by An Latro
“Emma,” he murmurs, “let me take care of you.”
He feels her shudder as the words and his breath wash over the sensitive skin on her neck. He bites and she makes a half-aborted noise, leaning back against him. And just that easily, he’s won, and he’s stepping away to take her hand and lead her out of the bar, her scotch forgotten as he pulls her into her bedroom and the large master bathroom. For a moment, he is angled toward the wide, stone rainforest shower. He stops when he sees the tub. It’s a shiny stainless steel affair, sunken into the ground with two steps leading down into the water. Two faucets feed into the tub, with jets inset. Half-burned candles occupy the corners around the tub.
“Undress, mali,” he orders, roughly, and goes to the tub, turning on the water and adding some bath salts. Below the splash of the water, he can hear her moving, the rustles of fabric and her tiny whimpers.
She would hate that he heard her sounding so broken, so he ignores her and runs a lazy hand through the water as steam curls through the bathroom.
“I need to pack,” she says softly.
Rama shakes his head. “Seth took care of that before he called me. You need to rest.” He stands and turns to her, and he goes still. She’s still wearing her panties, a black lace thong, and nothing else, and it makes him hard, seeing her like that, so delicate and beautiful.
“Get in, mali,” he murmurs, and she reaches for the thong.
He makes a low noise and she hesitates, her blue eyes wide as he drops smoothly to his knees, and peels the thong down.
He is careful, almost chaste as he peels the tiny scrap down, his eyes holding hers, hands carefully not straying. Until she balances on one foot, to step clear of the lace, and for a moment her hand is on his shoulder, and her nails dig in and he shudders, leaning forward. Presses a kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh as she makes a low noise of protest, her hand in his hair, pulling him closer. Rama laughs, a soft noise against her skin, as he pulls away and lifts her foot to pull her thong off. He slips it in his pocket and her eyebrows rise, a lazy question. He shrugs, avoids it and stands lithely. “Get in.”
Emma makes a petulant noise, but moves to the tub, and he watches. Her skin shines, a soft sheen from the steam filling the room, and her hips twitch, just enough to draw his gaze. She steps down into the tub, and the water coats her skin like a warm blanket.
She sinks deep into the water, her red-gold hair turned dark and weighted down, and stares up at him, her eyes wide and empty. “Are you joining me?”
He strips without the finesse he has learned. There is nothing calculated or seductive about it and still she watches, lazy interest in her bright blue gaze. And when her gaze dips down, tracing over the muscled abdomen and thin, sculpted hips, his thick erection bobbing slightly, his whole body goes tight and he makes a soft noise. She laughs a little and shifts in the tub, making room for him to slide in behind her and settle her back against his chest. One hand rests on her belly, the other tangling their fingers together as she sighs, a noise of contentment.
“We need more nights like this,” she says, sleepily.
His fingers work gently at the blood on hers, watching it flake and swirl in the water.
“More nights when people make attempts on your life?” She huffs. “Maybe not that part of the night.”
He shifts, easing her down until his erection is nestled against her ass and she whimpers, shifting against him. His hand slips down, brushing over her and she gasps, jolting at the sudden contact. “More of this?” he murmurs.
Emma makes a noise that can only be assent, and he smiles against her skin as his fingers skim over her again, twice, until she’s writhing against him, her fingers tight and demanding on his. He shifts her again, and she screams as he slips into her, a deep thrust that has her shuddering. The warm wet heat of her pulls a low groan from him and he stills, whispers, a low stream of Thai.
All the fear and worry, all the uncertainty of the night and the morning, poured out in nonsense she will never understand. She doesn’t want that concern, not from him.
So he hides it in plain sight and gives her what she does want. When she is almost calm, her anxious movements slow, when she’s waiting and still—he moves, lifting her and sliding back down. Powerful thrusts as his clever fingers work her clit. He gathers her hair in his free hand as she finds the rhythm, riding him with her head bent, her lip caught between her teeth, and needy noises spilling from her, almost helplessly.
She screams, a broken noise, when he pulls her hair and shifts under her, changing the angle. Her body goes tight and still as she comes, and she moans, almost a sob as Rama fucks her, forcing her through the climax and coaxing her into another. Again and again, until she’s whimpering and limp against him, a shuddering wreck of sensation. He grits his teeth and lifts her, twisting her so she faces him, and fitting his cock to her again. She groans as he slides deep, and he gathers her close, against his chest as he fucks her. He feels the tension gather in her, feels the moment she slips over the edge, her wet pussy clenching around him, and his eyes close as his orgasm tackles him. Emma shifts and kisses him, her tongue sweeping into him as he comes apart and the edges of the world fade, so that there is only this moment, this girl, this tiny slice of eternity.
They lay like that for a long time, her nestled against his chest as her arm slowly leaks fresh blood. He is still hard inside her. Still wants her.
“Rama?” she says, as the water begins to cool.
“Hmm?”
“I’ll miss you too.”
His eyes close, and he swallows the bittersweet pain. Sometimes, he thinks that loving Caleb’s cousin is the biggest heartbreak of his life.
Chapter 21. International Waters. November 19th
Seth Leans On The Railings Of The Yacht, watching the huge sun leak over the waves as it slowly sinks beneath the horizon. The brilliant orange and pink sky ripples across the ocean, and in the warmth on his face, he smiles. He takes a sip of his champagne and imagines that it's the light that he swallows, that the heat slides through him.
It seems like forever ago that he handed his heart to this ocean, so long, and it was these waters that let him hold onto his faith in love. Now, she welcomes him back with open arms and whispered words. Now, he has nothing to give her—his faith and love died in a cold city to the north, a lifetime away.
Beside him, Emma's champagne has been abandoned on a small table. He glances at her from behind his brown-lensed aviators in time to catch her snapping a picture of him with her phone. He tenses, and she smirks. She says, “Don't worry; it's for the family album.”
The lines along his jaw tighten, but he doesn't give her the pleasure of an answer. He releases his frustration to the sea with a sigh. Somewhere in their past weeks of barely contained chaos, she has gained another level in the game. It's exactly what he wanted, but he couldn't have imagined the amount of damage he would take from constantly fielding blows. She has not taken lightly to continually upping her game, constantly standing up to him. He's so tired, and just for a moment, he slips— and lets the verbal jab pass. Then he takes the low road.
“We'll dock soon, when the sun goes down. Remember that you are in a place of extreme honor to walk into this meeting with me. And my ass in on the line as well. Please show respect.”
She scoffs, and it feels like a hit to his still healing shoulder. She won't have his lessons and warnings, not now. She says, “Don't insult me, Seth.”
She drops her phone into her purse and takes a drink. He can't help but watch her sidelong, watch the stony expression never waver, and the emotional mask go blank. Damn, he thinks. This is what it's like to be a teacher, to watch your protégé learn and adapt. It's infuriating, but it makes him proud.
He thinks of that moment at the pool, that one flash that sent the world off-balance. That was it, when she owned her familial disregard for rules. He makes a humorless laugh and turns back to the last moments of sunset. The brat prince rears his head, sha
kes his fantastic feathers, and straightens himself. Two will always play this game, so he feels his mask go up in answer.
She has dodged an ill-placed jab, but she still doesn't know the gravity of Havana's presence. This is not a test, a fact she has realized by now, and he must let go of the back of the bike, let her stand or fall on her own.
They are silent until the yacht pulls up along a dock. Seth can see the lush vegetation along the darkened shoreline. He can see the torches that lead along the path up toward the sprawling villa. Stars glitter above them, like diamonds waiting for the hands of the royals. This place is what he has missed the most in his blackest times, this strangely magical escape from reality.
He takes a steadying breath as they follow the men with guns. Somehow, he thought it would be easier this time, to return here with familiarity and a new rank, but his nerves are just as wrecked as they were the very first time. And in a way, it's exactly the same as then. He carries the whole weight of his family's empire.
One of the guards at the end of the docs calls out. “welcome back, yuma!”
A voice he would know anywhere, and one that brings an instant smile to his lips. Miguel. Of course he would be among the welcoming party.
“No podia defar que me extrañas durante demasiado tiempo,” Seth answers, spreading his arms in a sarcastic bow.
He hasn't used what he learned here in so long that the words feel heavy on his tongue. Emma flashes him a surprised glance full of heat, but looks away just as quickly. He's never told her that he got pretty damn good at Spanish in his two years down south. There is a lot he hasn’t told her.
“Who would miss you? We forgot all about you when you left,” says Miguel with a wide, even smile and dimples.
“Your mother missed me,” Seth answers, and they hug roughly, both laughing.
“That's right, you're a big shot now. Got some cojones on you. I taught you well,” Miguel says with a sly smile. Then he looks to Emma, as if he just noticed her beside Seth. He says,
“Quién es esta delicada flor?”
Seth's smile fades the slightest bit, and he says, “Ella es veenoso para cualquier persona que le toca.”
Miguel's smile darkens, and Emma narrows her eyes at him. Miguel says, “I see. I have a feeling I'll see you later, Seth. We will drink together again.”
Seth's tension cools, and he cocks that royal smirk. He says, “See, I knew you missed me.”
An easy laugh rolls from Miguel, as his men take Emma's purse, and the contents of Seth's pockets.
Emma can't help but look around at all the vivid greenery and the full expanse of stars that still wake above them. Seth has tucked his shades in his linen button-up’s breast pocket, and he can clearly see the wonder in her eyes. Maybe, just maybe she can begin to understand what Cuba is to him. When she meets Havana, then she will know.
There's no party tonight, and so the island is covered by a sacred hush. The lights of the villa burn against the heavy darkness, and the sound of a violin drifts from somewhere on the property. Seth's skin thrills, though it's so warm. Anticipation is electricity in his gut. Memories are thick of long, hot nights of endless blow and women, booze and abandon. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans as they grow damp.
They're stopped at the main door to the house, a huge double affair, by two hulks of security guards whose expressions say they would just as soon put bullets in the guests as listen to them speak. Number One eyes Seth then Emma from head to toe, with a lasciviousness that makes Seth's muscles tense. Then he says in heavily accented English, “Strip, both of you.”
“Excuse me?” Seth snaps, taking a step forward.
The guard shifts his assault rifle, but doesn't move otherwise. He repeats, “Strip. It would be very unfortunate if New York brought with it one of his little three-lettered agencies.”
The calm Seth has been building since Santa Lucia shatters at the bottom of his gut. He puts an arm protectively in front of Emma, stopping her before she can move, and says, “She will not—”
“It's ok, Seth,” she cuts him off. His eyes flash fire toward her, and his fury is apparent in the tension along his jaw. She nods, once and gently pushes away his arm. “If that's what we have to do to prove that we're not wired.”
She holds the demure smile, dipping her head down, that fake innocence, as she fingers the hem of her sundress. Seth's rage consumes him and he looks away, staring blindly at the ferns, and bites his lip to ignore the overly appreciative murmurs of the guards as she pulls the pale fabric over her head. In his peripheral he can see the dress hanging from her hand as she stretches her arms in a shrug, and says, “See, no wire.”
And she twirls, red gold hair flying, and there is no hint of his demure princess in her.
Suddenly, Seth doesn't mind to lose the clothing for a moment, just to let some of his heat escape. He makes quick work of his jeans, shoves them down to reveal his silk boxers. Then he rips linen over his head and he is nearly naked, all streamlined and furious. He levels a heated glare at the guards, and they smirk. The second meathead says, “Ok, you're good.”
Seth burns into the heady humidity as he dresses, still staring off at the jungle of his memories. As if either would be stupid enough to enter this place armed, or worse, wired. Seth learned his first trip to this place that you come with nothing, and anything you need will be provided. Their luggage will arrive later, thoroughly searched. Always, he will be a foreigner. He hopes she takes note in the midst of her little victory that the tests will never stop coming.
He doesn't look at her as they are led through the rooms full of decadent furniture and cultural style, under tall ceilings and gilded trim. They are ushered into a library of dark, ornate wood and hard backed books. A low, round table sits in the corner, surrounded by leather reading chairs. Soft-lit lamps cast an ambient glow around the space from under green shades. They are left to the chairs, and Seth instinctively takes the one facing the door. The sound of the ocean drifts through the open windows, and still, that lilting violin.
Emma lets her gaze wander the library, taking in the class and luxury. She doesn't quite hide her fascination. She has, however, managed to banish any amusement as her unexpected move. Good——now is not the time for that game. Still, he wonders if any of those kids of Irving could have shown her anything close to this display of wealth. He has to look away again, let the scenery blur for a moment. Not those kids, but Caleb could. When he decided to bring
Emma here, he didn’t realize how incredibly painful it would be.
At length the door opens, and just like that, he is there—the smooth, sexual king of this world. Havana enters with a feline grace that makes even Rama seem like an amateur. The older man's hair is grayer than Seth remembers, but the face is just as strong and tan and sultry. He is finely sculpted and, no doubt, part of their world. Seth and Emma stand as he joins them.
His eyes are all over Seth like melted chocolate, and his voice is caramel when he says,
“My god, I never thought you could get more beautiful.”
For all Seth's experience and lecturing, a blush fires immediately in his cheeks. He remembers a moment of his past when all his senses knew was this man, in his space and his head. He can feel Emma go rigid next to him, but she covers it well by ducking her chin and averting her eyes.
“Thank you for having us; we're humbled,” answers Seth, feeling himself gravitate into the arms that Havana opens to him.
The proximity is nearly suffocating. Seth can smell the other man's musk, Havana no doubt already taking in his scent, as well. The Cuban's lips brush ever so slightly against Seth's cheek as hands close lightly around his back.
“Nonsense. We are allies,” says Havana in his faint accent and steamy tone, directly into Seth's ear. Seth can't suppress his shudder, something he's certain Havana notices before pulling away. Then, he turns to his other guest. “You must be Emma. Welcome to my home.”
She, too, blushes as if he has said
something explicit to her. He folds her into a hug as well and Seth must bite down on the inside of his mouth to keep from bristling. Emma's voice is breathy when she says, “Thank you so much.”
Seth catches the sly smile that curls on Havana's lips before he pulls away. A test for him. At least he chooses to believe it's a test and not the same predatory hunger that he encountered before. Havana's expression tames as he holds Emma at arm's length and examines her. Seth knows she wants to squirm. Hell, he wants to as well. Then Havana says, “And I see that beauty runs in the family. Please, sit. Would you like a drink?”
Seth forces the storm in his gut into a quiet tempest, and summons his father's grace as he takes his seat. “Rum on the rocks,” he says for both of them.
“When in Rome, no?” Havana smiles, his accent toying around the words. The house girl who followed him in slips out of the room to retrieve their drinks.
“Rome cannot compare to this,” Seth answers, letting dark and haunting tones into his words.
If its sex appeal Havana wants, he will get it, and not from Emma. Seth pushes his shoulders back as he leans against the chair, so that the open top buttons of his shirt pull apart just a little. Then he cocks his head slightly to the side, and lets one corner of his lips curl.
Havana lets both his eyebrows lift at the heat in Seth's voice, and an answering smirk dances on his lips. His muscled shoulders, accentuated by the thin fabric that covers them, shake in a silent laugh. “Indeed,” he breathes.
His hands work separate from his attention, which remains on Seth, as he extracts a little mirror from the table's drawer. Seth's gut clenches. He's seen this before, with its jewel-encrusted edge and gleaming pile of what most would call fish scales. Finally, Havana's massive attention leaves Seth as he begins to cut out lines with the delicacy of an artist. Seth catches Emma's stiff glance at him, but he ignores it. Her questions will have to wait.
