by Julia Sykes
What did it matter to me if Mateo was nice to the women he fucked? I might have harbored a stupid crush on him for far too long, but that was over now. Sure, I liked when he comforted me. I’d been through some traumatic events since yesterday afternoon. Of course it felt good to be comforted by a friend.
Well, Mateo had never really been a friend, necessarily. He’d kept himself at a distance, and I never saw him unless he was with Adrián. It wasn’t like we’d ever had any time alone together.
But I’d known him for years. He wasn’t some stranger who’d kidnapped me off the street. So, it was only natural that I accept the solace he offered.
Just because I liked it when he hugged me did not mean I was jealous at the thought of some other woman sleeping in his bed and utilizing his supply of fresh toiletries.
I yelped when I heard the bathroom door open.
“Relax.” Mateo’s voice drifted through the steam-filled bathroom. “I can’t see anything through that shower curtain. I’m just setting some clothes on the sink for you. Finish up so we can have breakfast. You need to eat.”
I huffed my irritation at his high-handedness, but the bathroom door thumped shut again before I could consider a retort.
Thankfully, he exited the bathroom right before my stomach rumbled loudly. I didn’t need my traitorous body to prove his point and validate his overbearing behavior.
But I was hungry.
I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off quickly. I’d mostly managed to keep my hair out of the spray. Although I longed to wash and style it, I was worried that I’d only make it worse by dousing it in the shower without my usual products to set the curls properly.
Careful to avoid my reflection in the fogged mirror—I didn’t want to see my beloved curls in such disarray—I reached for the clothes Mateo had set out for me. My eyes widened when I unfolded his black, cotton t-shirt. I’d seen him wear shirts like this plenty of times, and I always thought of them as almost indecently tight. But without the massive man to fill it out, the garment appeared to be made with more fabric than one of my sundresses.
I tugged it over my head, and the soft material slid down my body, falling all the way to my knees.
Holy shit. Given my silly infatuation, I’d always been very aware that Mateo was big and brawny. But wearing his enormous shirt really put his size into perspective.
I eyed the sweatpants that were folded on the counter. The notion that they might somehow stay on my hips was utterly ridiculous.
Sighing, I glanced down at my body. The baggy t-shirt didn’t expose an inch of my thighs, which I always kept carefully hidden. It actually covered me far more modestly than some of the cocktail dresses I owned.
I usually wear underwear beneath even my most daring cocktail dresses, though.
My cheeks heated at the thought of walking around without underwear. Even if there was no one here to see me but Mateo, it was still a discomfiting prospect.
I swallowed hard. Actually, being alone with Mateo without wearing panties was probably worse than going commando at a party. No one at a party would know. The man waiting for me in the bedroom was fully aware that I didn’t have anything covering my sex.
“Come on out, Sofia,” Mateo prompted, his impossibly deep voice penetrating the door. “I’m hungry, too.”
I took a breath and braced myself to face him. He might be bossy, but he’d been kind to me so far. It would be inconsiderate of me to delay his breakfast if he was hungry. I hated the circumstances that had brought me into his house, but I didn’t hate Mateo. He hadn’t given me cause to be cruel to him.
When I opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, Mateo made a strange sound, almost like a growl. I froze, finding myself trapped in his dark stare again. How could he make me feel shivery and hot at the same time?
“What happened to the sweatpants?” he asked on a rasp. His eyes trailed over my body, fixing on my bare legs before pausing somewhere around my navel.
I tried not to squirm, but I felt like I might as well be standing naked before him. Heat flashed through my body, and my skin pebbled.
Mateo’s eyes lifted to my chest, and another odd, strangled sound rumbled from him.
I peeked down at myself, mortified to realize that my nipples were hard buds, and they were all too visible against the soft material of Mateo’s shirt. My arms flew to my chest, crossing over my breasts to hide the embarrassing display.
“The sweatpants won’t fit me,” I mumbled, my cheeks flaming.
He ran a hand over his face and drew in a shuddering breath. At least he wasn’t looking at my nipples anymore.
“I’ll figure out a way to get you some clothes that fit properly,” he said, his voice more strained that I’d ever heard before.
“Thanks.” I shifted on my feet, feeling very awkward and still far too hot.
He jerked his head to the side, breaking eye contact as he started walking out of the bedroom and into the hall.
“Come on,” he urged. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
I heard him mutter something under his breath as I followed after him. It sounded suspiciously like a curse word.
Clearly, I wasn’t the only one bothered by my state of undress.
Chapter 5
Mateo
“What are you doing?” Sofia asked as I retrieved a mixing bowl and frying pan from the kitchen cabinet.
“I figured I’d make scrambled eggs,” I replied. “Do you like eggs? I have bacon, too.”
I glanced over to where she was sitting at my kitchen island. Thankfully, I couldn’t see her bare legs anymore. But she leaned forward on her elbows, watching me with open curiosity. The position made the neckline of my t-shirt gape open, offering me a tantalizing glimpse at her chest.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I tore my eyes away before I could start staring again. Rationally, I knew I wouldn’t be able to see her breasts if I kept looking; the shirt wasn’t at all low-cut. But somehow, it seemed more indecent than some of the flirty dresses I’d seen her wear at her father’s parties.
When I’d offered for her to wear my clothes, I’d liked the idea of her swaddled in my shirt and sweatpants. I hadn’t bothered to puzzle out exactly why it appealed to me, other than the fact that clothing her was part of caring for her.
But then she’d stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but my t-shirt, and I’d almost choked on my own tongue. The baggy garment completely obscured her curves, but knowing that she was only hidden from me by the thin barrier of cotton made my cock jerk to attention.
Had I really thought that not allowing her underwear was a good idea? It had seemed enticing at first.
Now, I realized that was a big fucking mistake. Was I intentionally trying to tempt and torture myself?
“I like scrambled eggs and bacon,” she assured me, completely oblivious to my sexual frustration. “I just figured you meant you’d pour some cereal or something when you mentioned you were going to make breakfast.”
“Despite all appearances, I’m not a total caveman,” I informed her, keeping my eyes trained on my task. “I’m fully capable of making scrambled eggs.”
“I don’t think you’re a caveman,” she said, sounding far too sweet for my own good. “I’m just surprised that you’re cooking. Does your chef have the day off or something?”
I paused, setting the egg carton on the counter so I could turn to meet her eye. She was still regarding me with open curiosity. Considering my actions yesterday, she should be watching me warily, perhaps even fearfully. Instead, I felt like some sort of exotic animal she was studying, as though I was a strange, interesting new species she’d never seen before.
I shifted, suddenly off-balance. How long had it been since anyone other than Adrián had looked at me without a flash of wariness? My boss and best friend wasn’t afraid of me because it was my job to watch his back. He knew I’d be loyal to him forever, no matter what.
As far as everyone else was concerned, I was a potential threat. Given that I served as Adrián’s personal bodyguard, my entire purpose was to threaten, to intimidate.
Even the women I fucked from time to time were wary of me. They were drawn to me because they liked the little thrill of fear they experienced in my presence. That suited my tastes, so it had never bothered me before.
But now that Sofia was looking at me with fascination rather than trepidation, I realized that I liked her innocent attention. It didn’t even seem to occur to her not to trust me, despite the fact that I’d drugged her and imprisoned her in my home.
She was watching me expectantly, waiting for an answer to her question.
“I don’t have a chef,” I said, knowing that I’d taken a few seconds too long to reply.
Being with Sofia was far more confusing than I ever could have anticipated. For years, I’d lusted after her. I’d wanted her body, her sweetness, her beauty. When I’d imagined having her for myself, I’d never thought about what it might be like to simply talk to her.
She rested her chin on her palm, leaning toward me. “You don’t have a chef? Why not?”
I cocked a brow at her, wondering exactly how cossetted her life had been. “Do you think it’s normal for everyone to have a personal chef at their disposal?”
“Of course not.” She waved her hand, gesturing at my expansive kitchen. “But with a house like this, I figured you would.”
I nodded, accepting her reasoning. A lot of people with my kind of money would hire a chef. Sofia had grown up in an obscenely wealthy home, so it was only natural for her to assume that I might keep a similar lifestyle.
“I like to cook,” I told her as I turned back to my task.
Before I could finish cracking the first egg on the side of the bowl, she continued her enquiry. “Really? What do you like about it? I always feel like cooking is kind of boring. I’d prefer to be doing something else with my time. Then again, I can’t manage much in the kitchen other than using a microwave.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t have a house like this growing up. My mom cooked all our meals, and I wanted to help. So, she taught me.”
“Huh,” Sofia mused. “I’ve never really thought about a man liking to cook. I mean, I guess that’s just my biased view of gender norms based on my personal experience. No one in my family cooks, but I especially can’t imagine my dad in the kitchen. What did your dad think about you helping your mom out?”
“He didn’t think about it at all.” I kept my attention on beating the eggs. “He wasn’t in the picture.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. Sorry, that was an insensitive question.”
“It’s okay,” I reassured her in a familiar rote tone. “It’s a good thing that he wasn’t around.”
It would have been better if no men had been around at all.
I shook off the dark line of thinking before I got caught up in an old cycle of rage and guilt. If Sofia was distraught after only a peek at the ugly truth about human nature, she’d be deeply disturbed by my mother’s life story.
“But it was hard on my mom raising a kid on her own,” I continued, trying to sound casually conversational. “She didn’t exactly arrive in the States legally, and she barely spoke any English when she got to California. She risked everything to give me a good life, so I’ve always done everything I can to make her life easier. When I was little, that meant helping with cooking and cleaning.”
“You clean this big house too?” Sofia asked, incredulous.
Her shock at the prospect of me doing chores allayed my sour mood. I’d come from nothing, but now that I worked for Adrián, I had more than I could possibly ever need. I’d been raised in poverty, and it was an undeniable stroke to my ego that Sofia couldn’t discern that fact immediately.
Her father—like many others in our organization—considered me barbaric, at best. Their fear of my lack of civility served my purposes in protecting Adrián; no one harbored any illusions that I possessed a shred of gentlemanly restraint.
Sofia didn’t seem to understand this about me. Perhaps it hadn’t even occurred to her to feel disdain for my background.
The ghost of a smile flitted around my mouth as I poured the beaten eggs into the hot pan. “No, I have a housekeeping service. I wouldn’t have the time to keep this place spotless, even if I wanted to. I enjoy cooking, but I’m happy to hire someone to clean. If you think cooking is boring, imagine spending your free time mopping and vacuuming four thousand square feet.”
“Wow. Daddy hired a maid just to clean my apartment once a week.” She sighed. “I’ve never really thought about it before, but I guess I’ve been pretty spoiled. No wonder I can barely operate a toaster.”
“What do you usually do for your meals, then?” It felt a little odd having such an inane conversation, but I suddenly found that I was just as curious about Sofia as she was about me. “Surely, you don’t have a chef come to your apartment.”
“I mostly eat on campus or go out to dinner with friends. God, I feel so useless sitting over here watching you cook for me. I would offer to help, but I’d probably ruin whatever you’re doing.”
I chuckled. It was strange to hear the sound fill my kitchen. “It’s just scrambled eggs and bacon,” I reassured her. “They’re hard to ruin. Come here. I’ll show you.”
“I don’t want to mess it up.” Despite voicing her concern, she hopped off the stool where she’d been sitting and skirted around the kitchen island to join me by the stove.
“You can’t possibly mess it up,” I promised, trying to keep my gaze focused on her face.
She shot me a wry smile, seemingly unaware of my struggle not to devour her with my eyes. “I think you’re overestimating my capabilities.”
“I’m sure you’re more than capable of doing anything you put your mind to.” Her cheeks flushed before I added, “And you don’t have to handle the pan unless you want to. I’m going to teach you how to scramble an egg. Watch and learn.”
She peeked around me and sniffed delicately. “Is it supposed to smell like that?”
I bit out a curse. I’d been so distracted by her that I’d forgotten about the eggs. I hastily lifted them off the heat and scraped the charred mess off the pan.
She giggled. “Are you sure you should be offering me cooking lessons?”
“Hmmm,” I mused. “Maybe not. But only because you’re too distracting, not because I’m a bad cook.”
“Oh. If I’m distracting you, I can sit down again and give you space.” Her smile faltered slightly as she made the offer. It seemed she’d missed the lust in my words entirely. She thought she was inconveniencing me, not making my brain go stupid because of the intoxicating sound of her laughter.
My hand shot out to prevent her from pulling away. “Stay right here.” I hadn’t intended to sound so commanding.
She froze, her gaze fixing on my fingers where they encircled her slender wrist. Without thinking, I rubbed my thumb across the delicate veins at the base of her palm. Her plump lips parted slightly, and her eyes lifted to mine. They were dark with unmistakable desire, her pupils dilated.
This attraction wasn’t one-sided.
I could fuck her right now.
If she wanted me, too, why did I have to hold myself back? With a little more seduction, her body would accept me easily. Judging by the way she was looking at me, my advances would be welcomed.
Later. I shut down that line of thinking for the time being.
Taking Sofia’s virginity deserved more time and finesse than a quickie in my kitchen. I was well aware of her virginal status, because her father had used it as a bargaining chip to sweeten a lucrative business deal. Caesar had arranged her marriage to Pedro Ronaldo, the head of one of the Mexican cartels that helped traffic our cocaine from Colombia to the US. The marriage was meant to solidify the alliance between our organizations, and it further enriched Caesar.
As a dutiful daughter, Sofia might have agreed to the l
oveless match—I doubted she’d ever even met Ronaldo—but that didn’t mean I would allow her to go through with it. She was mine now, so the deal with Ronaldo was dead. He didn’t matter anymore.
I would fuck Sofia soon, but not before breakfast on her first day as my hostage. I needed to at least give her a little time to acclimate to the changes in her life, and I would put in the effort to learn all of her personal pleasure points before I took her virginity. I wanted her to love every second of surrendering herself to me for the first time.
Now that I’d experienced the heady sensation of her leaning into my touch without fear or reservations, I wouldn’t risk that. No matter how my body burned for her.
I forced myself to loosen my grip on her wrist. To make an excuse for my possessive touch, I lifted her hand and pressed the spatula into her palm.
“I promised to teach you how to scramble an egg,” I said, my voice rougher than I would have liked. “Let’s try this again.”
She beamed at me, her perfect smile hitting me square in the chest. “Okay. You’ve shown me how to burn an egg, so I know to avoid that in the future. What’s your next pro tip?”
Fuck, that sassy mouth made me want to bend her over the counter and take a wooden spoon to her ass. Then, she could use those lush lips to make amends for teasing me.
I cleared away the fantasy before I did something I’d regret. Sofia was attracted to me, but I was sure the innocent girl I’d obsessed over since we were teenagers wasn’t remotely prepared for that kind of play. I would have to take this slowly, even after I took her virginity.
Her effortless, easy trust was precious to me, and I didn’t want to lose it by pushing her too hard, too fast.
I’d waited five years for Sofia. I could wait a little while longer if it meant she would truly be mine.
Chapter 6
