“—and don’t share sensitive information or repeat anything I hear or see—”
“Well.” The air shifted as something cold passed over his face, and he inclined his head, leaning over me. “Sensitive or otherwise, no information leaves these walls. None. That’s not a rule, it’s a way of life, and I’d assumed it would go without saying. You can eavesdrop all you like because I know you understand—opening your mouth would be a death sentence.”
I hadn’t told Diego anything, but my throat still constricted thinking about the phone upstairs. I laced my fingers in my lap, squeezing them together as I held his gaze. “I wouldn’t.”
“And none of those are what I was going to say anyway,” he said, smoothing his hand down the front of his shirt. “You will be at my dinner table and in my bed every night. Even when I’m not here. If ever the day comes when you’re missing from either, I’ll assume you’re gone.”
I blinked up at him a few times, recalling his same words from the night before. “That’s a rule?”
“It’s the rule, sweet butterfly,” he said. “If you’re not at my table or in my bed, I’ll have no choice but to assume you left.”
“I can’t even step off the property,” I pointed out.
“Can’t and shouldn’t are two different things. I haven’t chained you to a post. If you want to leave, you’ll find a way—as those who are whip smart and resourceful tend do. You’ve been honing those traits since childhood.”
To my dismay, I blushed. Whip smart? Resourceful? Papá hadn’t thought so. More like disobedient and sneaky. Or stealthy, as Diego had called me.
Cristiano set one hand on the table next to me and the other on the arm of my chair. No, he hadn’t chained me up, but his body trapped me now. A powerful frame that acted as a reminder that my husband could flip at any moment and take what he wanted from his wife.
“I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” he said, “but I will so there’s no confusion. If you fly away, so does my protection. I said I wouldn’t set the Maldonados, or whoever else holds a grudge against your family, on the people you love—but I’ve been known to change my mind.”
I’d grown too comfortable today. My stomach fluttered with fear but also with a sense of satisfaction. This was more like it. Now, he was treating me the way I’d expected, and it made more sense than serving me a four-course dinner garnished with memories of Mamá.
His threats weren’t idle. I’d always known of his ruthlessness. But for some reason, he seemed to be holding back with me, and that only confused my time here. Hoping to provoke him to see if he even knew how far he’d go, I asked, “What does it mean to change your mind?”
By the way his bloodless knuckles curled on the table, my prodding worked. “Let’s work through this, shall we? I could set them loose like a rabid dog in a chicken coop. They’d snap the old rooster’s neck—that’s Papá to you—and tear chicken-shit little Diego limb from limb. They’d definitely knock Barto off his high horse and obliterate all the men who’d ever breathed a word near your father, including townspeople. Maybe even Pilar. Definitely your mother’s family at their farm north of here.”
I stilled. It made perfect sense that Cristiano knew of them—it’d been his job to once—but it disquieted me nonetheless. I’d never met my mother’s parents since she’d chosen cartel life with my father and had severed ties to keep them out of danger. But they’d always been in it, emotional leverage in the shadows, and they didn’t even realize it.
“But what about you? How would you fare without my protection?” Cristiano continued. “Such a beautiful girl who can’t fight . . . they would find you. Easily.” He ghosted his knuckle under my chin. “You’ve accused me of many things. What was it? Worked, passed around, sold? You were worried I’d invite half the town to fuck you.” His dark eyes reflected the cool blue of the pool as he passed them over me. “You must understand, Natalia. They would do all of that and worse. And never forget that I could, too, with less than a snap of my fingers.”
I’d hunched back into my seat, cowering from him, but when my attention snagged on one word, I straightened. “Could?” I asked. “Or would?”
His eyes drifted down to the strapless neckline of my dress. Instead of answering, he said, “Don’t give my staff any trouble while I’m away, and we can take out the horses when I return.”
Cristiano would go all the way up to the line, but something kept him from crossing it. He had the power and inclination to treat me however he wanted, or at least scare me so badly that I never stepped out of line. And he had the reputation to back it up. But he wouldn’t. Why not? What was that raw place in him I’d touched when I’d equated my being here with human trafficking?
“You have horses?” I asked.
“You already met mine, remember?”
How could I forget being forced onto a saddle and stolen away from a burning warehouse while the love of my life had been inside. Or that confusing mix of relief and safety as I’d submitted to the things I couldn’t stop—the wind in my hair, Cristiano’s body cocooning mine, the sound of hooves pounding the solid ground as the desert had spread out before us.
My most unbearable memories of my mother were those of laughing and riding free on our horses. Nothing took me back to those days like the smell, sound, and feel of riding a horse. I worried if I ever took the reins again, I’d keel over from a broken heart. I looked away. “I don’t ride. Not anymore.”
“Then you can stay in the house while I go.”
I jerked my head up and met his glittering eyes. “You’re a dick.”
Still bent at the hip, he removed his hand from the table to pinch my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Not yet, but I can be if you like. Perhaps as payback for slapping me in the church in front of my men, I ought to gather the staff out here and spank you for your attitude. Now, that would make me a dick.”
“You won’t,” I said.
“How do you know?”
Because that would be over the line. “You just gave me your word you’d never let anyone lay their eyes on me,” I challenged, “and I’m pretty sure that includes my bare ass. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’d like to let Alejandro take a swat.”
“Go upstairs,” he bit out before I’d even finished my sentence. “You’ll find a closet full of new things, all in your size. Don’t touch a single garment.” He paused to let me connect the meaning of his words to his fiery gaze. “Take off your clothes and wait for me in bed.”
My heart skipped. He sounded more serious than he had yet—and more menacing, which was welcome. We both knew what he was, but he hadn’t fully stepped into the role yet. A captor, rapist, and monster with heroic restraint had kept me on edge more than anything.
Whatever he was, I was ready to face it. I shoved my seat back from the table, took one last healthy gulp of wine, and marched upstairs.
In the closet, I slammed the door. Each hanger had been filled during our meal—floral summer dresses, beaded ball gowns, silk blouses in every color of the rainbow, wool slacks. T-shirts and jeans piled to the tops of each shelf. The stilettos, pumps, sneakers, and sandals lining one wall were so dazzling that I had to force myself to look away so I wouldn’t lose focus.
I wasn’t here to play dress up. To fall into the role of wife and keep house. I was something much uglier—a captive who’d been bestowed with a closet of beautiful things but had been sent to bed with nothing.
My dresser drawers were filled with satin and silk, lace, rhinestones, and scalloped trim. I stripped down and rifled through his drawers instead for the most unattractive thing I could find.
He wanted me naked in his bed? He’d have to look me in the eye as he stripped me of his clothing and my choice.
I pulled on his sweatpants, knotted the drawstring as tightly as I could, and threw on a matching black sweatshirt.
As I whirled around to march out of the closet, I stopped cold. My wedding dress hung elegantly on the back of the door
, clean and pressed on a cream, padded, satin hanger. I approached it slowly, with bated breath, as if it might dissolve beneath a sigh. I ran the ivory lace through my hands and removed the hanger from its hook to turn it, inspecting the back. The lace that had ripped in a clean line along the column of buttons had been repaired, and the damage was barely noticeable. Somebody very talented—and very fast—had fixed this. But why?
Was it possible Cristiano had felt a shred of remorse upon discovering this had been my mother’s dress?
I saved the thought for another time. Right now, I couldn’t think of any decency that might be buried under his cold demeanor.
With a sound in the next room, I replaced the hanger and walked out of the closet.
Cristiano unbuckled his watch by the bed. He glanced briefly at my outfit, then back down. “We’ll have to work on your listening skills,” he said, his watch clattering on the nightstand.
I continued to my side of the bed and slipped between the sheets before turning my back to him.
But within seconds, he was standing over me.
I stared forward, avoiding him as he took his time unbuttoning and removing his shirt. As he discarded it, I caught the shadowed ridges of his abdominal muscles.
“Look at me.”
I was afraid I’d lose my nerve if I did, but when he reached out, I flinched, rolling onto my back as I raised my eyes to him.
“Let me list all the things you think could stop me but wouldn’t,” he said, peeling the top sheet away from my body. “Sweatpants. Your period. Diego. Your father.”
He ghosted the back of his hand down the front of the sweatshirt. I didn’t even have to feel it to sense his hand stop at the tie of my pants.
“I know what will stop you,” I said.
“Tell me.”
Cristiano wanted to test me. I could play that game, too. He wasn’t the only one who could take us to the edge, but would he push me over . . . or pull me back at the last second?
My heart raced as I let one leg fall open. “Yours.”
His gaze darted to my hand as I placed it on the inside of my thigh. “My what?” he asked hoarsely.
Diego had been right about one thing—Cristiano had somehow convinced himself he was different from the other unforgivable people in this world who played with human lives. He’d played with mine, and he didn’t get to ignore that. “Your father.”
He froze as if a chill had fallen over the room—while my body continued to warm. Even though he towered over me, it felt as if I was the one looking down on him. A shadow passed over his face, and his jaw firmed, its angles sharp enough to cut glass. But nothing sliced as deep as words. “What did you tell me once?” I asked. “Nobody thinks they’re a monster?”
He swallowed with a quick nod.
He hadn’t even touched me, but his magnetic hand continued to hover. I resisted the urge to lift my hips to meet it. “You run the same business your father did on a much larger scale. Somehow, you’ve justified that to yourself, but if nobody else will tell you, I will. You are your father.”
He made a fist, veins winding like vines around his dark forearm. I let my eyes travel up to the solid, thick muscles of a powerful bicep. Tense muscles that looked as if they were on the verge of exploding like his temper. “You’re wrong.”
“I don’t think I am.” And as someone from his past, how did I fit in? Cristiano could’ve had anyone in his bed, but he’d chosen me. Maybe it was only that I meant something to Diego. But perhaps it was more. He’d watched me grow up. He’d protected me from people like him.
His long lashes lowered. The promise of his father was enough to scare him off, I was sure. He unfurled his hand, flexing it. I left my leg open, expecting him to withdraw but tempting him to give in to the darkness behind his eyes.
He stretched his long fingers and brushed the stiff fabric. Reflexively, I grabbed his wrist. I’d called his bluff, and he’d called mine right back. Realizing he was going to touch me, a thread of desire yanked inside me. Hands the size of my head—that had wrapped around men’s throats, had both commanded artillery and cradled me as a baby—wouldn’t relent until they’d made me feel terrifying things, like euphoria. Bliss. Or worse, connection. What if Cristiano made me feel so good that I began to crave—or need—a man I was supposed to fear? Already, I had the unsettling impulse to pull his fingers down so he could soothe this new ache when I should’ve pushed him away.
With lightning speed, he flipped his hand to capture my wrist.
I exhaled a soundless gasp. My helplessness was instant, along with a new, deep-seated yearning to submit. Being in his firm grip turned the gentle pulse between my legs into an angry throb. He could overpower me without much effort. And I wanted it. Every heated look, every restrained touch, and each inciting, sizzling word he’d uttered in my ear since he’d come back into my life suddenly culminated inside me, demanding relief.
I lifted my hips just enough to draw his eyes back to them.
He released my wrist, my skin prickling with the loss of his heat. After rounding the bed and unbuttoning and removing his pants, he climbed under the covers next to me.
Warmth spread through me. My nipples tingled as I waited for him to roll over and be inside me like he’d promised he would.
Promised? He’d meant that as a threat.
But I wasn’t scared. I was turned on, and he wasn’t doing anything about it.
That was it?
After what felt like minutes of nothing, I moved my head over my shoulder. Silence. Then, for the first time in this bed, I turned to him.
On his back, he had his eyes on the ceiling, but they drifted to meet mine.
All pretense evaporated, and I bit my bottom lip.
He licked his.
The small distance between us nearly crackled with heat.
And yet, Cristiano somehow remained cool. Just like our wedding night, he’d made me admit the worst to myself—that I wanted it. All so he could assert his dominance by leaving me on the ledge alone.
“I knew you wouldn’t do it,” I said, acid on my tongue, and turned forward again.
Suddenly, he was at my back, his mouth at my ear. “Tell me something, sweet Natalia.” He reached over me, took my hand, and pushed it past my waistband, down the front of my pants. “What filth runs through your mind when you touch your pretty pussy? What do you fantasize about?”
Unable to hide my sharp pang of desire, I sucked in an audible breath. “Not you.”
Over my underwear, he used my own fingers to apply pressure to my clit. “I already know that,” he said, heat gathering beneath his touch. “Because you need permission to go into the darkest corners of your fantasies. I can give you that.”
He held my hand there but didn’t move. He wanted me to scrape the barrel of my mind, and he knew I wouldn’t do it on my own. Just the thought, just hearing pussy spill from his lips, my stomach filled with butterflies. I chased the feeling, pushing my hips against my palm, and was rewarded with a ribbon of bliss.
“Getting fucked by me doesn’t scare you. You’re only afraid you’ll enjoy it. And that afterward, you might want it. And that you won’t be able to resist asking for it.” He met my next thrust, pressing my hand against the pulsating knot between my legs. With the thrill it inspired, I bit my lip to contain my whimper. “That’s why you won’t call yourself my wife. It’s easier to play my captive. Follow that path, in the privacy of your mind. I will you to. See how long it takes you to come.”
I slipped into that rare and mystifying sense of safety I’d found with him before. I’d been in more precarious situations with him than this one, and he hadn’t hurt me. I’d known he wouldn’t. I trusted that instinct now, closed my eyes, and let myself fall into pleasure’s tightening grip. Nobody would know if I wondered how it would feel for Cristiano to turn me over and press me into the bed. Nobody, not even him, knew that I was grinding against our hands as I fantasized about opening to him. About how completely and b
rutally he would fill me, even though it was wrong on every level.
“I can sense your disappointment that I haven’t broken you in yet—but I will.” His hips pressed against my backside, and this time, I couldn’t hold in my moan. The size and solidity of his erection was intimidating but not surprising—what caught me off guard was how it answered a primal, unwelcome need inside me to receive him. “You’ll take me in each one of your three holes,” he continued, urging his hips against my ass so I was stuck gyrating between my hand and his cock. “I like that your holes could belong to anyone—but they don’t. They belong to you. My wife. That pleases me to no end.”
I groaned an ugly and guttural sound I’d never heard from myself as my arousal reached new heights. If Cristiano viewed my body as property, that meant no part of me was off limits. In that raw moment, I was more turned on by what I didn’t know than by what I did. I’d only thought of him on top of me, breaking me in—not all the other ways he could ruin me. A blissful feeling spread through me, his seduction as quick and ruthless as it was slow and mounting.
“How does it feel to hear me defile you, Natalia?” he breathed in my ear.
“Call me Natasha,” I said, the name he’d used in the nightclub. Natalia was his past, his bride, his future, but Natasha was just his toy. It would be easier for both of us to think of me that way.
But he said, “No, Natalia.” He gripped my hand more tightly and my fingers stroked my clit as we moved together. “Your pussy and your ass will stretch to fit me, and it will be your sweet, pouty lips that suck me sloppy—until I explode down your throat.”
My body shook with an impending explosion, his hot and profane mouth putting my climax within reach.
He removed the sweet, pulsing pressure against my clit and used his index finger to swipe mine against the crotch of my underwear. Missing the weight between my legs and taken aback by how wet I was, I sucked in a breath.
“I suspect I’m the first man to soak your underwear clean through.” He withdrew both our hands and brought them to his mouth to suck on my dewy finger. “Mmm. My first taste of heaven. I imagine it will inspire a thirst so deep, even drinking from you every day wouldn’t satisfy it.” His chest rumbled against my back. “I wonder if the same will be true when an angel like you drinks from the devil,” he mused, as if perusing a menu and trying to decide on a lunch order. “Will you come to crave it? Or will you do it just to please me?”
Violent Ends (White Monarch Book 2) Page 15
