When Lies Unfold

Chapter 48

Santiago unleashes everything he has,as if he’s revealing an arsenal of moves. Deep, thorough strokes. Powerful, fast thrusts. The perfect amount of contact from the root of his cock on my clit.

And his kisses… God, his kisses. They’re addictive and dangerous. It feels as though he’s doing more than just fucking me, like this is more than an excuse to help me forget my heartache.

It’s impossible not to compare him with the monster I was with for far too long. It seems so farfetched that this man—the infamous criminal—has a touch that’s an intoxicating mix of reverence and carnal need. His hands possess a gentleness I would’ve never expected from a man like him.

With each powerful drive of his hips, he claims my body. His mouth follows suit with each devouring kiss, defying the harsh quality it usually holds.

My hands scour along the sharp curves and angles of his muscled back and firm ass, relishing in the feel of his taut body. His biceps flex, intricate swirls of ink rippling as he holds himself above me.

While he’s protecting me, ensuring he doesn’t hurt my injured shoulder, I also get the impression he’s holding back. But if this is the only moment I’m allowing myself to throw all caution and common sense by the wayside, I refuse to let him hold anything back.

Everything in me protests at breaking the kiss, but I have to. His eyes blaze with an intensity that sears me inside and out, and his brows dive together to form a harsh V.

“I want to be on top.” His hesitation is instant, and when his gaze briefly veers to my shoulder, I bring my palms to his shoulders, nudging gently. “Please.”

His eyes flash with heat. “You wanna ride me?”

At my nod, he bands an arm around me and gently moves me with him as he eases onto his back. He stuffs another pillow beneath his head as his desire-filled gaze sweeps over my body where I sit atop him. That desire swiftly changes to concern when his eyes land on my fresh bandage.

A crease forms between his brows. “You better not hurt yourself like this.”

A cross between a laugh and a cry gets stuck in my throat. He’s worried about me hurting my injured shoulder when any other man would be solely concerned with getting off.

Who is this man? Because I thought I had categorized Santiago Hernández easily in a single box. Yet he’s proving me wrong—so very wrong.

“I won’t.” That’s all I can manage to say. Gently bracing my palms on the hard wall of his chest, I roll my hips, sinking deeper.

The veins alongside his neck strain, his eyes burning hot. I move, mindless to anything but the sensation of his thickness stretching me and how he pulses inside me.

Large, heavy palms grip my hips, urging me on. Hands that have taken countless lives now brand me with a singeing heat that’s frightening in a different way.

But I ignore it and instead concentrate on the electrifying jolt grinding against the base of his cock delivers to my clit. I can feel how wet I’m making us, and my movements turn more frantic as I ride him.

“That’s it.” He skims one hand up from my hip to cup my breast and toy with my nipple. “Show me how much you like ridin’ my cock.”

He gives a delicious upward punch of his hips, driving so deep. When I coat him with more of my arousal, his mouth tips up at one corner. “Think you’ve got a thing for a certain narco with a ponytail.”

“Shut up.” My breathless response doesn’t hold any heat.

“You should just confess.” Smugness enters his gaze, mingling with heated lust, as he gives another upward thrust. His nostrils flare before he plants his feet flat on the bed, holding me firm with one hand while the other toys with my nipple. “Gonna admit it?”

He drives his cock harder inside me on each of my downward thrusts, and tremors of pleasure ripple through me. When I fail to respond, his searing gaze burns even hotter as he slows his thrusts.

“Better say it.” The raw quality of his voice defies the spark of challenge in his eyes. “Might not let you come all over this cock you seem to be enjoyin’ if you don’t.”

Letting my hand trail down from his chest to the base of his shaft, I run my thumb along the soft, uninked skin. I have a feeling he’ll hold true to his threat, which is why I hedge, “I might have a thing for a certain narco.”

Satisfaction has his mouth tugging up. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” I give a slow roll of my hips.

“Think you got a thing for my girly hair, too.” He punctuates this with a firm, upward punch of his hips, rendering me breathless. “Don’t you?”

I try to suppress the shiver that rolls through me, but of course, he notices. Eyes alight with a gleam of satisfaction, it quickly evaporates as lust takes hold of his expression.

Reaching for me, his palm cradles the side of my face. “Gonna need you to prove it.” Gaze darkening with need, his hoarse murmur has my nipples stiffening painfully. “Need another taste of that mouth of yours.”

His fingers thread in my hair, tightening as he captures my lips in a kiss. Desire shoots straight to my core as he powers into me in fast, even strokes.

His tongue sweeps inside to tangle with mine, tasting me deeply, and my body clamors for more. Each strong upward punch of his hips is his very own demand for release. His thick, pulsing length driving in and out of me propels me closer to my climax.

Somehow, my hand finds his hair as I tilt my head, desperate to deepen our kiss. I’ve become insatiable for his touch. Fiery lust licks through my veins, and my muscles start to tense with my impending release. I bear down on him, silently demanding more friction, and he doesn’t disappoint.

Holding one hip in a near-punishing hold, his thrusts turn frenzied. A desperate, needy sound climbs up my throat, but his mouth muffles it as my release takes hold.

My body arches, my inner muscles clamping down on him before I’m overcome with shudders. His groan vibrates against my lips as he surges upward, driving even deeper as his body grows taut beneath me.

Tremors wrack his body as another, more tortured groan rumbles from him. Wet warmth floods me, and my hips move as if to work every drop out of him.

I slump, burying my face against his throat where his pulse beats like crazy against my lips. Hearts thundering against one another, our harsh breaths seem to echo in the quiet room.

It isn’t until his hand settles over my back, those callused fingertips lightly sweeping in a downward motion, that awareness edges its way back in.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit. I just fucked Santiago Hernández. There’s no?—

“Stop overthinkin’ it.” His gravelly tone skates over my skin in an odd sort of caress. “Just give it a moment before you freak out.”

Defensiveness has me scowling. “I’m not freaking out.”

“Mm.” He lets out a grunt of disbelief. “Okay.”

I should get out of here this instant. But my body’s so limp that I’m reluctant to move. Those slow strokes of his fingertips along my back have me more relaxed than I’ve been in ages.

I’ll leave in a minute. Then again, he’ll probably kick me out first.

“Gonna tell me where you went that first time I caught you sneakin’ back into your place?”

Of course, he poses a question like that when I’m lying here after what was decidedly the best sex of my life. At this point, it won’t change much, but I still answer quietly, my tone stiff. “I was tending to someone medically.”

His stroking pauses. “Anybody I know?”

“Esteban Vargas.”

“Ahh…” He resumes trailing his fingertips in slow, easy strokes along my spine. “He had gout and a leg injury, too, didn’t he?”

I frown, because how the hell does he?—

“I pay to know what goes on in our village, Lola.” His words may be soft-spoken, but they’re still coated with his trademark arrogance.

I barely resist rolling my eyes before quietly adding, “Well, even if I hadn’t gone to see him, the jungle always helps me clear my head.” My voice grows softer. “There’s a certain tranquility it holds.”

The abrupt knock at the door precedes Gordo’s voice as he calls through the door. “Boss? We got a problem.” A heavy sense of urgency laces his tone, sending alarm ricocheting through me.

I raise my head to find Santy pinching his eyes closed, his mouth pressed into a punishing line. His low, murmured “Fuck” is encapsulated with regret before he calls out, “Gimme a minute.”

When I shift to move off him, his eyes flare open, and his arm bands tightly around me. His brows descend fiercely. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

Suddenly feeling far more vulnerable than ever, I focus on his skull-covered throat. My tone is casual but subdued. “Gordo needs you, so I should get going.”

After all, what’s done is done. Nothing can come of this, and I’m certainly not delusional enough to romanticize it.

Every romantic tendency I ever possessed was eviscerated from me long ago.

Reinforcing my defenses, I imagine steel infusing my vertebrae before daring to meet his penetrating gaze. “I think it’s safer to pretend this never happened.”

His arm goes slack, and I take advantage of it to slip off him. I ignore the instant sense of loss once he’s no longer inside me and the subsequent yearning for him that follows on its heels.

The twinge of pain in my shoulder as I rise off the bed makes me wince, and his narrowed eyes tell me he noticed.

Frantic to retrieve my clothes, I circle the bed to escape to the bathroom. All the while, I’m inwardly cringing at how awkward this is. Yes, I was naked moments ago, but we were both very much distracted.

Now, though, as I walk away, Santy’s attention weighs heavily on me as the mixture of our cum leaks down the inside of my thighs.

I don’t get more than a few feet from the bathroom entrance when it dawns on me. My only clothing is a sports bra that’s now in shreds and leggings that are coated in Belleza’s blood.

At the sight of my discarded clothes in the bathroom, a rush of icy pinpricks scores my skin, my heart lurching with a crevasse that maws open. My vision grows hazy at the edges while I vaguely register the sound of Santy rising from the bed and a dresser drawer sliding open.

“Here.” The single word, though uttered in his usual commanding tone, piques my curiosity. When I turn, I barely have the reaction time to clutch the clothing launched at me.

Staring down at the T-shirt and boxer briefs in my hands, I blink twice as my mind races to make sense of this. When I lift my gaze, it collides with his as he surveys me with an impenetrable look. “They’re clean.”

All I can manage is a dumbfounded look in response. Not that he appears to notice.

Casually, as if this is the norm for us, he pulls on a new pair of boxer briefs. I don’t want to admit how good he looks standing there in his underwear, his tattooed flesh on display.

The cuts and curves of his powerful, hard body taunt me as I recall how he felt pressed against me and how those same firm muscles worked hard to give me pleasure.

“Wish we had more time, but duty calls.” His words snap me from my stray thoughts as he disappears into his walk-in closet. He emerges a moment later, pulling on a button-down shirt before sliding on a pair of slacks. As he dresses, it spurs me into action, and I carefully tug on the clothing he gave me, mindful of my injury.

Once I’m covered, a fresh wave of confidence arrives on its heels, and I straighten my shoulders. “So…yeah. This never happened. We’ll go on about our lives the same as before.”

Fastening the buttons at his wrists, he arches a brow at me. His expression is oddly light with a hint of what appears to be mischief.

“So, you’re sayin’, in my next meetin’ with my men, don’t tell ’em how you came on my tongue and then on my cock?”

What an asshole. “I’m not kidding.” I plant a hand on my hip. “This was a onetime thing. Obviously.”

“Mm.” If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s suppressing a smile. “Obviously.”

I expel a breath and turn to head into the bathroom. I need to retrieve my clothes. I can stain-treat my leggings, at the very least. “Talking to you is pointless.”

“Leave your stuff. I’ll get you replacement leggin’s and a sports bra.”

I hesitate in the bathroom doorway, my eyes locking on Santy’s reflection in the enormous bathroom mirror. He gathers a different pair of black boots and socks.

“I can just?—”

His features tense before he tugs on his socks. “I said leave ’em.”

I honestly don’t have it in me to argue with him. Not tonight. Not after everything that’s transpired. I’m wrung out in all the ways—emotionally, physically, and mentally. My body loses some of its rigidity. “Fine. Thank you.”

Gordo knocks and calls through the door. “Boss?”

“Yeah.” Santy laces his boots as he answers. “Comin’.”

He smooths a hand down his shirt that’s now neatly tucked into his slacks. A crease of determination has taken up residence between his brows. He strides past me to collect his weapons, and once he’s holstered both in their usual place, he heads for the door.

With his palm resting on the handle, he doesn’t immediately open it. He casts me a look over his shoulder, his tone gentler when he says, “If you wanna sleep here tonight, you can.” He must sense the shock reverberating through me because he hastily adds, “Doubt I’m gonna be back soon anyway.”

Opening the bedroom door, he pauses when it’s halfway. This time, a trace of concern is threaded in his command. “If you need me, you call me. No matter what.”

With that, he pulls the door closed behind him.