by Sienna Mynx
“Diego—”
“My absence meant I had to trust you to wait for me like a good girl. Trust isn’t easy for me Marcella. I thought you were worthy.”
“Excuse me? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I expect you gone before I return home.”
The line disconnected.
Marcella clenched the phone. She tried to make sense of the call. Her heart hammered so fast and hard in her chest she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. Only ten minutes ago she spoke to him and everything was fine now he was throwing her out. Soon her disbelief turned to anger. “What the hell is this about?”
The door slammed. Two hours later he arrived. Two hours! He strolled into the sunken living room with windows covered in streams of falling rain. His gaze lifted and locked with hers. He appeared genuinely surprised to see her. She rose and pointed to her packed bags. “Before I walk out of that door you are going to tell me what that call was about.”
“Let’s start with you convincing me why I should allow you to stay.” He shed his coat.
“I beg your pardon?”
He didn’t break his stare. “You heard me.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No,” he said.
“You’re crazy! I’m crazy for even being here.” She marched over and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Then she whirled on him angrily. “I wanted to tell you to your face to never contact me again. Jeesh, this is the second time I’ve said those words tonight. Men. All of you are egomaniacal jerks. I should have never wasted my time on you.” She snatched out her diamond earrings wincing from the sting to her lobes and threw the studs at him. She didn’t bother to stop to see if they landed on target. “Sick of this crap. Forget we ever met!” She reached for the doorknob and he was on her in a flash. Marcella whirled when his hands gripped her by the arms and she struggled to break free.
“Who was he?”
“What? Let me go!”
“Who was he? The man you were kissing!”
“Get your damn hands off me!”
Diego threw her over his shoulder and carried her out. Marcella draped over and hung there like a rag doll. Her temporary shock lapsed and she fought for control. In the rain at the vineyard his manhandling had been cute, now it was insulting and scary. He was far stronger than her. She could barely lift upright or catch her breath. She clawed and beat her fist at his back, kicking her legs, then straightened her body to force her weight on him. None of it worked. He climbed the stairs. Marcella bounced a bit and stilled for fear she’d cause him to drop her and they’d both break their necks with a backward fall down the steep stairs.
“You bastard! Damn it put me down!!”
In the bedroom he tossed her to the bed. She bounced several inches in the air. Shocked she rolled and crawled to the other side. She got to her feet and ran for the door. Diego reached her forcing her up against the wall. “I asked you to be honest with me nena. It is the only thing I asked. Honesty dammit!” he roared in her face.
“Get away from me.” Marcella panted.
Diego dropped his forehead on hers with a painful smack. “Who is he dammit?” he groaned.
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The man! The man you kissed! El hijo de puta!”
“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about…” She shoved at him, tried to escape him. Diego grabbed her hands and slammed them back up against her head to the wall. He glared at her.
“I saw you.”
The three words penetrated. “Richard? Are you talking about Richard?”
“Who is he?”
“No one. Diego let me go, you’re scaring me.”
He rose and released her, stepping back with his chest heaving.
Marcella looked down at her torn blouse not sure when he ripped it. She shook all over. “I… you…” She stepped back. “I…”
She turned and fled the room, racing for the stairs. He was on her. She could hear his footfalls behind her. In her confusion she ran left instead of right and crossed the kitchen. Diego caught her in the dining room. Marcella whirled on him, he grabbed her and brought her down on the dining room table. Not hard but shocking enough for her to gasp and go still briefly before she fought to get him off her. She fought him to get free, tears pooling in her eyes. He fought her for control, forcing her legs apart, grabbing hold of her wrists and pinning them down.
“Don’t leave me. Don’t! Nunca más”
“Get off me! Let me go!” Marcella bucked underneath him, squirming. She pushed at his shoulders and kicked, trying to scoot away, realizing he only released her to lower his zipper. She fought harder to flee him but he dragged her back down to the edge of the table throwing his weight on top of her, ripping her panties from under her skirt. She dug her nails into his neck and his arms. Diego entered her with one deep thrust. Marcella gasped. Her body arched beneath him. His face buried between her breasts. He thrust in hard, with long strokes, no warning. She squeezed her eyes shut gathering the wooly threads of his trench into her clenching fists as they balled up against his back. He kept going, pumping his cock in and out of her clenching channel, harder and harder. She went into shock, then into pleasure, then embarrassment, which confused her to tears. He forced her legs back even further grunting as he continued thrust after thrust to take her. Soon she was writhing and groaning in submission. He bit her nipple and she winced, her ass sliding up and down the table with her thighs quivering after his repeated thrusts.
Diego couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. Her pussy tightened around his cock and he grunted, refusing her release. Urgent, he withdrew, giving her little time to recover. But she did shudder out a hot climax as he left her channel.
Diego turned her over, her bare ass round and perfectly on display, her feet planted to the ground. He kicked them wider apart. His hand slid over the round globe of her ass. She moved it teasingly in front of him, the both of them panting. Marcella, disoriented, tried to stand up, but he forced her back down with his palm to the center of her back. He smacked her ass hard and she whimpered.
He rubbed it tenderly, and then smacked it again and again.
Marcella squeezed her eyes shut. He smacked her ass with his flat open palm, harder, then harder, until it burned and her knees buckled. Marcella’s mouth fell open into a silent cry at the spanking, and then her eyes flew open when he entered her.
She reached above her, her hands clawing, gripped the other end of the dinette table to hold on. Her nose pressed into the wood. He slid into her vagina excruciatingly slow. She squeezed her eyes shut and endured the spasms of pleasure cutting off her breathing. He pumped his hips and cock opening and stretching her, both halves of her butt cheeks stinging. She lifted on her toes from his deep penetration. Her face wet with tears. He squeezed her clit and surprisingly she came, her pussy betraying her, his invasion too deep, too forbidden for her to speak.
She came hard twice from the way he rubbed her clit and his balls smacked against it as his cock kept tunneling. An explosion of sensation filled her when he fell over and gave her harder strokes until he released fully within her.
Marcella remained pressed painfully down into the table with him whispering for her obedience in Spanish. She bit on her bottom lip when he withdrew. Her ass cooled instantly, the mix of pleasure and pain made her weak, listless. The only thing keeping her up had been her sheer will. He knew it. Had to, because in one swift action she was swept up into his arms, with him still in his trench, trouser zipper down, and his cock swaying. He held her to him.
“I forgive you,” he said, kissing her cheek and carrying her out of the room.
***
Marcella opened her eyes. His arm was thrown across her. She rolled over to her side and looked at him. He slept peacefully, his features soft, the angry lines gone from around his eyes. She touched his hair, then his cheek. The night of lovemaking evident in the way she ached below, it kept her weak and willful
ly blind to his actions. He ran a bath for her after the incident on the dining room table. Neither spoke of what happened between them. He bathed her and put her to bed, holding her. Never once did either of them speak of Richard and how he knew she kissed him in his living room. She wanted to scream. Why hadn’t they?
Slowly his eyes opened. He looked at her. She didn’t know what to say, where to begin. The night had taken a dark turn. He had taken a dark turn, and she allowed him. He stared at her for a moment. Then his arm hooked tighter around her waist and he drew her into him. Close.
Diego rolled over on her and forced her thighs apart. Their eyes met. He gave a light kiss on her breastbone and his lips against her skin made her stomach quiver. Then came a long sweeping lick down her abdomen—it made it impossible for her to hold her head up and watch. Her knees bent, her thighs parted wider, as his tongue dipped in her navel then continued south. She burned for him to explore her core but he prolonged the pleasure. Instead she received scorching tender kisses inside of her thighs. With the roll of his tongue over her tender flesh she lifted her hips offering her pussy instead.
“You always smell so good, so damn good,” he murmured, running his nose through the neatly trimmed hair and burying in between the folds of her vagina. He spoke to her pussy in his language. His words vibrated against her tender place sending shockwaves and contractions up through her spine. The slow suckle of her oversensitive bud gave her a hard shiver. Diego went down her body under the sheets, his strong powerful hands reached back up to squeeze and pinch her nipples as he licked and sucked on her pussy. Marcella’s eyes were trained on the ceiling. She focused on the molding; tried to before too much pleasure made her lids flutter and her irises roll underneath.
Her hips shook, keeping time with his probing tongue. Outside the wind beat at the surrounding windowpanes. She surrendered. Soon all she felt was the raw hunger stirred by her lust and passion for this man as he fucked her over and over. She gripped the sheets and screamed in an orgasmic release, before he made love to her again.
Marcella turned over under the sheets to find herself alone. She stared at the pillow. At the single rose that lay there for her. She closed her eyes and rolled away from it. She had begun to hate roses. Drawing the sheets around her she fought to reclaim sleep, but the same thing kept repeating over and over in her mind. What’s happening to me? What have I become?
Chapter Twelve
A whiff of her perfume drifted up his nose. Sultry and subtle, the provocative scent whispered to him just as her curves did in the five thousand dollar dress. He resisted the urge to bury his face against her neck and breathe it in or push her down in the back seat to ravage her pussy.
She eased up under him, close. Her head rested on his shoulder. “We need to talk. Really talk.” She dropped her voice to a low gentle tone. “Yesterday, things got out of hand. You were rough with me.”
“Let’s not talk about it here.”
“No, let’s talk about it here, before…” she swallowed. “Before I make another excuse and don’t mention it.”
“There is no need for you to make excuses for me.” Another frown shadowed and distorted his features.
“I think maybe we’re going too fast for you. I know we’re going too fast for me. It’s been four weeks and everything has gotten away from us both.”
“Five weeks.” He corrected.
“Okay, five weeks, still…I’m staying with you and you are so…so complicated. I want to talk about this thing between us, last night, and this morning when you fed me breakfast in bed, in the car when we pulled over to the side of the road and we made love.” She blushed and he smirked recalling how he pinned her down in the back of the chauffeured car and got a taste of her. Again the urge for a repeat performance consumed him. Her eyes shyly lifted to his again. “You scared me last night. I can explain why Richard was there, but you need to explain to me why you came after me the way you did.”
The words hit him like bullets to the chest. Sure he’d been aggressive, but he would never intentionally do her harm. He thought all had been forgiven. She released herself in his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you,” he stammered. His voice meek, his eyes darting around to see if the driver noticed. He placed a hand gently on her hip. “Listen to me nena, I lost control last night, I don’t want you to fear me. I just. He touched you, and you touched him. It made me crazy. I can’t explain it. No need to explain him to me. I want your forgiveness.”
“How? How did you see it? Cameras? You have the place wired?”
“No. I know things. I will always know things about the woman… about the woman I care for.” Diego averted his gaze. “You are special to me. He doesn’t matter, past or present I know you have um, one. I don’t ever want you to disbelieve my feelings for you. Do you understand? It will never happen again. I swear it.”
She stared at him, defiant in her refusal to grant him her forgiveness. What more did she want from him? What exactly was she accusing him of? The motherfucker had crossed his threshold and touched her. She was right he shouldn’t have taken his anger out on her. Richard should have been brought to him on his knees. He decided on another tactic. “You look beautiful in this dress. I’m glad you accepted my gift and wore it for me.” He kissed her mouth close. The car made another turn and they accelerated up the ramp to the interstate. “This dress is really too extravagant. Having it sent to me at the gallery was a bit much Diego. I don’t want expensive gifts.”
“You’re worth it.” He smirked.
She smiled for him. He relaxed, taking her hand in his. He brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She indeed was the treasure. He’d spare no expense in reminding her of this constantly.
Marcella looked up from the meal. She had partially eaten the lobster tail, broiled in a split shell—it covered her plate. She felt like Wilma Flintstone. Diego’s meal, small, modest in comparison looked even more appetizing. Marcella shouldn’t have ordered it no matter the message she intended to send. A feeble attempt on her part to exert control and show him her independence, that Marcella was desperate for him to acknowledge and, dare she think it, accept it. Before he began his routine of ordering for them both, she blurted out her wishes including the wine she preferred. He leveled his eyes on her but didn’t object. A small victory but a victory nonetheless and it allowed her to relax.
“You’re smooth,” she said in a tipsy voice.
“Smooth?” he questioned.
“Notice how the ladies look at you when you enter a room. You barely acknowledge it in front of me but I know you see it.” The server refilled the glass of wine and she took another cautious sip. He just continued to stare, waiting for her to finish. “You’re cocky, presumptuous, and secretive. But your arrogance is the most unflattering part of your personality. It isn’t because of your wealth, is it? There’s something else that makes you a chauvinist.”
“Explain what you mean by ‘chauvinist’?”
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. You’re hard on women. You prefer them weak, submissive. Hey, maybe it’s not just women. Maybe you’re hard on people, and I guess hard on yourself. You’re hard.”
“Really?” he asked.
The wine loosened her tongue, and her simmering resentment of his treatment of her boiled over. She told him she forgave him. She lied. Dammit she was such a coward. Marcella sucked in a deep breath and tried to explain her thoughts. “Money makes men jerks. Especially men born with it instead of having to earn it—if you work for a dollar you appreciate a dollar. Did I tell you my father was wealthy? Yes. It’s my mother who wasn’t. My parents met in college and his family hated her on sight. According to my mother he didn’t care what anyone thought, until she got pregnant. Suddenly rebellion in exchange for responsibility of a kid didn’t seem too pleasing. Momma didn’t say this part. Oh no, she’s never said a harsh word against him. But I’m sure I’m right. They shared the same skin color but they were from two diff
erent worlds. I saw pictures of him, and she told me about how smart and adventurous he was. What a joke. He never tried to know me after they split and neither did his family. Asshole.” She burped, then giggled. Marcella shrugged under his pensive stare. “Forget my father, let’s discuss you Diego. No, let’s talk about money. Yes! Money makes men jerks and women loose. That’s what they say. I think money did something worse to you.”
“Is that so?”
Marcella leveled her stare on him. “I think money made you mean. I know you like the finer things, expensive suits, and jewelry, but you weren’t born with it. Were you? You have the body and demeanor of a man who was brought up doing hard work, maybe laborious work. And whatever happened in the past to make you the man you are today has made you cold and indifferent to life, love. Right? I’m right aren’t I?” she smirked and sipped her wine. “Figured you out despite your refusal to talk to me. Didn’t even have to Google you to get the dish. I know who you are, what you are. Yeah, I know.” She let go a bitter chuckle.
