14. Eve
14
EVE
T he pain from the first blow forces the tears from my eyes. Damn, that hurts… Still, there’s a strange craving inside of me that’s superseding the worst of it. I’m aware of every curve and crevice of my body—from the heaviness of my breasts pressed up against the mattress, to the aching need deep within my core.
Everything is being pulled tighter into focus with each new blow. It’s degrading being treated this way, but the rush of dark euphoria is unlike anything else I’ve felt before. With a jolt, I realize that I want him to do this to me.
I count five agonizing, intense, exhilarating blows before he finishes and leans over me, assaulting me with the scent of hot, excited male as his fingers push roughly inside me.
“That turned you on, didn’t it, my angel?”
“I hate you,” I lie, my voice muffled from the pillow, my cheeks damp from my tears. Maybe my words will disguise the truth from the both of us.
“It’s a fine line between that and the alternative.”
He’s right. I’m not fooling anyone in this room.
He removes his fingers and releases my arms from his grip. I whip around to face him, thankful for the dark so he can’t see my blushes. I watch, silently, as he strips—first his shirt, and then his jeans. In the dim light I can see he’s not wearing any underwear, and he springs free, primed and ready. My core is burning me up. I’ve never desired anyone as much as I desire him right now.
Kneeling before him, I slide my T-shirt over my head and remove what’s left of my panties. With a growl, he comes for me, driving into my body with all his tremendous weight, cupping my face in his hands as we tumble backward together onto the bed with me trapped beneath him. He’s savage and animalistic with his touch, scratching at my breasts and thighs with his fingernails in his haste to mold himself to me. I spread my legs wide, locking my ankles around his waist as he powers into me with one ruthless thrust. I cry out, arching into the dense wall of his abdominal muscles as his thick cock forces its way into my body.
He’s driving in and out of me at a feverish pace. My fingertips find his ass, digging deep, demanding more, feeling the powerful muscles flex as they work hard to comply. His own fingers are buried in my hair, holding me still. The slick sound of skin-on-skin fills the darkness all around us. A helpless sob escapes my lips. The tension between my legs is building, building, and I’m hurtling toward that cliff at a reckless speed.
“Do you feel me,” he demands roughly. “Do you feel how much I want you?”
“Harder,” I gasp out. “Fuck me harder, Dante. Take it all away.”
He falters, his head snapping up—his piercing gaze penetrating the gloom of the bedroom.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” I beg him.
“Kiss me,” he urges, his lips seeking out mine as he picks up his crazy pace again.
Quickly, so quickly, the fire in my core returns, dousing every nerve. It’s more intense this time—a heady, speeding rush of pleasure—and I can’t control the potency of the flames.
Raking my fingernails down his back, I tear myself away from his mouth, screaming out his name. At the same time, I feel his cock jerking inside me, flooding me with his warmth. It doesn’t seem to weaken his desire. He’s still pounding into my body, regardless.
My second orgasm follows quickly after the last. After the third, I come close to blacking out. He’s not letting me catch my breath. There’s an edge of pain to my pleasure, too. It’s like I’ve come full circle, but I can’t stop craving this physical connection with him.
I never ever want to break away.
The next morning, I wake to the warmth of him wrapped around my body. His erection is pressed against the small of my back, and his heavy forearm is slaked across my waist, weighting me to the bed.
“Good morning, mi alma ,” he murmurs. “Did you sleep well?”
“Promise me you didn’t hurt her,” I say quietly. Last night my dreams were twisted visions of bloodied limbs and piercing screams. I can’t get Valentina out of my head. I want to see her. I want to beg for her forgiveness for telling Dante about what I saw.
“She’s alive. You must be hungry. I’ll arrange to have something brought up for you.” He rises from the bed, and the movement rocks me just as much as his reticence to speak about her. I’ll get no assurances from him. Perhaps the other girl, Sofía, might be able to tell me? Perhaps she knows where he’s holding her?
“Where are your clothes?” I ask, watching him as he stalks across the room. There’s not an inch of fat beneath that perfect olive skin. There’s only a faint disfiguring under his left rib cage and his right hip. Battle scars , I think quickly and glance away before he catches me staring.
“Right here,” he says, bending down to pick his shirt up from the floor.
“I don’t mean those … Where do you keep all your other stuff?”
“Why concern yourself with that?” He shrugs into his shirt and starts fastening the buttons.
“ Why? Because it’s weird. There are no jeans or shirts hanging in your closet next door, but every time I see you, you’re dressed differently.”
“Black magic,” he drawls, reaching for his jeans.
“I don’t know anything about you. You’re an enigma with a penchant for acting like some sick executioner.”
“You know a few things, but you just choose not to accept them. You choose to close your ears and eyes to exactly what I do because it’s unpalatable. I’m not judging you for it, Eve, but let’s not dress it up as something it’s not.”
“Maybe I’m ready to listen,” I say quietly as a vision of Ryan flashes before my eyes. “You could start by giving me a straight answer when I ask you a question.”
“Likewise.”
There’s a pause. “You know I’m not a receptionist, don’t you?”
He smirks and turns for the door.
“How long have you known?”
“Toast or cereal?”
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” I watch him stiffen. “You know, don’t you? You know exactly what I write about.” My heart is hammering in my chest. This isn’t about the safety of my parents anymore. This is about me and him. I need to see some sort of guarantee in those dark eyes because I can’t live the rest of my life in fear. I want to grasp at some semblance of a future, or end it, right here, right now, in this bedroom. “If you’re willing to torture a girl for going through your stuff, what are you going to do to a reporter who writes the truth about the narcotics trade and hates everything it stands for? Because that’s who you’re working for, isn’t it Dante? Cartels like the Santiagos?”
He frowns. “What the fuck do you know about the Santiagos?”
“I know they’re the lowest of the low. They’re cowards who hide themselves behind others. They manipulate this business to line their own crooked bank accounts, to hell with the families they destroy along the way…” My voice catches in my throat. “There, I’ve said it. I’ve laid all my cards on the table, so just kill me now and get it over with.”
I close my eyes and wait for the bullet.
Seconds bleed into minutes. I’m still waiting… Eventually, I force my eyes open again. He’s just standing there, staring at me.
“You’re right,” he says roughly. “Perhaps we’re both guilty of enforced ignorance. And no, I’m not going to kill you, Eve Miller. Why? Because you’d never betray me.”
He says it like he’s daring me to contradict him.
“How can you be so sure?” I whisper. I’d jump at the chance to avenge my brother. I won’t rest until the Santiagos are held accountable for his murder.
“Because you and me…whatever this is…it’s bigger than that.” He walks back over to the bed to caress my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not so na?ve as to think that what I am and what I do doesn’t affect you. I’m not conventional, Eve. I’m not a lawyer or a fucking accountant, and I don’t purport to be.”
“There must have been a choice somewhere along the way… There might still be one?”
He sighs and lets go. “Not for me.”
“The past doesn’t have to dictate—”
“Do you follow your own advice, Eve, or is it just a guideline for bad men like me?”
This pulls me up short. “You know about my brother, don’t you?”
“Yes… I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t sound it. His face is devoid of all emotion, which scares me most of all .
Seeing the panic in my eyes, he leans across the bed and folds me into a tight embrace. I know it’s an attempt to halt my racing thoughts. He starts to stroke the back of my hair, but they’re too singular and terrifying to dismiss that easily. A question keeps returning to me over and over:
What if these hands are the same ones that killed my brother?
Later that day, I find the courage to venture downstairs. Dante’s been gone since the morning, and I’m sick to death of these four walls and the dark and twisted paths my thoughts keep leading me down.
I’m wearing another white shift dress—cut low with large, copper buttons down the front. Easy access, just the way he likes it. It’s almost as pretty as the dress from last night…
Last night.
My stomach muscles clench as I remember the shocking events during dinner. That’s another reason why I’m leaving the sanctuary of my room, I’m on a mission to find Sofía. I need to assuage some of my guilt. I need to find out, once and for all, if Valentina is okay.
The kitchen is empty, so I find myself wandering in and out of a labyrinth of beautiful, but strangely sterile rooms. They all feature a similar theme of heavy, dark furniture and plain white walls. There’s a starkness and parity to this place. It’s not a home, it’s a shell. Eventually, I find a couple of pictures hanging on the wall in a dining room, but they’re depicting an unfamiliar landscape. Do they mean anything to him, or are they just more throwaway belongings?
In the courtyard, I discover that the plates and candelabra have been cleared away. Even the lights from the pergola have gone. The setting is no less pretty for the lack of romance, but this place will be forever tainted for me.
I pause by the table and run my finger across the wooden surface. How different the evening could have gone, though the finale would have been the same. A shiver brings a rash of longing to my bare arms. Dante and I are like two magnets from opposing sides, drawn together by forces we can never hope to understand.
Turning to leave, I notice a small door built into the brickwork. It opens easily to reveal a large field. Two horses are grazing nearby. One of them, a gray, lifts his head in my direction and chews thoughtfully as I edge closer and hook my elbows over the white fence.
There’s a noise behind me, and Dante steps through the same courtyard door. He’s wearing black jeans and a black shirt that barely contains those massive shoulders. I blush as flashbacks from last night steal their way into my mind. There was a viciousness to his touch, but there were moments of unexpected gentleness, too. He calls to the darkest parts of me while I seem to curb the very worst of his debasement.
“Do you ride?” he asks, inclining his head at his horses.
“Is that a loaded question?” I mutter, and a glint of amusement lifts his grim expression. “No,” I add quickly. “Not anymore.”
How do I tell him I adore horses but that I haven’t ridden for five years. Not since Ryan’s death. How my every waking moment since that day has been a carefully controlled study in risk aversion; that I’ve done everything in my power to avoid more anguish for my parents. That I miss my former life with all my heart.
“How did you know I was here?”
He points to a small security camera on the side of the wall.
“Do you make a habit of spying on women?”
“Only the ones who hold my attention.”
“Until the next pretty face comes along.”
“I’m not interested in pretty. And you can get that thought out of your head because it’s never going to happen.”
His certainty is dizzying.
“You have horses here. I never expected that.” I move away from the fence to open up a little distance between us.
“I have everything you could possibly want for here, Eve. You just need to open up your heart and take it.”
No. No. NO.
“This will never be my home,” I tell him, scowling to add gravitas to my conviction.
“It already is. How many times do I have to say it? You’re mine now. Your old life is inconsequential.”
“Not to me it isn’t!”
I find this argument as exhausting as it is repetitive. He’ll never let me go, and I’ll never stop fighting for my freedom.
“How big is this place anyway?” I say desperately.
“Big enough.”
“That’s not an answer. I thought we were going to be honest with one another?”
“I didn’t agree to anything. I never explain myself… You know this. ”
I grit my teeth in frustration. He takes everything from me and gives nothing in return. I will never be anything more than his pretty little fuck doll to use and abuse at will.
Why do I feel so disappointed? Do I want more? I stare at his horses, but I barely see them.
“You like the gray,” he states, following my gaze.
I nod, mutely. “He’s beautiful.”
“I acquired him three years ago.”
“ Acquired? ”
“Someone owed me.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I need to go away on business,” he announces, watching my reaction carefully.
He does? Is my heart aching with relief or consternation? Happiness or resentment?
“How long will you be gone for?”
“A few days at the most. I’m leaving a team of my best men here to keep you safe.”
“Take me with you.”
“Out of the question,” he says brusquely, thrusting his hands into his pockets and tensing that perfect jawline of his. “My destination is nowhere near Miami.”
And he’ll never let me leave, remember?
“I miss America so much, Dante. Take me home.”
There’s a pause. “The rules of the game have changed. What do you think will happen when you leave my protection? That maid ,” he adds with an edge to his voice. “The one that you have such a vested interest in has kindly announced your name and our… connection to every cartel in the world. If I send you back to Miami, I guarantee that in less than twenty- four hours my enemies will have shot you dead in the street.”
This news ricochets around my body.
“You did this,” I cry, losing my temper. “You forced yourself into my life and infected it with your evil… Oh my God, my parents!” My hand flies to my mouth in horror. “They’re in danger because of me, because of whatever this is. I have to warn them, Dante!”
“It’s too late for that.”
“What do you mean?” My knees start buckling. I clutch at the fence to stop myself from falling down.
“Your parents are safe.”
They are? For the briefest of moments, I dare myself to believe him.
“They’re more than safe.”
“How can you be so—”
“Imagine the irony of me sending a security detail to protect a DEA agent,” he drawls, rubbing his hand across his jaw.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Why, Dante?” I whisper. “Why would you that?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Perhaps I’m not such a fucking monster after all.”