Chapter Eight
“You think you can defy me?”
Jacobo’s harsh words hit Lourdes before his hand cracked across her cheek. White-hot pain exploded. The force knocked her into the wall where she crumpled to the floor. The cold tile raked her bare skin. She bit back her cry of pain and held her cheek.
“Stop. Please.” She raised her trembling hand. “Just go to bed. Sleep it off.”
“Now, you’re telling me what to do?” he screeched, spittle flying. He reeked of sweat, tequila, and another woman’s perfume.
Her breath strangled on a sob. Not again. She wouldn’t cower. She wouldn’t lose this baby. “Wait, I’m preg—”
He kicked her in the ribs.
She screamed. Pain ricocheted through her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Another strike. Another burst of pain. The floor blurred; the room spun. She sobbed, curling in on herself, trying to protect her little one. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her whole.
“No, please—”
“Lourdes!”
She jolted upright in bed and clutched the sheet to her naked, sweat-soaked body.
Darkness rimmed her blurry vision. Air sliced down her throat.
Her heart ached; her ears rang. Phantom pain pulsated in her stomach, the profound sense of loss sweeping through her as it always did when the nightmares struck.
The mattress shifted beside her, and a click resounded before the yellow light from the bedside lamp cut through the shadows.
“Shh, princess. It was just a nightmare.”
Enrique. Strong. Real. Steady. He wrapped his arm around her from behind and grounded her in reality. His warmth permeated her cold, clammy skin.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He brushed his lips on her neck.
A sob tore from her throat. She turned and hugged him tight.
Enrique rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back. His breath puffed into her hair. His faint citrus scent and her womanly musk from their earlier playtime still clung to him.
The onslaught subsided, dulling the memories she could never banish.
She leaned back and wiped away her tears with shaking hands.
A chill hung in the air. The crackling, glowing red embers in the hearth were all that remained of the once blazing fire.
Hiccuping, she tucked the blanket and sheet under her arms and around her breasts.
More for modesty and self-preservation than a need for warmth.
“What were you dreaming about?” He feathered kisses over her face.
She ducked her head. Shame burned from the inside out. “J-Jacobo,” she stuttered and swallowed past the lump in her throat. She couldn’t bear to tell him about her miscarriages. Not yet. The pain was still too raw. “He was beating me.”
“Mierda.” Enrique fisted his hands on his lap. The sheet barely covered his nakedness.
“I still remember the sound of his boots on the floor. His stench. The way he’d—” Her throat closed.
“You don’t have to say it.”
“No, I do. For four years, I was trapped with him. He hit me, cheated on me, told me I was worthless and stupid. And I let him.”
Enrique tilted up her chin. “You didn’t let him do anything. That bastard took from you. It was not your fault.”
The heat and anger blazing in his eyes at her defense steadied her upset stomach.
She eased out of his hold and trailed her fingers down the swirls inking his chest. “I’ve never talked about this before.
I tried once with my mother. Guess what she told me?
My marriage was none of her business. Everyone knew about the abuse, though. Makeup only covered so much.”
“Sí, I knew.” He brushed her mussed hair back from her face.
“All those family dinners Rubén invited me to at his father’s home, I only went because I knew you would be there.
Every time Jacobo spoke to you like you were nothing, I had to stop myself from attacking him.
Every time you smiled to keep from crying, I wanted to kiss you. Seeing you with him gutted me.”
“I was so afraid,” she whispered.
“You were surviving. Now, you get to live.”
“Live? That’s such a foreign word. Foreign concept.
” Lourdes sucked in a shaky breath and closed her eyes.
“When Jacobo died, I was so relieved. God forgive me.” She raised her hand, making the customary sign of the cross, and forced herself to meet Enrique’s gaze.
The inky pools of his dark-brown irises threatened to drown her.
“Before my engagement to Diego, I thought I was finally free of my nightmares. Hadn’t had one in months.
Then I met him, a Jacobo clone. Now, the nightmares come a few times a week.
When you barged into my apartment, I was up that early because I had one and couldn’t fall back to sleep.
I guess I should be grateful I don’t have them every night. ”
“Even once is too much.”
Shrugging, she traced the stitching on the blanket. “I hate feeling like this. Weak. Scared. Useless.”
“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. What do you need right now—a sketchbook, painting supplies? I should’ve had some here waiting for you.”
“What do you mean?” She stopped fidgeting and frowned at him.
“I figured drawing and painting relaxes you. Helps you find peace.”
Her heart flipped. She grasped his warm hands, calloused from years of work and hardship.
“I usually draw happy things. Sunsets, fields of flowers, people smiling. Things like that. I love painting, but it’s much easier to store sketchpads than canvases.
I haven’t reached out to gallery owners in a while.
” Had she endeavored to build her career back in her hometown, her father would’ve sabotaged it.
“There’s this wonderful youth center that I volunteer at, teaching art.
The kids are amazing, so accepting and willing to learn.
” Unlike the two-faced adults who either tolerated her while keeping a polite distance or cozied up to her, thinking they could get something out of the Villegas Cartel princess.
“Well, I used to volunteer there. I’d hoped to find a place in Nogales. ”
“Hermosillo has a decent art community from what I hear.”
She grinned. “And I already know people in it. I’ll have to call them up once all this craziness is over.” If we’re not dead, she declined to add.
“I’ve seen some of your paintings. My favorite is ‘Essence of Light’—the abstract self-portrait with pinkish flowers circling your face and a huge splash of golden-yellow behind you. Remember that one?”
“Of course, I do. An anonymous buyer bought it at an exhibit. Was that you?” The mischievous twinkle in his eyes quickened her pulse. “My God, Enrique. I had no idea. Why did you not buy it under your name?”
“And cause problems for you? No. Jacobo would’ve raged hell if he knew I bought one of his wife’s paintings.”
“Point taken.” A few weeks after the exhibit, however, her husband had died, and then his kingpin father sent her back to her parents, ending her budding career in Hermosillo. “Jacobo never cared what I did with my time. The few paintings I’d sold back then meant everything to me.”
Enrique traced circles on her wrist. “I wanted to buy more, but your work deserves to be enjoyed by as many people as possible.”
“I’ll paint something just for you.” Eyes misting, she jumped into his lap and kissed him.
His heady taste and strong hands on her hips branded her as his.
She drew back for air and clasped his face with both hands.
His whiskers abraded her palms. “Whether we’re discovered tomorrow or a month from now, let’s not waste a moment.
Make love to me. I’m yours. No,” she paused and placed her finger on his lips before he could speak, “I want to make you mine.”
“By all means.” He eased her back onto the mattress, stacked the pillows behind him, and reclined as though he was posing for a risqué modeling shoot. His growing erection tented the sheet before it escaped and sprang outward from the patch of hair at the apex of his legs. “Do as you will.”
The decadent sight of him stretched out for her pleasure dried her mouth. If only she had her acrylics and a canvas large enough to do him justice. She straddled his waist and rested her hands on his abs. His heated shaft brushed her backside, and she gasped.
“Gorgeous.” He lightly tugged on her nipples.
Feminine power coursed through her. She could get used to this—his praise, his need.
Her satisfaction. The longing in his narrowed, sultry eyes nearly undid her as she shifted down his legs and marveled at the thick rod protruding upright for her kiss.
A sudden memory of Jacobo forcing her to her knees flashed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Lourdes, stop. You don’t have to.”
“No. I want this.” Enrique wasn’t Jacobo. He wouldn’t force her, hurt her, mock her. She licked her lips and lightly pumped his hot, solid cock.
He hissed and bucked into her hand. “That’s nice. A little harder.”
Emboldened, she tightened her grip and flicked her tongue across his bulbous head. The headiness of salt tingled her taste buds.
“Just like that, good.” He jerked, gasping. “My balls, princess. Touch them. Stroke them. Go easy. Kiss me everywhere.”
His gentle instructions eased the clamp in her chest. Never had a man reclined before her, trusting her to give him what he needed.
What she wanted to give. She could do this.
Bring him pleasure. Take him to paradise.
She would not screw up. With a deep, steadying breath, she teased her lips over the slit and claimed a bit of pre-cum.
Then she fondled his heavy testicles and feathered kisses along his twitching inner thigh.
As he braced his feet on the mattress, she trailed her fingers across the sensitive band of skin that connected his balls to his ass.
“Fucking hell, Lourdes. You’re a fast learner.” Enrique cursed under his breath and gripped the sheet. “Go all the way down. Put me out of my misery, or I’ll flip you around and take you my way.”
Her nipples tingled as her clit throbbed. Lourdes opened wide and took him in. His ruddy cock filled her with magnificent heat and stretched the hollow of her cheek. As she sucked, her throat relaxed. Her confidence soared. She bobbed her head faster, sucking him harder.
Dios mío. This was more fun than she anticipated.
“Fuck. Want more, do you? All right then.” He fisted her hair and pumped his hips.
Gagging, she clamped her mouth around the base of his cock. He speared her so deeply he nearly found her lungs. Then she slid back up and licked his flushed tip. She pushed down again and rolled his testicles in between her fingers.
“Breathe through your nose,” he rasped.
Obeying as much as possible, she nibbled on his pubes. The heavy rod burned her tongue, the thickness and salty-sweet taste addicting. Her sex clenched, the sore bud between her thighs craving friction. Once he tugged her head up, she licked the underside of his cock.
“I’m about to burst. Ride me.”
She straddled Enrique again and impaled herself on his shaft. A cry tore free.
“Lourdes!” He palmed her waist and bucked. “Bounce, princess. Show me how your tits dance.”
His dirty words heated her as much as his hands on her flesh. “You don’t think they’re too small?” She cupped her breasts mid-slide.
“Hell, no. I could suck on them all day.”
Laughing, she braced her hands on his chest and bounced as if her life depended on it.
Up, down. In, out. His cock speared her like a fire poker hellbent on slicing her in two.
Her breasts bobbed with a mind of their own.
Sweat coated her skin. Her clit throbbed with every downward thrust and brushed against his patch of thick curls.
“Good girl. Keep bouncing. Moan for me.” He palmed her breasts and tweaked her nipples between his fingers. “Your body was made for sin. Tight and perfect.”
She gyrated, bearing down on him, before she bounced again. Breathy moans escaped her mouth. Pressure pounded through her knees. Exhaustion tunneled into her muscles.
“I’m almost ready.” He cursed and bucked harder.
Pride scorched her, renewing her strength.
“I love the way you feel inside me.” Rotating her hips, bouncing faster, she altered her rhythm to keep him on the precarious edge of ecstasy.
He pushed deeper and struck the back of her core.
She cried out, thoroughly stuffed with the delicious, wicked organ that made him all man.
My man.
“Shatter, Lourdes. I want you shouting my name.”
She bore down again and gasped. The dam burst. Fireworks snapped in her mind. “Enrique. I’m coming!” Liquid slicked her inner folds in pulsating waves.
“Goddamn it!” His body stiffened, and his eyes rolled back. Enrique gripped her ass hard and shoved her down on his cock. He shouted in release.
“Ahh!” The pressure ripped through her in a blast of heat. His desire pumped into her as a strange, sharp beep pierced her ears on repeat. She was too far gone to care. Suddenly, he yanked her off him and shoved her to the far side of the bed. A cry of denial ripped from her lips.
“Get to the cellar.” Enrique launched to his feet, tossed her discarded clothes on the mattress, and yanked on his jeans. The muscles in his back rippled, and the swirling inked bands took on a life of their own. He snatched his gun from the holster and stalked toward his desk.
The computer monitor had flickered on. A dark window filled the screen.
Sudden fear had her jerking on her clothes. Her core ached, empty and bereft with the loss of his heat. “What’s happening? Did someone trip a perimeter alarm?”
“Sí. Four men. One is now hacking into the entry control panel.” He smashed a button, silenced the beeping, then braced himself against the wall that was adjacent to the door. He scowled back at her. “Get going, damn it.”
She straightened her shirt over her braless breasts just as the cabin door banged open.
Two masked, black-garbed men swarmed in, weapons drawn.
Enrique smashed the hilt of his gun against the first intruder’s skull and then kicked the second in the back.
The strangers groaned and cursed. The taller one body-slammed Enrique into the wall. The curtains ripped off the rod as they struggled.
“Lourdes, cellar!” Enrique shouted as the man decked him.
Another two men invaded the cabin with an air of menace so thick her skin crawled. Neither raised their weapons and simply watched her from the gaping doorway. Heart pounding, she swallowed back bile. No way could she make it to the hatch door in the kitchen before the masked men snatched her.
The windows were bolted shut. A dead end.
Nowhere to run. Hide. She wouldn’t leave Enrique anyway.
Outnumbered, outgunned. They were screwed.