places the knife down, pushing the cutting board with chopped tomatoes and a whole onion aside, and turns to face me. The grin on his face should be illegal, and I lean my hip on the counter for support. “Are you?”

  “Famished.” I take in a deep breath and his heated stare follows the rise and fall of my chest. Christ, if he touches me now, I’ll beg. “What are you making? Do you need any help?”

  “Something you’ll like, and no.” Alejandro takes a step closer and we’re chest to chest, his hands finding purchase on my hips. Grip firm, his fingers hold me in place while his face lowers to mine. Mouth hovering. “All I want is for you to take a seat and watch. Nothing more.”

  Without conscious thought, I lick my lips and he groans. “Where do you want me?”

  “Innocently coquettish.” A peck is all I get before I’m being lifted and placed to sit atop the countertop. A cold countertop that makes me hiss on contact and for his brow to raise. “Is there something you want to show me?” At his question, I blush. The heat sweeps across my skin, and I shake my head. “Don’t be shy, Preciosa. Are you wearing anything beneath?”

  “No,” I whisper, and his salacious grin tells me he heard. His hands leave my hips and travel lower to the top of my thighs where he steps between them and squeezes—higher and higher, pushing the soft cotton up until the top of my bare mound is exposed. “Alejandro—”

  “Fuck, beautiful.” Those large hands clench, and I shiver. I’m near panting as I silently beg him to touch me. To take what I so willingly give. “What you do to me.” His fingers skim a little higher and pause right over the top of my clit. So close. “You’re a temptation I crave. My destruction and salvation.”

  “Please.”

  “Please what?” A featherlight touch over the hood and then lower to my entrance. Not entering, but caressing. “Tell me.”

  “Touch me,” I whimper and then blush for a completely different reason as my stomach suddenly growls from hunger. It’s loud, and I’m embarrassed; the fevered spell we’ve been under is broken.

  Alejandro pulls back, chuckling as his eyes come up to meet mine after my plea. “So, I guess it’ll be food first.”

  “No.” It’s a whine, and my lips pout when my hunger makes its presence known again.

  “Behave.” The rebuttal sits on my tongue. I don’t want to stop, but he shakes his head before I can. Instead, I’m given a pointed look and a soft caress across my thighs as he fixes my shirt and covers my neediness. “Let me feed you, and I promise to eat that pretty little pussy afterward.”

  My core clenches at his words. “I’m not that hungry.”

  “Is that the truth or a lie?”

  “Maybe.”

  His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “You’re adorable.” He’s not laughing at me, nor does he seem upset that I killed the mood, so to speak, by needing sustenance. If anything, the boyish amusement on his face shows he’s okay and his hardness now pressed against my thigh tells me I’ll be enjoying him later. “All right, Miss Quintero. I cook, and you watch.”

  “Can I help with anything? Speed things along.”

  “You can sit and look pretty…” at my mock glare, he leans forward and gives my bottom lip a quick bite “…or pick something to listen to.”

  “Where’s your radio?”

  “One sec.” Alejandro turns from me and walks over to the counter on the opposite end of his kitchen. There’s a large portable device there that I recognize from our kitchen at the presidential home; a portal that controls most smart functions, and his cell phone. Picking up the latter,
he brings it over and places it beside my right hip. “Here you go. Play whatever you want.”

  “You sure?” That’s a dangerous offer for two reasons: his phone could contain things he doesn’t want me to see, and two, I know just the song to pay him back for leaving me hanging.

  “Go for it.” No hesitation or concern. He pecks my lips a final time and steps back into cooking mode. Still hard and throbbing, his cock flexes beneath the confines of his pants, and I have to look away or I’ll pounce.

  A truth that smacks me in the face once again.

  With him, I lose all control. My inhibitions are without regret.

  “Get it together,” I mutter low, but he hears something and clears his throat.

  “You said something, Sol?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.” Keeping my eyes on his phone’s screen, I pull up the music app and type in the name of what I have in mind. It’s an old song that blew up and is popular amongst the wedding/any-kind-of-celebration crowd. The opening notes begin to play, and I bite back the giggle fighting to break free.

  His shoulders bunch and head shakes. “No. Please don’t.”

  “Why? It’s so catchy.” Jumping down from the counter, I begin to shake my hips as the male singers begin to clap. I ignore the cool air caressing the wetness between my thighs, focusing on his reaction and not how sexy the man looks standing a few feet from me and now running a hand through his thick, dark hair. The clapping coming through the speakers is fast-paced and I join in, moving just like the women do in the original video. Then, I’m humming, and he grimaces. I’m smiling so big, and he’s shuddering. “Want to join me?”

  “No.”

  “You said I could ask for anything and—”

  “But this.” Cognac-colored eyes are begging me to not push. It’s hilarious to see this strong man try and back out from doing a simple dance. There has to be a story behind this reaction. “Ask me to do anything but the Macarena.”

  “Why?”

  “How about some of my specialty-blend coffee,” he offers instead, and it’s my turn to shake my head. “Una arepita with ham and cheese?” In response, I hold a hand out as the male singers belt out the first line. “Or we skip breakfast and I make you come on my tongue.”

  At once my hands drop to my sides and lips part. “That’s not fair.”

  “Bend over the counter and I’ll show you just how fair I can be.” Alejandro’s expression is smug. He knows I want him to touch me and decides to fight dirty. However, two can play at this game, and I take on a different approach.

  Pursing my lips, I lower the volume and hop back onto the countertop while he watches me with an amused expression that is dripping with cockiness. Papi is about to learn a lesson. Once situated, I cross my legs and give him a sweet smile. “How much longer before breakfast is ready?”

  “Run that by me again? I don’t think I heard you correctly.” If anything, his velvety tone deepens, and it’s smooth like whiskey. “Now you want to eat and deny me.”

  “Pretty much.” I’m nodding, fighting back a laugh at his narrowed eyes and thinned lips. “You offered, and now I want it.”

  “I also offered to make you come.”

  “Something you could very well do in an hour.”

  “You’re going to pay for teasing, Miss Quintero.” Once again invading my personal space, Alejandro takes my face in his hands and skims his lips across mine in a kiss that’s innocent yet decadent. That simple touch makes my heart thump harshly and a smile to curve against his mouth. “Now, behave while I cook and feed you.”

  “Yes, Patron,” I breathe out, and he groans, giving me a final nibble before leaving me to continue his prepping.

  In mere seconds we went from sexy to playful to back to scorching, and I like it. It also leaves me with two noticeable problems.

  The first being my lack of worry for Signio and if he’s alive.

  The second being how much I crave this kind of attention from Alejandro. It makes me needy and happy and I… I love him.

  20

  “MORNING, GENTLEMEN,” I say, stepping inside the garage-like structure behind my home while Solimar gets ready for our afternoon tour of my property. The building is past the pool house and the line of gardenias my groundskeeper planted last spring. It’s large enough to house five cars, three holding cells, and a fully functioning apartment on the second floor with the staircase at the rear of the building that my men use to crash for a few hours when needed.

  Sweeping my eyes across the room, I notice the lack of vehicles and how all the lights are on. I take in the empty food plates and the few bottles of water atop a small table at the center. How the last cell on the left wall’s inhabitant is shrinking back from the metal doors, keeping him within, and all eyes are on me.

  “Buenos dias, Patron,” three male voices reply in unison while my guest remains quiet, shivering, although he’s fully dressed and untouched. No facial bruising. No bloody limbs.

  I nod at the men, yet my attention remains on my guest. Signio is avoiding my eyes, trying to stay within the shadows of his temporary room.

  “Mr. Cortez, I suggest you put into practice all those years of expensive education and use your manners. When someone greets the room, you respond accordingly. Understood?” Still, I’m met with silence. Another culicagado brought up with money and has mierda social etiquette. “So be it.” Meeting the eyes of the guard to my right, I nod in the direction of Signio. “Bring him out.”

  “Wait!” His face appears between two bars on the door, hands gripping the metal tightly. “Alejandro, there’s no need for this. I wasn’t going to hurt her or defy you.”

  “So you do know how to speak?” My jaw ticks as I recount each little scar left behind by his nails digging into Solimar’s arm. How red and swollen the delicate flesh was. “You fucked up, kid. I warned you.”

  “Let’s talk this out,” he says, eyes on the guard walking over with a key in hand. “I can help you.”

  “Help me?” I ask as Geronimo steps inside with a burner phone in hand. “Explain yourself.”

  “It’s just that…” He swallows hard and tries to keep the door closed, pulling it toward his body after my guard unlocked it. “I know things, Alejandro. Things you don’t have a clue about are happening as we speak.”

  “Sir?” my employee calls out, knowing I didn’t want excessive force used last night. Past tense. Today is a new day, and Mr. Cortez is going to learn a very cruel lesson in life. A golden rule his miserable father and too-afraid-to-speak mother failed to explain.

  You don’t touch a woman with anger.

  “Let’s give him a second to collect himself.” Eyeing his shaking limbs, I tilt my head to the side. “Go on. Tell me how Quintero is venturing into the sale of illegally harvested organs with your father and a silent partner from Russia. Tell me how he sold Solimar to your father in exchange for military alliance once he implements a dictatorship society in this country. Tell me that he’s plotting my death in a public execution next month.”

  Signio’s face pales and head shakes side to side. His eyes are wide. “How?”

  “Be specific.” For a few beats, there’s silence in the room and I give the signal for extraction. One hard yank of the door and he tumbles out, landing on his hands and knees on the concrete floor. There’s a sharp gasp of pain as his hands give in and palms scrape against the rough, unpolished surface. It’s that way for a reason on that side of the room, and the torn skin and bloody fingertips are the end result. He whimpers, and I crack my neck. “Get up.”

  “Alejandro, this isn’t necessary. Come on, man…” Signio attempts to push himself up but fails, now adding small lacerations to his cheek. He looks up at me from his place on the floor, a few beads of blood rolling down to his stubbly chin. “Dad will pay you whatever you want. I’ll even leave the country.”

  “I can’t hear you from down there.”

  “I can’t…it hurts.�
�� You’d think I’d broken his leg or used my knife to run a line down the center of his chest with the way Cortez is crying. Pussy.

  “Would you like some help?”

  “Please.”

  “Help him.” At my order, Geronimo points at the man next to him, his nephew Lino, to get Signio up off the floor. The younger man is still a bit rough around the edges and yanks him up by the hair, all but dragging and then tossing him at my feet. Then he moves back into position as if nothing happened and waits for his next order. “Gracias, Lino.”

  “I’m at your disposal, Patron. Always.”

  “Hagale.” A bloody hand grips my pant leg and I look down, noticing the tears already forming in Signio’s eyes. “Are you ready to be honest with me? To explain the idiocy from last night.” He’s nodding before I finish asking my questions, bottom lip trembling. “Good boy.”

  “They made me do this.” His eyes land on a special addition to the property on my right that arrived a few days ago with a certain person or three in mind. The Judas chair: medieval and dark with large spikes over every surface and four leather straps to bind the unfortunate under castigate. It’s a black-market purchase made after my lunch with Solimar in Bogota, after uncovering the president’s plans for my little flower.

  “Of course.” My tone drips in sarcasm, in the barely contained ire flowing through my veins, but he fails to pick up on anything past the horror my purchase creates. “Are you afraid? Intrigued by my furniture?”

  Those shitty orbs snap toward me, and his chest rises and falls fast. “Are you? Am I?” Signio swallows hard; he’s fighting the fear crawling beneath his skin and the shivers that are proof of his pathetic worth. “Please don’t.”

  “Get up.”

  “Alejandro, I’ll disappear. Just gone.”

  “Let go of my jeans and stand up, Cortez. Can you do that?”

  “I need help,” he says lowly as a few beads of sweat roll down his face and the cuts there.

  “Big boys can do it all by themselves. No hand-holding.”

  “I didn’t mean harm, Alejandro. Por favor, tell me you believe that.”