Chapter Sixteen
The following morning, Lourdes breached the veil of sleep as something shifted between her legs.
A hot, wet swipe across her clitoris jolted her upright on the cushy rug in the penthouse living room.
“Enrique!” Spots flashed in her vision. His guttural moan rumbled through her core.
The golden glow from the table lamp sliced through the darkness and gleamed in her husband’s wicked eyes as he rubbed his morning scruff on her tender folds.
“You taste amazing.” Enrique gripped her thighs to hold her steady. At his mercy.
She groaned and plopped back on the floor. “Haven’t you had enough?”
He chuckled and leaned up just enough to smirk at her. “It’s my wedding night.”
“Ours, and it ended at midnight. What time is it?”
“Late, or early. Sun’s not up yet.” He feathered kisses along her inner thigh.
“We need sleep.” Her heart raced faster as his mouth closed over her throbbing labia.
“Ooh!” She squirmed, desperate for an anchor in the bliss ravaging her body.
He pinned her down, savoring her as though he’d never tasted anything so delicious.
She gripped his messy hair and bore down on him.
The fine tether on her release snapped. Pleasure crashed over her, liquefying her bones and rocketing her pulse into the stratosphere.
She cried out, tears burning her eyes, and collapsed helplessly in his hold.
“I love the way you shatter.” He licked her once more, then stretched out beside her on the rug and drew her into his arms.
“Should I expect to wake up like this every morning?” Lourdes rested her head on his chest and dragged air into her straining lungs.
“Perhaps.” He stroked the length of her tousled hair.
She turned to face him. The swipe of his talented tongue across his glistening lips flip-flopped her heart. It should be illegal for him to look so damn good in the morning.
After the surprise wedding dinner, she’d returned to her new home with her new husband, who pounced on her as soon as the private elevator released them into the living room. He’d stripped her bare and rocked her world on the sofa and then in an armchair before they succumbed to exhaustion.
How he found the stamina to put his mouth to work again after a short rest was beyond her.
Laughing, she rolled away from him and rubbed her sore bottom. “Ow. I think I have carpet burn. We’ve got to stop having sex on the floor.”
Enrique sat up and leaned against the dark-gray suede sofa.
“We’re going to christen every room in the apartment, and every wall and floor in those rooms.” He cupped her chin and drew her gaze to his.
“By the time I’m done corrupting you, princess, you won’t be able to walk straight.
In every room you stumble into, the memory of my touch will sear your mind. ”
She giggled at his dirty, heated promise. “Goodness, you are full of yourself.”
“I speak the truth, my sweet wife.”
“What’s so bad is, I believe it.” She stood on wobbly legs and fluffed out her wrinkled wedding dress.
“No. I want you bare. Open. Mine to look at.” He snatched the garment away and tossed it against the sliding glass terrace doors where the vertical plastic blinds clacked on impact.
“I wasn’t going to put it back on. Now, pajamas, on the other hand.
..” She clasped her arms over her chest to keep her breasts from jiggling as she dashed toward the moving boxes and her luggage set that Enrique had stacked against the far wall.
She unzipped a suitcase and rummaged inside for a T-shirt.
“I have a long day of unpacking ahead of me. When do you leave?” she asked over her shoulder as he hauled himself up.
Her mouth dried at the sight of his long legs and muscled arms.
“Sooner than I would like.” He strode over and drew her into his embrace.
His thick, glorious erection pressed against her belly.
Fine crow’s feet bracketed his eyes, and the lamplight reflected in the dark pools like flames sure to devour her.
May the saints preserve her. This passionate man was her drug.
Her addiction. His need mirrored her own.
He promised corruption; she expected nothing less.
She grasped his hand and trailed her fingers along the inked webbing around his wrist. These beautiful, roughhewn hands had sinned.
Horribly so. Yet he would never hurt her.
She sucked his middle finger in between her teeth and treasured the calloused pad with her tongue and teeth. Then she moved on to his index finger.
“Lourdes.” Her name escaped his mouth on a low moan. He nuzzled her jawline before he clasped her face with both hands and claimed her lips with his.
She groaned. Her eyes rolled back. The air in her lungs vanished. Her taste on his tongue shot through her like an aphrodisiac. Her fingers roamed of their own accord across his chest and back to memorize each muscle beneath his hot skin.
A shrill beep pierced the air, shattering the moment.
She drew back and blinked up at him. “Your cell?”
Enrique grimaced and crossed the room to grab his phone from his pants. He smashed a button and silenced the beep. “My wake-up alarm. It’s four o’clock.” Sighing, he rubbed his hand across his shadowed jaw. “I’d better shower and leave.”
“Was Rubén’s phone call yesterday about Diego?
” She forced out the question she’d longed to ask since Enrique and the others had talked with Rubén in the foyer.
As he hesitated, her stomach lurched. Again, she crossed her arms over her suddenly tight chest. Her thighs clenched together.
“You can tell me, Enrique. Given how standoffish you were at dinner, I knew better than to ask then in front of everyone, but it’s just us now. Tell me the truth, please.”
“You’re bound to find out anyway.” His nostrils flared as he scrolled through his phone. “Zayas set fire to La Estancia Roja. Tossed three Molotov cocktails through the windows.”
“Ah, the brothel. I remember that place. Jacobo spent many nights there. Well, I’m sorry that the arson is causing you and everyone problems, but I’m not too broken up by the loss.”
“It’s not destroyed.” Enrique glanced away as though to form his words, then swept his gaze down her body and back up.
Something cold and distant warred with the lust in his eyes.
“Other than enforcement and recruitment, I’m in charge of the adult entertainment outlets.
There are three brothels and five strip clubs in the Hermosillo plaza, plus more elsewhere. All are under my supervision.”
Her entire body tensed like a steel beam. Dios mío. That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. He might as well have stabbed her in the heart. “You should’ve told me about this,” she replied, infusing as much strength into her tone as she could.
His mouth twitched. “Jealous?”
“Enrique,” she warned and braced her hands on her hips, fighting her sense of modesty. “So, you spend your days surrounded by naked women?”
He smirked, the slash of his shoulders easing. “Would it bother you if I did?”
Lourdes scoffed, hating that he was enjoying this. Hating that he was so comfortable in his own skin that he could stand naked in front of her without a modicum of shame. “Would it bother you if I spent my time around naked men?”
His smirk vanished. “Not happening.”
“Hypocrite, are you?” She notched up her chin.
That got him. He dropped his head and spat curses under his breath. Then he arched his eyebrow at her. “The Villegas Cartel has one man overseeing both the brothels and strip clubs, right?”
She bobbed her head. “What are you getting at?”
Frustration crimped his face. “It’s the same with the Lozanos. It’s just business.”
Business? That was always a man’s excuse. But Enrique was supposed to be different. He was different. The truth rang in his words, but knowing and accepting it were two different things.
It wasn’t just about the brothels and strip clubs.
It was about trust.
She didn’t know how to do this. How to have a healthy relationship with a man.
“My job is my job, Lourdes. It changes nothing between us.” He grabbed his discarded clothes and kissed her cheek. “Go to bed. Unpack your clothes. Fix up your studio. Do whatever you want, but do not leave the apartment. I probably won’t be home until after dark.”
She blinked fast and nodded. Fix up her studio.
Right. As if she knew which room was hers.
He hadn’t given her the tour yet. Enrique headed down the hall, his back rigid and head up as though his bombshell hadn’t twisted her inside out.
She promptly drew on a pair of panties and a T-shirt.
The soft fabric eased the chill of unease marring her skin as she curled up on the sofa and hugged her knees.
The shower ran from another part of the apartment.
She rested her head against her bent legs and closed her eyes. The man she loved oversaw the very brothel where her first husband had taken lovers.
How could she trust the keeper of her heart around all those half-naked women?
****
Lourdes leaned back in her swivel chair and smiled at her new studio, now fully set up.
From the sunlight pouring in through the vast windows to her large glass desk and the metal shelving units stocked with art supplies, she couldn’t have picked a better space if she’d tried.
Thankfully, she’d found the room easily enough since Enrique and her father’s guards had stored her furniture and supplies there.
Only the dozen-plus paintings she’d stacked against the shelves needed a new home—first in a posh gallery exhibit, then in the homes of art lovers everywhere.