by Mia Zachary
“I want you to watch me pleasure you, and know that you’re powerless to do anything but lie back and enjoy it.”
“No problem, as long as you never stop what you’re doing.”
She opened her mouth and took him between her soft, moist lips. The sensation of her tongue circling the head of his penis was almost his undoing. He had to grit his teeth to keep from shouting out loud as she nibbled and licked and sucked him to the brink of coming.
He closed his eyes, adrift in the gratification. She continued to slide her mouth up and down his shaft, her teeth lightly grazing his vulnerable flesh. Desire overwhelmed him in a powerful rush of heat and the tide of lust was rising fast. He was rock hard and on the verge of losing control.
It was going too fast, she made him feel too good. The sensation of her hot, talented mouth was beyond incredible, and he craved the sweet release that beckoned. But he didn’t want their encounter to end too quickly. Hell, he didn’t want it to end at all. And just when he knew he couldn’t take anymore, she stopped.
“What—? Wait…”
“Just a second, chér. You’re not dressed for this party.”
Grabbing one of the foil packets, she opened it then tossed the wrapper aside. Stevie rolled a condom onto his rigid flesh and then crawled up his body until she settled on his lap once more. Moaning softly, she rubbed herself along his length, intensifying the pleasure by prolonging their satisfaction.
A slow ragged sigh escaped her throat as she sank down onto his rigid shaft. Arching her back, she braced both hands on his calves, changing the angle of penetration and increasing the glorious grinding pressure. She tossed her head and laughed, reveling in his hard, fast thrusts.
She looked wild and wanton, like a conquering Amazon, a warrior goddess whose lust was fueled as much by power as by desire. Stevie approached sex with the same persistent zeal she did everything else. He lay beneath her, sweat drenched and grinning and crazy about her.
But even as the long-denied emotions crept into his mind, he swiftly pushed them aside to be dealt with later. For now, he simply enjoyed her uninhibited use of his body.
Stevie reached down between them to massage the tiny bud of nerves at the core of her need. She rocked her pelvis back and forth to increase the friction until he couldn’t distinguish his moans from hers. With a harsh cry, she continued to ride him and he rode the storm of mind-blowing sensation as she came hard, and then came again.
Emelio bucked his hips beneath her, driving heavily into her sodden heat. Her body clenched around him and his wrists strained against his bonds when he felt the first contractions in his shaft. Then, as a guttural moan was ripped from his throat, he exploded inside her.
His heart thundered in his chest and he lay beneath Stevie’s glistening body, gasping for breath. After a few minutes, he became aware of the tingling numbness in his arms. “Hey, lady. Now that you’ve had your way with me, how about letting me go?”
“Thank you. That was so much better than my fantasy.” She reached up and undid the knots. “How do you feel?”
“Incredible.” Emelio wiggled his fingers, encouraging the blood to circulate to his fingers again. “I have to admit I was a little apprehensive at first. But then I let go, and when you made the decisions and set the pace, it was…really erotic.”
Stevie leaned forward to press her lips to his, and he was mildly surprised by the tenderness of her kiss. “Thank you for trusting me, Emelio. As great as the sex was, I appreciated that even more.”
He wasn’t sure how he felt right now, but he knew that things had irrevocably altered between them. He recognized the change in her bright blue gaze and in his own turbulent emotions. She kissed him again and then drifted off. He lay awake, however, his thoughts too troubled for sleep.
He’d fallen for her. Against his better judgment, he’d fallen hard for her unbroken spirit and unique character, her fierce independence and quick sarcastic wit. He loved her and there was no sense in denying it. But what would he do about it?
NOT USUALLY A MORNING PERSON, Emelio got up with the dawn and kissed Stevie’s slumbering form before pulling on an old pair of jeans, the pale denim softened by years of wear. Silently he walked barefoot through the house to the converted garage, brimming with the excitement of starting something new.
Dazzling radiance filtered through the frosted skylights as the sun rose overhead, warming the art studio as he stood in front of the easel. After an hour of preliminary sketching, he’d chosen to discard his sable brushes in favor of feeling the creativity flow through his hands.
He wiped viridian-green paint off of his hands with a clean rag before pouring a small pool of linseed oil onto the wooden artist’s palette. Then he added a drop of yellow ochre to the cadmium yellow. After mixing them together, he smoothed the now transparent and glossy color onto the painting.
Brightly hued oils oozed between his fingers as he swirled the colors over the gesso-primed canvas. The stylized abstract was coming to life before his eyes and he knew he had Stevie to thank for his burst of inspiration. Being with her, he’d rediscovered joy and laughter, finally reconnecting with the person he hadn’t been in a long time.
Though he’d visited Naples a few weeks earlier, he hadn’t painted in months. Since Lina’s death, he’d been withdrawn, not really living so much as existing within the boundaries of cold, empty remorse. Overtown had left him with persistent doubts about his instincts and his honor.
Knowing it was against the rules, he’d gotten involved in a physical liaison with his informant. Lina quickly fell in love with him, and he’d allowed himself to love her in return. He should have kept her safe, should never have let his emotions get in the way and put her at risk. If he’d been thinking with his head instead of his heart, he would have questioned the information she gave him.
He might have saved her….
But despite his resolve, he saw himself making the same mistake of letting emotion rule his decisions. What he felt for Stevie he had no business feeling. Antes de Dios, he had never wanted to find himself in this position again, had done everything he could to avoid it. And yet the past couple of days had changed him.
Stephanie had changed him.
He chose the tube of phthalo blue, noticing for the first time how closely it matched the color of his lover’s eyes. He stood back from the canvas, assessing the finished work, damn pleased with what he saw. He’d created an abstract sunrise over the ocean, the horizon line following the curve of a woman’s profile with bright strands radiating from her body.
“It’s beautiful, Emelio. I think it may be the best work you’ve done.” At the sound of her honeyed voice, he looked away from the painting to the woman who inspired it, the woman who’d brought pleasure and passion back into his life.
Stevie was curled up in the recliner, wearing only a cotton T-shirt and panties. Sunlight gleamed on her cap of tousled hair, glowed on her flawless skin as she regarded him. Meeting her eyes, he saw the admiration in her slate-blue gaze.
“Good morning. How long have you been there?”
“A while.” She came to her feet and walked across the studio toward him. “I’m amazed, I really am. What a gift to be able to create something so beautiful and evocative.”
Her words filled him with pride and, embarrassed, he felt heat steal onto his face. “It’s just a painting.”
“Yeah.” She stroked her hand along his naked back. “And Everest is just a mountain.”
“I’m flattered by the comparison.” His chuckle turned into a hum of pleasure when she pressed her soft lips against his shoulder.
“Well, size does matter.” Stevie reached down to cup the placket of his jeans. “I’m so glad you’re not the smock-and-beret type because, I have to tell you, all of those paint flecks are turning me on.”
He grinned at the absurdity of her statement and the hot desire in her gaze. The heavy throb of sexual need stirred in the pit of his stomach as she ran her hands over his ba
re chest, spreading droplets of primary color across his skin.
With his paint-smeared hands held carefully out to the side, he tilted his head down and teased her lips apart with his tongue. His mouth slanted over hers again and again until she opened for him. Then she claimed his mouth in a kiss that was raw and lusty and left him gasping for air.
“I want your hands on me, Emelio.”
“I’ve got paint—”
“I don’t care.”
In the space of a heartbeat, Stevie found herself enveloped in his brawny arms. The heat of his body seared through the thin cotton of her shirt. Emelio made a rough, impatient sound in his throat as he held her to the distinct bulge of his erection. She pressed against him, rubbing her hardened nipples on his chest, until he slipped one denim-clad thigh between her legs.
The friction against her damp panties set off a firestorm of need that ignited in her belly and raced through her entire body. His large hand slid beneath her T-shirt to massage her breast, lightly pinching the nipple to a sensitive peak.
She laced her fingers behind his head, pulling him closer as she explored his mouth. His tongue traced sensual patterns around hers as heat spiraled in her womb. His wide, firm lips seared her with a kiss that was both giving and demanding. At an unspoken signal, they parted.
Stevie held his gaze, saw the golden sparks that leaped in his hazel eyes and shivered. She had to have him, right now. She yanked the T-shirt off then cocked her head toward the door.
“Bedroom?”
He shook his head as he peeled down his jeans. “Floor?”
She glanced over at the wall. “Sofa?”
“Table.” When a surprised giggle escaped her, he grinned. “Black-lace letter number eight, remember?”
Are you willing to indulge my fantasies, anytime, any place? You never know when I might grab your hand and just say, “now.” If you would be spontaneous and wild, then I’d be yours in black lace….
“Yeah, I remember.”
The look in his eyes literally made her quiver. Calm, cool and controlled? This man wore sexual magnetism as fire wore heat. In a lust-roughened voice he uttered a single word.
“Now.”
Stevie managed to wiggle out of her panties mere seconds before Emelio lifted her into his arms. He carried her over to an old wooden table, worn smooth over the years. After settling her on the edge, he swept the sketch pads and charcoal pencils to the floor.
She lay back, eagerly anticipating his claiming. But instead he kneeled down in front of her. His strong hands gripped her knees while he nibbled a path to her inner thighs. The feel of his tongue licking hot circles on her bare flesh sent bolts of delight along her belly. She gasped as the sharp edges of his teeth grazed her tender skin.
Stevie moaned aloud at the first touch of his mouth. She instinctively wriggled her hips to meet his every touch. The rough sensation laving the tiny bud of nerves urged her toward a quickly escalating orgasm. When his tongue delved inside her and his mouth created a gentle suction, her vaginal muscles clenched and shuddered with pleasure.
When she reached for him, Emelio stood up and nestled the engorged head of his penis between her thighs. He gazed down at her, motionless, the seconds ticking by with each beat of her heart. Then he plunged into her, filling her to the hilt.
Stevie arched her back, crying out with each powerful thrust. She crossed her calves behind his back to hold him in place, but he surprised her by bringing her legs around and resting her ankles on his shoulders. With her legs braced along his body like this, it changed the whole angle of penetration, and she finally discovered the infamous G spot. Hoo yah.
Emelio flexed his hips, increasing the friction along with the pace. She grabbed the edge of the table with both hands to keep from banging her head on the wall. Molten fire flooded her. As the delicious contractions held him deep inside her, he surged forward, groaning his own release.
A moment later, she gingerly lowered her legs. Emelio pulled out and offered his hand to help her up. He led her across to the sofa, lay down and pulled her on top of him. He draped his arms around her back, gliding his fingers over her glistening skin, and closed his eyes.
Stevie sighed contentedly and turned to rest her cheek on his shoulder. Something between them had changed. The sex had been just as hot, just as extreme as before. But she sensed a poignant connection that had been missing from their earlier encounters. She relaxed under the soothing massage of his touch and let her gaze drift to the painting across the room.
The work was stunning, probably the best he’d done. The brilliant swirls of color were more personal—she could see where his hands had connected with the canvas—and the composition symbolized renewal, beginnings, rebirth.
Tears pricked her eyes even as a rush of warmth spread through her. Her therapist had advised her not to be afraid of her feelings, to acknowledge and even celebrate them. She could almost see the fireworks display. A brass marching band played for all it was worth. The notion of confetti and streamers filled her heart.
She wasn’t ready for this. After warily controlling her every emotion for so many years, she felt vulnerable, uncertain and unprepared for what was happening. But how could a woman with a shadowed past resist a man who created sunlight?
THEY’D FORGOTTEN the condoms.
Stevie hesitated to broach the subject. But, it had to be asked. She wrapped her hair in one of the thick towels in the master bath, glancing over when Emelio stepped out of the shower. Watching him dry the moisture from his magnificent body, she had to clear her throat before speaking.
“We should probably talk about, um, what just happened. We weren’t too careful that time.”
“I know.” He winced. “Here I’ve been promising to keep you safe, but instead we got caught up in the moment.”
Stevie reached for the bottle of lotion and braced herself. “Now that it’s out in the open… I’ve only had sex with two people since leaving Tom, and I was excessively cautious with both of them. I need to know whether your, um, history, puts me at risk.”
He grabbed a brush and swept his damp hair back from his forehead, avoiding her gaze in the mirror. “I was involved with someone two years ago, but I know Lina was healthy.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Emelio hesitated and the room seemed stifling in the silence. “Lina was a virgin. She’d never been with anyone else.”
Something painful pierced his expression just before shutters came down over his gaze. Stevie chose not to pursue it; she was uncertain whether she wanted to delve into that particular past.
“Okay, what about since then?”
He dropped the brush and moved toward the bedroom. “The other night, I told you a little about what happened after Overtown. I, uh, haven’t dated much since then.”
Stevie hung up the towel and followed him out of the bath. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Emelio turned to cup her face between his palms. The look in his eyes was enigmatic, but tenderness infused his tone when he spoke. “There hasn’t been anyone in my life since Lina. Not until you.”
8
ROGELIO BRAGA STOOD at the picture window of his library. He looked out at the Atlantic but didn’t notice the beauty of the day. His eyes were focused on the past. He saw Carolína’s face the way he chose to remember her—untouched, unspoiled. The way she had looked before Sanchez corrupted her.
His sweet Carolína had been anxious to get away from Santo Domingo and experience the world. She’d come to America under his protection, with assurances to the family that he would educate her and see that she wanted for nothing.
Braga closed his eyes, remembering. He had showered her with attention and gifts, watching her blossom into a lovely young woman. And, in turn, Carolína had worshiped him, looking to him for guidance and affection. Over the years his desire for her had grown, but he’d held himself in check, reluctant to end her innocence too soon.
And then his plan ha
d gone wrong, horribly wrong. Emelio Sanchez entered their lives, and Carolína discovered the truth about the travel agency, the money laundering and about Braga. Never would he forget the hatred and betrayal in her gaze. Nor could he obliterate the images of her writhing naked beneath Sanchez’s rutting form.
He opened his eyes, cold fury churning inside him. For the past two years he had beaten every charge brought against him. More importantly, he’d beaten Sanchez and bided his time. Now he was close, so very close to achieving his goals.
He had maneuvered in Frankie Ramos’s shadow for too long, made too many sacrifices. All that he wanted was within his grasp. He would eliminate the head of the cartel and take Ramos’s place, his rightful place.
He would also get his revenge. Emelio Sanchez thought he was smart. But Braga was smarter. He had no idea where they had run to, but he would find out. Sanchez and his woman believed themselves safe. It was an illusion he very much looked forward to destroying.
“LOOKING FOR MORE NECKTIES?”
While Emelio pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a cream-colored polo shirt, Stevie rummaged through his walk-in closet. He wouldn’t refuse if she wanted to try light bondage herself this time.
“No, I’m putting on a disguise.”
Hmm. Which black-lace letter was that from? “Don’t bother, lady. I’d recognize you anywhere.”
“Even dressed like this?”
He turned to look at her and couldn’t help but grin. Despite her attempts to strut like a runway model, he didn’t know of any designer who’d have sketched this particular outfit.
Stevie had on one of his rugby shirts, buttoned to the neck and hanging down to the middle of her thighs. At least he thought they were her thighs. She was wearing his baggiest sweatpants, too. A paisley bandana totally covered her hair and her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. What made the outfit so comical was that his rugby shirt fit her.
