Chapter 20
This is a bad idea. I know it in the marrow of my bones, the kind of certainty you get right before the trigger pull.
It doesn’t matter. Not when Alejandro’s mouth is on mine, rough and hungry, not when his hands are skating up my thigh and the friction from his jeans is exactly where I want it.
Maybe I want to punish myself. Maybe I just want to forget the last two years—every single moment I kept running from one contract to the next. Either way, I’m not stopping.
He pulls back, just enough that our breaths tangle in the small space between us. “Tell me to stop.”
I bite his lower lip—hard enough to remind him who he’s dealing with. “If you stop, I’m stabbing you.”
His laugh is low, dangerous, and so goddamn familiar I want to crawl inside it. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my legs locking around his hips as he carries me through the clutter, past the table with its godawful lampshades and half-burnt ramen boxes, straight to the room we’ll be sharing.
Every step is a silent dare, his arms solid beneath me, my fingers digging into his hair like I can anchor myself to something that’s already half-gone. His mouth never leaves my neck.
He lays me down—gentler than I expect. I pull him down, kissing him hard, as his body covers mine, heat sinking into all the places I’ve been cold for too long.
He pulls back again, searching my eyes. “Last chance. If you don’t want to do this—”
I let my grin sharpen, even as my pulse hammers. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to open up that bullet hole and shoot you again.”
He laughs—dark and hoarse—and that’s it. The last line gone.
He strips his shirt off in one smooth motion, and I pull mine over my head, fingers finding the zipper on my sports bra. The fabric parts down the center, and I watch his eyes track the motion as it slips off my shoulders.
His gaze drops straight to my breasts, dark nipples tightening in the cool air. The hunger on his face hits me like a live current.
He drops to his knees on the mattress, sitting back on his heels as he unbuckles his belt. I rise up to mirror him, sliding my fingers over the button of his jeans, down the zipper, pushing denim and boxers just low enough to free his cock.
God, he’s beautiful like this. Tan skin. Dark hair dusting his chest. Muscles tightening with every breath like he’s trying not to break.
I sink onto my hands and knees in front of him. Grip him at the base. Keep my eyes locked on his as I drag my tongue up the length of him, slow enough to make him curse under his breath, before sealing my mouth around the head and sucking.
His head tips back, eyes closing, a deep groan spilling out of him.
“Mierda, nena… así.”*
Then, rougher, “Dios… tu boca es un pecado.”*
His compliments go straight to my core. The man has an incredible cock, but better than that, he knows how to use every part of him—hands, mouth, body—like he was born to wring pleasure out of a woman.
But right now, I want to make him lose control.
I hollow my cheeks, take him deeper, stroke him with one hand while my tongue works the underside. His breathing slips into ragged territory. His hands slide into my hair, fingers winding at the base of my skull as his hips pulse up, not forcing, just meeting me. Matching me.
Another minute of this and he’ll come. We both know it.
And neither of us wants it to end yet.
He groans down at me. “Ven aquí, Pícarita.”*
A single finger hooks beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. He kisses me, deep and slow this time, tasting himself on my tongue, breathing like he’s relearning it.
“I don’t want to come down your throat,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Not right now, at least.”
His hands slide down my hips, under the waistband of my tights, fingers slipping between my legs. The second he feels how wet I am, he lets out a low, satisfied rumble.
“Quiero comerme este cono,”* he says, voice wrecked with intent.
His finger slides inside me. My breath stutters.
“Y luego quiero enterrarme dentro de ti.”*
His hands are everywhere, reverent and greedy, as he peels my leggings and panties away, baring me to the cold air and his hungry gaze.
I watch his face as he takes me in—dark eyes heavy with heat, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low enough it scrapes across my skin.
He kisses the inside of my knee, teeth scraping, lips dragging heat up the inside of my thigh.
When he reaches my hip, he doesn’t stop—just keeps moving, mouth teasing a slow, torturous path, never quite where I want him.
My hands fist in his hair, but he’s in control now.
His lips close around my nipple, sucking until I arch, then biting until I gasp.
He smirks against my skin, then trails kisses down, down, over my stomach, my hips, pausing at the mound above my clit. His breath is hot, making me twitch, and then finally—finally—his mouth is on me.
He licks me slow, savoring every moan, every shiver. When he fixes his mouth around my clit, it’s not gentle; it’s filthy, practiced, like he’s staking a claim. “Joder, eres perfecta…”* His tongue circles, then flicks, then plunges deep, and my hips jerk up into his mouth.
“Fuck, Alejandro—don’t stop,” I gasp, my voice raw. I grab at his hair, but he just growls, hands gripping my thighs, holding me open for him. He works me over, relentless, switching from slow, lazy laps to fast, ruthless flicks that have me teetering on the edge.
He pulls back for just a second, glancing up at me, lips slick, stubbled chin shining. “Mírame, Pícarita.”* His voice is dark velvet, all command. “Quiero verte venir.”* I force my eyes open, holding his stare, letting him see what he’s doing to me.
He grins, then sucks my clit hard, fingers sliding inside me, curling until I break—arching, cursing, clawing at his shoulders as I shatter on his tongue.
“Fuck—Alejandro—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”
He doesn’t, not until I’m limp and boneless, my pulse thundering in my ears, breath coming in ragged gasps. I’m ruined, but I want more.
He drags his mouth up my body, slow only because he likes to watch me squirm.
I’m shaking, skin fever-hot, barely catching my breath before he’s on top of me again—bigger, heavier, hunger in his eyes.
His cock is hard and leaking, pressed between us, leaving a hot smear across my stomach as he grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand.
We both know there is no risk of a pregnancy. Guild initiation requires it. And producing little fuck-trophies is never something I wanted.
He doesn’t ask if I want this. He knows the answer. My thighs open for him automatically, my hips arching up, desperate.
Alejandro grins, teeth sharp in the low light. “Look at you. Always pretending you’re in control.” He shifts, lining himself up. “But you want to be ruined, don’t you, Saint?”
I bite his shoulder, hard, just to prove I can. “Shut up and fuck me.”
He laughs, dark and savage, and pushes inside in one rough thrust that knocks the air out of my lungs. He’s thick, stretching me so good it hurts, and for a second I think I might actually fall apart.
He moves hard, relentless, hips slamming into mine, the mattress beneath us rattling with every thrust. He fucks me like he’s angry—at me, at himself, at the years lost between us. Every sound he makes is a growl, every word in Spanish, dirty and reverent all at once.
“Así, Pícarita, así—mira cómo me tomas, how you squeeze me—joder, you feel so fucking good—”*
I drag my nails down his back, clawing, daring him to go harder, rougher, to give me everything he’s got. He pins my wrists tighter, driving in deeper, making me cry out. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
“Is this what you wanted?” he rasps, his voice rough with need. “To be fucked like you’re nothing but mine?”
I bare my teeth, daring him. “Prove it.”
He does. He fucks me through another orgasm, not letting up, not giving me a second to recover. I shatter, legs shaking, gasping his name and curses and nothing at all.
He barely gives me time to breathe before he’s moving again—hands rough as he drags me up, spins me, and pushes between my shoulders until I’m bent over the edge of the mattress, ass in the air. My pulse thunders. I don’t ask for mercy. I want none.
“Stay there,” he growls, and I do. My hair tangles in his fist as he lines up behind me, and when he drives back inside, I bite my forearm to keep from screaming.
He’s deeper like this—harder, hips slamming into me, each thrust making my legs quake.
The slap of skin, the obscene wet sounds, the dim light of a single bulb in the ceiling. It’s all chaos. All heat.
“Play with yourself,” he orders, voice low and fraying, Spanish curses threading through every word. “Quiero verte venir otra vez, Pícarita. Hazlo.”*
I reach down, fingers working my clit, still so fucking sensitive I almost can’t stand it.
But I want more. Need more. He yanks my head back, forcing my spine to arch.
My eyes roll, every nerve ending burning as he pounds into me, dragging pleasure and pain tight together until I’m begging—swearing, pleading, grinding back to take all of him.
“Fucking—harder, Alejandro—don’t you dare stop—”
He slaps my ass, handprint blooming hot across my skin. “Look at you, taking everything, so goddamn greedy—” His words are a growl in my ear as he fucks me deeper, rougher, like he’s trying to erase the years and the guilt and every goddamn thing that came between us.
The pressure builds—hot, violent, inescapable. I rub my clit harder, moaning his name as I come again, body shaking so hard my arms nearly give out.
He follows with a guttural moan, hips jerking as he empties inside me, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. For a second, neither of us moves. Just gasping, shaking, strung out and ruined.
He finally lets go of my hair, his breath heavy at my back. I straighten, shoving my wild hair out of my face, refusing to look at him. My legs are barely holding me up. My heart’s still trying to claw its way out of my chest.
I taste blood on my tongue from biting down too hard and grin. No regret. No apology.
Let the world come for us tomorrow. Tonight, I’m alive. And starving.
* “Damn, baby… like that.”
* “God… your mouth is a sin.”
* “Come here, little troublemaker.”
* “I want to eat this pussy,”
* “And then I want to bury myself inside you.”
* “Damn, you’re perfect…”
* “Look at me, you little troublemaker.”
* “I want to see you come.”
* “Like that, little troublemaker, like that… look how you take me… damn, you feel so good.”
* “I want to see you come again, little troublemaker. Come for me.”