Yours (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 4)

by Elena M. Reyes

  “I knew the day she hired me.” Douglass smiles. It’s wistful, yet there’s ire lingering beneath the surface. His disdain for Mr. Bennett is clear. “She’s sweet and kind. Nothing like this asshole who spends more time making enemies than paying attention to his wife. I was there when he wasn’t. I saw the smile slip from her face each time he canceled a dinner date or weekend away.” No one misses the way Kyle flinches slightly back at that, and it further fuels Douglass. “It was me,” he sneers, and I find his backbone almost comical. Any other man would’ve pissed his pants by now. “Always me.”

  “So, she led you on?” At my question, all three look at me, but my focus is on the guard. “Are you saying she’s a—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” He’s struggling against his bindings, the rope cutting into his skin. “Clarissa is an angel.”

  “How so if she’s toying with your emotions?”

  “She’s too innocent and pure to realize I’ve been—”

  “Planning to kill her husband, kidnap her, and then force her into a relationship while you gain access to their millions?” Silence. Utter silence. Malcolm asked me to dig and I did, finding out more than they expected. This runs deeper than a simple infatuation. “Or does the name Jorge Wendell ring a bell?”

  Kyle’s head snaps in my direction. “What does my business partner have to do with this, Javier?”

  “Why don’t you explain, Douglass? Tell him what Wendell’s secretary told me for a few thousand dollars.”

  “She wouldn’t.” His voice wavers.

  “She did.” Carmelo steps forward then. He hands Malcolm the two files I gathered in the two hours before arriving here. “Cindy was more than willing to fax me what I needed, too.”

  “No!”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Kyle growls out, storming toward Douglass and fisting his hair. He pulls the dark blond strands hard, forcing the guard’s head back while staring at me. “Tell me.”

  Malcolm slides the folder over; it’s open and the top page shows the forged signatures on paperwork, making it seem Mrs. Bennett is unstable and needs a guardian. That Kyle was putting Wendell in charge of everything if anything happened to him.

  “The plan was to kill you via robbery gone wrong.” The disdain in my voice is noticeable. I take offense to shitty criminals playing the bullshit badass role. “With you out of the picture and then the filing of this paperwork, Clarissa would’ve been under their thumb. Wendell gets the company and other business ventures/assets, while Douglass gets your wife and a 50/50 split of the money. The sick fuck is obsessed with her, and more so, after being ignored. Isn’t that right?”

  “Fuck you!”

  Kyle turns his head up to the ceiling and takes in a deep breath. He holds it for ten seconds, his hands clenching twice before his right hand pulls a gun from the back of his pants.

  We don’t stop him. We don’t even draw our weapons.

  Instead, we watch silently as he bends and puts his mouth near Douglass’s ear. Kyle whispers something to him; it’s too low for anyone to hear, but the guard becomes enraged just long enough for Bennett to pull the trigger and his body to go limp.

  A bullet in each eye and brain matter scatters behind the body on the pristine floor.

  “We’ll be leaving tonight on an extended holiday,” Kyle says, not looking at us but watching every drop of blood seep from the bullet wounds, a small smile on his face. “Do you need anything from us?”

  “No. You’re set.” Malcolm gives me a nod, and I text the cleanup crew to come and eradicate all traces of this meeting. “Have a good vacation, and please send my regards to Clarissa.”

  “Thank you both.” With that, he walks out and we stand, heading back downstairs toward Carmelo’s car while the Bennett’s prepare for their departure.

  It’s near nine at night by the time I make it home, and the front door hasn’t fully closed before my jacket is tossed aside and my tie pulled off. I’m shrugging everything off, leaving the piles for tomorrow, while heading toward my bathroom.

  I’m in need of a quick shower. A release before ending my night with a little taste and tease.

  The lights flick on as I enter the large, all-white bathroom with an oversized shower that extends from one wall to the opposite. Its large subway tiles in marble cover almost every inch, from wet areas to the dry with hardware in gold to compliment the stone.

  Turning the handle toward the hot water, I step back and remove my boxer briefs before stepping inside. It’s been a long day; from meetings and training for Malcolm’s guards to Mariah’s haughty, cold shoulder.

  One I returned. Then, I sat back and watched the fight to ignore me become the search for any reason to get closer. No matter where I turned, she was in my line of sight or near enough to touch.

  Hair up in a messy bun.

  Glasses perched on the end of her nose while biting a pen.

  Giggling at something.

  The coquettish minx made sure to punish me, but I held back. My not giving in caused her frustration and a few muttered curses thrown my way, but it’ll be worth it soon enough.

  Heat fills the room, and I step beneath the waterfall showerhead. The hot water slides down my limbs and hard cock, caressing my skin and causing a shiver to rush down my spine.

  I grab my bodywash and loofah on the small alcove to my right, pouring a large drop in to the sponge before rubbing it across my chest. The suds glide lower and over my pelvis before they kiss my balls.

  I’m throbbing. In pain. My hand fisting over the tight skin, knuckles strained white, before pumping once. Then again. Just knowing that she’s a few floors from me...

  “Fuck,” I hiss out, my strokes becoming rougher with each twist down and then up. My eyes close and I throw my head back, picturing her sultry eyes and sinful smirk before leaving for the day. Mariah was bent over her desk while looking for something, giving me the perfect view of her ass and hips while talking on the phone, ignoring my presence. “Delicious little beauty.”

  Her skirt was mid-thigh and tight with no visible panty line, and instead, I got a peek of the soft skin between her thighs through the small slit with a pleat at the back. Perfect and round, and my mouth waters as I remember how the fabric moved with her, rising a little higher on her thighs until I groaned.

  A little more, and I’d see the round cheeks I want to bite. Smack. Smear my come across.

  Heat licks at my balls and with each pump of my hips, the pleasure increases, and more so when Mariah’s evil grin flashes behind closed lids. She’d turned around to face me then, back slightly arched and with a hand on her hip.

  “Need something, Mr. Lucas?” Tone breathy, she looks at me from head to toe, pausing a bit at the thick bulge in my pants. My suit jacket’s over the back of my office chair and I’m not hiding her effect on me. Fuck that—she caused it and I want her to see.

  To hunger for it.

  For her plump little mouth to water.

  “Do you?” I counter, my voice husky. Deeper. “Need help?”

  “I have fingers for that. No help needed.”

  “But sometimes a little assistance makes the task sweeter. Dirtier.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?” She licks her lips and my cock jerks, a bead or two of liquid rolling down the tip. “Is using your hands something you do a lot?”

  “I’m going to make you pay for that,” I grunt low, tightening my grip before swiping my thumb across the sensitive head. Christ, that feels good and I pinch the tip, the sudden jolt of pain giving me another minute or two. My hips don’t stop pumping, fucking my fist while imagining it’s her tight cunt and the slap of skin is my hips slamming into parted thighs. “Slowly break you down until my cock is all you know.”

  “Do you think of me when you do?”

  “Son of a bitch.” That memory of her words—the look in her eye when whispering—brings me over the edge. My palm slams against the wall, holding myself up while come shoots from the tip
, dribbling down the wall and to the drain below.

  It takes me a minute or two to calm my breathing and for my cock to stop twitching, and I step out, wrapping a towel around myself. My bedroom’s past this door and the bed is my destination, where I was smart enough to toss my phone before giving in to the need for pleasure.

  “Now, I want the tease.” Towel thrown aside, I get comfortable with a pillow behind my head and send the first message.

  What are you wearing? ~

  10

  WHAT ARE YOU wearing? ~Unknown

  I’m lying in bed, staring at my ceiling and thinking about the text that came in a few seconds ago. I won’t deny the sender has piqued my curiosity, that gene all women have when it comes to deciphering the unknown, and my finger hovers over the screen without looking. Do I ignore or answer?

  Because this can go one of two ways: the person is a creep, or someone is sending a little naughtiness to their other half. Moreover, I’m nosy, and trying hard to ignore the little voice inside my head that wishes this was Javier messaging me and not a random stranger.

  His kiss, that quick and will-crumbling touch of his soft lips on mine, has messed with my head. With my goal and wants and the desire to stay single—unattached to any man, because I am. Javier seems to be near whenever my defenses are low and always on my mind when out working and protecting our family’s interest.

  He’s loyal when he doesn’t need to be. He isn’t some nobody looking to come up.

  I’ve read his file front to back, looked up the Lucas organization in Colombia, and I can’t come up with a single plausible reason for his determination to be here. To work for the Asher’s when his name is respected, feared, and admired.

  He’s here because of me. A thought I’m fighting to ignore. It’s not plausible. But what if?

  Because there’s no denying our attraction, this pulsing energy that fills me when we touch. Moreover, his kiss stole every reason why this can’t work and turned it into doubts on why it shouldn’t. Jesus, help a girl out here. Amen.

  Indecisiveness lasts but so long, and I’m further tempted/thankful when another ping draws my attention to the screen.

  Are you waiting for me? ~Unknown

  Definitely someone trying to reach their lover. Something I’ll never have, and it makes me jealous—hate how untrusting I’ve become. Giving two years of my life to a man that treated me like an enemy, a cheating whore, broke something within me that turns away from any possibility for more. Then why flirt with Javier? Why is he different?

  An answer I don’t possess, or maybe I don’t want to acknowledge how much the man affects me. How his indifference, the way he doesn’t take my abuse, both excites and scares me.

  I’m never going to be dependent on a man, but I won’t deny that having someone be my equal is a yearning that Lane tampered with. The last thing I want is a controlling asshole or to be forced into a mold I neither find attractive nor need.

  I’ll never be arm candy. I’ll never want to be the perfect little housewife.

  “Even dead, the jerk ruins my fun,” I grumble, typing out a quick response to the sender before tossing the device beside me.

  You have the wrong number. ~Mariah

  Their response is immediate and I furrow my brows, reaching blindly and bringing the lit-up screen to my face. I read the message once, twice—three times, and a little smile curls on my lips. Because there are only two people in my life that keep their responses short and to the point, and my cousin wouldn’t send something like this.

  Malcolm’s messages are solely concerning work.

  And if it’s family-related, I get a call, and even that only lasts long enough to be told what to expect or where to show up in as much of a loving way as the ever-present grouch can express.

  No. I don’t. ~Unknown

  Then who wants to know what I’m wearing? ~Mariah

  Stretching a bit, I let myself sink into the bed and wait. I don’t know how he got this number, but a part of me is happy he did. This way I can flirt, play, and maybe get to come without everything that comes attached to the title of being his.

  Because the last thing I want is another possessive man laying claims.

  Liar.

  Another ping reverberates throughout the room, and I’m beyond grateful to ignore that little voice inside my head.

  A wolf who isn’t hiding his hunger. ~Unknown

  My stomach clenches and toes curl with that simple response. I also find myself typing back without hesitation, a smirk on my lips.

  Should I be afraid of the big bad wolf? ~Mariah

  A minute passes and nothing. Then another. And just when I’m ready to toss the phone aside, annoyed that he didn’t respond to my taunt, a message comes in.

  I’m going to eat, bite, and make you scream my name. ~Unknown

  Christ, I shiver. The undisguised hunger—the unadulterated want gives me a high I’ve never encountered before. Not at this level. This feeling of euphoria mixed with danger that I need to chase and conquer. Push a little further no matter how wrong this could end.

  His fire might destroy me.

  Is that a threat~ Mariah

  It’s a promise, Muñeca. ~Javier

  And then an attachment pings on my device, and I click the link like an idiot. Like the in-lust little girl I am.

  The picture’s a close-up of his mouth and chin with day-old stubble across a lickable, defined jaw. Then there’s the way he bites his bottom lip, teeth embedded into the corner, making him smirk in a way that causes goose bumps to rise across my skin.

  I feel feverish. Excited.

  I’m in trouble.

  Can you catch me? ~Mariah

  You’ll always be within my reach. ~Javier

  This man is going to drive me to the point of instability where people snap, and reactions have costly consequences.

  Like now; this is stupid. A bad choice on my part.

  The beginning of what can only be described as my fallout.

  And why? Because I’m sitting on the grass against a building my cousin owns with a vast field in my direct line of sight. I’m here to watch him exactly five days from my demand to be left alone. For him to respect my boundaries when I didn’t follow the same protocol.

  I can’t seem to stay away. I keep trying to find ways to get close.

  During meetings. During his two p.m. coffee break.

  “He’s going to think I’m certifiable.” He’s no saint, either. Which is true, and his smirk while dropping a handful of Hershey’s kisses atop my desk on his way to his office, Cafe Con Leche in hand, tells me as much. Javi is enjoying my indecisiveness, which aggravates me.

  It’s a vicious cycle of hot and cold, and I’m screwed.

  He also knows I’m here; knew the very moment I sat down and my eyes wandered down his tattooed upper body. I saw the small shiver rush through him. I saw the way he tilted his head in my direction, the flex of his pecs while he addressed those here today for training.

  This group is new. All men that have come with some level of vouching by associates to Malcolm.

  Moreover, he’s aware of my small and newly discovered fetish. Watching him put men on their knees, crying out in pain while tapping out, is something I find sexy. Extremely. Almost obsessively.

  The way he stands in front of the guards, no shirt on, and demanding they follow through with the new moves he’s shown them; a mixture of boxing meets mixed-martial arts, and each segment follows a new technique.

  It’s a little chaotic. The moves are meant to cause harm, and yet, I’m salivating as he takes the youngest in this bunch to the center where they’ve put a large mat over the grass and squares off.

  Sweat glistens across his chest.

  His muscles ripple while he waits for the other to charge forward like the idiot he is. Because fighting isn’t about brawn or weight.

  Anyone can be brought to their knees no matter the size. Which is what happens next.

  One seco
nd, he’s charging like a raging bull, and the next, the young guard is flat on the ground, facing down, while Javier locks his arm in a hold. He pulls back and the man groans, gritting his teeth while Javi continues to teach. The group surrounding them comes closer—they’re hanging on his every word while Javi points out pressure points with his free hand.

  I can’t make out his voice from here, but I follow the movement of his lips. The way he signals the lines and position of his body and arm, the way it’s tucked and crossed over his opponent in a way that’s near impossible to escape.

  I could escape.

  And God, I’m tempted to challenge him. Show him just how equal we are.

  “Pair off,” I hear him call out and I lift my eyes to his, fighting back the urge to admire every solid inch of his physique. His brown eyes are narrowed, lips curling up into a small snarl while listening to something one of the new men to his right says.

  Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.

  His face contorts, and the demon behind the facade of perfect makes an appearance. Javier is glorious in his anger. His movements are precise and meant to cause more than harm.

  With a quickness no one predicts, the guard flies over his back and lands harshly on the ground, away from the mat. Head bouncing, he’s disoriented while Javi mounts and pins his arm with one hand and his knees in a kimura, ignoring the cry to stop and doesn’t let go until breaking the forearm in two.

  And as the man cries, Javi proceeds to break the other.

  No one stops him. No one dares to protest.

  Instead, they watch him land punch after punch on a defenseless man until he’s unconscious and bloody, face swollen and rapidly bruising.

  My feet carry me closer on their own accord, pausing only when his angry eyes meet mine. “Any one of you disrespect Miss Asher, and Malcolm will be the last person you should fear. I’ll personally empty a clip into your skull.”

  Jesus. I shiver. My thighs clench.

  White-hot desire pulses through my womb, and I step back and then again, all the way to my belongings on the grass with my eyes on him the entire time.