50_shades_ultimate

by user

  Slowly, a wry smile spread across Perez’s face.

  “There’s no bullets in this, is there?” I said.

  “Oh, but there is…however…” he reached out to slide the safety off, “…you might want to take that off first. Now…let’s get on with this. You have ten seconds before I take that gun away.” Perez started to count.

  I tried to pull the trigger, I really did, but something inside me just wouldn’t let me do it. Ten seconds later, he snatched the gun out of my hands. I knew I was being a fool, but I still felt a great wash of relief when the gun was out of my hands. “Now where were we?” He unclipped the gun so the bullets fell onto the floor, then put the safety back on and slid the gun along the silk of my thigh, the cold metal kissing me as he stroked it along my stockings. He moved up my body like a snake, covering even more of my body with his.

  When he reached my face, he thumbed my chin and looked deeply into my eyes. “You are a naughty princess, aren’t you?” But this time he sounded far less angry and far more male, and I felt an immediate trill down through my body at his words. “Turn over and give me your pretty ass, princess. It looks like spanking isn’t enough. You need a good fucking.”

  I never would have given in, were this Connor or any other guy I had ever known, and yet I obeyed Perez. A part of me even trusted him, as insane as that sounded. He shed his beautiful clothes quickly, and then his hands were molding to my burning sore ass cheeks and he said, “You are very hot this way, princess, with the imprint of my hand on your ass.” He nuzzled against my soreness, then forced my legs further apart so he could flit his tongue along my crack, licking at the wetness my slit was weeping at his words.

  I groaned into the pillows and bucked back against his licking, nipping mouth. His fingers parted my sore and tingling sex and his tongue pressed inward until I shuddered. His tongue lapped at my clit before sucking it deep into his mouth. He suckled me there fiercely, the way he’d suckled at my breasts. Meanwhile, his fingers stroked me inside and soon I was pressing my face deeper into the pillows and arching my back and spreading my legs further as I wantonly gave myself over to him. The desire to have him there, against me, inside me, taking me, was so powerful and elemental, I didn’t care about anything else, not tomorrow, not ten minutes from now. I didn’t care that I was sleeping with the enemy.

  Finally, Perez leaned over my body, pinning my upper half to the bed and molding the rest of his lithe body to the curve of my hip and ass. I groaned at the feeling of all his muscles rippling against my back. He took a moment to tear open a condom, and then his hands slid under my belly and closed over my dangling breasts. He squeezed my nipples and started pulling and twisting them, milking pleasure from my body even as he continued to whisper the most ridiculous, sexy and romantic things in my ear. The impressive crown of his cock rubbed against my ass and along my dripping slit, briefly parting my folds before withdrawing.

  “Quiero que me hagas el amor,” I told him, telling him exactly how much I wanted him to make love to me, and he grunted and pushed inward, stretching me but going slow, obviously aware of how large he was and maybe even a little afraid of hurting me. It took me a moment to adjust to his impressive girth, the way he filled me so fully, then he nipped at my ear and started bucking his hips, filling me sharply and completely before withdrawing and repeating the motion, each time claiming another inch inside me, each time making me groan into the pile of pillows and claw at the bedclothes…each time pushing me a little closer to yet another mind-blowing orgasm.

  But I needed more force, more pressure. I needed him harder inside me, harder. “Dear God, fuck me harder,” I begged in Spanish. “Harder, Perez, harder.”

  He complied by bridging my body and grabbing the back of my hair as he rammed me harder, harder than anyone ever had before, each punishing thrust making his balls thump my sore ass, each impact pushing me deeper into the pillows. Soon I was screeching at the sweet commingling of pain and pleasure as he took me, controlled me. His tongue slid along the side of my neck before his teeth found me, holding me fast as he pumped his engorged cock in and out of me so roughly I thought I would burst from the sensation.

  And then, finally, I did as a deep-body orgasm seized me and made me thrash beneath him. I screamed into the pillow as I felt him jam his dick as far inside as he could and shuddered in his own release. He growled and grunted as he came inside me, then pulled out, ripped away the condom, and jetted his warm, wet come against my back and ass. He came, and he came again, grunting and convulsing, this time spurting over my shoulders and into my hair.

  Together we collapsed to the bed. “Mi tesoro,” he said in a husky, passion-filled voice, calling me his treasure. He rubbed himself against me, rubbed his scent into my skin. Then he slapped my sore ass hard so hard I yelped and felt more of my juices flowing out of me. He climbed off the bed and I turned to watch him dress. I wallowed in the beautiful sight of his slim, naked, powerful body, and a part of me wondered how I had ever taken that much of a man inside me. Even spent he was huge.

  When he was done dressing, he picked up the gun and smiled sweetly at me as he scratched at the roughness of his cheek with the muzzle. “Thank you for that, princess. I enjoyed fucking you very much. But tomorrow you’ll tell me where the Golden Hand is, or you will die.”

  He slammed the door on his way out and I blew sticky, mussed hair off my face with exasperation.

  So much for my brilliant idea.

  * * *

  Despite my captor’s threats, I actually managed to get some sleep that night, but only because Perez had worn me out so completely. In fact, I was still tired (and rather delightfully sore) the next morning when the door opened.

  Perez was back, dressed in a dark navy power suit that fit him like a silken glove, and today his jawcut hair wasn’t slicked back but instead fell like a shining black curtain to frame his unfairly handsome face. He smiled at me in that cunning, vulpine way he had, and I immediately sat up in bed, clutching the sheet against my nakedness.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you, my princess,” he said, carrying another tray and setting it on the bed. “But I must know the whereabouts of the Golden Hand.”

  I felt a stab of weary anger. I was almost ready to tell him to just shoot me already. “And I’ll tell you again, Perez, I have no idea what that is or I’d happily give it to you.”

  “Would you now?”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

  “You enjoyed this last night very much.” He indicated the bed.

  I felt a blush consume my face, ears and throat as I remembered how he and I had screwed each other like two animals in heat. “I don’t know, Perez,” I sighed in frustration. “What does it look like? Maybe I’ve seen it.”

  His own face darkened with frustration, and I had a feeling that I hadn’t seen it, or if I had, I hadn’t recognized it for what it was. “I will come for you when dinner is ready,” he said, and let me go back to sleep.

  * * *

  Perez returned one time more to deliver a large gold box with a black ribbon tied around it. He told me to make myself presentable for dinner and that he would return for me in an hour. Inside the box I found a form-fitting black evening dress that was obviously of exquisite design. He’d also included earrings, a necklace, stockings, everything I would need for dinner. In the adjoining bathroom, I took a long hot shower and used the makeup I found in the medicine cabinet to make my dark eyes smoky and alluring. I left my hair down, allowing it to air dry so dark ringlets framed my face and trailed down my back. Finally, I found black evening shoes in the clothes closet in the bedroom in my size. Perez had thought of everything.

  An hour later, he unlocked the door and offered me his arm like a proper gentleman. I put my hand on it and he led me down a twist of corridors to a large, high-ceilinged dining room done in elegant, rustic décor, including a huge, hand-carved dining table and chairs, pine-hewn sidebar and little curio cabinets, and
a huge antlered chandelier full of lit candles. He talked to me softly as he fixed me a pre-dinner drink, asking me how I liked the dress and shoes, polite conversation you normally expected on a real date. When we reached the generous dining table laden with good linens and full of clusters of white candles, he pulled the chair out for me and told me to sit.

  As I sat down, I looked around for possible avenues of escape. He saw me looking and withdrew the gun from his holster, set it down halfway between us on the table, and went to his place at the head of the table. I looked at the gun, realizing it was both a challenge and a warning. If I was fast enough, and not chicken enough, I might be able to grab it and use it on him, then escape into the woods. But I knew I wouldn’t. I hadn’t killed him last night when I had the opportunity; I wouldn’t do it now.

  Instead, I raised the chafing dish before me and found a sophisticated chili relleno dish. Definitely upscale Mexican cuisine.

  “You’re very quiet this evening,” he said.

  “I’m not sure what to talk about.”

  “Let’s talk about the Golden Hand.”

  “Let’s not,” I commented. “Let’s talk about you, instead. Why did you bring me here, of all places?”

  He grew solemn for a moment and he set his napkin properly in his lap, then said, “When I was a boy, we lived in the housing projects down on the West Side, and my family was very poor. There were seven of us children. My father came to this country an illegal migrant worker, and my mother cleaned other women’s houses. I soon found myself on the streets and in a great deal of trouble.”

  I wasn’t especially surprised by his story. This was Chicago, and Perez was like a thousand other young Mexican men who had turned to crime for profit and a sense of purpose.

  “I saw many social workers and juvie halls over the years,” Perez continued. “They all had programs, however, one of them took children like myself out to the country for camping and sports. This area,” he made a circling motion to indicate the whole region, “was one of my favorite places to go. So, naturally, when I became head of Los Lobos, I made it my country home.”

  “I see.” Well, that explained his overreaction to my calling his country home a dump last night. “I’m sorry about what I said about this place.”

  Perez took a small, proper sip from his wine glass. I realized propriety meant a lot to him. “You have lived a privileged lifestyle, princess. I cannot expect you to understand what a sanctuary this place is to me.”

  I cut apart my food and start shoveling it a bit gracelessly into my mouth. There was a chance it was poisoned, of course, but I found I couldn’t care less. I was starving and it was delicious.

  Perez was smiling at me politely, trying to hide his mouth with his napkin.

  “What?” I said.

  “It’s nothing. I like a woman who is not afraid to eat in front of a man.” He looked me over as if he were thinking of eating me. “I may need to keep you around, princess.”

  “Women who eat too fast generally get very fat,” I pointed out. I waved my fork around. “Scratch that…I’m already fat.”

  Perez looked insulted. “Who said you were fat?”

  I didn’t say Connor, though he had indicated on several occasions that I ate like a horse. Instead, I stood up to show him how well I filled out my size twelve dress. It didn’t have a tag, as most haute couture dresses didn’t, but I knew I took a size twelve…and, depressingly enough, sometimes a size fourteen if I was feeling particularly lonely and hitting the Ben & Jerry’s too often. Juanita often joked I was a fat person hiding inside a slightly less fat person.

  I said that to Perez, hoping he would lose all interest in me, but he simply shrugged a shoulder and said, “If you outgrow this dress, then I shall make you more dresses in more appropriate sizes.”

  “Make me dresses?” I said, thinking I hadn’t heard right.

  “I make my own clothing,” he said, folding his hands before him and looking very smug.

  “I don’t understand. What kind?”

  “All kind. Everything.” He stood up to show me his fantastic dinner suit. It was a creamy off-white with a black silk shirt beneath, all of it perfectly molded to his body, and it made him look every bit like some Prohibition gangster.

  “You made that suit?” I said, trying to keep my jaw from dropping.

  “This suit…all my suits. And the dress you wear.”

  I looked down at the dress. “I thought this was a Versace.”

  Perez smiled, quite pleased with himself. “When I was a boy, I was too poor to own the ‘hip’ clothes the other boys had, so I made my own, based on the designs of the clothes I saw every day at my school. Now I design my clothing according to the best known designers.”

  I looked at him with new eyes. “You can completely reproduce any set of clothing from any designer?”

  He stepped around the table and approached me. “And sometimes I design my own. It is not so hard.”

  “Maybe for you!” I said. I couldn’t even refasten a loose button without drawing my own blood.

  He pinned me against the table and traced the line of the dress. “Does the dress please you, princess?”

  I felt my heart skip up near my throat. “It’s beautiful, Perez,” I told him honestly. “Simply amazing.”

  He eyed me carefully. “I have this dream, you see. I want to establish my own design studio, my own line of clothing, and I could do that, but first I need a great deal of capital. But if I could do it, I could leave the Surenos forever. However, you must tell me where the Golden Hand is located.”

  He had changed tactics, but I sighed at his persistence all the same. At this point, I was more than willing to give the Golden Hand to him with a great big bow on top…if I only knew what the hell he was talking about. And then it occurred to me. My father’s personal hobby was diving for lost treasures off the coasts of Cuba and Mexico. He’d spent months doing it every year, and as a result, he’d built up an impressive collection of artifacts. One of the items in his collection was a statue of a golden mermaid holding a conch shell aloft. It had been salvaged from a luxury ship that had sunk in the early 1930’s. I wondered if that was the Gold Hand. “If I gave you the Golden Hand, would you really let me go?” I asked, banking on the idea that he was a man of his word. I didn’t know if that was true, but it was the only angle I had going.

  Perez’s dark eyes lit up. “You have my word, princess.”

  “It’s in my father’s study,” I told him. “It’s still there. I’ve kept it and everything else he had and I’ll be more than willing to ask someone to deliver it to you, if it means that much to you.”

  Perez took a step back. “You don’t know, do you?”

  Frustration overwhelmed me. “What else could it be? What else can I give you, Perez?”

  He shook his head in rage and frustration and went to one wall where a bookcase held maybe a hundred old books. He took down a well-worn book and brought it to me, opening it up so I could see a woodcut of a collection of carracks and galleons. He tapped one of the pictures. “The Golden Hand was a Portuguese galleon launched in 1660. It was considered the biggest ship of its time. It carried over two hundred pieces of artillery and was able to carry up to two tons of cargo. It sank off the Skeleton Coast of Namibia, in Africa, but among its cargo is an unrecovered fortune in gold coins and other precious items.”

  I looked at the moody pictures of the galleon. “What makes you think I would know anything about this? This is the first I’ve heard of this.”

  Perez gave me a shrewd look. “On the last day of your father’s life, he went to meet with my father, then the leader of the Los Lobos, about their plans to salvage the treasure of The Golden Hand. The project was located in a restricted diamond mining area, and it was going to cost a fortune in sea-walling—the process of maintaining a dyke to keep the sea at bay. Their understanding was that because my father had drug cartel connections with Africa, he would aid your father in the excavatio
n in return for half of the profits from the wreck.” He slammed the book closed. “But something went wrong in the negotiations, and both our fathers were killed. It is believed our fathers had a disagreement, and unable to meet a compromise, your father pulled a gun on mine. My father retaliated, and both our fathers were murdered that day.”

  I stood there a long moment, trying to digest all this new information. I had no doubt that Perez was telling the truth, but I didn’t want to believe him. I didn’t want to believe my daddy had killed Perez’s father over some 350-year-old shipwreck.

  “I don’t believe you!” I screeched and tried to strike him.

  He caught my wrist in his hand, holding me at bay. He looked at me darkly. “The story goes that before your father died, he taunted my father by telling him that he gave the coordinates to The Golden Hand to his greatest treasure—you—and that I would never discover it.” He squeezed my wrist until the pressure of it drove me to my knees before him. “But I will find it. It is my birthright. You owe it to me, princess! I’ve waited long enough.”

  The mood had changed, and suddenly the man looming over me was dangerous. Poverty and desperation can do that to a man.

  I started to cry. “I don’t know anything about that, Perez! My father never told me anything about his business. You have to believe me.”

  He yanked me to my feet and dragged me back to my room. “Then figure it out!” he said as he threw me inside. “Or tomorrow evening you die.”

  * * *

  I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of the bedroom door opening and then the bed taking on weight. I turned over in bed and found Perez leaning over me, partially covering me with his body. He was naked and dressed only in a thin silken dressing robe that he’d left untied so his naked skin could rub against mine. Through the barred bedroom window, the full moon picked out the hard plains of his chest and abs, the rippling muscles of his lower stomach and partially erect cock. He touched my face and drew the roughness of his thumb down the plain of my cheek.