Chapter 11 Zarina
ZARINA
Icould kill Andrea Tamayo.
I wanted to after today’s meeting. She sat there, quiet and docile, like the princess she accuses me of being.
All while Marcus and Alonso spun their false narratives that played into the bullshit expectations of women in their world.
A world where I’m nothing but an accessory to power, never the owner of it.
And Tamayo said nothing. Fucking coward.
And although thirty seconds ago I was fully committed to murder in the first degree—which included motive, method, and a disposal plan—at this very moment, my body’s attempting to melt into the mat beneath me.
It started the second she slipped her fingers into my hair, like I’ve been conditioned into a Pavlovian response to her harsh grip pulling on my scalp in a delicious combination of sharp pain and tingling pleasure.
Trained to give in to my baser urges at the mere suggestion of her wicked touch.
And that realization should fuel the fire of my anger. But it’s difficult to cling to anger when her breasts are pressed against my back, her hips rubbing over my ass, her tongue tracing the edge of my ear.
“Tamayo.” Her name comes out more breathless than the snarled warning I intended.
“Hmm,” she hums her way down my neck, still arched uncomfortably. Breath fans over my carotid, a threat as soft as her lips. She brushes her nose up to my ear again. “Let me fuck you pliant, princess.”
Despite the shiver her words send across my skin, I attempt to buck her off again, baring my teeth with a hiss. “I’m not your princess.”
“We’ll see.” Tamayo chuckles—fucking chuckles—as she sits up, the heat of her leaving my back, and releases my hair. I let my neck relax and rest my forehead against the mat as I feel her shift above me. She jerks my arm still in her grip backward at the same time she lifts her weight off my ass.
Off-balance.
I raise my knee, trapping her calf between my leg and my hip, and yank my arm forward, out of her grip. She catches herself on the mat at the same moment I shift my weight to roll us over. Where I land on top. I smirk above her, landing a punch to her cheek before I push to my feet.
And fall back to my knee.
Both of Tamayo’s ankles are wrapped around one of mine.
She drags me toward her, and I scramble to break her hold, but my hands are still in the boxing gloves and useless for wrestling.
I waste precious seconds attempting the impossible, and she takes advantage.
She reels me in until her arm wraps around my neck, the crook of her elbow at the apex of my throat.
If she flexes, she presses directly on my carotid.
If she jerks backward, she crushes my windpipe. If she twists, she cracks my neck.
“Give in, princess,” she grunts in my ear.
“I can get out of this,” I snarl.
“I know you can.” Tamayo unhooks her ankles around mine to manhandle me into the space between her legs.
“I know this is only happening because you’re allowing it.
Because you want this.” My back is flush against her chest as she fits her feet between my legs and pulls them wide.
“You let me pin you to the mat. You let me get you in a chokehold. You let me.”
I hold myself rigid, resisting the urge to relax into her intentions.
It’s more difficult than it should be. I walked into the training room hurt and angry and betrayed.
I wanted to cave Marcus’s face in with my fists and then finish him off by carving a portrait of his tiny manhood on his chest. And for Tamayo, I wanted to make her bleed. Just a little.
I cast about for an anchor, a weapon, a reminder that I’m pissed and not at all interested in the oblivion Tamayo is offering. But there’s nothing in the vicinity. Just me and Tamayo and a swath of mats leading to a wall of mirrors.
I catch sight of us—of me—splayed open with Tamayo holding me tight against her. She’s looking at me with hooded eyes, heaving breaths, and a trickle of blood splattered across her chin from a split lip. That I gave her.
I grin. Wide.
She meets my gaze in the mirror. “See something you like?”
“Your blood.”
She chuckles again, but it’s less infuriating this time. “Vicious princess.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
She dips her mouth to my ear and whispers, “Never.” And then she slides her lips over my cheek, to my jaw, a trail of red smearing in her wake.
“I want you to watch.” She speaks the words into my skin as she lifts her eyes to mine in the mirror again.
“I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to watch yourself fall apart at my hands.”
My skin flares, and I release a shuddering breath.
“Will you let me?” she asks.
I answer with a roll of my ass against her core.
She flexes her arm around my neck, and I still. “Words, princess.”
I glare at her reflection. She only lifts an unimpressed brow.
“Fine.” I grind my hips again, enjoying the tiny hitch in her breath. “You may fuck me.”
Tamayo laughs outright, and it’s as contagious as a yawn, morphing my annoyance into amusement. Her arm around my neck loosens, her hand caressing across my collarbone and over my windpipe. “Cheeky.”
I sigh. “Not again.”
She chuckles. “Hips up.”
I do as she asks, allowing her to remove my joggers and underwear and expose my naked skin to the humid air.
She tosses them aside as I grab the Velcro of one boxing glove between my teeth.
Before I can remove it, Tamayo snatches my elbow and yanks it out of my mouth.
Half of it releases, and my glove is loose enough for me to shake off despite her hold, which I try.
“Ah-ah.” She stops me, taking my wrist in her other hand and refastening it tighter than before, then redoes the other to match. “Gloves stay on.”
I scrunch my nose and wiggle backward. She’s still fully dressed, slacks soft around my hips, belt cold against my lower back, her button-down and undershirt unable to hide the pebble of her nipples against my shoulder blades.
All I’m left wearing is my sports bra tight around my chest and the boxing gloves meant to limit my touch.
I smirk, making sure I’m as flush against her as can be, and turn my head to nuzzle my nose into her neck, up to the skin behind her ear.
“Brat,” she huffs, like she knows exactly what I’m up to.
A self-satisfied grin twitches at the corner of my lips.
But it’s short-lived as she slides her hands under my knees and jerks my legs open, dropping them to drape over her own.
She adjusts her feet to sit further apart, which stretches me open even wider.
I bite down on a moan.
She’s barely touched me. We’ve barely begun. And yet the feeling of her body surrounding mine, her palms skidding up my thighs toward my core, her clothes coarse against my exposed skin—it’s all heating my blood too fast.
Her hands skim my ribs. My stomach flinches at her touch.
I’m almost fully bare, while she sits in her suit, completely covered, holding me wide open.
She traces the edge of my bra, digging beneath the band.
My breath is labored, and I try to tamp it down, to conceal the effect she has on me.
But there’s nowhere to hide like this, in this position.
Tamayo snaps the band of my sports bra. The fabric lands against the underside of my nipple, and I jerk with a little ah.
She repeats it on the other side. I clench my jaw on the sound this time.
As if she can’t see my arousal. The wetness between my legs as she plays with my nipples, snaps my bra again, and again, and again.
My hands flex inside the gloves, looking for something to hold on to.
I roll my hips and graze my lips along her neck, up to her ear, and nibble the lobe.
She smacks my breast, and I jerk with a gasp.
“Watch,” she commands in that voice that always shoots down to my core. The one that expects to be listened to.
I release her ear and peek at the mirror.
The image reflected back to me is obscene.
Tamayo’s fingers play with my nipple under my bra while her other hand creeps up my chest, to my neck, and takes hold of my jaw to turn my head fully.
I can’t hide, can’t close my legs, can’t look anywhere else but at myself as Tamayo plays my body like a cello, plucking all the right strings to create a symphony.
The first notes are the soft huffs leaving my mouth with each snap. She pulls on my nipple, and my back arches. My pussy glistens in the bright lights of the training room as Tamayo bites down on my neck. I cry out.
A smear of her blood marks my throat when she pulls away. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, dark and half-lidded, as she speaks in my ear. “Keep your eyes open. If you look away, I stop fucking you.”
I nod my understanding.
“Good.” And then her hand on my neck is traveling down my body, over my breasts, across my navel, to my clit. She spreads my lips wide, revealing all of me. I shudder. She pulls on my nipple and pinches my clit at the same time. My jaw falls open.
“You keep surprising me, princess.” She speaks low in my ear. “I didn’t know this body was such a dangerous weapon. I should have.” She pats my clit once, twice. “That’s my mistake, hm?”
I want to say something clever, but it’s hard to form words when her fingers slip down the seam of me, almost slide inside.
“But here you are now, helpless in my arms,” she murmurs. “Letting me fuck you.”
“Tamayo,” I breathe.
“Yes, princess?” Her breath is hot on my ear.
I almost whimper again but swallow it down. “Please fuck me.”
She trails her hand from one breast to the other, leaving the first uncovered and puckered against the cool air. “I will.”
A pout pulls at my lips. “Please, now.”
She smacks my nipple then pulls it harshly. I groan, arching with the rough treatment. Tamayo shakes her head. “Not quite pliant, yet, are you?”
“Please,” I beg.