Illicit Desire

by Taylor Michaels

“Bonita,” he growls, “I need to fuck you.”

  “Do it,” I pant, nipping at his lips.

  Raphael laughs, a dark noise that is erotic and thrilling as it tickles against my skin. “No fucking way am I stripping you naked where someone else will see you. I want you naked in a bed, where I can take my time and eat that pretty cunt of yours for hours.”

  My sex clenches at his words, and he bites lightly on my neck, holding me up as my head falls back and I groan.

  “Raphael,” I whimper.

  “Mmm,” he hums against my skin, “just like that—I want you just like that when I’m buried inside you.”

  I gasp, arching into him. He pulls away from me, suddenly, and I stumble.

  “Come,” he orders, grabbing my hand and pulling me along behind him.

  We didn’t take a limo from the Spanish Lady. Instead, we’re in his Mercedes and he opens the back door abruptly. “Get in.”

  I flash him a nervous look and Raphael stares back, his eyes hot and demanding. I shiver, and climb in. He follows me, and slams the door, and then he’s on me, and my back is pressed against the supple leather as he yanks my panties down and shoves my skirt out of his way.

  Raphael.

  Hearing her talk of leaving makes me crazy. I’m trying to play it off like this is just casual and fun, because I can’t afford to let it be anything else.

  Cora is beautiful and brilliant, and damaged. I want to keep her, and I can’t. And it makes me furious. She’s panting, her legs wrapped around me, and I groan as I slip a hand between us. She’s wet and writhing, arching into my touch as I slide a finger along her slit. I swallow my curse, and lean down, kissing her hard. She shifts, just enough that my finger slides deep into her, the silky walls of her pussy clenching around me. I hiss, and shift, lifting her so I can slide lower, and catch her clit with my lips.

  “Fuck, Raphael,” she moans, her hands coming up to catch in my hair. Her grip is hard and demanding as she moves me where she wants me, rolling her hips. “More,” she whimpers. I nip lightly at her clit and she screams. I pull back, and she makes a hoarse noise of want.

  “Shh, easy, bonita,” I murmur, leaving gentle kisses along her inner thigh. I rub her clit and glide my tongue over her. “I could eat you for days, Cora,” I murmur, and she shudders. I tongue her slowly, leisurely strokes that have her whimpering in pleasure, and when I feel her cunt ripple, I replace my tongue with my fingers. She comes hard as I nip at her, my name a shuddering sigh.

  I want to fuck her so bad, I can taste it. But tongue-fucking her in the backseat at a public beach is more than I had planned for the evening. I straighten her skirt, and she blinks sleepily at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  She cups me through my jeans, eyes gleaming in the darkness of the car. “Then where are you going?”

  I make a pained noise. “Cora,” I say softly. Her small fingers stroke me, clumsy over the rough jeans. Then she slides the button free, and slips her hand inside my boxers.

  I curse, bucking into the warm skin of her palm, and she laughs, low and husky.

  “If you keep that up, I won’t stop,” I warn, and she twists her grip a little.

  “Who said I wanted you to?” she says, smiling at me.

  I bite back my curse as she shifts, kissing me. Her tongue licks into my mouth, and there is nothing shy or tentative about it, and it is hot as fuck. She lifts her head, smiling at me. “I can taste us,” she murmurs.

  Shit. I shift, sitting back, shove my jeans down. She rolls a condom onto me, and I groan at the feel of her hands on me. She laughs, a noise that inflames my senses, and I pull her onto me.

  She slides down my dick, and I swallow a curse and the urge to thrust into her. My hands clench and unclench on her hips as she seats herself on me, the heat of her pussy against my balls. Her face contorts once, briefly. “God, so full,” she mumbles, her head falling forward. “You’re so fucking big.”

  I have the irrational urge to laugh at her petulant, breathy tone, and then she shifts, a tiny circle on my dick, and my eyes almost cross.

  Every damn thing she does is hot as fuck.

  “Come on, bonita,” I say hoarsely. “Ride me.”

  She shifts, her hands on my shoulders to steady herself as she lifts off me and slides back with a low whimper. Her eyes drift closed as she moves, slow and sensual. I see the stitch between her eyes, and the way she catches her lip with her teeth, when her steady rhythm falters, and her nails dig into my shoulders, the sheen of sweat on her skin. I lean forward and lick a path down her neck and she gasps, her pace faltering.

  My tenuous restraint breaks, and I jerk her down by her hips, fucking into her with a desperate urgency. Her eyes go wide and sightless and I catch her scream with my lips as she climaxes. I groan, gritting my teeth as Cora comes apart. I don’t want to come. I don’t want to be finished. She grinds down against me and my orgasm tackles me, slamming into me. My grip on Cora tightens, and I thrust into her once more as I come, everything in the world reduced to sensation and her.

  I bury my head in her chest as she runs a hand absently through my hair. “Yo no voy a dejar ir.” I murmur, against her skin. I won’t let you go.

  “Hmm?”

  I kiss her softly and pull back. Cora is staring at me, her gaze sleepy and questioning. “Nothing. That was—”

  “Fucking fabulous?” She grins, wiggling her eyebrows.

  I laugh, a startled noise, and nod. “Muy bein.”

  She shivers. “You know how sexy that is, right?”

  I quirk an eyebrow and she snorts. She lifts off me, and I stifle a groan as I slip from her wet heat. I reach in the back and grab a towel, passing it to her as I dispose of the condom.

  “You use your Spanish. You know exactly how it sounds to the rest of the world—especially the female part of the world.”

  I laugh. “Sweetheart, the only female I care about impressing is you. And if you like it—fuck yes, I’ll use it.” I lean forward and kiss her quickly. She licks at my lips, and the kiss deepens, impossibly fast. I sit back reluctantly, running a hand through my hair. I want her too badly, and it’s disconcerting to be that thrown off.

  “I’m taking you home.” I say, abruptly.

  Cora’s eyes widen, and she bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Raphael.”

  I scoop my keys from where they’ve fallen, push open the door and slide out into the night before reaching back for her hand. “Cora, I don’t want to take you home. I want to keep you with me, and tuck you into my bed, so I can wake up to the smell of your hair, and then I want to fuck you senseless. But you need space, and I get why. So I’m taking you home.”

  Her eyes soften at my words, and she nods, looking away from me. I help her out and into the front seat, using the time it takes me to circle the vehicle to compose myself.

  I can never truly compose myself when she is around.

  I stop at a little Cuban cafe and pick up sandwiches and bottled water for us while Cora waits in the car. Her clothes are a mess and crusty with salt water and she has a sated look that I'm not prepared to show the world.

  "I got a roast beef sub and chicken salad wrap,” I say.

  "Beef," she says immediately and I grin.

  "Split it with you."

  Her eyes narrow but she nods, a tiny smile playing on her lips. With our dinner sorted, I slide a glance at her. She won't like that I know her address. "I don't like you living in Hialeah."

  She gives a flat stare. "Fortunately, your opinion doesn't weigh terribly heavily in my decision-making.”

  Ouch.

  "What if I want it to?"

  She gives me a warning look and I go quiet, navigating the seedier side of Miami without directions. When I pull up to her apartment building, she stares at me with a curious look. I stare back and she huffs a laugh. "You are just as complicated as I thought."

  I nod. "I'm not trying to hide that."

  Cora glances at the building and
then me, indecision playing on her face. A better man would kiss her and leave. But I'm not a better man. I make no illusions of it. So I wait, my breath held, and she finally looks away.

  "I had a lot of fun today,” she says quietly. "It's the first time in a while that I was able to relax and not worry about when Graham would pop back into my life.”

  “So we’ll do it again,” I say, more statement than question. Her eyes warm, and she leans over, kissing me. Then she pushes open the car door and slides into the night. I wait until the apartment light comes on and the curtains in her window shift before I pull away.

  I dial as I drive and Miguel answers on the second ring. “What’s up, boss?”

  “Are you with Lou?” I ask. I can hear the noise in the background—Miguel is doing his normal Friday night, checking in on the clubs and the girls.

  “Of course,” he says. The background noise swells and then fades, and I can hear the quiet rumble of Lou asking a question. My earlier irritation rears up and I clamp down on it. Now isn’t the time.

  “Meet me at Maria’s house in thirty minutes,” I say.

  There is a moment of quiet, and then, “Sure, Jefe.”

  I fucking hate when they call me that. It’s a title of respect, and I would never tell them how much I despise it. But the title belongs to Benni. I don’t want to be Jefe. I want to be respected—feared—in my own right, without the specter of my grandfather.

  A lot—too many people—still see that. The Rojas, definitely. And because they see a boy in the shadow of an old man, they are testing. I toss the phone to the side, and concentrate on getting to the black house.

  When Benni handed the Ortiz syndicate over to me, I was twenty. I was too young, but a federal grand jury had just indicted him for smuggling and drug charges. He beat the charges. Benni was—still is—very fucking good at what he does. But it was too much heat, and stepping down as the head of the family was the best choice. It’s why we thrived.

  The house had been one of my first moves. I gave the money to my mother’s best friend—the girl who babysat Rosa and me when Mama worked in Benni’s warehouses and ran his crews. She was one of the few in my life who was completely clean and untouched by the darkness of my family.

  The house she bought was the only thing that tied her to us. Anything I bought, anything I owned, the feds would investigate. I wanted—needed—one thing that was untouched by them. Maria gave me that.

  The house is in a quiet neighborhood, with neat square lawns, wild children in the streets, and the scent of barbecue and smoke hanging over the little community. It’s usually a noisy place full of women calling to their children as they gossip and watch the guys across the road mow.

  Like Benni, I hide in suburban civility, a devil dressed in respectability. Now, the streets are dark and quiet with the occasional bark of a dog behind a fence. I park and stride to the front door, unlocking it and letting myself inside.

  The air is stale and cool, but comforting, and I tug my gun out, letting it clatter onto the coffee table as I drop into the chair. I can still taste her. I haven’t been gone from her for more than thirty minutes, and I’m already craving her like some kind of fucked up addict. I shudder, dragging a hand through my hair and cursing quietly.

  The sound of voices—Miguel, Lou—brings my head up and I watch as they enter the room.

  I can’t remember a time when Lou and Miguel weren’t a part of my life. A time when they weren’t the forces on either side of me that kept me moving forward, and at times, alive. We’ve fought before—there was a whole summer in high school when I cut both of them off, retreating to the family’s land in Mexico to hide from my best friends. It was a long fucking summer.

  They come in and Miguel drops into the chair across from me while Lou leans against the wall. He’s not looking at me, a good sign he knows he fucked up. I decide to let it drop, for the moment.

  “Fill me in,” I say quietly.

  “Rojas are sending another shipment. Jorge knows a few have been light, but he’s playing it as a mistake.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I think it’s a test and as long as you don’t respond, we’ll keep the peace. But we’re paying to keep it—and Carlita will push soon.”

  I nod. “The clubs?”

  “Quiet. Business is good. We’re going to get hit at Club Loca tomorrow.” I glance up, and Miguel grins, “I’ve already got the wipe-down in progress. The girls are out and we’re clearing the stock. We’ll be fine.”

  Our bribes are still paying off then.

  “Good. I’ll talk with Jorge tomorrow, and let you know what we’re doing.” There’s a moment, and then, “Cora isn’t to be touched. I know why that cabron is in prison, and I would kill him if I could reach him. If it wouldn’t infuriate her, I’d arrange it. But it would. So I’m telling you both now, she’s off limits. Do you understand?”

  Miguel and Lou study me, and I stare back, my face impassive. Finally, Lou nods. “Si, Jefe.”

  “Get a crew tailing her. One of the better crews—not that untried kid we have with her now. Got it?”

  “Is the puta a threat?” Lou asks, straightening abruptly.

  “He will be. He isn’t yet—but he gets out soon, and he will come for her.”

  Worry flicks across Lou’s face, and he nods. “They’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Boss, what do we do when Carlita hears about her?” Miguel says. I slide my attention to my right hand man, seeing the worry there. Miguel knows how furious she’ll be. They both do.

  “Carlita made her choice, Miguel. I won’t live my life around her wants and desires. Not after she made hers so clear.”

  “I understand that. But now isn’t a good time to incite her, not when we’re having issues with the Columbians.”

  “Jorge won’t let this interfere with business. He might be besotted, but he’s still a businessman.” Even as I say it, I knowI’m gambling. But I don’t care—Cora is worth a gamble or two.

  “What now?”

  “Now we wait. I’m going to fight to keep her. She doesn’t plan on staying because of what happened with Graham.”

  “Was she that good in bed?” Miguel asks, and I flash him a warning look. He blinks, and then laughs. “You care about her,” he says, his voice flat with disbelief.

  “Is that so hard to imagine?” I ask,silky and menacing.

  “Yeah, Raphael, it sure as fuck is. You’ve been a fucking unemotional heartbreaker for three years. What the hell is so special about this girl that you’ll change that? Now, when there is so much uncertainty in the cartel?”

  I glare at him. “What the fuck does it matter? This is what is happening. This girl does matter to me, and I’m keeping her. Fuck the consequences.”

  Miguel’s eyes go wide and he barks a laugh, all amusement gone. There is nothing but stark anger there. “That’s easy, boss, for you. I’m the one who cleans up your fucking mess.”

  Lou shifts, and I lift a hand. Miguel catches it and lets out a string of Spanish curses. “Fuck you both. Call down the dog, Rapahel.”

  He shoots me a look of loathing, and stalks out of the house, letting the door slam shut behind him.

  For a moment, there is silence, and then Lou says, voice as quiet and calm as always, “He worries, Raphael. He doesn’t want you hurt again.”

  “I have a mother to worry for me,” I snap. “I need my best friend to do his fucking job.”

  Lou nods. “He will.”

  Miguel lays on the horn, and Lou gives me one last searching look before he follows Miguel out the door.

  Chapter 13

  Cora.

  “CORA!”

  I jerk awake, swallowing a scream. My heart is pounding, and I stare at the ceiling as I try to place the voice that just jerked me from sleep. It can’t be—

  “Cora, wake the fuck up!”

  I relax, my body going boneless as I recognize my brother’s voice. Paul’s head appears suddenly in the do
orway, a scowl on his face. “What the hell is this?”

  “I don’t know,” I croak. “I’m still fucking sleeping.”

  He snorts. “Get up. It’s for you.”

  I frown, looking up at him. “What is?”

  He’s already halfway down the hall, and I can smell coffee. Muttering a low curse, I scramble from my bed, and shuffle down the hall after him. Paul is propped against the counter, staring at the tiny kitchen table.

  A bouquet of roses and a flower I’ve never seen before cover the table. I stare at it for a long moment, and Paul drawls, “There’s a package, too.”

  That snaps me out of my temporary daze, and I skirt the flowers to retrieve the package from the end of the counter. It’s a long and slender, wrapped in black with a white bow. A card is attached to the front, and I pull it free.

  I can’t wait to see you in this.

  R.

  For a moment, I consider that this might not be something I want to open in front of Paul, but I shove that thought aside. He’d never let me retreat to my room at this point. I loosen the bow and lift the lid carefully.

  Paul whistles softly. It’s completely warranted. The dress is silk, a creamy champagne. I know instinctively that it will look spectacular on me.

  “What exactly do you need a dress like that for?” Paul asks quietly.

  “I have a work function on Wednesday. Raphael and I both have to attend.”

  “You’re spending a lot of time with this guy, for him to be your boss,” Paul observes. I’m quiet, and he releases a sigh. “Can you be honest with me, even if you won’t be honest with yourself?”

  “I’m being honest,” I snap, stung.

  “Then tell me—how long do you think it’ll be before you fuck him?” Paul demands, his voice deliberately cruel.

  “That is none of your fucking business.” He doesn’t need to know I already have.

  He runs a hand through his hair, and I almost add to it—but a phone rings in the depth of the box, jerking both of our attention to it.

  “He sent you a phone. Of course he did. Jesus,” he curses, harshly, and stalks from the room.

  I grab the phone and answer it quickly. “What the hell are you doing, Raphael?”