by Dee Garcia
Scoffing against his assaulting lips, I manage to unlatch and suck in a heap of air, the tilt of my head giving him access to my neck, his teeth sinking into the exposed slope. “You’re wrong,” I mewl against the sting, eyes clamped shut as he grazes that sensitive spot beneath my ear. “It’s you trying to change the rules out of nowhere.”
“Fuck the rules, Benni,” he growls. “You know damn well that shit isn’t working for you either.”
“It was working fine. Everything was damn near perfect.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more—him or me—but apparently, it’s funny to him regardless.
“Until it wasn’t anymore. I made those rules. I can make them go away, too. Just say the words y soy tuyo.” And I’m yours.
From one side to the other, he peppers kisses along my neck, licking smaller trails and gently nipping at my skin in between.
“Why do you want me, Ángel?” I breathe. ”Answer me that. You don’t trust me enough to share yourself with me, so why want me?”
It pains me to even have to ask that, but I have to know. I’d felt the shift in myself weeks ago, knew my armor wasn’t as strong as it used to be. Feelings had begun bleeding through any and all rationality, and I was losing the battle quickly.
But him? I hadn’t seen a single hitch in his resolve—until last night. The motherfucker tilted my entire world on its axis in seconds, leaving me in a state of utter confusion all day long after we parted ways. Suspicion, too…I won’t lie.
Everything comes back to why? Why now? Why so suddenly?
“Once you’re mine, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” A vow, at least that’s how it sounded vibrating from his chest to mine as he traps my throat in his grip and reclaims my mouth.
“What exactly”…kiss…“does anything entail?”
“Everything,” he whispers.
My eyes clench anew in what I can only describe as the beginnings of agony. I want so desperately to believe him, to think that this thing between us is real, but much like he doesn’t trust me, I don’t trust him, either.
Not with my heart.
He has a piece of it already, and I didn’t even give it to him willingly. He took it like he takes everything else.
Breaking free from his lips, I find myself gulping at the intensity brimming in his stare. He’s analyzing everything, drilling so deeply into me, it’s like he’s trying to catch a glimpse of my soul.
I can’t handle it.
“I thought you said we were going out?” I try averting, quirking his lips knowingly with a slight grin.
“That was before I spent the whole day with you on replay. I sat there mindless as fuck in both meetings. Your eyes, these pouty lips,” he runs his thumb along them, “esa sonrisa, este cuerpecito.” That smile, this tight little body. “All day, mami. All day long you were there with me. The only thing I wanna do right now is get you out of these clothes and get lost in you.”
Same.
I should deny him, should put my foot down and demand we do something other than fuck—because that’s all we ever do—but I want him, too.
I always want him.
Ángel isn’t comparable to any specific drug; he’s all of them combined, the most lethal concoction with the highest risk of overdose scripted in bright red across his toxic, dangerous warning label. And like the masochistic comemierda that I am, I can’t seem to get enough—despite knowing the consequences every time I take another hit.
So deep, I’ve fallen so damn deep, and I hate myself for it because I knew better. I fucking knew better. The minute I felt anything other than just pleasure, I should’ve walked away.
You still can…
It’s the softest whisper in my mind, but the verity of that thought slams into me no less—like I ran face-first into a brick wall.
I can walk away.
Not that it would be remotely easy, but it’s not like the situation itself is any easier. And if he’s going to be gone for two months, that’s more than enough time—and the perfect time—for me to somehow shed this man from my soul and rebuild my armor.
I guess the question is: could I really do it?
“Do it,” I dare him instead, barely subduing the emotional tremor threatening to rack through me. “Fuck me like it’s the last time, Ángel. Fuck me so good I’ll still feel you long after you’ve left me.”
One of his dark brows arches in confusion until he finally puts two and two together, and his puzzled expression morphs into something I’ve never seen emit from his person before.
Fear.
I can see it clearly, melding with uncertainty and desperation, a powerful implosion that results in pure, unadulterated rage once all the frayed pieces of reality hit the ground.
He knows what I’m getting at—and he doesn’t like it.
“Do you listen?” he growls viciously, barreling us through my small apartment like a hell-bent demon to my room. My bed squeaks as he tosses me atop the crimson duvet and reaches over his head to pull off his shirt. I get all of two seconds to appreciate his body before he’s on me, his weight supported on one arm. “No, seriously, Benita, do you fucking listen?”
He’s furious, bordering on manic, the gray of his eyes darker than the most thunderous clouds.
“What are you talking about?” I swallow, chest rising and falling beneath his weight. A stupid question, obviously, but he’s not giving me much to work with.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to leave you. I want you for me.”
♫ En La Intimidad - Ozuna
How many times do I have to ask him the same question?
How is it fair that I’m expected to answer, but he won’t give me the same courtesy in return?
Again, he’s not giving me much to work with other than heated words with no backing.
“Ángel, just…” I try pushing him off to give us both some much-needed distance, but I’m no match beneath his weight.
Beneath his strength.
“Just what?” he grits, clearly tired of my shit, but fuck, so am I. “Why won’t you answer me? Got me out here feeling like an idiot every time I open my mouth.”
And you got me out here feeling like an idiot, period.
I turn away from him, not wanting to dive into this conversation after the one I just had with my mom. Her words hit home in this very moment—he’s not the man for you—and I don’t want to accept them. I don’t want to accept that she’s right, regardless of the fact I know she is.
“What do you want me to tell you, Ángel? I don’t know what you want from me…”
“Coño, you’re stubborn as fuck.” He turns me back toward him, fingers digging into my cheeks. “Do you understand English o necesitas que te lo diga en Espanol? It’s you I want, Benni. Solamente tu.” Just you.
“But why?” Latching onto his wrist, I search his eyes for the answer. “Tell me why. Where is this coming from? It’s so sudden.”
“It’s not.” His grip tightens, squishing my lips together with brute force. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. The days go by quick, but the nights? I’ll lay there for hours just thinking about you, tossing and turning because my restless ass wants you right there next to me.”
Does he really, though?
Ripping myself free from his hold, my breaths shallow and uneven, I feel my eyes narrow of their own accord. “So why not say anything? You’ve had countless opportunities, including phone calls and—”
Ángel brings himself so close, words fail me as the tips of our noses touch. “Because that’s not a conversation I wanted to have over the phone. I wanted to be with you when I told you.”
All the things I want to hear, and yet, that doesn’t make them any more true, no matter how fervently they leave his mouth.
“This is crazy,” I breathe.
“Why?” He laughs softly. “And if you say, ‘the rules’ again, que Dios te ampare.” May the Lord be with you. “Think about it… We could be so
good together, Benni. So. Fucking. Good. You’ve gotta know I’d take real good care of you, right?”
Oh, I know, I fucking know. Ángel and I are a force on our own, but together? We’d take the world by storm. And as for taking care of me...that’s a given. He does already…technically.
I wouldn’t have half the shit I have or be able to afford what I can if it weren’t for him.
“Take my pants off, Ángel.” Yes, I’m deflecting again, using the only weapon I have on me as a distraction to this maddening turn of events.
Or so I thought.
Lips trailing to my ear, he rolls his hips against me. “Do you need my dick inside you to believe me?”
“No.” I shake my head. “‘Cause I don’t know if I ever will.”
Ángel laughs, the dark sound a promise of my impending fate. “You say that now, but I’m going to drill it into you tonight. I don’t get why you keep underestimating me. Like I said last night, you should know better than that, mami.”
My throat squeezes, barely withholding a swallow. “Can we at least smoke before you fuck me senseless?”
Because that’s exactly what he did last night, and if the determination I feel oozing off of him says anything at all, it’s that tonight will be worse.
In all the best ways possible.
Maybe.
“While I fuck you senseless, yes.” Releasing me, he reaches into his back pocket and produces a freshly rolled blunt. A lighter, too. “Here, spark it.”
He’s on his feet after that, towering over me as he begins undoing his pants. I’m instantly entranced, bringing the blunt to my lips in a rapt state. A flick of the lighter, and I’m watching his little show behind the flame, taking that first, welcoming long pull.
I could get used to this…
A perfect billow of smoke whirls from the cigar’s end, then from my lips as I let my hit—and my thoughts—go. Another quick pull and I’m passing it off, eyes following his pants as they fall to the carpeted floor with a clink from his belt.
Taking our little stress reliever, he motions up and down the length of my body, the slightest tip of his chin. “Your turn. Take it all off.”
“Same goes for you,” I counter, making it a point to stare at his briefs as I work on the buttons of my uniform blouse. “All of it.”
Ángel glances downward, then back at me, that cocky-ass smirk slithering on his face. Pressing the blunt between his lips, he hooks his thumbs beneath the thick waistband and drops the garment, leaving him deliciously naked. My mouth waters. His body alone is drool-worthy—inked and finely cut in all the right places. But, his dick? That thing is what fantasies are made of: long, hard, and thick.
He’s not even rock hard yet, and it’s past the point of impressive.
“How am I naked already, but you’re not?” Two streams of smoke billow from his nose, interlocking our gazes anew.
Because I was too busy drooling.
I shrug, stare fixated as ever, and force myself to move. Rising onto my feet, I shrug the cotton material off my shoulders. The fitted black slacks go next, then the bra.
"Almost there, bella. Keep going," he rasps, his voice thick and gravelly.
The way he’s looking at me right now… Jesus Christ. He's fascinated, engrossed in my little striptease, of sorts. The world could end right now, and I suspect he wouldn’t care.
My nipples pebble under his scrutiny, rousing me further into action. I could just drop my panties right there and be done with it—could being the keyword—but suddenly, I feel compelled to drive him crazy.
Crazier than he’s making me.
It’s only fair...
Dropping back onto the bed, I maneuver my way out of the tiny garment and make a show of flicking it onto the ground. My legs, though? I keep them crossed with purpose, the one thing he wants to see hidden from his line of sight.
And as always, he knows exactly what I'm doing, giving me that particular heated look as he ambles closer, taking another hit from the blunt. "Open.”
A demand, one I’d normally respond to in an instant, but I hold my ground, shaking my head coyly as I lean back onto my elbows, my lips curling deviously.
One of his dark brows arches. “Benita…” he warns, his gaze flicking to my legs. “Open. Let me see that pretty little pussy.”
Oh, you’ll see it all right.
Propping my toes onto the edge of the bed, I snake a hand between my legs and dip a finger inside. I’m wet as hell, and I’m about to make myself even wetter while he watches. In and out, I lazily fuck myself with just that one finger, digging it in deep and pulling it back out. A few more strokes, and I drag my essence up to my clit, teasing the ever-loving crap out of us both. They’re painfully slow circles, but they leave me breathless nonetheless, all the more anxious for what’s about to—
"Goddamn." Ángel licks his lips and pushes my legs apart, swatting my hand away as his stare tracks every inch of me spread out for him. "So wet for me already, mami... And then you wonder why I’m so obsessed with you.”
"No, I get it..." I'm shamelessly staring at his dick as I say this, all but chomping at the bit to take him in my mouth and torture him some more. "I can relate."
My response triggers him in a way I wasn’t expecting. His movements are so lithe and quick, I nearly miss them. One minute he’s between my legs, and the next he’s got me on top of him, holding me steady just over the head of his cock. "You see? You're openly admitting that you want me. You do realize that, right?"
"I never said I didn't. What you're asking me for, though, is..."
"No different than what we're doing right now, other than you being mine. And what I mean by that is—yo no comparto, Benni. Si eres mia, eres mia solamente. Entiendes?"
"I don't share, either," I firmly supply as I snatch the cigar from him because I need him to know that if I ever give in to this thing—whether it’s right now or six months from now—I don't share. He's either mine, period, or none at all.
Chuckling, he drops me a ways more as I’m hitting the blunt, enough for the very tip to breach my lips. It’s freaking torture. "Is it bad that I want to see your claws come out?"
"Yes,” I exhale, rolling my hips to suck him in deeper. “Because it won't fare well for the puta on the receiving end."
Ángel hums around a satisfied smile and squeezes my cheeks, licking hungrily into my mouth. “Malita. Always ready for something.”
“I have to be. Can’t trust nobody out here.”
“Do you trust me?” he questions, and much to my own surprise, I actually shake my head.
“No.”
“Good, you shouldn’t. I know I’m not good for you, not good enough for you, but I wanna be.” That’s when he drops me, his arm secure around my waist, slowly filling me to the hilt. “Give me a chance to earn your trust, to be enough, to be everything you need."
My breath stills, the heaviness of his words combined with the feeling of him stretching me out more than I can bear. The only reason my eyes don’t bulge from their sockets is because I clamp them shut as my head lolls back. “I can't just leave, Ángel.”
"That's the beauty of it…yes, you can.”
"I-I can't leave my mom," I argue, idly noting he’s taken the cigar from me again.
"We can come back whenever you want. You wanna fly through twice a month, we will. More than that? Done. Whatever you want, it’s yours."
"Please…” He’s hitting it as I right myself to look at him. “You're really going to rearrange your whole life just for me?"
His reply doesn’t come immediately. While holding in that last toke, he holds my stare for a fleeting beat before tossing the blunt into the ashtray on my nightstand. He’s fusing our lips after that, blowing the plume of smoke into my mouth as he rolls me onto my back.
He flexes his hips until he’s entirely embedded.
"I'm not rearranging shit, mami. I'm enhancing it."
Enhancing it? Shit, intensifying everything in te
nfold, is more like it. I’m so full and suddenly so goddamn high, I swear I can feel him everywhere.
It’s too much...
“I’m done talking about this. Just don’t stop,” I mewl, legs spreading wider when his teeth sink into my neck.
“I had no plans to. You think I’m playing, but you’re gonna learn tonight, Benni. You’re gonna learn real fuckin’ good. If there’s still any doubt in your mind about how I feel and what I want, it’ll be gone by the time I’m done with you. ”
“Stop talking, and just fuck me.” The desperation in my voice is real. “I don’t need the words to come out of your mouth.”
“Say yes, then; that’s it. Just say yes, and we don’t have to keep going in circles,” he counters, snaking his arm beneath one of my legs.
But all I can manage is a shake of my head. This angle, it’s just... He’s too deep, robbing me of my air supply, of any coherent thoughts. Focusing on anything other than the way he pumps in and out of me, how he kisses me, how he touches me—it’s impossible.
And perhaps that was the universe’s way of stopping me from doing something stupid, of reminding me that this is all we were meant to be. Fuck buddies, friends with benefits—nothing less, nothing more.
The stars weren’t aligned that way for us.
At least, not right now, they weren’t.
♫ Circles - Post Malone
The vehement blare of my alarm wakes me the next morning at eight sharp. Groaning, I roll over and blindly swipe my phone’s screen to silence the damn thing before face-planting back into the pillow. If I could stay in bed today, I would. I’m tired and sore as hell, but I need to take a trip down to the warehouse. It's been one too many days since my last visit, and while I know Gael—my right-hand man—takes care of everything in my absence, I can't go long without making my sweeps and showing my face. Where Ángel prefers anonymity and the element of surprise that brings to the table, I prefer to be seen. I want them to see me, want them to know me. Gael may be the one ordering them around and delegating work on a daily basis, pero yo soy la Jefa, and they'll do damn well to remember that.
