by S Williams
“Why did you kill him today?” he asks without looking back.
I study him for a split second. His breaths are steady. He doesn’t seem hostile. When his head turns, eyes sparking and expecting an answer, I say, “He wasn’t going to tell you anything useful. He kept his mouth shut for months because he was loyal to her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Draco, you had him tortured and dismembered, and he still didn’t talk. Not once did he waver or crack. That’s loyalty. He wanted to protect her until his dying breath. He loved her more than his own life.”
He turns fully, looking me all over. Grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head, he reveals his solid body. The beautiful ripples of his muscles glow from the candlelight, the curves and dips in his back impossible to look away from. He seems so soft, smooth, and perfect on the surface, but deep inside, he’s a battered, broken-down beast with a thousand walls and a soul harder than steel.
After a brief silence, he says, “I know what you’re trying to do, Gianna.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re trying to gain my trust back. Believe me,” he says, peering over his shoulder, “it’ll take more than a few kills to gain that back. What you did was unforgivable.”
I feel my throat tighten, my eyes shifting to the terrace. “How long?”
“How long what?” he asks, slightly irritated as he unbuttons his jeans.
“How long until you can trust me again?”
“Trust is not something I just hand out. I started to trust you, and you betrayed me. No matter what I feel, trusting you again won’t come easy.”
I don’t know why that pains me so much to hear. My beating heart seems to slow in speed, the thumping a somber beat in my own ears as I study him.
Pulling my eyes away, I walk to the terrace, stepping out, the coolness of the cement kissing the bottoms of my feet.
I grip the rail and stare ahead at the ocean. The moon is perched at the end of the dark horizon, the milky light rippling with the calm waves.
Heat presses against my backside seconds later, and a strong arm closes around me. His mouth presses on the back of my neck, and he gives me a soft, simple kiss. Warm. Slightly damp. Enough to send a gush of heat tunneling through my entire body, pinging me right in the core.
“Like I said,” he whispers, dragging his lips up to the back of my ear. “I want to hate you just as much as I want to love you right now. Nothing about that has changed.”
“I don’t know what else to do to get you to trust me, Draco.” I turn in his arms, meeting his brown gaze. “I’m here with you. I came back; I found you.” I press a palm to his chest and push a little to get a deeper look into his eyes.
“Forcing it won’t make it any better.” He tips my chin when I start to drop my gaze. “But what you did today made me proud.”
A smile tingles the edges of my lips. “Me killing someone made you proud?”
“You did it for me.”
“And I would do it again.”
His face turns serious. He lifts his head, looking over me, at the ocean. “When we find her, she is mine to kill.”
I nod, twisting to look at the moon. “I know.” I sigh. “I would say I’m sorry again, but like you said, apologies are useless. They don’t help anything.”
“That’s right,” he responds, voice husky, deep.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
The pads of his fingers tickle the curve of my neck, his lips on top of my head. “How can you miss a man like me?” he asks in my hair, his fingers pressing into my skin. “After all that has happened to you because of me…how?”
That’s a good question—one I constantly have to ask myself. I have no idea why I missed him. I should have left this world and never looked back.
Meeting Draco Molina changed my life drastically, and I really am not sure if it was for the better or for the worse. My life was once so simple, so stable, but now, at every turn, there is someone or something lurking. Someone will always be out for me. To the world, I will always be a target, because he loves me, and if anything ever happens to me, he will let it be known how important I was to him.
“I can’t deny what I feel,” I finally say. “We met before, as kids. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was meant to happen this way.” I pause, shifting on my feet. “Maybe you aren’t a monster to me. Maybe you are my hero instead.”
He breathes harder, and I hear the small groan bubbling in his chest. “I am far from a hero, Gianna. I am still the villain. You may see the good, but I am not a good man. The people have seen the damage I’ve done. They know it’s me against the world. To them, I will never be a hero. To them, I will forever be the devil in expensive suits. A lot of innocent people have died because of me—because of what Yessica did to Thiago. And a lot more will probably die soon.”
“We have to do what we have to do.”
“Many months ago, you wouldn’t have been saying this.” He raises a brow.
“Things change.”
His eyes drop to my cleavage. I almost forget I’m standing in only a robe. He runs his tongue over his lips, eyeing me briefly before focusing on my bosom again. Grabbing the loosely tied rope around my waist, he tugs on it, causing it to fall.
My robe falls open, but I don’t waver. I don’t cower or cover myself up. He takes a step back to absorb what he sees, and I stand there, letting him take it all in.
“Some things may have changed,” he rasps, “but there is one thing that hasn’t.” He steps closer, cupping a large hand around the back of my neck and applying pressure to make my chin tilt.
“What’s that?” I ask when his lips barely touch mine.
“Your body is still the same. Especially your pussy. Tight and so fucking wet.”
I clench with need as he runs a palm over my hip, swiveling it around and sinking it between my legs. His middle finger presses into me, applying gentle pressure to my clit when he’s found it. His eyes are locked on mine, lips parted, breathing deep and heavy.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, voice a near growl.
“Yes,” I whimper when he slowly massages my clit with the pad of his finger.
“Beg me.”
“You know I don’t like to beg.”
“Then you don’t want me to fuck you.”
I stare into his hard eyes, trying to challenge his statement, but I feel so weak. So vulnerable. So ready.
He stares right back, and before I know it, his finger is absent. He picks me up, forcing my legs around him and walking inside again.
Tossing me on the bed, he flips me over, bringing my ass up in the air. His belt buckle jingles, and when I look to my left, at the oversized mirror that gives full view of our reflection, I watch as he folds the leather belt in half and brings his arm in the air.
A sharp sting bites my ass, and I let out a soft cry.
“Beg,” he demands.
I clutch the sheets, pressing my cheek to the comforter, studying him at this angle. He looks so hostile and angry, but still so wickedly delicious. The candlelight flickers, revealing his pulsing jaw.
He’s still upset with me. I can see it—feel the quiet rage radiating off his already hot skin.
He grabs my ass with one large hand, lifting the folded belt in the air again.
“I won’t ask again, Gianna,” he growls.
“Please,” I finally whisper, giving into his demand.
He tosses the belt aside, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Through the mirror, I see his pants and then the briefs come down, his hard, thick cock appearing.
He fists himself and pumps with ease, using his other hand to grip my waist. He moves forward, barely an inch, his thick, heavy cock still in hand, and slides the head of it through my slit and up to my clit. He does it over and over and over again, making me writhe, ache—need so much more of him.
“Beg again,” he groans.
My mind is spiraling now
, my body overheated. Seeing him like this, how he stares down at me like he wants to own and dominate every inch of me, leaves me no choice but to beg.
I breathe raggedly, my damp hair falling over my face. His cock slides back and forth, toying with my clit. He barely dips the head into my entrance. He does it just so I can feel it—know he’s there. Teasing me until I break.
“Está panochita está bien mojada,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. This little pussy is so wet.
I breathe my pleasure, loving the way his native language rolls of his tongue.
“Say more,” I beg. “In Spanish.”
“Ruégame,” he demands with bite in his tone. Beg me.
“Please,” I beg again.
He lets out a sharp, stilled breath, still gripping his cock, lightly pumping. His other hand rides up my spine and clutches the back of my neck. The head of his cock presses on my entrance, and finally, he sinks into me, tightening his grip on my neck with each inch inside.
Nothing about this is gentle.
None of it is sweet or nice.
He holds the back of my neck so tight, I’m sure it will leave a bruise.
This is dangerous and angry. He’s still not done hate-fucking me yet, and frankly, I don’t care.
His hips thrust forward, and he slams into me, forcing my face down on the comforter, making my back arch.
“Ruégame,” he commands again through clenched teeth. “Ahora, niñita.” Now, little girl.
“Cojeme más fuerte, Jefe,” I beg, my breaths rapid now. Fuck me harder, Jefe.
I throw my hair over my shoulder, but he catches it, pulling on it like one would the reins of a horse. His lips come closer to my ear. “Again,” he groans, pulling out, making me ache all over again, more now.
“Fuck me, please,” I sigh, plead.
And he has no problem doing so. He flips me onto my back, spreading my legs wider apart. His cock is buried inside me again in no time, and he folds my legs, clutching my hips as he stands in front of the edge of the bed. He lifts me up, angling my pussy just right, and as he holds me tight, he slams into me again.
Over, and over, and over again.
He watches me with fierce, wicked eyes, not once wavering. Not once does he pull his searing gaze away from me.
He wants me to know that he owns me—mind, body, and soul. He wants the whole fucking world to know I belong to him.
Him and only him.
He bends over, his mouth coming to one of my nipples, and he sucks it into his mouth until it’s supple and pebbled, his hips still grinding. With the sensational tug of my nipples, and his cock hitting my most tender spot, I can’t help what happens next.
My thighs shake around his waist, my eyes rolling backward. It’s too much. He’s too much. Too amazing. So fucking good.
God, I come. I come so hard around his delicious cock.
I hold him tight, my fingernails sinking into his skin as a hard moan rips right through me. He groans from the pierce of my nails, but he doesn’t stop moving. “You are squirting all over my cock, niñita,” he says in my ear, voice deep and raspy. So sexy. So bad.
He curses beneath his breath as his strokes become unsteady, a hand sliding down to hitch my knee up to my chest, plunging deeper, gripping the meat of my ass as he pounds away. Before I come down from the high of my orgasm, he’s pulling out and sliding down, his mouth hovering over my pussy.
I look down and his eyes are trained on mine. He seals his mouth around my clit first and then slides his hot, smooth tongue down and around, licking up every drop.
My fingernails sink into the comforter, my back bowing. I beg him, “…please…please, Draco.” It’s too much. Too powerful. I feel like I’m going to explode and shatter by a million tiny orgasms.
But of course he doesn’t let up. He eats me hungrily, sucking and licking my pussy, taking it all in, until I squeal so loudly I’m sure everyone can hear it.
It’s impossible for my body to die down, especially when he’s deep inside me again, his mouth claiming mine. I taste myself on him. My body is writhing beneath his.
His hand cups the back of my neck, and he presses my forehead to his shoulder, our bodies completely molded. Becoming one. Merging. Syncing. His other hand is on my hip, and as my orgasm continues shooting through me, his body stills, his head turning to look down at me.
I sink my teeth into his bottom lip before releasing it, holding on tight to him, his savage groan vibrating on my bosom.
His hips work hard with each spurt of release. When he finally collapses, I twitch and clench my walls around his satisfied cock, breathing way too hard. My hair is slick with sweat, as well as my body.
I don’t know what the hell that was or how it happened so quickly. I don’t know how he knows my body so well or how he did this to me—how he always does this to me—but it was exactly what I needed.
His hate and his passion: a mix of the two always leaves me craving more.
“Eres toda mía, Gianna. Para siempre.” You are all mine, Gianna. Forever.
I release my last sigh, shutting my eyes, and giving him a simple nod. “I’m all yours, Draco, for as long as you’ll have me.”
32
GIANNA
“I know what last Thursday was,” I whisper on his chest. We lay in the bed, our legs tangled up, my ear on his chest.
I was about to leave the room after he fucked his hatred away—figured he still needed space from me—but he told me to stay. Now, here we are, breaths mingling, my fingers playing their own piano game on his ribcage to the Latin music coming out of the hidden speakers.
I can’t say I’m not enjoying this. Surprisingly, I’ve missed this. Probably too much.
“What was last Thursday?” His voice is raspy, warm, as it flows through my hair.
“August 22nd. Your 31st birthday.”
“You remembered.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“After that tragic birthday breakfast story you told me, it’s impossible to forget that date.”
“Hmm.” His chuckle rumbles in his chest.
“How will you celebrate?”
“By killing Yessica.”
I look up into his eyes. When I see them, I realize how serious he is. I sit up on an elbow. “You need to do something, Draco. Drink, breathe, relax—something.”
“I’ll do all of that after I handle what needs to be done.” His lips press for a moment. “A man like me can never truly relax. I will always want to be wanted, taken down. Killed.”
I sigh, feeling my chest squeeze tighter. “Promise me something?”
“What?”
“Promise me that when we find her and end this, we’ll take some time off alone to celebrate properly—your birthday, and getting rid of her.”
He smirks, the candlelight making him seem calmer, kinder.
“Maybe, niñita.”
I stroke the hair on his chin, letting the silence sweep over us, thinking for a moment. “Those flowers,” I murmur. “Death by Indigo. What if I hadn’t read the note before getting close to them?”
“Then you would have died,” he says, almost nonchalantly, but his grip tightens around me.
“How do you know about those? Are they in a garden somewhere too?”
“No. Those are too risky for any of my men to be around. I had them imported.”
“Why’d you send them to me?”
He’s quiet for a second, mulling it over. “I wanted you to see that even beneath their beauty, they are still deadly. Much deadlier than the Blue Betrayals.” He pauses again. “I had to research the Indigos once.”
“When?”
“Few years back.”
“Why?”
“They were delivered to me personally. They were beautiful, but beauty can be deceiving as fuck.” He swallows hard, adjusting his head, eyes focused on something across the room. “I never keep them out in the open. Only use them to intimidate. If you touch even a petal, and any of its gloss ge
ts on your fingers, it can cripple those fingers, make them numb. But if you bring those same fingers to your mouth, say, after eating, and ingest it, your entire body will freeze up on you. Not right away, no, but every single part of you will turn black inside after only an hour. It will paralyze you to the core, but you can still feel and see everything. Death by Indigo.” He blows a heavy breath. “What makes them so fascinating is that beneath the beauty, there is poison. And that poison makes it one of the most powerful, most vicious plants on this earth. Poison ivy doesn’t have shit on them.”
That makes me laugh, just a little.
He continues. “They are banned in the United States and even here, in Mexico. They can only be bought on the black market.” He pauses. “When I first saw them, they were a gift from a woman I didn’t know. It only took a few hours for me to learn she was the mother of a man I had ordered to be killed. So, before letting the delivery into my factory, I did my research. Found out all about them.
“And just as I found out all I could about them, the guard that delivered them dropped the vase, couldn’t even move. Couldn’t speak or respond to me as he laid there on the floor, but I could tell he was trying. It was so rapid—so swift. He seemed perfectly fine one minute, but in the short span of thirty minutes, his lips were shriveled and blue, his skin pale and chalky. His eyes, blood shot red. She was trying to kill me. So…” He sighs, like shards of glass are trapped in his lungs now. “I killed her.”
I look up at him, but his eyes are still ahead, focused on anything but me. “She was a threat, and I’m certain she would have tried again if I’d shown her mercy. It’s like she wanted me to know it was her. She didn’t try to hide it. It was almost like she wanted me to kill her.”
“Wow.” I drop my head, focusing on the crucifix resting on his chest.
“I am not proud of the things I have to do, Gianna. It does not please me to kill women. Children are my weakness. No harm has ever been inflicted on a child because of me. Ever. Even during this war, I do my best to make sure there are none around before taking action. But sometimes…I can’t help it. Sometimes, it just happens, and there is nothing I can do about it.”
