DIABLO INSIDE

by Amarie Avant

  “You thought I was crazy when we first met, Dom. This is how you make someone insane.”

  “Sí.” He nods. His abdominals drag over my bare skin as he laughs at my expense.

  “You keep trying me, papi.”

  With the plush towel situated around my body, Dominic takes my cheeks and winks. “I’ll do just that, mami.”

  My mouth is set for the comeback to beat all when he catches me at my waist and beneath my knees, hefting me up.

  There are body oils on my side of the bed. Damn, I claimed his area. I’m too caught in the rapture of him to condemn myself for the earlier faux pas about loving him and this moment.

  Dominic’s strong limbs stretch as he settles back against the headboard. “Come here.” He gestures with the oil. “Hands and knees. Position yourself like so.”

  I crawl over the bed, flesh aching for his touch. Like a table, I place myself across his legs, clutching the sheets. Going out of my mind, I lean down and bite into his thigh. I’m the slightest bit anxious about the promise of swats.

  Warm liquid dribbles across my lower back, gliding down everywhere—across my hips, over the slope of my ass, trickling into my pussy.

  “Dominic . . .” I hitch. My glare speaks volumes as to how I’ve suffered. “Enter me, now!”

  His hand descends heavily on my lower back, kneading and pressing. The hardness of my orbs and the tension in my lips fade. My eyes roll back as he adds more oil. It runs along my dripping wet treasure, and he massages it back up.

  With my mind blissfully blank, my lower back slumps, ready to submit to any hurt he offers. Please let the pain reside in his cock, stretching my insides. Let all the hurt be twisted into how his thick girth breaks into my tightness. A welcome wetness slides down the inside of my thighs, mixing in with the massage oils. Dominic proceeds to knead at the thick flesh of my ass. He’s screwing with me, with my head, my body, my soul. He denies my sex. Shamefully, my pussy quakes and cums by just his firm, delicate touch everywhere else but inside of me.

  I plant my face into the sheets. Damn, how is this possible? Please fuck me so hard I break!

  “You love this feeling, mami.” Dominic’s erotic, deep voice sends my pussy over the edge. Again.

  “Yesss. Yes.” I groan. My limbs shake, but I hold steady. Nothing aside from death will keep me from breaking position.

  “Say, ‘papi.’ ” Dominic rubs his fingers along the soft line at the inside of my thigh. He holds my gaze. Dark, aroused thoughts mask his face. “Tell papi, ‘he owns you.’ Beg me to spank this sweet ass.”

  Throat thick, I almost utter my consent to his indecent craving. I could take it. But I bite my tongue, my last bit of resolve.

  There are so many versions of Dominic Ángel Alvarez. The diablo I thought him to be, and don’t get my thoughts on El Santo. As he alternates between squirting hot oil onto my skin and massaging me, I lose sight of reality. If he were truly a vile, malicious man, would I fall so hard?

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Dominic

  “Lift up, mami, push that ass a little higher into the air.” I groan, kneading the flesh at the small of her back. Obedient as ever, Aria rises on trembling limbs.

  Burning for my touch, she moans against my muscular thighs. “Dominic, what are you doing to me? Screw me, please.”

  “I got you.” I push her hair over, pressing kisses to the side of her neck. My hand splays across her ass and roams over her pussy lips. I cup my hands, fingertips massaging her clit while collecting the sugary guava from her slit.

  “You . . . you’re so tender sometimes and then so cruel, Dominic. At the res… restaurant . . . you . . .”

  She’s a stuttering, whimpering mess. Cocking a grin, I reach beneath the pillow on my side of the bed to grab the paddle I placed there while she’d slept earlier. I grip her hair, bringing her face to mine to taste her mouth. “You don’t know cruel yet, Aria.”

  “But you are.”

  “I went to sleep hard as fuck last night.” I kiss her viciously. “Time for payback. Thirty swats were what I promised. I’d rather break this ass instead of my promise.” Beneath her, I reach for my cock. “How about this, mami? You have made me a changed man.”

  “Okay.” She starts off her hands, but I clamp my palm behind her neck, holding her in position.

  “Not so fast, Aria. While I swat, you suck my dick. Would you like that?”

  War rages in her gaze, flickers of fear and lust.

  “Now, you’re greedy. You want my cum down your throat, but you’re worried that if I hit you too roughly, you’ll hurt me.” My clasp on her neck grows firmer. “You hurt me. I hurt the fuck out of you. Beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “Dominic—”

  “I love it when you say my name, Aria. I’ll make you say it a thousand times. Not now, though. Suck my dick, and we can get started.”

  She scoots down a little, positioning her lips along my cockhead. Groaning, I rub the leather paddle over her ass cheek. The bulbous melon is everything that I see. Aria takes a tentative lick of my cock.

  “No teeth.” I kiss her earlobe, continuing to let the paddle roam across her dark flesh.

  Whimpering, she pulls me into her mouth. Like a hot, wet glove, Aria slurps at my dick. As she catches a rhythm, I lift the paddle, let it sit in the air for a second. Bueno. Her mouth fucks me with vigor. The paddle slams across her ass as my cock is brought down her throat. She sucks hard, tonsils squeezing me to perfection.

  “You’re doing well, mami.” I give her a few softer swats to which her mouth transforms into this gorgeous grin around my dick. Damn, I need a camera. This is what memories are made of. Priceless. Passion lights in her eyes and across her flesh as I continue with her swats.

  Slurping sounds ensue, along with the smacking of flesh. My toes curl under, and my fingers coil harder around the paddle.

  “Fuck,” I groan, dropping the paddle for another smack on her ass. Cupping my other hand over the curve of her pussy lips, I assault the area, telling my cock to calm the fuck down. I will it not to give in and erupt deep in her throat yet.

  With each pound of the paddle to her pussy, Aria’s tongue trails around, and she engulfs my erection. My fingers roam her clit before plowing inside of her, my palm pressing over her lips. I then give in to an eruption so hard that my sopping wet hand claims the crown of her head, keeping her steady. Though, she had no intention of coming up for air. My seed jets into her mouth down her throat. I’ve never been so content in my entire life.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  El Santo

  Tiny streams of tears glide down Angelica’s face, dampening the gag sticking out of her mouth. She sits in a chair, wrists bound, as we watch them on the television in my bedroom.

  LeAnna almost caught me under the bed before her bath. When I sauntered into my room and brought Angelica out of my soundproof closet, she had a look of contention on her face. Something has changed.

  “You want to speak, gordita?”

  She nods slowly.

  Kneeling in front of her, I remove the serrated knife from the back of my jeans. I trace the blade where the dampness of her slightly slimmed cheeks is beginning to dry.

  “I remove this, you won’t scream?”

  She shakes her head.

  I nod a little in thought. When I’d entered my walk-in closet, I’d given her a meal replacement. Though the room is reinforced for sound, I look at her intently, determining the trust factor. Feeding them hasn’t always gained their loyalty in the past, and she’s not one of my chosen.

  Letting the blade rest along the juicy artery at her neck, I undo the gag with my other hand.

  “You shout, gordita, all it takes is one tiny prick.” I let the blade slither, leaving a trail of ash across her skin. “And you know I won’t stop with a little baby prick, sí?”

  A hard whimper jostles through her as she nods again.

  “Bueno.” I remove the strap.

  Angelica coughs.r />
  “Speak,” I grit out, a bit testy.

  “You said she cared, El Santo.” Dark orbs shine up at me. “The second you walked in this morning, you told me Aria—”

  “LeAnna,” I correct.

  “Sorry. LeAnna said she cared when she kissed you.”

  “She did.” I fork my fingers through my curly hair.

  “Look at her, El Santo. I’m here for you. You share your food with me. You talk to me! Have you had a genuine conversation with her? Now her filthy lips are all over him. She should be one of the—” Angelica’s face falls.

  I clasp her chin, bringing her eyes level with mine. “Finish your fucking sentence.”

  “She should be one of the g-girls. The dead girls.”

  I frame her face with my hands. My own transforms into deceptive empathy. “Should I punish LeAnna?”

  “That puta defied you.” Again, Angelica’s gaze falls.

  I pop her cheek then laugh. “Self-preservation is radiating off you, gordita. Your morals are conflicted. Save you, over LeAnna.” I hop up, readjusting her gag. “You understand she is more important to me than a fat puta like you, sí?”

  My guest cuts her eyes at me.

  I swat her nose with my index finger like one would a misbehaving puppy.

  “There is one thing in which you fail to realize. The other girls aren’t dead. My ángeles are all alive. Rededicated. None of them are dead. The media has misinterpreted their new corporality.” I coast toward the television where Dominic spanks LeAnna while she gulps down his cock. I place the knife against her eye.

  “My ángeles never felt an ounce of affliction at my hands, gordita. I had promised you the same respect as them. For a moment,” I let the knife tap across the image of LeAnna’s forehead, “I considered placing her in that elevated position and killing you.”

  Angelica gulps.

  I stalk back over, planting my hands over her bound wrists, and massage her soft flesh. “So, when you say, treat her like my ángeles, that means murder the fuck outta you! Comprende?”

  “Ye-yes,” she replies, tone muffled.

  “Bueno.” I pinch her softness, twisting with my forefinger and thumb until blood rushes beneath her skin. “Watch what the fuck you say before your tongue is the first organ I snatch from your body before I take your soul!”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Aria

  Two months have passed since Dominic met all the most important people in my life, including stubborn Gramps.

  For the most part, we’ve settled into a comfortable state, either at his place or mine. We have a favorite show on Netflix, which signifies to me how our relationship has evolved. I laugh my ass off while Dominic attempts to place his hand over my mouth when talking to the television. He’s the good thing that I’ve denied myself all my life. Then there’s the crazy sex while out and about. Dom’s sick, little game, my therapy. The impromptu fucks elevate my addiction, which I wouldn’t give up if my life depended on it.

  His presence reminds me of life. When he sleeps, I watch him, doe-eyed and curious. I miss Dominic the second he leaves my sight. My heart swells in my chest. The images of him in my mind become a reality on painted canvas.

  The soft rays of a vibrant morning sun beam down. Seated on a stool on my balcony, I lose myself in the vivid image of Dominic being fleshed out in front of me. The lust-hooded gleam in Dominic’s eyes. The ripples of muscles along his chest.

  I stop short of drawing erotica by depicting an altered rendition—linen covering a huge cock, hard, worthy of worship and praise.

  Like before, when I fixated on him as El Santo, I get so wrapped up in blending the gold hues I’m surprised when my alarm beeps.

  Earlier morning has faded. The sun has transitioned higher into the sky.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself, rising off the stool. Luckily, I had already showered and dressed in a flowing, ankle-length number of shades of blue. Today, I have a work outing. Dominic can play all the games he wants with me in this ensemble.

  In my walk-in closet, I match a creamy white cardigan and jeweled sandals. Then I slide into the bathroom and scrub the excess paint off my hands. Though I completed my facial regimen this morning, I re-moisturize and tussle my hair.

  I place the tip of my index finger into my mouth, chewing on the nail. It’s been eleven days since Dominic and I played his little game—yeah, I count it. Though he’s worked my tension out, I have the faint feeling he’s holding something in.

  I close my eyes in contemplation. He slides the conversation toward his twin every once in a while. To me, it has been the olive branch to signify how I’m in safe territory to mention ReAnna. But I sense there’s more there, on his part. Lord knows, there is so much more on mine.

  One morning, a while back, I shared a little about ReAnna. I said the name Sarah Beckett out loud. Open-heart surgery had seemed more comfortable in the moment.

  “Ari’,” I groan at myself in the mirror. Months ago, I stood in this very spot, letting my lips flip around like a dead fish in an attempt to learn how to smile—alone. Now, I’m happier than my wildest dreams, but I’m holding in shit, and he has to be too.

  “Maybe I’ll see him out today . . .” I stop talking. Okay, Aria, you aren’t crazy. Your therapist thought sharing your emotions in the mirror was your safe zone. Hell, you didn’t fully engage until Issa from Insecure gave the okay.

  I chuckle. “But she was rapping.”

  Folding my arms, I say, “If I see Dominic out today before dinner, for his crazy game . . .”

  I pause. Damn, when we chatted this morning, I didn’t tell him where I’d be today. I snatch my phone, then second guess it. “Eh, I’ll seem desperate for some lunchtime dick if I text him where I’ll be. But he has popped up, without reason on occasion.”

  How.

  I scoff.

  Stop it, Paranoid Patty.

  Then it clicks. Roslyn tagged me in an Instagram post at the gym and a few other places where we were. And the first time?

  You invited him to lunch, Dum Dum.

  I laugh at myself. Maybe internal dialogue has me sounding as crazy as chatting to the mirror. And I sure as hell can’t rap. So, I do the next best thing. I text Dominic that I’ll be at the smoothie bar and add a wink emoji.

  Fingers crossed. He can fuck the wires in my brain loose. Hopefully, I’ll open up to him, and he will open up to me.

  In the furthest section of the parking lot at the pier, I pull forward from one spot to the next. When I leave, I can simply drive away. At least I’m not backing into a spot, banging my Leaf on both sides.

  Satisfied with the small miracle, I climb out of my car prepared for the long walk. A car swoops in behind me. Closing the door to my car, I bristle. It rubs me the wrong way, almost like when someone who has a persistent cough decides a half-filled movie theater is the perfect destination to cuddle strangers. The entire last two rows of the parking lot are virtually empty. But right behind me?

  I stride toward the trunk of my car to grab my equipment. I attempt to catch the eye of the driver, but the sunlight hits the windshield. He or she left enough room for my kneecaps to squeeze through. I’ll have to hitch my rollaway toward the side of the car instead of pulling it straight out.

  The door of the other car opens.

  “Hey, if you wouldn’t mind—” I begin.

  “Aria?” My name is called from about ten yards away. Behind me, the driver’s door slams shut. The engine sputters on. I suck on fumes from the engine as the bumper taps the back of my calves. The car skids backward, and the driver zips recklessly out of the lot.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I mouth it, disturbed by the twenty-second encounter.

  “Aria?” The person calling to me draws closer.

  I whip around.

  “Is this a bad time?” A pretty, young lady who modeled for me at the smoothie place arches a brow.

  “No.” I manage to respond right above a whisper. “Some assho
le probably driving his or her dad’s BMW . . . Um. How are you?”

  “Not sure how to answer that question anymore.” She snorts.

  I cock an eyebrow. She sounds as confused as I do on occasion.

  “Do you happen to remember my boyfriend? I told you about him during our photo session?”

  “Couldn’t forget him.” I tug my top lip into my mouth. The guy called repeatedly. His persistence made me wonder if he doubted her competence. Such as, if he’d assumed that she’d answered a creepy flier about meeting a strange photographer at a sleazy motel for headshots. Or I wondered if it was his way to control her.

  Shaking out the rest of my jitters, I start to walk with her, assuming we’re both headed to the smoothie stand. “How are things going with him?”

  “He’s dead.” Her face pulls into a frozen grimace. She looks like this is something she has attempted to wrap her brain around for ages.

  Though I’m still reeling about the BMW, I gasp. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I broke up with him the same day of our photoshoot. He was murdered a couple of weeks later at the park.”

  “At the park, you say?” An unsettled feeling tears at my gut.

  “Two months or so ago. Did you hear about it?”

  Yup. “It was on the news.”

  “Apparently, my ex had a lot more enemies than me. He even had photos of me with an X on them. Sort of like he meant me more harm than he had always dished out.” She fidgets with her fingers. “I’m still in shock. But I had to thank you again.”

  My head bobs slowly. Trepidation ignites tiny goosebumps over my skin. As she talks, I attempt to stay in reality, wondering if I should have gotten the license plate number for the BMW.

  Pressure builds in my chest as we start down the boardwalk, threatening to overwhelm me. The past struggles to break through, but her touch anchors me.

  “Well, I couldn’t have done it without our chat. My friends and family have said the same thing for years. Sometimes it takes someone on the outside looking in to put things into perspective.”