Chapter 14 – Lazaro
I move through the quiet halls of the penthouse, the only sound the soft echo of my boots on the marble floor. The early morning light filters through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the walls. It’s always quiet here, but that won’t be the case for long. Today is just another power move. Another day in control. I’ve always prided myself on that—on holding the reins, keeping everything tethered to my will.
The docks are waiting. That’s where we’ll go, and Calista’s coming with me. She’ll be the perfect arm piece, the perfect picture of my power and control. I’ve already calculated the moves—the steps we’ll take, the image we’ll project. But I know things have changed between us. The thought of her, of how she came all over my fingers yesterday, lingers in my mind like a poison. I can't stop thinking about her. Her body, the way she responded to me, it’s etched into my mind in a way that I can’t shake.
I reach her bedroom door, the metal handle cold beneath my fingers as I twist it. I enter without knocking. I never do. I have no reason to. Calista is mine, whether she acknowledges it or not.
But when I open the door, she’s not there. Her bed is made, everything in place, but the room is empty. The bathroom door is cracked open, and I hear the sound of running water. Her voice lingers in my head, sharp and defiant from our last encounter.
I feel a force stir inside me—a restlessness, a hunger I can’t fully grasp. I tell myself it’s just a matter of control. I’m used to things going according to plan. I step further inside, moving quietly, a predator on the hunt.
I approach the bathroom, the sound of the shower growing louder, the steam curling under the door like it’s calling me in. Without hesitation, I push it open.
She stands with her back to me, unaware—water cascading over her skin, dark hair plastered to her spine. Her body glows through the mist, all curves and muscle, bare skin slick and glistening under the spray. I stop in the doorway and take a second just to watch. Just to burn the sight of her into my mind.
The curve of her ass. The dip of her waist. The smooth, wet skin of her thighs. The way the droplets race down her back and cling to the swell of her breasts. She’s art and chaos and temptation all at once.
And I need her.
I strip slowly. First my shirt, dragging it over my head and dropping it to the floor. Then my pants, button by button, unhurried.
She finally turns, startled by the sound of fabric hitting tile. Her eyes lock on mine. Her expression wavers—surprise, defiance, heat. That fire in her gaze is the thing that unravels me.
“Get out,” she snaps, water gliding over the curve of her breast. Her voice is sharp, but there’s a tremble under it. “What are you doing in here?” she adds, more breathless now, eyes narrowing as they rake over me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, stepping inside like I own the space, like I own the heat between us.
“You think you can just walk in and take over?” she challenges, backing up an inch.
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. She’s infuriating—and impossibly hot. The look in her eyes shifts again—still angry but there’s a hunger there too.
I step in, completely naked now, water misting my skin as I close the distance between us.
She backs up instinctively, hitting the wall of the shower, her body still dripping and glistening. She’s trying to shield herself with attitude, but her eyes betray her. She’s looking at me. All of me.
“How long is this going to take?” I ask, voice rough. It’s not a question. It’s a warning.
She lifts her chin. “You don’t control everything.”
My hand reaches out, fingers brushing her hip—wet, smooth, warm—and I swear I feel her tremble.
But then she moves.
Fast.
Before I can react, she pushes me against the wet shower wall, palms flat on my chest. I barely register the impact before she drops to her knees, water trailing down her body in perfect lines.
She looks up at me through her lashes, hair soaked and clinging to her shoulders, lips parted. “You want control?” she whispers against my skin. “Then try to stop me.”
My cock twitches in anticipation, hard and throbbing and so fucking ready for her.
Her hands wrap around me, slow and almost teasing. She strokes me once, twice, watching my reaction with a wicked smirk on her face. Her thumbs tease the tip, rubbing over the sensitive slit, spreading the precum with maddening patience.
Then her lips wrap around me, warm and wet, and I lose my fucking mind.
“Jesus—Calista,” I growl, one hand flying to the wall for balance, the other tangling in her hair.
She hums around me, tongue swirling, taking me deeper inch by inch until the head of my cock hits the back of her throat. Her hands grip my thighs, nails digging in just enough to hurt.
“You’re gonna make me lose it,” I pant, hips jerking forward despite myself.
She pulls back slightly, licking up the underside of my cock, slow and filthy. “Then lose it,” she whispers. “Come in my mouth. I want to taste how bad you need me.”
Fuck.
Her mouth is perfect—tight, warm, relentless. She starts slow, letting me feel every inch of her lips sliding down my cock, her tongue tracing the underside in a slick glide that makes my breath catch. She bobs her head, picking up a rhythm that has my knees threatening to give, water cascading over both of us like we’re drowning in this heat.
I groan, head falling back against the tile, one hand braced on the wall—but the other? It fists in her soaked hair, tight and possessive, pulling just enough to make her moan around me. The sound vibrates through my cock, damn near making me come on the spot.
Her hand works the base of me in tandem with her mouth, twisting, stroking, squeezing just right, milking every gasp and shudder she can tear from me. Her lips are stretched around me, spit and water mixing, dripping down her chin in the filthiest, most beautiful mess I've ever seen.
Every stroke of her tongue, every wet pop of her lips pulling back only to sink down again, feels like a countdown. And I want to stay like this forever—but fuck, I’m already unraveling.
I groan, deep and raw. “Don’t stop. Please, Calista—fuck—don’t stop.”
She sucks harder, tongue flicking just under the head, lips stretched wide around me. The sound alone—the wet, obscene rhythm of her mouth—drives me right to the edge.
My body tenses, every muscle locking up.
“I’m gonna—” I can’t even finish the sentence.
I explode in her mouth with a hoarse, guttural moan, hips bucking forward as the orgasm rips through me. Instead of pulling away, she takes it all—every drop, swallowing around me, never breaking eye contact.
When I finally sag against the wall, panting and wrung out, she pulls back slowly, licking her lips like she’s tasting the last of me.
She stands, steam swirling around her like smoke.
“You’re not in control,” she says, voice low and wicked.
And fuck, she’s right.
Because I’d give it all up for her to do that again.