by M. K. Moore
We provide protection to those who need it and kill those who do not heed warnings. It’s a messy job, but someone has got to do it. Not me though. I cook the books. I have a head for numbers, always have.
When I was ten, I helped my dad with his taxes by creating a second set of books. Government friendly books. That’s when things got interesting. Gambling, strippers, and marijuana came into play. I am pretty sure we have a brothel, but those books are separate from everything else. I think my father wanted to protect my Catholic sensibilities, but I know more than he thinks I do. Always follow the money trail. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride. The Seven Deadly Sins always find a way, especially in this way of life. For whatever reason though, it doesn’t bother me.
“Mamá, this is the one,” I say half-heartedly. I should be more enthused than I am. I should be over the moon about the man I am going to marry. Instead, I don’t even know who it is. Two days ago, I could only imagine one man being my first everything.
Benicio Valladares. Ese hombre esta divino. The man is divine.
I just saw him once, but once was enough to know just what I wanted. Him. Him kissing me. Him loving me. Him between my thighs. Him owning me. That one glance was almost enough to have me throwing damn near eighteen years of beliefs out the window and making him take me with him. The law and my father be damned, but I chickened out and this is my punishment. Married to a stranger. I think I’ll die if it is one of his brothers. How could I be married to one of them and be obsessed with their brother? It has heartbreak and disaster written all over it. At this point, I’ve worn out my rosary beads praying it’s not one of them. There’s no way on God’s green earth I could handle being that close to him without being able to act on it.
We buy the dress. Since it was a perfect fit, no alterations are needed, and it’s bagged up. Abelardo, my main bodyguard, carries the bag for us.
“We must go to Courtesan’s,” my mom says as soon as we are out of the bridal shop.
“Courtesan's? The underwear store? Why?” I ask.
“It’s more than just underwear. Really, Pilar. Are you going to wear plain cotton panties to your marriage bed?”
“I thought you didn’t wear anything to your marriage bed?” I ask, still confused.
“Dios mío, hija. We didn’t do right by you,” she says, her hand clutching her chest.
“Mamá, what are you talking about?”
“A woman entices her man. There is special lingerie to help you achieve that,” she looks so uncomfortable as she says it.
“Why won’t my naked body be enticement enough?”
“It will be every other night. Your wedding night is a night to remember though.”
“Oh, okay,” I say still not really understanding. We walk to the other side of the mall where the store is. I’ve never been inside of it before and as soon as I walk in, I understand what my mother was trying to say. The sales clerk’s are wearing their products and they look gorgeous. Even the damn mannequins look beautiful.
“Browse around, hija. Look for what appeals to you.”
She moves off to do some browsing of her own and I wander around aimlessly but in awe. There is just so much to choose from, I am trying not to get overwhelmed, then I see it. It’s a short, sheer white robe with a matching lace bra and panty set. I pick it up. On the mannequin, the robe is tied but doesn’t quite close. It looks like a sacrificed virgin, perfect for a wedding night. I almost put it back, but something tells me not to. I also pick out several other options in an array of colors.
The scantily clad sales clerk rings up all of my purchases and my mother’s, which I refuse to look at, because, eww, and we leave the store.
Abelardo drives us home in silence. He is so intuitive. He knows I need the quiet right now. When we pull up at the house there is a really expensive new car parked there. My future husband is here to claim his prize. I take a deep breath and push the car door open. I don’t see or hear anyone when I walk into the house, my mother right beside me.
Going further down the entry hall, I hear voices in my father’s office. I stop and turn to her. “Mamá, I am nervous. What if I hate him?” I ask. She smooths my wild copper curls away from my face.
“Deep breaths, hija. Everything is going to be fine. You go on in there, head held high. You can do this,” she says reassuring me. I can feel the tears welling up, but I will them away. I won’t be meek or weak about this. I will go into this like a Balzan. A warrior woman. A motherfucking queen of everything. She kisses me on the cheek and walks down the hall into the kitchen. I raise my hand and knock on the door.
“Entra,” my father says his voice the same gruff one I’ve always heard.
I push open the door. “No, it can't be,” I gasp stepping forward. I trip over the new Oriental rug in front of the door. Before I hit the ground, he’s there, catching me in his arms. His very muscular arms.
“Pilar, have you met your fiancé?” my father asks. I dart my eyes over to him and the grin on his face tells me he’s going to turn this into a dad joke.
“Hola, Pilar,” he says. His smooth, accent-laced, baritone voice washes over me. My knees actually tremble with anticipation.
“Hola, Benicio,” I breathe. I don’t recognize my own voice. He roughly grabs my left hand. This first touch sends electricity through my body, waking my pussy up for the first time. I gasp again. My eyes go to his and I know he felt that too. He slides a ring on my finger, lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it.
“Damn,” I whisper.
“What a foul mouth, señorita,” he chides while chuckling.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I sass back in a whisper. He arches an eyebrow at me, but he hasn’t released my hand yet. He licks his bottom lip and I mimic him. He growls low under his breath, then my father clears his throat loudly and the magic is gone.
Now, how do I get it back?
Chapter Three
Benny
Fuck, she is gorgeous.
Beyond gorgeous. I am dying to worship her body, but I know that I must bide my time. She is going to want a big wedding with all the trimmings, and I can be a patient man. I was patient for six long fucking months. What're a few more weeks? Torture, that’s what.
“We should talk. Privately,” I say still holding her soft hand. Seeing my ring on her finger is making me hard. When will it ever be the right time for that?
“I agree,” she says nodding.
“Where can we do that?”
“My room is upstairs,” she says. Thank fuck. I need to be alone with her, without prying eyes.
“Excuse us, Angel,” I say leading his only daughter from his office.
“He lets you call him Angel?” she says, looking up at me in awe. I am at least six inches taller than she is. We rush up the stairs to her room. As soon as I kick the door closed behind me, I pull her into my arms and kiss her. Her lips are soft and warm. This moment is the fruition of six months of waiting and yearning for this girl. When she opens her mouth, I sweep my tongue inside and steal my first taste. She moans and grips my tie trying to get me closer to her. Then just as suddenly, she pushes me away.
“Benicio,” she says moving away from me. Her breathing is just as heavy as mine. She puts her visibly trembling fingers to her lips.
“Pilar?” I question.
“We don’t know each other,” she begins. “I mean, I saw you once, months ago. And obviously I’ve heard of you, but I don’t really know you.”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“Of course. My brothers were very hush, hush about it, but I overheard. Did you really have to beat Kyle Maguire’s face completely off? I hear his own mother couldn’t even recognize him.”
“First of all, I didn’t beat him, I shot him. It’s not my fault his face exploded upon impact from the shotgun shells.”
“If you expect me to flinch or shy away from violence, I hate to disappoint you, but I won’t be doing that. You aren’t
a member of this family without seeing things.”
“Just seeing?” I ask her. She nods. “Do you have a taste for blood, señorita?
“I might have. Are you going to let me taste it?” she asks sitting down on the leather-covered bench at the foot of her bed. Her skirt rises as she crosses her legs. Her tanned, toned legs make my mouth water. I take my suit jacket off in order for something to occupy my hands.
“Let you? Are you telling me you allow others to dictate what you do?” I lower myself into the chair from her vanity after turning it to face her.
“Is this not a prime example? My father is dictating who I will marry. I just assumed you’d do the same and expect me to fall in line, like a good little wife.”
“I do expect you to be a good little wife, but only in the bedroom. Outside of it, you are free to do what you like.” She laughs mirthlessly.
“If I want to kill people with you?”
“It would be an honor to teach you how to take a life,” I say crossing my leg at the knee.
“What else will you teach me?”
“What do you need to learn?” I ask intrigued.
“Everything,” she says uncrossing those legs of hers.
“We have a lifetime for everything,” I reply leaning towards her. My long fingers caress her exposed knee. She shivers under my touch.
“Do we though? What if I don’t marry you?” Her fiery spirit turns me on more than I ever thought possible.
“Are you thinking that I will allow that?” I ask.
“And there we are, right back to “let me”,” she says using air quotes.
“Once we are married you can do whatever you want,” I tell her.
“Really? Whatever I want?” she asks raising her eyebrows seductively.
“Over my dead body,” I growl. She giggles loudly.
“Just so you know, I’d never do that,” she reassures me.
“Good, because I’d kill you both,” I say my fingers caressing her thighs now.
“Really?” she asks leaning toward me.
“Garantizado.” She licks her lips and I kiss her again.
“Benny?” she says pulling away from me again.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I want to wait until we get married,” she says softly.
“So, you will marry me?” I ask.
“Yes.” I grin lecherously. I twist the ring I placed on her finger already. “Were you a boy scout?” she asks admiring the ring.
“What do you mean?”
“Always prepared.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“I wasn’t leaving here without you as my fiancée.”
“Why not? What makes me so special? Besides our father’s deciding it was so.”
“I was coming after you with or without their blessing. I was waiting for you. On some level, I’ve always been waiting for you.”
“What a sweet thing to say.” She kisses me again. I stand and gently push her to the bed. I move over her, still kissing her, moving to her neck.
“I want to worship you, but I will heed your wishes. I will not claim you until we are married,” I rasp right into her ear.
“How are you going to do that?” she asks breathlessly.
“Spread your thighs,” I say, and she does it like it’s second nature.
“I’m a virgin, in case you didn’t get that from me wanting to wait.”
“So am I, baby. So am I.”
“Wow. Really? You’re so hot and have this king of the world attitude going on. I figured you had a woman in every port.” My eyes go to hers and I can’t help chuckling.
“You sound like you are straight out of the fifties.”
“It’s my favorite decade. The movies, the clothes, the music, everything about it makes me happy.” For the first time, I look around the room. I see the flowers I sent sitting on her dresser. Her room is decorated with various movie posters including Roman Holiday, and The Quiet Man.
“I see that. You got my flowers,” I say looking back down at her. Her amber-colored eyes are staring back at me.
“Those where from you?"
"Yes of course. I couldn't let the occasion pass without something."
"They are perfect. Thank you."
"So why the fifties?"
"It’s okay to think that I am weird. Everyone does, especially my brothers. But to answer your question, I often imagine what Havana in the fifties would have been like and it makes me crave it.”
“I don’t think you are weird. You are adorable. Not to mention beautiful. And I bet Havana in the fifties was spectacular,” I say.
“You think that I’m beautiful?”
“I really do.”
“I think you are hot. I have been dreaming about you,” she says.
“What kind of dreams?”
“The dreams that have to wait until we get married.”
“Hmm.” I wonder logistically how soon I can make that happen. Before I can say anything else, my phone rings. Damn it. “Excuse me,” I say standing up and going over to my jacket. I pull my cell phone from the inside breast pocket and answer it. “Hello?” I listen intently as my father tells me he has an urgent clean up in Las Vegas and that the plane is fueled and ready to go.
I turn to look at Pilar, her thighs still spread wide. I can see her black lace panties and a plan begins to form.
Chapter Four
Pilar
Oh my God, his voice is driving me crazy. I was straight up, about to say fuck it and jump on him. Him taking that phone call severely cooled my thoughts though. Not all the way through, I am a woman.
When he hangs up, he turns towards me, grinning. God, that grin makes me think of things that are altogether too naughty to say out loud.
“What?” I ask sitting up. I realize my shirt is completely unbuttoned. “When did you do that?” I begin to button my shirt.
“When I was kissing your neck. Get your purse.” I stand.
"Where are we going?"
“Work calls.”
“Ooh, are you teaching me to kill or clean?”
He grabs my arm and pulls me toward him. He kisses me with so much passion I feel it in my toes.
“Clean.”
“So, where are we going?”
“Vegas.” Las Vegas? I’ve never left the East Coast before. I wonder how long we are staying, but honestly, I just want to be with him.
Do I need clothes? I ask.
“We’ll buy whatever we need.”
“Okay,” I say grabbing my purse.
I know that I don’t know everything about this man, my fiancé yet, but I know enough. He takes my hand and we walk back downstairs.
I quickly tell my parents that I’ll be back soon. I didn’t think they’d allow it, but then they saw us holding hands, and they just said to be safe.
We get in his crazy fast car and head to the municipal airport. Before I know it, we are in the air. I pull my phone from my purse and open my Kindle app. I kick my heels off and tuck my legs up in the seat.
I can feel his eyes on me, so I look up and find him staring at me intently.
“What?” I ask feeling self-conscious. I quickly wipe my hands over my face in case I have something on it.
“I believe that we have roughly four hours of flight time in which I can worship your body. We were rudely interrupted before if you recall.”
“I do,” I say breathlessly. How the hell does he command my body like this? Am I ever going to breath normally in front of him? He takes my phone from my hand and tosses it on one of the empty chairs across from us.
"Oh, señorita. You are fucking gorgeous. I am a lucky, lucky man." Can he be any more amazing? He stands and leans down to kiss me before dropping down on his knees.
Hozier's Take Me To Church plays in my head as he reverently pulls my legs out from underneath me. He starts with my feet, first massaging one than the other before kissing, nibbling, and bi
ting each of my toes.
Each graze of his teeth on the sensitive skin sends a jolt of electricity straight to my pussy. I moan when he moves to my ankles and calves before reaching my trembling thighs. He lifts each one over the arms of the seat so that I am obscenely spread open for him. Hiking my skirt up, he reaches under my ass to pull my panties down but gets impatient when they don't go past my knees and rips them away. I watch in fascination as he pockets the scraps of torn, useless lace.
When he kisses my inner thigh, I moan again. He moving at a snail’s pace. He’s doing this on purpose, I both hate and love it.
Then he kisses the top of my pussy before licking me from my clit to opening. His hands snake up my torso and gently squeezes my boobs over my blouse.
“Ay Dios Mio,” I breathe as he continues to set every nerve in my body on fire. When I orgasm, he continues to eat my pussy through it. Then he just keeps on going. And going. By the time the captain tells us we are landing in thirty minutes, I can’t feel any part of my legs.
He gently moves my legs back down to touch the floor.
“Um, wow,” I murmur.
“That’s only the beginning.” I pull my skirt down and then slide my feet back into my shoes. Putting my seat belt on I take his hand as we hit some turbulence.
“Does your jaw hurt?” I ask half kidding.
“Worth it,” he says rubbing it. I look at him and see my juices glistening in his short, neatly kept beard.
“You might want to clean that up,” I say reaching out and touching his cheek.
“You think I should? I like having your mark on me,” he says shrugging.
“I think that would be good, but maybe not on your face,” I say giggling.
“When we land, I’ll wash you off. But I am going to need your cunt as soon as possible.”
“Good. It’s not very becoming. A man of your stature shouldn’t stroll around with pussy juice on their face.”
“Marry me as soon as possible and it’ll be on my dick instead. Then no one can see it.”
Shit. Why is that so motherfucking hot?
