DIABLO INSIDE

by Amarie Avant

  “I’m going to have you now, Aria.” He starts to unbuckle his belt.

  Confident and hungry for Dominic, I help snatch it off him. The designer emblem drops, with a resounding thump.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. No, no, noooo. Not now. The past comes full circle. My soaring heart no longer beats for Dominic. Pressure presses my chest, drowning me. Like always, I clasp at an anchor to reality. My fingers search for the wall when Dominic grips my hands.

  “You’re okay, mami,” he says.

  I expect he’ll run from the bag lady in me, once I center myself, but the day my sister was abducted flashes before my eyes first. The sound of an ice cream truck’s cheerful melody echoes in my ears, nothing more.

  There are no vivid images. It’s as if his touch is strong enough to anchor me in the in-between. There is none of the longstanding terror or the aftershocks of relentless culpability. Yes, I’m ashamed. How am I to know ReAnna experienced anything near as erotically titillating as this? How can I enjoy it if I don’t know if she ever did? But that’s all the guilt I taught myself and got from others.

  His fingers continue to massage around my hands. “Take a shower. Wear something pretty for me, Aria. I’ll start cooking.”

  My eyes close for a second. I bite my tongue, not sending Dominic on his way.

  He clasps the back of my neck, pressing a kiss on my forehead. “You heard my order, sí?”

  Embarrassment flushes across my nose, travels over my cheeks, and down my throat. A fissure divides us. Dominic stands before me, though he might as well be miles away. I close my eyes for a moment, condemning myself. Quick fucks in the past were the extent of my satisfaction. A few minutes in his arms sent me straight to heaven.

  “Vamanos, Aria.” Dominic smacks my ass and opens the double doors. “I can’t make tonight perfect for us without your help.” He closes the doors behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  El Santo

  “I’m falling fast for a mujer hermosa. Gorgeous out of this world. All I’ve dreamt of, prayed for. Gordita, you listening to me?” I bark, dropping the hoodie from my head, then rubbing a gloved hand over the ski mask itching at my jaw.

  Popcorn spills on the carpet and into the lap of the chunky Latina engulfing much of the floral loveseat. Deep brown eyes cast toward me as I lean a forearm against the wall of her living room.

  On the coffee table between us is movie-sized candies. It doesn’t stop there. Steam fizzles from a jar of nacho cheese. Tortilla chips clutter a plate with microwave-zapped jalapeno poppers. It’s a one-person smorgasbord. I’d followed the emotional eater through the grocery store this afternoon.

  The Latina craved a pity party, me too. Now, she’s staring in shock at how I gained entrance into her two-bedroom home. Or is it why I’m here?

  “Let myself in, gordita. One-story house, unlocked bedroom window. Don’t be so surprised.” I smile, but my ski mask blocks this. Fear gleams in her wet gaze. My glower zeroes in on her quivering lips. Melted chocolate has collected at the sides of her mouth, yet she has not attempted to wipe it.

  “My LeAnna wanted to know how El Diablo—that’s not his name.” I gesture with my hands. “But for the sake of me not giving a fuck about him, we will call him El Diablo. So, she wanted to know how El Diablo got inside—repetidamente. Over and over and OVER. My LeAnna asked him that after he unlawfully entered her home. Not ‘what will you do to me.’ ”

  “Wh-what are you going to do to me?” she parrots.

  Tilting my head sideways, I tug the knife from under my leather jacket. There’s no emotion on my face as I wield the blade. The gordita isn’t a mark of mine. Killing her will not thrill me nor will it satiate the hunt of not having LeAnna or a new ángel

  “I’ll scream. My neigh—”

  I track across the tiny living room in half a second. My boots lift off the coffee table, and I’ve pounced on her. My thighs surround the ultra-fleshiness of her hips and stomach. The Latina doesn’t resemble my ángeles, not in the slightest. My beautiful sacrifices, perfect inside and out until I met LeAnna. I press the flat of my knife against the fluff of her neck.

  Pecking her shaking lips, I warn, “Don’t scream, gordita. We haven’t been properly introduced. ¿Cuál es su nombre?”

  “Angelica.”

  “Angelica?” I swivel the knife around. A pink line trails across her pale skin. With the twist of my wrist, I jab the tip expertly into her flesh. A drop of blood pools, sliding down the soft crevices of her neck as she cries. “You lie, and it gets worse, gordita.”

  She stammers, “My name is Angelica Garces.”

  I’m up in a second, yanking her to me. “Show me proof. If your name is Angelica, I’ll spare you.”

  “Wh . . . what?”

  I point the knife at her. “I don’t repeat myself, gordita.”

  Mouth tight, I follow her through a tiny hallway back into her bedroom. With each step, the Latina stumbles. My fingernails chew the back of her neck, biceps straining to assist her in verifying her name.

  Not my ángel, but one no less.

  “Th-there.” She points to a Dental Technician certificate on the wall.

  My teeth grit. “You’re in luck, Angelica. I can’t kill you, not with a name like that.” But if my LeAnna breaks for El Diablo, I will break you.

  I thrust her toward her bed. She scampers toward the headboard. I grip her thigh, pressing back on the heels of my boots to snatch her around. Angelica tosses a foot at me, and my knife slits across her Achilles tendon. Blood squirts everywhere. Damn these leather gloves. I haven’t felt the sticky warm liquid in so long.

  “Ouuuhhh,” she cries, biting down onto the pillow.

  The fusion between my impatience and violence aligns. “Best not to defy me, Angelica. This is the nice me.”

  I drag her hefty frame over so that she’s looking up at me. Her legs clamp tight together.

  “Do not be flattered.” I climb into the bed with her, pressing her against my side. I reach into the front pocket of my hoodie and pull out my phone. My head rests lazily next to hers.

  “Look at this!” I growl, using my gloved hand to press onto a camera link. Surveillance of LeAnna’s kitchen pops up. I’d only added cameras to her art room and bedroom. Her roommate pushed her into purchasing a nanny cam for the kitchen, which I easily tapped into. For the past few months, LeAnna never understood the meaning of food.

  I hold the cell phone between gordita and me. On the screen, El Diablo moves comfortably around the marble island in a pair of slacks. He tosses seasonings around and chops on a cutting board.

  “That’s Dominic Alverez,” Angelica hitches.

  “Shhhh.”

  “You’re gonna kill me . . .” She hyperventilates, sugary breath coming in quick pants. “Because I know who he is. So, you have to kill me. Ay, Dios mio. You have to kill me now. Don’t you?”

  I press a finger to her trembling mouth. “I’m a man of my word, Angelica. Look, he’s making dinner, teaching my LeAnna about the passions of food. He’s inserted himself right where I should be.”

  Angelica’s heavy breathing catches as we watch Dominic’s agile movements around the room. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks. Stiffness rides the muscles of my jaw as the vision who stirred my soul enters the screen. She’s wearing a yellow knit shirt or dress-like contraption. It grazes across her shoulders. Though it dwarfs her curves, the material stops mid-thigh. Fingers curling into a fist, I contemplate all her mistakes. LeAnna sought me and landed in El Diablo’s snare.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Angelica’s head bobs.

  I press my thumb and index finger over the image, intensifying the pixels. “The hardest part is watching someone meant for you, fall for someone else, Angelica. Did you know that?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Keep watching for me.” I press the cellphone into her hands. Positioning my arms behind my head, Angelica has all the opportunity she will ever have. My gaze t
aunts her to try her luck. “Tell me how she looks at him. Read her thoughts to me, por favor, my sweet Angelica.”

  “She-she doesn’t love him.”

  “That is evident, gordita. LeAnna hardly knows him. She thought we were one and the same.” I laugh at the fond moment when it clicked. “What are they doing?”

  “He’s feeding her.”

  “From a fork, a spoon, his—”

  “Hands. A croqueta.”

  “What else?”

  “His finger trails across her lip. I’ve heard Dominic has this effect on women.”

  “El Diablo,” I correct.

  “Sí, El Diablo. He’s ba-bad for women. Ruins them.” Angelica’s nose puffs, and her chest skitters up and down.

  “Make me believe you.” When she stares at me in confusion, I gesture. “How do you know these things?”

  “His pretentious suits, his perfect hair. Those eyes have to be contacts. It’s all fake. Dom—El Diablo wants to get inside of her panties. I don’t see the same desire behind his eyes that you have for her. Sir, I’m not able to see your entire face, but the passion behind your eyes, I’d be blind not to see it.”

  As I murmur in agreement, Angelica’s confidence soars. “You’re here with me, but you could be with LeAnna, is it?”

  “Sí.”

  “Sí, you could be with LeAnna. The way you talk about her, miles away, I assume. If you were there . . . I’m sure she’s smart enough to know—”

  My hands flex around Angelica’s throat. She struck a chord. Spittle flies from my lips as I correct her. “My LeAnna is sophisticated. A very smart woman, who gets lost in her head, okay?”

  Darkness surrounds me when I should be the light. I let go, and Angelica’s fleshy body is wracked in a fit of coughs and cries.

  “No more insults, gordita.” My fist stops right at her double chin. I cackle as she flinches. “I said, no more.”

  We settle back in the bed, her quivering in my arms. I close my eyes, clutching her tighter. “Tell me, Angelica. What are they doing now?”

  “T-talking, eating.”

  “Bueno. Continue summarizing your observations. I can’t stomach the sight of him with her.”

  “Okay.”

  I condemn myself for this. The cleanup will be endless. Despite a wealth of training, I’d been impulsive, sloppy. Damn, you, LeAnna, I muse. Her mistakes caused this bloody mess, but Angelica would be the one to pay, one way or another.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aria

  Dominic’s presence is my drug. The light behind his green eyes has an x-ray vision down to my soul. We sit at the table in the kitchen, my legs folded against my chest to save my heart. This feels so good, it’s bad. My head falls back in a carefree laugh as he says something outlandish that’s totally and utterly Cuban.

  “Thank you.” An illicit spark runs through me as Dominic’s fingertips brush mine. Earlier, every inch of his rock-hard body flushed against mine. Hours have passed. For every single one of them, I’ve been lost in his gaze, oblivious to my own moaning.

  “Well, that may have been the best, non-soul food I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “Best non-soul food?”

  “Sorry, but my gram has you by this much.” I hold my index and thumb approximately an inch away from each other.

  “Here, I thought you didn’t know the meaning of good food.”

  “Ha! I don’t consider my next meal unless it’s dinner at my grandparents or tacos with friends. I’m human, Dom. I love tacos along with the general population.”

  “What about breakfast?” Dominic arches a seductive eyebrow.

  A giddy glow radiates across my skin as I lift a glass of Moscato in thought. “Hmmm . . . frozen waffles if I’m feeling fancy.”

  “Let’s have breakfast together, Aria. Tomorrow morning.”

  Bubbles fizzle back up my throat.

  “You okay?” He cocks a brow. The ultimate predator awaits his prey’s response.

  “Would be ironic, us going for breakfast after I send you home tonight, right?”

  My gaze falls to how the candlelight wanders across his chiseled features. Timidly placing down my stemless wine glass, I usher in a cleansing breath. We’re playing a dangerous game again, one where I envision falling for his type. Ha, Aria, what type is Dominic? The kind who must wear shirts or all women lose their marbles.

  The gorgeous, fallen angel continues to tempt me in his delectable Cuban accent. “We have to keep up the momentum, Aria. We’ve been having such a good time. You savored dinner. Tomorrow, I’ll show you how I eat a peach.”

  Transfixed, I mentally warn myself against salivating as he continues. “If you bite slowly enough, flavor bursts into your mouth. I’ll explain the difference between eating and savoring.”

  Voice on the verge of crumbling, I muster, “I know good food.” Which you are not speaking of at all . . . oh, this is trouble.

  “I haven’t had a peach in a very long time.” Dominic pauses to scratch the sexy gruff on his jaw.

  Are you saying you haven’t had a peach recently? I clamp my mouth shut, but my poker face is hardly fit for a goldfish game.

  “Earlier, I had the faint taste of the sweetest peach, coating your mouth.” He trails off, exhaling hard.

  He’d ordered me to suck as his slick fingers dominated my mouth. That was a first. He downs his wine, lets his head fall back. I ground myself with a hard bite of my tongue.

  “That tiny taste left me very hungry, Aria. Like a fucking animal.” His voice is smoother than a lion’s primal growl. “And like an animal, it’s in my nature to strike.”

  At the warning, I bounce to the balls of my feet, brain frazzled. The moment for me to react seems to last ages. Clearing my throat, I grab my plate then start for his.

  Dominic’s hand plants over mine. He stands to his full height. Under his breath, the Spanish expletives I’m accustomed to hum seductively through his lips. His hand tightens around my wrist.

  I let go of the plate. While he continues to claim me close, my other hand threads his hair. I ride to my tippy toes. God, his mouth is a fraction of an inch away.

  Tone astonishingly level, I order, “I don’t want this on your terms.”

  “Explain, mujer loca?” His head dips, eyes level to mine. “What the fuck is this? Because I’ve threatened to strike.”

  “My terms. Meaning,” I gasp, “I’m going to let you fuck, Dom. Quick. Hard. Then you leave me alone—like the rest of your conquests.” I have a little sanity left to cling to, and you can’t have it! “Okay?”

  “Okay.” He growls, lips crashing into mine. His hands are all over my searing, raging flesh, pulling my curves to him.

  How dare he agree to my proposal! We’re welded to each other. I break the connection of our mouths. “Quick, Dom. Quick. Hard. Then you’re on to the next. Me too.”

  Does he believe the nonchalance? The tangled web of thoughts I’m usually wrapped in doesn’t expand into more musings. I don’t care. I need him now.

  Dominic’s touch is a wildfire sliding up the inside of my thigh. He grips the material of my dress. I choke on shock as the silk tears from my achy skin, leaving all my imperfections on display—the soft thighs, and not-so-tiny waist. And breasts, which could use more cushion. Damn, should’ve worn my pushup bra.

  “Undress,” I snap, clinging to the notion of evening the playing field. I anchor my hand onto the counter as his pants shove down. My legs go weak at the sight of the muscular line above his thigh—a Caribbean god.

  Saliva floods my mouth at the sight of his underwear. Where’s my camera? No words can express the sight. Perfect endowment. I’m torn between falling to my knees in worship in more ways than one. But my thighs jump up, clinging to his chest. Dominic’s muscles flex under my fingertips. Shivers ripple through me. I thrust the apex of my sex onto the tint of cloth, shielding him from me, and I gulp.

  This is not going to be an easy task, taking him into any part of my bo
dy.

  Dominic’s head falls back in a hearty laugh as he squeezes my midriff. Cocky bastard knows my fear of his dick.

  “Right here, screwing me here is good enough.”

  “Cállate.” He kisses my lips, carrying me out of the kitchen. “You have no idea what you need, mami. I do. Thank me later.”

  I bite into his bottom lip, muttering “bastard.”

  We collapse into bed, him on top of me. I brace myself for the full force of brick. Dominic steadies himself. The only heavy weight lands against my sex. Again, my brain sparks in consideration of how his cock is going to kill me.

  When his mouth descends across my chest, I don’t mind dying.

  Our bodies quiver together. Anticipation crackles as his mouth descends on mine. With our mouths locked in fervent passion, I bring my fingers up, stitching them into his curly hair. The moment he stops kissing me feverishly, my fists grip into the sheets. My dangerous, new habit explores me. He alternates between ardent kisses to featherlight licks along my chest, belly button, and stomach. Hot, blinding pleasure builds. My thoughts are overwhelmed as he works his way down.

  Dominic’s hands cup my ass. The bristles at his angular jaw tease the inside of my thighs. “Oh, god.” I groan, broken by the expectancy of his first taste.

  “Look at you, mami,” Dominic whispers against my sex. His fingertips trace the wetness of my throbbing folds.

  I lean on my elbows, ready to beg him to screw me with his mouth. A gorgeous face rises from between my thighs, lips kinked into a knowing smile. My heart lurches in my throat. Sex with Dominic won’t be quick nor hard per my orders. Instead, I’m the one who will be left tortured, desiring more. With a wink, he dives in.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dominic

  I don’t kiss women like this, not since Alejandra. Consumed in addiction, I press my fingertips across the wet folds of her sex, opening her like a flower. My nose nuzzles against her clit, tongue sliding into sweet tightness. A groan of enjoyment rips through me.