Chapter 9 Diamond
Diamond
Iwatch the taillights disappear down the winding coastal road, red blurs swallowed by the early morning haze, and I don't feel anything. I should feel something—relief, horror, guilt, something—but there's just this hollow stillness where my emotions should be.
A man died tonight. Bled out on the rocks twenty yards from where I'm standing.
And all I can think is: good.
Cesar comes up behind me on the deck. I don't hear him—I never hear him—but I feel him. The warmth of his body, the shift in the air. He doesn't touch me. Just stands there, close enough that I could lean back into him if I wanted.
I turn around. Look up at him.
He looks exhausted. There are shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw. He spent the last eight hours lying to cops, coordinating with lawyers, making a murder look like self-defense. He did all of that for me.
"You did that for me. You didn't hesitate. Didn't flinch." I hold his gaze. "I've never had anyone protect me like that. Not my father, not anyone. I didn't know it could feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm worth killing for."
His expression shifts. Something raw and vulnerable underneath the exhaustion.
"You're worth a lot more than that," he says quietly.
He pulls me into his arms. I go willingly, pressing my face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and stress and underneath it, something that's just him. Something I've come to associate with safety.
We stand there for a long time. The ocean crashes against the cliffs below.
"Come inside," he finally says. "You're freezing."
I hadn't noticed, but he's right. I'm shivering.
He leads me to the kitchen, wraps a blanket around my shoulders, and moves to the stove. I watch him heat milk, stir in cocoa powder, add a splash of vanilla. The domesticity of it is absurd—this man who just slit someone's throat making me hot chocolate like it's a snow day.
He slides a mug across the island to me and leans against the counter, watching.
"Drink," he says.
I wrap my hands around the mug. The warmth seeps into my fingers, cuts through the numbness.
"How are you so calm?" I ask.
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "This isn't the first time I've killed someone, Diamond. I wish I could tell you it gets harder, but it doesn't. It just... is."
"Does that bother you?"
"Sometimes." He watches me take a sip. "Tonight? No. He was going to hurt you. I stopped him. That's all there is to it."
I drink slowly, letting the sweetness ground me. He doesn't rush me, just stands there, steady and patient.
"What time is it?" I ask.
He checks his phone and I see the date. It takes me a second. Then I laugh—a sharp, startled sound that surprises both of us.
"Happy Valentine's Day," I say.
He stares at me for a beat. Then the corner of his mouth twitches.
"Happy Valentine's Day."
"We should do something romantic." I gesture at the empty house and the property that extends all the way around. "Really set the mood."
"You're handling this with humor. That's one way to cope."
"Would you prefer I have a breakdown?"
"I'd prefer you do whatever you need to do." He leans against the counter, watching me. "If that's laughing, laugh. If that's crying, cry. If that's drinking whiskey at midnight and making dark jokes, I'm here for that too."
I take a sip of the whiskey. It burns going down, but it's a good burn.
"I don't want to cry," I say. "I don't want to fall apart. I just want..."
"What?"
I set down the glass. Stand up. Cross the kitchen until I'm right in front of him.
"I want you to take me to bed," I say. "I want you to remind me that I'm alive. That we're both alive. That he didn't win."
His eyes darken and a devious smile appears.
"I'm not fragile. I'm not going to break." I take his hand, press it flat against my chest so he can feel my heartbeat. "I need you, Cesar. Please."
He's still for a long moment. Then he sets down his whiskey and takes my hand and walks me to the bedroom.
The second we're through the door, he's on me.
He pushes me back against the wall, his mouth hot on my neck, his hands shoving up the shirt I'm wearing until it's over my head and gone. I'm in nothing but underwear and he's still fully dressed and something about that imbalance makes me wetter than it should.
He kisses me hard, his tongue in my mouth, his thigh shoving between my legs. I grind against him shamelessly, chasing friction, chasing anything to replace the hollow numbness with something real.
I'm panting, clawing at his shirt. "I need to feel you. Please."
He steps back just long enough to strip. Shirt, pants, everything. And then he's lifting me, and I'm wrapping my legs around him, and he's walking us to the bed.
He doesn't lay me down gently. He drops me onto the mattress and follows me down, covering my body with his, and the weight of him—solid, warm, alive—makes something crack open in my chest.
"You're shaking," he says.
"I know."
"We can stop."
"If you stop I'll kill you.”
He chuckles and then he's kissing down my body. Not slow and worshipful like before. Desperate. Like he needs to taste every inch of me to prove I'm still here.
He yanks my underwear down my legs and buries his face between my thighs without preamble. No teasing, no buildup. Just his mouth on me, eating me like he's starving, like he'll die if he doesn't make me come right now.
"Oh fuck!" My hands fly to his hair, gripping hard. "Cesar!"
He doesn't answer. Can't, with his tongue inside me, his nose grinding against my clit. He fucks me with his mouth, relentless, and I'm already climbing, already right there…
I come hard and fast, my thighs clamping around his head, his name tearing out of me like a scream.
He works me through it, doesn't stop until I'm shoving at his shoulders because it's too much.
Too much pleasure. Too much sensation. Too much of everything until my eyes roll back and I mutter like a woman possessed.
He crawls up my body, his face wet with me, and kisses me deep. I taste myself on his tongue and moan into his mouth.
He slaps his cock against my wetness. "You're going to come on my cock, mija. And then you're going to come again. And by the time I'm done with you, the only thing you're going to remember about tonight is that you are mine."
He pushes inside me in one hard thrust.
I cry out from the overwhelming fullness of him, the way he stretches me every single time like my body has to relearn him. He doesn't give me time to adjust. Just starts fucking me, deep and hard, his hips slamming into mine.
"This is what you needed," he growls. "Not soft. Not gentle. You needed to feel alive."
"Yes!"
"Say my name."
"Cesar!"
"Again."
"Cesar—fuck! Right there, don't stop!"
He hooks my leg over his shoulder, changing the angle, and I see stars. He's hitting something deep inside me, something that makes my whole body light up, and I'm climbing again already, impossibly, my nails raking down his back.
"That's it." He's sweating, muscles straining, but his rhythm doesn't falter. "Give it to me. I want to feel you come apart. Come for me, Diamond. Right now."
I shatter.
This orgasm is violent. My whole body seizing, clenching around him so hard he groans. I'm crying, I realize, tears streaming down my temples, but I don't care because he's still fucking me through it, chasing his own release.
"Mine," he grits out. "You're mine, you understand? No one touches you. No one hurts you. Mine."
"Yours," I sob. "I'm yours, I'm yours!"
He comes with a roar, burying himself deep, and I feel him pulsing inside me, filling me up. His whole body shudders with effort, and for a long moment we just breathe together.
When he finally pulls out, I feel his heat flowing out of me. He rolls onto his back and pulls me against his chest, and I feel completely wrung out.
"Okay?" he asks, his voice rough.
"More than okay."
"You're crying."
"Good crying." I wipe my face on his chest, too exhausted to be embarrassed. "I needed that."
"I know." He kisses the top of my head. "I needed it too."
We lie there in the dark, our breathing slowly evening out. My body feels like it's been taken apart and put back together. In the best way.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he says again, and there's a hint of warmth in it now.
I laugh, soft and tired. "Hell of a way to celebrate."
"I'll get you flowers tomorrow if you want."
"Don't you dare." I trace the tattoo on his chest. "This was better than flowers."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I press a kiss to his skin. "This was perfect."
We're quiet for a while. I'm drifting, not quite asleep, when he speaks again.
"I have to meet with your father tomorrow."
The words land like a cold splash. I prop myself up on my elbow.
"What?"
"He's flying in. Wants to debrief in person." Cesar's face is unreadable. "And I imagine he wants to discuss what happens next. With the business. With you."
"With us, you mean."
I think about my father. About the way he's always handled me—throwing money at problems, hiring people to deal with things he didn't want to deal with himself. He hired Cesar to protect me. He didn't plan for Cesar to become the most important person in my life.
"Are you worried?" I ask.
"About your father?"
"About what he'll say. About us."
Cesar is quiet for a moment. Then he pulls me closer, tucks my head under his chin.
"Your father can say whatever he wants," he says. "It won't change anything. I'm not giving you up, Diamond. Not for his money, not for his connections, not for anything."
"Even if he threatens to ruin your business?"
"Even then." He tilts my chin up, makes me look at him. "I spent eight years in prison. I built a business from nothing. I killed a man tonight to keep you safe. Do you really think Charles Sterling scares me?"
I smile despite myself. "No. I don't suppose he does."
I settle back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and let myself drift. Outside, the ocean keeps crashing against the cliffs. Somewhere out there, the sun is starting to rise on Valentine's Day.
And for the first time in my life, I'm exactly where I want to be.