Their Cartel Princess: The Complete Series: A Dark Reverse Harem Box Set

by Logan Fox

  “Both hands,” came his rasped command.

  Letting out another kitten-soft sound, she used both her hands to hold herself open for him.

  He dipped his hips, touching the crown of his cock against her pink lips where that darker slit beckoned him so.

  Then he looked up. Their gazes locked, Cora’s lips parting as she gasped for breath. He leaned forward until their faces were less than an inch apart, grabbed her throat and the side of her face, and eased into her.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as she let out a breathless moan.

  “Look at me.”

  Golden irises shrank as she focused on his eyes.

  He drew out, teased her with the tip of his cock, and thrust into her again.

  Her eyes slitted, but she kept them open. Her mouth gaped, her tits pressing urgently against his chest as she struggled for breath.

  Releasing her throat, Kane raked his nails over her skin. He grabbed her leg, pushing it up and leaning his weight into the back of her thigh.

  Which opened her another inch for him.

  He sank deeper, teeth gritted from the intense pleasure at filling her so completely. Her cunt clung to him, milking him as she went into a throe of delicious shudders under him.

  Mercy, he was close.

  What the fuck had she done to him?

  He wanted to watch her as he fucked her, as he forced himself harder and deeper inside her, but her trembling lips begged for a kiss.

  This time, despite the ferocious urge to consume her, their lips barely brushed.

  Somehow, it was more intoxicating.

  He groaned, the sound wrenched from deep in his throat, and his cock pulsed in warning.

  How could he be seconds away?

  He jerked out of her - as pissed off at himself as he was at her. Making sure just the tip of his cock stayed buried inside her cunt, he let their kiss swell and retreat.

  His heart settled from a frantic pounding to a hard and insistent thump-thump-thump.

  Cora squirmed and writhed under him, impatient to have him inside her again. Impatient for her climax.

  But she didn’t know him, did she? She didn’t know how much he loved to tease.

  Cora’s head floated somewhere by the ceiling. She couldn’t feel the carpet under her anymore. Couldn’t feel anything except Kane’s lips and the promise of his cock gliding over her pussy.

  She tried bucking her hips, and as if in punishment, Kane wrenched back her other leg.

  Now her knees were against her breasts, barely enough space between them for Kane’s slim body.

  He drew back from that tantalizingly slow kiss and dragged his cock against her with a gentle buck of his hips.

  “Please,” she murmured, the word trembling.

  “You’re not in control here, sweetheart. You’ll take it like I give it.”

  “Fuck, please!” she wailed. Her hands squirmed between them, and she grabbed his cock, trying to urge him inside her.

  He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head on the carpet. Then he forced his cock inside her, eyes fixed on hers every inch of the way.

  That eye contact was so intimate, so sensual, she felt seconds away from coming. Her core throbbed heat and pleasure through her. She sighed and let her eyes close, wondering if she could orgasm if he just stayed inside her like this.

  He pulsed inside her.

  Was he coming?

  Her eyes shot open, finding that crooked smile trained on him.

  “We should go,” he said, as simply as if they were discussing the weather. “You don’t want to be late for your meeting, do you?”

  He crushed his mouth against hers, fucked her one last time so hard that she mewled against his lips, and sat up.

  He grabbed a chenille throw draped artistically over the arm of the sofa he’d pinned her to moments ago and used it to clean his cock and wiped it over her pussy so hard she almost came.

  Her hand shot between her legs, fingers massaging hard against her clit.

  Kane snatched her hands away, pinning them to the carpet again.

  He leaned over her, feline in his smugness. “You will wait.”

  She squirmed, whined, and clamped her legs together. “I can’t,” she said.

  “You can. You will.” He used his elbow to push her legs apart and ran his knuckles over her clit. “And I promise you, it will be worth it.”

  27

  One-Minute Past

  Owen glanced at his limited-edition Bulgari timepiece. A gift from Ronan on Owen’s last birthday, nearly a year ago.

  It had just gone one. He was right on time.

  Movement caught his eye. He stopped walking at the sight of Darcy.

  She wore a billowy gown which would have been racy if there hadn’t been so much of it. Layer upon diaphanous layer of fabric cloaked her, hiding everything but the vaguest suggestion of her curves from sight.

  “What are you doing?” Owen whispered, casting a glance over his shoulder as if Ronan’s eyes were on him.

  Darcy opened her mouth, and he knew she’d speak loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear. He grabbed her shoulders and herded her down the hall and around the corner. Trust her to decide their routine needed switching up. If anyone saw her like this?

  She still made a noise, but it turned out a muffled gasp that would hopefully be inaudible to anyone more than a few yards away.

  Why was he being so goddamned paranoid lately?

  “I’m sorry,” Darcy breathed, as if she’d just realized how idiotic she was being. “I thought you weren’t coming anymore.”

  “At one minute past?” he whispered furiously in reply. He pressed his lips together. “You can’t let people see you like this.”

  “What people?” Darcy frowned up at him. “No one ever comes down this hall except you and Ronan.”

  Owen sighed and gave Darcy the faintest of smiles. “You couldn’t wait to see me, could you?”

  Her brown eyes glowed, catching a stray beam of sunlight from a nearby window. “Could you?”

  If shit in this world wasn’t random, then there were some sick deities hanging around and their only goal seemed to make humans utterly miserable. Take Darcy — for her to wind up as Ronan’s wife was like an eagle wedding a field mouse. Oh, what fun the eagle had… but he sincerely doubted that mouse’s little heart ever stopped pounding, even for just one moment.

  He touched her jaw. “I can’t stay. Not with everything going on right now.”

  Her mouth pinched closed as he took a slow step back, and she grabbed at him. “Owen!”

  “Shh!” he hissed, darting forward.

  He pinned her frail body to the wall, a hand over her mouth and his body flush with hers.

  And oh, how that little heart of hers drummed.

  Her lips moved under his fingers. He peeled them away, shushing her with a single finger until she nodded.

  Then her cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink, and she dropped her eyes.

  “What? What is it?” he asked quietly.

  She looked up at him. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered, and bit her lip. “I’m pregnant, Owen!”

  “Shh.” He pressed against her, their foreheads together.

  “Finally, after all—”

  All it took was a gentle touch to her lips to silence her. Confused eyes flickered as she watched him uneasily.

  His mouth pulled into a smile. “That’s wonderful. Just wonderful.”

  She began crying. He brushed a silver tear from her cheek.

  In a leaden voice, Owen added, “He’s going to be so happy.”

  28

  Benny

  Jazz played in the hotel’s dining room. And Cora had to endure the music while wearing an itchy, damp dress — she’d done her best with the hotel’s hair dryer, but it hadn’t been enough — a clit still aching from Kane’s attention, and a slight headache. Probably caused by her denied orgasm.

  If he hadn’t ripped her dress off in the rain, she wo
uldn’t have had to dry it.

  If he hadn’t decided he had to almost-fuck her minutes before this meeting… then she wouldn’t feel like a coiled spring, waiting to pop.

  She shot Kane a glare over her shoulder. It made him pause, and frown at her in confusion.

  Because he wasn’t a mind reader. But she’d make sure he knew why she was so damn pissed at him.

  There were only two occupied tables in the dining room — an elderly couple wearing matching Hawaiian print shirts, and a Latino man sitting by himself smoking a cigarillo.

  “Hold,” Kane murmured, tugging on her wrist as she was about to descend the hotel’s beige, carpeted steps into the dining room area.

  “What?” she whispered, her eyes set on the man who had to be Benecio.

  “Let me first figure out where he’s hiding his muscle.”

  “Maybe under his shirt,” Cora muttered, but half to herself.

  “I don’t see them,” Kane said.

  “Maybe he doesn’t have any,” she replied, glancing up at him over her shoulder. “Can we go?”

  “Doesn’t make any sense,” Kane replied quietly as he trailed her through the dining room.

  Benecio half sat, half lounged in a dining room chair that wasn’t designed for the purpose of lounging. He had one arm on the table, a dark cigarette dangling from his fingertips as he rolled its ashy tip around in the ashtray. The other hung from the back of his chair, twisting his body into something that couldn’t have been as comfortable as he made it look. His dark hair looked as if he’d run his fingers through it after getting out the shower, his clothes as if he’d been in a car for a few hours — sweat stained and rumpled at elbows and knees. He was in his mid to late thirties — crow’s feet by his eyes but not a touch of gray in his hair.

  He’d been watching the old couple a few tables away, but perhaps sensing movement in his peripheries, he turned to watch Cora approach. Midnight black eyes tracked her across the dining room floor. They scanned her fleetingly — her hair, her face, her dress, her legs — but with as much interest as an airport security scanner.

  She stopped a foot away, her heart speeding up when Benecio simply watched her. Not standing, not speaking, not doing any fucking thing.

  Giving suddenly dry lips a quick swipe with her tongue, Cora stuck out her hand. “You must be Benecio,” she said.

  Her hand hung out there in the open as air currents swirled over it, but without Benecio making so much as a move to take it. Instead, he flicked a fingernail against the tip of his cigarillo, and put it to his lips. He narrowed one eye as he dragged at it, and sat forward, resting his arms on his knees. He cocked a chin to the chair opposite him.

  Was it intentional that he’d chosen a two-seater table for them to meet? Cora withdrew her hand — maybe Benecio was a germaphobe — and stood to the side. Kane pulled out her chair, pushing it in as she sat.

  At least he had manners.

  “Did you have a pleasant trip—?” Cora began, laying her hands side by side on the table so she didn’t fidget.

  “How old are you?” Benecio asked.

  Although, it was less of a question and more of an interrogation. He’d pushed back his chair so there was enough room for him to stretch his legs — he still sat forward, but now he toyed with a wedding band as he studied her with what she hoped was intrigue.

  Let it not be doubt — she’d be fucked if he thought her anything but a cartel leader capable of setting up a heroin route into the US.

  Not only her, but Bailey too.

  Ronan was counting on her to make this deal.

  Fuck it, she was counting on herself to make this damn deal.

  Cora cleared her throat. “I don’t see what my age—”

  Benecio stood, letting out a bemused grunt as he moved to crush his cigarillo in the ashtray. “Come here, fucking waste my time—”

  Cora’s heart thundered into overdrive. She grabbed a hold of Benecio’s hand before she reigned herself in. “Twenty-one,” she snapped. “And I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

  Benecio blew out a thin plume of smoke as he studied her and Kane. He gave a never minded shrug and sank back into his chair. His eyes flickered to Kane. “It was you I spoke to, on the phone?”

  Cora glanced over her shoulder at Kane in time to see him give a minuscule nod in Benecio’s direction. Benecio crossed his arms and used his thumb to point at Cora as his eyes turned to her. “Why didn’t you make the call?”

  “Would you still have met?” she asked. She hadn’t meant for the question to come out so bitterly, but she had no intention of apologizing a second time.

  Benecio let out a dry laugh, leaning back in his seat. “No.”

  She kept silent, waiting for him to weigh whatever scales he had in his head — how much he wanted to sell his product versus how much he would trust a twenty-one-year-old chica he’d probably never heard of.

  “I am La—” she began, hoping that giving herself a title would weigh the scales in her favor.

  “I know who you are.” Benecio watched her for a moment, a strange smile on his mouth. “We’ve heard about you.”

  “We?”

  Benecio’s smile inched up, but didn’t become any warmer. Then he glanced around, motioned to a nearby chair, and pointed at Kane. “Why don’t you join us?”

  “Because he holds no weight in this conversation,” Cora said evenly, crossing her legs and adjusting the skirts of her dress without taking her eyes from Benecio.

  The man took a silver cigarette case from his pocket and lit another cigarillo, all without saying a word. Then he glanced up at Kane, gave him a rueful smile, and leaned into the table with both arms resting on the white tablecloth.

  “La Sombra,” he said, rolling the words on his tongue as if he enjoyed both the sound and taste of that title. A boyish smile played over his lips for a second. “The Shadow!” He cocked his eyebrows, grinning around his cigarillo as he took a long, thoughtful drag.

  Cora let out a small, irritated puff. She still felt Kane between her legs. It was as if he was still teasing her with the tip of his cock, and it was making her increasingly pissed off. Not only because Benecio was taking his fucking sweet time trying to decide whether he’d do business with her, but because she sensed Kane less than a foot away from her, and his proximity was putting her body into a hedonistic feedback loop that was only making her sense of arousal and disappointment increase every second.

  “Look, Benecio,” Cora snapped, tapping her fingernails into the table. “I don’t—”

  “I heard you cut out Neo Martin’s tongue and burned him alive,” Benecio said, a strange sparkle in his eyes.

  No, not strange — insane.

  Was anyone in this godforsaken business not ten seconds away from being booked into a fucking mental asylum?

  Cora shifted in her seat. Kane moved behind her, and she caught his scent.

  She felt dizzy, alive, fucked off, aroused, and a thousand other things.

  She swung to him, one hand sliding into her lap, the other fisting on the table. “Get us a drink, will you?”

  Kane cocked his head. If the request surprised him, he didn’t show it. “What would you like, jefe?”

  His words caught her off guard. His accent was so deep, so rich, it sounded as if he and Benecio were kissing cousins.

  Heat worked its way onto her cheeks.

  Unnecessary comparison.

  She blinked hard. “Wine,” she said.

  Baby Girl had to take one for the team. After all, alcohol hadn’t passed her lips in the past three weeks — sipping on a glass of wine couldn’t harm the baby.

  When she turned back to Benecio, he was studying her through long, lowered lashes as he pretended to ash his cigarillo in the ashtray.

  “Look, Benec—”

  “Benny, please.” The man smiled warmly. “If I may call you Cora, of course.”

  A shock thrilled through her — but not the good kind. She found her voice w
ith difficulty, managing a half-convincing, “Of course.”

  How the hell did he know her name? Eleodora Rivera was one thing — anyone in the cartel would know that — but Cora?

  She shoved the thought from her mind. Dwelling on it would annihilate her confidence.

  “Benny,” she murmured, still struggling to get her voice back to full strength. “I came here because you said you were willing to make a deal. If you’re not, then I should save us both—”

  “You will have my heroin.” Benny grinned at her when she froze up stiff as a popsicle. “But I want your word you aren’t just handing it over to some gringo in the States.”

  She suddenly, desperately wished she hadn’t sent Kane away. She needed his solidity his calm strength.

  Her heart pounded hard into her ribcage, and she fought against the urge to swallow… and failed. She knew a lie would sell her out the moment it left her lips, so instead, she asked, “Why?”

  Benecio’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” he said carefully, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right.

  She straightened her spine and urged steel into her voice. “Yes, Benny. Why? Do you have something against gringos?” The word sounded strange on her tongue — she couldn’t remember ever having used it — but Benecio wasn’t fixating on that.

  His eyes slid away from hers, scanning the dining room until they found Kane, still patiently waiting for whatever he’d ordered from the bar. When Benny looked back at her, she clenched her hands at the unexpected wash of pain in his eyes.

  “I had a wife,” he blurted out in a voice so pained that her entire body ached in sympathy. “A son.” He drew long and hard at his cigarillo, but without breaking eye contact.

  Dios mio, how she wished he’d break eye contact. Their gazes locked like bars of steel, pinning her in place.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “They murdered them,” Benecio said, smoke ejecting from his lips like bullets. “Chopped my son to pieces. My wife—” he broke off with a strangled sound, dropping his eyes to his ashtray as he ground out his cigarillo.