by Madison Faye
…I want to do more than that to her, too. Much, much more.
The nearness of her, her scent, the heat of her skin… it’s doing things to me. More than she probably knows, too. It’s rattling my cage. It’s making me hungry. It’s making me want to take and claim.
It’s sending images through my head of pinning her to the wall, spreading her pretty thighs, and plunging every inch of my big cock deep inside of her. It’s been years since I’ve touched a woman, and she has no idea how dangerous it is to be here with me, alone.
“Hang on.”
She grabs a bandage and tapes it across my forehead over the cut. I ignore the sting.
“That should keep it closed,” she says gently. “I’m not a plastic surgeon, though.” She makes a face. “You might have a scar.”
I shrug, and my eyes drag down to my own bare chest. She follows, and I watch her blush as she sees the multitude of other scars—like the five bullet holes—across my chest and abs.
“Thanks,” I grunt.
The girl smiles. “You’re welcome.”
I growl dangerously. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Four words. This is fucking progress.
She swallows thickly at my warning, and her eyes dart to the handcuff. She’s scared of me, a little at least. That’s good. And smart.
“I had to make sure you’re okay,” she says again, repeating herself.
“Why?”
“Because.”
I shake my head, my gaze piercing into her. “Not good enough. Why?”
She stammers. “Because, I…” she frowns and looks at her feet. “Because I feel guilty that you’re here.”
I scowl. I’m here because Jorge Del Campo is not a man to be fucked with, and I fucked with him. I’m here because Jorge Del Campo is also a little bit of a demented psychopath who likes watching men kill each other. What she has to do with that is almost as perplexing as why the fuck she’s even here, out here in the desert watching these fights at all.
“Why?” I grunt.
She shakes her head.
“Because… I mean, look I don’t know what you did, but it’s wrong that he’s keeping you here.” The girl frowns and looks down. “He’s not a bad person, but my father can be a sadist.”
The room goes numb.
I go numb.
Her… her father. I blink, and it all clicks—the jet-black hair, the regal nose, the same cheekbones. Her being up in the private box for the fights.
Oh shit.
There’s four things Jorge Del Campo loves in this world: Money. Power. The fights.
…And his daughter.
Her. My angel is Jorge’s daughter.
With a grunt, I’m up, my blood roaring and my muscles flexing like molten steel. I flex my arm, hissing as my jaw grinds and my muscles pull tight, until suddenly, the chain on the handcuff locking me to the table snaps.
She gasps and goes white, fear sparking in her eyes as she steps away. But she doesn’t run. She doesn’t scream. My heart races, and my head swims. I stand on rocky feet and I move for her.
“Wait,” she gasps quietly. “I’m…”
She looks up at me.
“I’m not my father,” she says in a whisper.
“Who are you?”
“Catalina.”
Fuck, the way her name rolls of her tongue and lips like honey—like tequila and smoke and sex.
“Catalina Del Campo,” she says softly.
“You should run,” I growl.
“Would you chase me?”
“Maybe.”
She shivers. “I’m… I’m not scared of you.”
I smile thinly, my pulse pounding as my eyes drink her in. I can still smell her, too, and being this close to her is… distracting. Dangerous. Volatile.
“You should be,” I growl.
“Would you hurt me?”
My brow scowls, and I don’t even have to think.
“No,” I hiss.
“Why not?” she says in a strong but shaky voice.
My jaw tightens.
“My father keeps you in a cage. Why wouldn’t you hurt me when you have the chance to?”
“You aren’t your father,” I growl.
“And you aren’t supposed to be able to talk.”
“I don’t much.”
“Why—” she gasps as I step into her, pushing her backwards with my sheer size until I pin her to the wall, and her breath catches. She looks up at me with fear and something wild in her eyes, but she doesn’t scream. She could, and I bet I’d be dead before I made it three feet. But she doesn’t.
“Are you the monster people say you are?” she breathes, panting as she looks way up into my piercing gaze. Her eyes are crystal blue, like a tropical lagoon, and I realize I’m just fucking staring into them.
“Do you think I am?”
She slowly shakes her head, her big, wide blue eyes never leaving mine. “No.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“It’ll be the last mistake I ever make,” she says tightly. “But I don’t think I am.”
“That’s a dangerous gamble.”
“Maybe,” Catalina rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, and my pulse quickens. “Why are you talking now?”
I growl lowly.
“You know why.”
She shivers.
“Me?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Because you’re the only goodness I’ve seen in years.”
Nine words. I’m a fucking orator now.
“Because you’re the only beauty and warmth I’ve seen in a long, long fucking time,” I hiss, the words coming out rough and edged. “Because I saw you last night, and I knew one thing.”
She swallows, her breath catching as those gorgeous blue pools of her eyes widen.
“What?”
“That you’d be mine.”
My hands slide over her waist, and my blood ignites like burning diesel fuel. For the very first time, I’m touching her, and I know I’m lost. I know I’d walk through fire, through bullets, through the devil himself to get to her. I groan, and when her breath catches so sweetly, I growl as I lean way down into her. One hand moves up to cup her jaw tight, and without wasting another second of my broken, borrowed-time life, I lean in.
And I kiss her.
Hard.
Chapter Four
Catalina
Fire blazes through me, and I gasp as his lips brutally sear to mine. It’s like kissing a force of nature—a gorgeous, sexy as sin, panty-meltingly hot force of nature. He growls like a wild animal into my lips, pressing me hard to the wall as I gasp for air.
My body shivers, my head spins. My thighs tighten, and I moan.
There’s been some sneaky, stolen kisses here and there over the years. But this? This is something else. This compared to other kisses I’ve had is like comparing a nuclear missile to a paper airplane. This is a typhoon versus a swimming pool.
His big hands slide over my waist, and they’re so big they literally touch around my waist. I gasp at just how huge he is, and how much a force of nature he is. I mean he could snap me in two, easily, with his bare freaking hands. But somehow, I’m not scared, or maybe I am. But it’s not enough to send me running, it’s just enough to light a fire inside of me hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced.
His hands tighten on me, and his lips part. His tongue seeks mine, and I whimper as I give him what he wants. I know he could take anything he wanted from me. And that thought has me shivering. Right here, right now, he could literally do whatever he wanted to me, but somehow, for whatever reason, I don’t think he would.
That said, in this moment, I think I’d give him anything he wanted.
Anything.
My entire body is on fire, electric with the urge for more and this wild desire I’ve never felt before. Energy buzzes over my skin, electrifying my nipples into aching points against his massive chest through my blouse. His bare skin
is hot and warm against me, and I moan into his lips as he claims mine. He pushes against me, pressing me into the wall, and that’s when I feel it. Or, that’s when I realize what I’ve been feeling is not his thigh.
My mind goes white, my breath catches, and a wicked, forbidden desire I’ve never once felt burns through me like napalm. He pulls back as I gasp, and my eyes drop down between us.
“I’m—that—”
I swallow.
Oh my God.
The enormous bulge in his jeans is visibly throbbing and pulsing, rippling the denim as he grinds again me. He so much bigger than me that it’s pressing hard against my belly button, but it just keeps going down—down and down his leg so far that it’s also throbbing between my own thighs. He growls, kissing me again and making me whisper. His leg—the one his… package is trailing down—presses between my thighs. He opens them with his knee, and God help me, I let him.
“Just like that,” he growls.
He knows what he’s doing. And he knows what he’s doing to me.
“I can feel how warm you are,” he purrs into my lips. “I can feel how wet you are.”
“I—oh, God,” I gasp.
“This why you came here tonight?” he growls.
“No—no,” I manage to gasp out as I melt sinfully against him.
“Then why?” he hisses darkly.
“I—”
“To check on me?”
“Y—yes!” I gasp.
“Maybe you were curious,” he grunts lowly. “Big man…” he growls deep in his huge chest, and I whimper.
“Curious how big I was?”
I moan. “No, I—”
“Don’t lie, little rose,” he purrs against my lips. My legs shake, and my hands clench to fists over and over at my sides. I raise one up, and I tentatively let it touch his bulging forearm. I moan as he presses into me, grinding his huge, thick, fat… cock into me. He bends way over me, his mouth finds my neck, and I gasp. Those big hands of his—my God, they’re totally around my waist, and it’s not like I’m twig.
It’s like making out with the Hulk.
He kisses me hard, grinding his huge erection into me. I know this is so fucking wrong, and dirty, and dangerous. He’s so wrong and dirty and dangerous. His muscles surround me, and I moan as he kisses me fiercely. He smells like man, and God is it messing with my head—pheromones or magic or something. He smells like pure desire, and I’m helpless to resist.
He moves his hips in slow rhythm, like he’s making love to me, like one of those romance novels Elena gives me.
But no. I blush to myself. No, not that. It’s more like he’s… like he’s fucking me. This isn’t like Elena’s romance novels. This is no Duke or English Lord whispering sweep nothings into my ear.
This is a monster.
A beast.
A wild animal taking what he wants from me. A beast a hair’s breadth away from ripping my clothes off and breeding me—from mating with me. And fuck is that hot. My pussy is so wet that my panties are a dripping mess—soaked and slippery between my lips. His huge erection grinds into me, rubbing my clit through my panties, and I moan wantonly, like I’ve never once moaned before.
Good lord, I must be leaving a freaking wet spot on his jeans. It’s so embarrassing, but I never want him to stop.
“So wet,” he grunts into my lips, making me whimper. “Make a mess of that pussy for me, princess,” he hisses. “Let me feel that princess pussy come. Come for me like a dirty little girl, Catalina.”
I explode like a bomb. I come, screaming into his lips as he kisses me like he’s claiming the climax—like he’s bottling up my moans to save as a trophy.
Panting, my face red, my body buzzing, and my hair wild, I pull away. Look up into his eyes, biting my lip in a mix of nervousness and pure desire.
“I—”
“That what you came here for?” he growls.
I blush fiercely.
“No…”
“Yes, it is,” he grunts. “I think you just wanted to come for a taste of ‘the beast.’”
I blush.
“What if the beast wants more than a taste,” he growls lowly, a fire in his dark eyes.
I whimper. If he goes for it, I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
…I don’t think I’d even want to stop him.
Suddenly, there are words in Spanish from outside the clinic, and I gasp sharply. It’s my father’s guards. Hush hears it too, and he growls lowly.
“You need to run, now,” he grunts.
I frown. “What?”
“Run, princess,” he hisses. “They find you in here with me, they’re going to shoot me,” he growls. “And I don’t think daddy would be too pleased with you either.”
I scowl, shaking my head. “I’m an adult.”
“I’m sure Jorge Del Campo, cartel kingpin, would be open to the discussion given the circumstances,” he mutters dryly.
I bite my lip, and outside, the voices draw nearer.
“Go, princess,” he growls.
“But your handcuff…” my brow knits as I glance down at his wrist, with the metal ring still attached.
“Let me deal with that, and with them.”
I gasp as his huge hands suddenly slide over me and pull me hard and tight to his huge body. He growls and leans in, and suddenly, he’s kissing me hard enough to make my toes curl and my heart skip a beat.
“This ain’t over,” he purrs. “And I’m going to find you again. And next time, princess,” he growls. “Next time, nothing is going to stop me from taking the rest of you.”
His lips sear to mine, and I’m lost. It feels like I’m drowning, and falling, and like everything is on fire. I’m barely aware of him pulling back, or of turning and running for the back door to the clinic, or of looking back at the door and locking eyes with him.
I flee, and I run through the shadows until I get back to a side door to my father’s fortress. The guards frown at me being out by myself, but they obviously let me through without a fight. I run all the way up to my room and slam the door before I fall across my bed.
…Panting, gasping, and so eager for more.
A beast just made me come.
But that beast did something else, too.
…He stole my heart, and I’m not sure I ever want it back.
Chapter Five
Hush
My blood burns hot as I pace, back and forth, back and forth, from one stone wall of my cell to the other. It’s not just dark in here, it’s dank, and cave-like. It’s like I’m in the earth itself, which feels more imprisoning than just bars and concrete walls ever could. But I’m not even seeing the cage or the confinement now.
All I’m seeing is her.
It’s been just shy of three days since I tasted her. It’s been sixty-three hours since I felt those lips on mine, and that tight little body under my big hands. Sixty-three hours since I made her fucking come for me.
I’ve been hard ever since—achingly, rock-hard. And pacing. Because all I can do is pace, like a dog looking for his bone. Letting her walk away was nothing I ever wanted to do. But the other option wasn’t very good. If those guards had found her in there with me, they’d have shot first and asked questions later, our never. As it was, I got myself a nice little beat down with batons and tasers once they figured out I’d snapped my handcuff.
“Trying to run, cabrón? Trying to get away, culero?”
Whatever. I’ve fought more, and tougher. If taking out some hits on me with a bat is therapy for someone like Carlos or his little pathetic buddies, good for him. Little bitch.
I grunt as I pace, my blood boiling and my hands clenching to fists over and over again. Not to mention, my cock is so fucking hard and thick, throbbing against my jeans. I’ve already stroked it a dozen times, coming over and over in the darkness of my cell, her lips and her smell permeating my memory, urging me on.
But the waking dreams of her are a poor imitation, not when I’ve tasted and felt
the real thing. It’s like trying to drink swill after you’ve tasted champagne.
And she’s Jorge’s daughter. This is fucked up, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
Footsteps approach my cell door, but I ignore it and keep pacing.
“Hola, faggot.”
It’s Manuel, the lieutenant who basically runs the cells down here. I could tell from his walk down the hall before he even said a thing. And I could definitely tell from the smell of the chewy frunos candies from his native Columbia that he eats constantly, all day.
“Ay, puta,” he spits. “Hey, perro. Hey, dog.”
I keep pacing, and Manuel snickers.
“You’re like a child, you know? You think this is tough? This silent treatment game? You look like you’re throwing a taunt—ah!”
He gasps and jumps away as I lunge at the bars, and I grin and step back.
“What,” I growl.
He glares at me. “You talking now, huh?”
I shrug.
“Bitch.”
I shrug again.
“How’s your boo-boo, bitch?” He sneers, nodding at my bandages on my ribs and shoulder.
“Peachy.”
He chuckles. “Keep making jokes. Good. You’re all better. Which means you can fight tonight.”
I’ve been complacent for two years. I’ve fought when they say fight, growled like a dog when they say bark. I’ve killed when they say kill, and I’ve played the part of the monster every single day.
But somethings different now. Something’s been different since my lips tasted hers, and after that, I know nothing is the same anymore. I know I’m not the same anymore, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be the dancing beast on a leash anymore.
“No,” I grunt plainly.
Manuel frowns. “Que?”
“No.”
“No what.”
“No, I’m not fighting.”
Fuck this. It’s not like I wanted to fight before, I just never had a reason to give a shit either way. But now I’ve got a reason—a gorgeous, sweet, pure, angelic reason. I’m not fighting, because for the first time in years—in many, many years—I have something to live for.
