Blurring the Line

by Kierney Scott

“You were in shock. I’ve seen stupider things.”

  “What about you? Why are you OK?”

  “I told you. I’ve seen more than my fair share of murders.”

  Beth paused. She shouldn’t ask. Torres was very clear; there were certain things he did not discuss. But she needed to know. She even wanted details. Because…because…it was Torres and for some insane reason she had a connection with the terrifying man she was cuddled up against. She wanted to understand him, or at least know him better. “Is this how you were when Archila died?”

  Torres tensed; every muscle in his hard body contracted, rebelling against the question. She had gone too far. For a long time he didn’t speak. “No,” Torres finally said. “It wasn’t the same. By that point my emotions had been dulled by everything I had seen in Iraq. There were no tears, just anger, lots of anger and guilt. There has been plenty of guilt since then.”

  She shouldn’t press her luck but she needed to know more. Her fingers brushed the hard plane of his chest where his scar was. The skin was raised and knotted, but the texture had the odd smoothness of new skin. The muscles below the skin hardened under her touch. “Was it Archila who pulled you to safety in Iraq?”

  Torres nodded. “I was unconscious. My body was on fire. I would have died if it weren’t for Moses. I don’t even know if I remember the explosion, or I am remembering things I have been told. The only thing I remember was waking up in a hospital in Germany. I wish I could remember more then I might know what Moses went through. I might understand. I don’t know.” His deep voice trailed off.

  Beth understood the logic. “You think if you remembered, you might understand why he got involved with Los Zetas?”

  Torres shrugged. “Maybe. I should have that memory.”

  “Because you want to feel that pain too.” Beth said. It was like when she cut her hand and wanted to feel the pain not just see the blood. She understood that need.

  Beth pushed further. He may tell her to go to hell but she felt the need to try. “But you have the memory of Archila being murdered.”

  “Some of it. I followed Moses. We had a fight. He told me to get lost. But I couldn’t. His life was spiralling out of control. The last thing I remember was being shot and Moses screaming at me to run and save myself. I tried to get help but I had lost too much blood. I collapsed and then I woke up in another hospital, this time in Laredo. Moses was dead. He had been shoved in a barrel and set on fire. And then I met you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Beth said again. That was the Zetas’ trademark. She had read about it too many times to count but she never personally knew any of the people involved. Her heart stopped when she realised that the next body in the barrel could easily be Torres.

  “Me too.”

  For a long time they sat in silence. The strong thud of Torres’ heart beat against her side.

  “I had a nightmare tonight. Do you get those too?”

  “I find not sleeping helps with those.”

  Beth nodded. “But they get better, right?”

  Torres smoothed down her hair, the palm of his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. “Yeah,” he said softly. His hand felt good on her body, strong and warm.

  He was lying, she could tell, but she was grateful nonetheless. “Thank you, Torres.”

  “For what, Gatita?”

  This time the nickname made her smile “Thanks for talking me through my meltdown.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Torres?”

  “Yeah?”

  She had already pushed too far but she may as well go for broke. She ran her hand along his chest again. “Why did you get a Santa Muerte tattoo? Was it an initiation?” She was glad they hadn’t pulled his teeth. Torres had a nice smile.

  Torres shook his head. “I didn’t want to look at the scar any more.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. The tattoo made sense. People see it and no one questions my loyalty to the Zetas. But I got it for me because I would rather see that than the burns. Santa Muerte means nothing to me in case you’re still worried I’ve gone native.”

  “No I’m not worried about that any more.” Beth took a deep breath. “I trust you.” Those were words she never thought she would say to Torres, but she did, on some small level.

  Torres tensed. “Why now?”

  Beth shrugged. “Because my expectations have changed. I am very intense and I’m pretty black and white. You may have seen that.”

  “Yeah it has come up.”

  “Well,” Beth continued, “I guess I’ve always thought trust was an absolute. Either you trusted people or you didn’t, so everyone automatically fell in the ‘don’t’ category. It is kind of my default setting. But maybe trust is more situational…a kind of nebulous thing. I may just be talking nonsense, so feel free to disregard all or most of what I say. But anyway, I trust you not to go native or kill me in my sleep.” If Torres were going to kill her, it would have been today when she took Alejandra. She would have killed her if the roles had been reversed or at least battered her to within an inch of her life.

  “That’s comforting.”

  “It is actually a big step for me.”

  “I can tell. Is that where the trust ends? You are certain I won’t kill you?”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” Beth laughed. “No I guess I trust you not to physically hurt me in any way.” He had had the opportunity. She had made him angry enough, if he was going to snap he would have shown signs by now. And when he heard gunshots in Culiacan, he acted immediately, holding her down, protecting her with his body. He hadn’t even had time to think; he just acted. Even if it were instinct, they weren’t the actions of a man that would hurt her.

  “But mentally is still up for discussion?”

  Beth took a deep breath. There were a million ways to inflict pain on someone mentally but for most of those she would need to be emotionally invested for it to really hurt. Lucky for her she was smart enough not to let that happen with anyone. “I don’t think you would wilfully subject me to any harm,” Beth admitted.

  “Not wilfully, but I might accidently?” Torres clarified.

  “Are you being intentionally pedantic?”

  “Just trying to work out your parameters.”

  Beth sighed in exasperation. She wasn’t even sure what she meant. “Look, what I mean is I trust you as much as I can trust someone, OK?”

  “I see.”

  Beth waited for Torres to expand on his thoughts but he didn’t.

  She promised herself not to ask but eventually the silence chipped away at her resolve. “What do you see?”

  “You.” His breath was hot on her cheek, his lips only inches away from hers. “I see that you don’t trust me. You never will.”

  Her skin tingled where his hot breath cooled on her neck. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Her mind blank, all conscious thought pushed out by the primal need for connection. “I don’t need to trust you, Torres.” She didn’t. She was starting to understand that Torres filled another need in her life. He was a beautiful distraction. “I’m always worried. About everything. About—” Beth stopped herself. The list was too long. “But when I’m with you…I forget.” His body was hard beneath her, a solid impenetrable wall, scarred and tattooed, dangerous and comforting. “I like the way you make me forget,” she whispered breathlessly. He was so close, but not close enough. She balled her hands into fists to keep from running them over his bare chest. She breathed in deeply, absorbing his thick masculine scent, clean and musky at the same time: perfect. She was scared but not for her usual reasons, those fears were gone, replaced by the immense presence of Torres.

  “You want me to help you forget.” It wasn’t a question or maybe it was, Beth couldn’t think. No she wouldn’t let herself think, she just wanted to feel, the fear and exhilaration. She knew what he was asking and she knew there were reasons she should say no, but she couldn’t hear them. Somewhere deep in her mind they were rumbling, but the
y were drowned out by the thunderous rush of blood coursing through her body.

  Wordlessly she nodded her head. She couldn’t find the words to speak, or maybe she didn’t trust herself to say anything.

  “Are you sure?” he asked again. His low voice was hoarse.

  She knew he wouldn’t ask again. Everything that happened after this point was up to him. The control was there, hers for the taking…but she could give it to him. Once she said yes, the control, the power was his. Terror and passion surged through her, mingling in the pit of her stomach, sending tendrils of desire over her body. She swallowed again, knowing this was the last moment she would still be in control. She wanted to prolong the moment, or maybe savour it.

  She closed her eyes. “I’m sure.”

  Torres’ hand slid down her back. His large hand cupped her ass. Her body tensed, a reflex, an artefact from her conscious mind. Gently he lifted her off his lap and sat her on the couch. He stood between her legs. There was just enough light from the kitchen to make out the hard lines of his body; so powerful so strong. She licked her dry lips, the anticipation fluttering in her stomach like the frantic wings of a hummingbird.

  “Take off your clothes,” he commanded. There was nothing sweet or soft about his tone, just a command she must obey. The fear returned but it was accompanied by desire she had never experienced. Anticipation coiled in her, like a serpent ready to strike.

  Wordlessly she complied. She raised her hips and he pulled her shorts off her in one smooth motion. He leaned in. She closed her eyes, and waited for his mouth to find hers. But it didn’t.

  “Lift up our arms.” There was a brutal harshness in his tone.

  In an instant her T-shirt was on the ground beside her shorts. Her left arm went to her chest, crossing over her, an attempt to conceal her breasts.

  Torres shook his head. His eyes were narrowed, focused on her. He took her hands and pushed them down against the cushions. For a long moment he stared at her, examining every inch of her. Every place his gaze went, immediately ignited. She pushed down the wave of self-consciousness. She wished the room were black. She felt naked and exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never experienced.

  She probably should tell him. But then he might stop, or laugh at her. She couldn’t take the humiliation. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to tease out some reason from her ambivalence. Shit he was going to laugh at her. Or know for sure she really was a pathetic cat lady. But he needed to lower his expectations.

  She opened her eyes. He was still looking at her, scrutinising every aspect of her being. Shit she just needed to be straight with him, better embarrassed now than mortified later. “Torres, don’t get your expectations up. I’m…” The words caught in her throat. Her face was burning now. “I’m really bad in bed. Just to let you know.” She closed her eyes again; she didn’t need to see the smirk she knew would be on his full lips.

  There she’d said it. It was out there now and she couldn’t take it back.

  “Who told you that, Gatita?”

  Was he smirking? She couldn’t tell. His voice was low and thick, almost a growl.

  “Not Neil, because you haven’t slept with him.” Torres attempted to answer his own question. He dropped to his haunches at her feet. He picked up her foot and stroked the sole, the pad of his thumb kneading gently. The breath she had been holding came out in a hot rush. He lifted her foot higher. He licked the delicate arch. Sensation flowed up her leg, like an electric current, gathering in her core.

  “Who said you weren’t good in bed?” he asked again. This time she could hear the smile in his voice.

  Beth shook her head. “I’m just not.”

  “Hmm,” was his only response. He returned his mouth to her, this time the tender spot behind her knee.

  “Ahh,” she whispered when the coarse stubble of his beard rubbed against the delicate flesh. Her body was exquisitely sensitive, each sensation magnified to the point of almost being unbearable. His hands forced her knees apart until she was spread open for him, completely exposed. She held her breath as she waited for him to penetrate her.

  But he didn’t, he just gazed at her naked body. Slowly his hand worked up her legs. He started at her ankles. With each inch he moved up her legs, the tension mounted. He stroked the inside of her thighs. A wave of searing heat shot through her. His hand moved to her mound, stroking the intimate curls. He was still staring at her, his eyes focused as he studied her, almost in veneration. It was too intimate, too much. She tried to press her legs together but he stopped her. He shook his dark head as he spread her legs further. Everything, all of her was on display to him. And then as if to expose her more, he ran a finger down her cleft, gently separating the folds of flesh, exposing the delicate bud at the centre. She sucked in a sharp breath.

  It was too much. She tried to push his hand away but he grabbed her wrists and held them firm. His hands were strong as they closed around her arms like cuffs. She couldn’t move. She had agreed to this. Beth’s heart beat faster. He was in control; she had given it to him. Fear shot through her again and again it was overpowered by desire. She wanted him to have the control, to take it from her completely.

  His mouth lowered. He licked the inside of her thigh, running his tongue up higher and higher. With each inch he moved closer, she fought the desire to push him away. But she didn’t want him away; she wanted him on her, in her. She didn’t want to feel this exposed but it was the price he demanded for the relief he promised.

  His tongue slid higher again, almost there, the place where all her sensation centred. She could feel her pulse everywhere, a frantic pulsing of blood being carried to the centre. But then he stopped. His mouth dropped lower, returning to the flesh behind her knee. It was nice, it felt good, but that wasn’t where she needed him.

  She shifted her hips, inviting, demanding. With one strong hand he pushed her down. Beth sucked in small gasps of air. His mouth was on her again, working her way up her thigh. She spread her legs further. She didn’t even realise she was doing it; she had no control of her body. There was a force at work greater than her conscious mind. He licked higher and higher. Again he ran his hand along her cleft, following the seam to the slick entrance of her body. His hand was poised but he didn’t enter her. He traced faint circles around and around and then slowly dipped his finger in. Her body clamped around him, needing more, but he withdrew his finger slowly. He was punishing her. It was torture. How could something feel so good and be so frustrating at the same time?

  His hand moved higher until he found her clit. Softly he stroked. Beth writhed against him, rubbing herself wantonly against his hand, languishing in the feel of his rough skin against her sensitive flesh. Her inhibitions and embarrassment were gone. She was driven by a force she could not control. Her head fell to the side. She was so wet, so ready. He continued to stroke her bringing her higher and higher, pushing her closer to the edge.

  But again his hand left her. Her eyes opened. Again she pushed her hips up, seeking the release his hands could bring. But again he pushed her hips down. He was in charge. All control was his.

  His head lowered to her stomach. He trailed soft kisses across the soft curve of her belly from one hipbone to the other. And then he licked her navel, his tongue darting in and out.

  “Torres,” she said breathlessly. He was torturing her. He had to know that. She was almost there. The slightest touch and she would explode, but he was keeping it from her. “Please,” she begged.

  “Please what?”

  “Please,” she said again.

  “Tell me what you want, Gatita, and I’ll do it.” His hand was on her again, rubbing the delicate folds, getting closer and closer to her clit with each carnal loop.

  Her mouth was too dry for words. “You. Torres, I need you. Please.”

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

  Beth tried to swallow but she couldn’t. She couldn’t. “No…please, Torres.”

  His thumb stroked
her. A bolt of pleasure shot through her. She writhed against him. She was going higher again, higher than before, but still not there. She needed more. Just one more touch.

  But again he stopped, leaving her on the cusp. “Where do you want me?” His still hand was on her. Heat radiated off him.

  “Torres please,” she gasped. She was panting now, her breaths shallow from desire. He knew what she needed. She needed him, his hands, his mouth, his cock.

  “Say it. Tell me where you want me.”

  “I can’t.” Her head fell again to the side. The sensation was too much.

  “Tell me or I’ll stop.” His hand slowed.

  “Please,” she begged.

  “You want my mouth, don’t you? My lips.” He lowered his head and licked her thighs. “And my tongue.” He licked her higher.

  Beth moaned. “Yes, I want your tongue. Please Torres. Please use your tongue.”

  But he didn’t move from her thighs. “Where do you want my tongue?”

  Beth moaned again, the sweetest of pressure was building, so intense it almost hurt.

  “Say it in Spanish. Tell me where you want my mouth. Tu verija ? Tu cachucha? Tu guayabo? Tu chocho? Tu pepita? Tu palomita?”

  His voice pushed her higher. His words were harsh and dirty…vulgar and erotic. She couldn’t speak. There were no words, only need. Her legs quivered. She could not control it. Again she moaned. Her voice, like her legs were not her own.

  Slowly he lowered his head. His tongue licked her folds.

  And then his mouth latched onto her, sucking gently while his tongue stroked her over and over like the strumming of a guitar.

  Beth cried out. The pleasure was too much. Bright colours exploded behind her lids as her body spasmed with the intensity of her orgasm. Over and over waves of pleasure battered her body.

  She was suspended in the pleasure of the moment; everything else had disappeared.

  She felt Torres rise and return to his seat beside her.

  Slowly her body relaxed with sweet exhaustion.

  “People aren’t good or bad in bed, Gatita. It is about the chemistry of the people.”