Chapter Fifteen #2
“I wasn’t supposed to be in the private area,” I project a timid quiver, clearing my throat. “I know that, and I’m so sorry. Jonah just—”
“How do you know that boy?” His casually accusatory rumble cuts off my fake confession. “The bartender?”
His question actually freezes me solid for a moment, until I pull myself together and mumble, “I don’t. Not really… I mean, I just met him the other day when I came here for the first time.”
He says nothing. Simply appraises me for many weighted seconds during which I’m questioning everything.
I can’t even believe that I’m here right now, in the same room with him. Finally, after years and years of training and preparing for this moment, dreaming of being alone with him, just like this, so I could do to him what he did to my parents.
Now that it’s happening, I can admit that part of me never truly expected it would.
Certainly not after only being in New York for a couple of weeks.
I can’t help the stone of doubt that’s been tossed into my mind’s pond, causing a ripple of uncertainty. He’s at an advantage. He always is…
Can I really do this?
Finishing his glass, he sets it down on the bar, then saunters over to a couch.
Adroitly, he takes a seat, patting the cushion beside him. “Come.”
The hesitation in me is strong, and my rational side is preventing my legs from moving. The devil is beckoning… You’re not supposed to listen to him.
I shouldn’t go. I shouldn’t get close to him. The voice of reason in my mind knows that. But the desire in my body is stronger, overpowering logic with emotion.
I want… to fucking kill him.
And in order to do that, I have to get closer.
So I do, tentatively stepping over to the couch. When I get there, he peers up at me, black marble irises gazing from behind his equally ominous disguise.
Surely if he suspected I was here to kill him, he wouldn’t bother with the mask…?
“Sit with me,” he offers a honey-dipped command, followed by a gentle, “Please?”
Okay, there is no way he knows it’s me.
The Ivory would never use that tone, a yearning plea, when speaking to someone he knows wants to kill him. Would he…?
Joining him on the couch, slowly, I leave enough space between us—a foot or so. But when he turns his body to face me, his knees bump mine, and I stiffen.
My fingers twitch.
Knife… in my shoe…
“You are right,” he hums. “You shouldn’t have been in the private area.
But that doesn’t much matter to me. I was more taken with what I saw happening…
” He allows his voice to trail, gazing at me intently until my face warms at his obvious reference to what I was doing in that dark room. “Do you do that often?”
Again, I’m taken aback by his question, mainly because why does he care?
Is this a test? Is he toying with me?
Or is he… interested in something else?
“What part?” I ask quietly. “The… blowjob? Or the blowjob with a relative stranger?”
A tiny, rumbling chuckle comes from within my chest, and I’m on fire. I can feel my face melting off, and it’s not an act. I’m sort of mortified right now.
I don’t talk to people about sex… Especially cartel leaders in rubber masks.
“I guess both,” he breathes, shifting just a hair closer, until I can feel the warmth coming from his body.
But mine is warmer.
“Not… often, no.” I clear my throat. “Not really… ever.”
His eyes have taken on an intense depth; a magnetism that feels like it’s suffocating me. “So you made an exception for Jonah the bartender?”
Wow. He sounds jealous.
Something about it is so deliciously satisfying, though I’m not sure why.
“It was just something different.” I squirm. “Something… exciting. I’m new to the city and I figured I’d—”
“Give a relative stranger a blowjob?”
“What business is it of yours?” I snap, surprising myself. “I don’t… know you.”
I can’t see it well, with the mask in the way, but I think he’s grinning.
“You’re right, Lucas,” he rumbles. “You don’t.”
So he doesn’t know it’s me…
He hasn’t spoken a word of Spanish to me yet, and now he’s calling me Lucas… That has to mean he doesn’t recognize me.
“I don’t mean to shame you, please know that. I just…” His eyes fall, and for the first time since I saw him downstairs, I catch a glimpse of some very minute vulnerability that hits me like a head rush. “I saw you and I was… quite taken. With the sight… with you.”
My throat is abnormally dry. “Me?”
Reaching out, he brushes my hair behind my ear. But I flinch, and he drops his hand fast.
“I’m sorry…” He’s so close, the face of the devil mere inches from mine. “God, I want to touch you so badly…”
That coarse whisper, from within the firm wall of his chest, beneath expensive fabrics, those words, in that voice, cause a dull throb between my legs that I positively hate… Because of how good it feels.
Fuck, why is this happening…?
Not now… not with him.
“But I don’t want to scare you,” he goes on, resounding words directly into me. “What will it take? You are… so unbelievably beautiful…”
“I… um…” My heart is rapping, steadily increasing in pace while my head spins.
What is this? Is this real right now??
He doesn’t know it’s me…
He wants to…
What?!
“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, index finger running gradually up and down his thigh.
I’m hypnotized by it. The way it’s… stroking. Like a paintbrush.
Up and down… up… and down.
“I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay,” he purrs, leaning in so close that his breath warms my ear… and my neck.
Fuck…
I’m shivering from the top of my head to my damn toes.
“I’ll do whatever you say, beautiful thing,” his tone is downright pleading, though still wrapped in erotic growls that give away an insatiable hunger. For me. “Anything at all, you can have. I want you to feel comfortable. I want you to feel good…”
“Take off the mask,” I blurt out, eyes springing to his.
He looks surprised by my request, but only for a moment before he tugs the mask off like it’s nothing.
Without a care, just… baring himself to me.
Eyes wide, I’m staring up at him. At that face… The face I haven’t forgotten in fifteen years.
It seems insane that I still remember it so crystal clear, considering that I was only three the last time I saw it. But he looks exactly the same. Maybe a few more lines around his eyes, a hardening from years of being a callous psychopath.
He would be around forty at this point… unfortunately, he’s just as attractive as back then.
I hate it. I hate that he’s so goddamn beautiful, and I hate even more that I notice it.
That I can plainly see the perfectly symmetrical angles of his chiseled face, an appearance that’s likely shocking to anyone who sees it for the first time.
With the pale skin and white hair and black eyes, he looks so unlike anyone else, and that just makes him more intriguing. Which makes me even angrier.
He bites his lip; a full, pink bottom lip that has me sucking in a secret breath. His hair is a bit tousled, from the mask, silky strands of ivory white framing his face.
“Is that better, love?” He croons, tone silken with confident devotion.
Like he’s Daddy… kissing my boo-boos.
Fuck fuck fuck…
“Uh… Th-thank you.” I swallow the saliva suddenly filling my mouth.
God dammit, his scent is… mouthwatering.
I hate it. I hate him…
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, black eyes falling to my lips. “Tell me what it will take for you to let me touch you, sweetheart. I’m aching for it…”
His hand rushes up and down his thigh, more insistently now, as if it’s taking extreme control to keep himself from grabbing me.
But he’s not. He’s not pawing at me, or lunging for me. Instead, he’s begging…
Who is this man??
I swear to God, this is The Ivory. But he’s not behaving the way I expected at all. The only explanation is that he doesn’t recognize me. He’s not seeing Angel Alvarez. He’s seeing Lucas Hansen… A hot dude he wants to touch so badly it’s apparently like torture not to.
This is it. My chance.
Get him to drop his guard, then go for the knife.
“Baby, please…” He whimpers, gravelly and desperate.
The thump in my pants makes me dizzy.
Dios… fucking focus.
“Can I… what if I… touch you?” My hand lifts.
His lashes flutter, a distinctly darker shade than his hair and eyebrows. They’re long too, his blinking a delicate movement. Like a butterfly landing on your finger.
The mound of this throat dips, and I’m sweating.
He’s visibly wound, as if he’s already going out of his mind. “Sure. Of course… fuck me, love, whatever you want. I just need to feel you…”
Shit shit shit…
This is so bad. I’m already crumbling, and he’s leaning over me, practically crawling on top of me, both of our chests heaving while I lift shaky fingers to his neck. The moment they brush his skin, we both groan quietly.
God, why is his skin so soft??
“Oh, sweet thing,” he pants. “More… Please touch me more…”
“God…” I whine, grazing my fingers down his throat.
The light scratch of his stubble causes a pulse between my legs that I’m ignoring fiercely as I run fingertips over his clavicle, to the collar of his dress shirt. It’s open a bit, and they sneak inside, touching the very beginning of his chest.
Pressing my lips together to trap eager hums from escaping.
“You can open it more,” he gasps over my face, white hair hanging in his eyes. “If you want…”
Nodding nervously, I use my twitchy fingers to pop a button. Then another… Then another. And we both watch in fascination as lines of definition are revealed; slopes and sinews of taut, sculpted muscle.
Dios, his body is so nice…
Wait. No, ignore that. Focus on…
Dress shirt hanging open, I notice something. Black ink, over his heart.
A bird… wrapped in barbed wire.
My eyes lift slowly to his. His pink tongue touches his top teeth.
Diablo…
Shoving on his chest, I push him abruptly onto his back, crawling on top of him. “You said… I’m in charge.” My voice shakes and my vision blurs, but I’m just trying to focus.
Breathe.