Chapter 27
Alma
“Alma.”
Efren’s voice cuts through the darkness, pulling me out of the memory. I look up to find him in the doorway. He stops there, his face falling when he sees me. Releasing the sheet twisted in my fists, I look down at my hands, turning them over under the moonlight.
No blood.
No Esteban.
There’s concern etched deep in Efren’s eyes when he crosses the room. I jump into his arms, where he holds me there.
“It was me,” I whisper. “I killed him.” The words tremble in my throat, but saying them out loud carries a strange feeling of relief.
“Hey,” Efren murmurs. He places a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re okay. I’m here, Kitten. I’m always going to be here.”
He rocks me gently in his embrace like I’m a child he wants to coo back to sleep. I let my tears fall, the last mourning I will ever do for Esteban, for me, for the night I could never make sense of.
“He drugged me. Esteban… he…” The words crumble in my throat. “I killed him, Efren.”
“Shh.” His hand strokes my hair, gentle and slow. “It’s over, Alma. You’re here. With me.”
I rest my head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart grounding me as I try to breathe through the memories.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “I’m a fucking murderer.”
“Stop.” Efren’s voice hardens. He pulls back and forces me to look at the storm building in his eyes. “You killed a serial rapist. A future cop who killed other women and would’ve killed more if you hadn’t stopped him.”
I blink, confusion cutting through the fog.
“Sweetheart, don’t make me get rough. I wasn’t planning on hurting you as badly as the others.”
“Others. There were others?” I ask Efren.
“Come here.” He takes my hand, his grip firm, and leads me toward the closet.
The sheet stays clutched around me, the fabric trailing behind us.
I watch as he kneels, pushing aside old boots and boxes until his fingers find a hidden latch in the floorboards.
With a low creak, the panel lifts. He reaches inside and pulls out a stack of old VHS tapes, each one marked with a number in fading ink.
“These,” he says, his voice low, “are recordings of his victims.”
My heart stutters.
His victims.
Efren doesn’t say anything at first, just stares down at the tapes, jaw tight, breath shallow. The rage simmering beneath his calm is almost palpable. When he finally looks up, his expression has shifted.
“He filmed everything. Every assault. Every time he thought he was untouchable.” Efren’s hands tremble as he holds one of the tapes up to the light.
“How long have you known?” I take a step back. “Why didn’t you turn him in!”
“I wanted to, Alma! Believe me. I wanted nothing more than for the world to know the type of person he was. But he threatened to set me up. If I went to jail, he would have hurt you. I wasn’t willing to risk that!”
Efren drops the VHSs back into the hidden compartment and stands to face me. His knuckles graze my jaw.
“I am sorry that I couldn’t protect these women. By the time I even realized what he was doing, it was too late. But you”—he looks at me again, voice breaking slightly—“you were the one he couldn’t destroy.”
Something hot twists inside me. The room falls silent with the weight of what lies between us.
“All those times you told me to leave. It wasn’t because—”
“Because I hated you? No, Kitten. I wanted to protect you.”
“I was so stupid.”
My skin crawls, and I want to peel it off at the thought that I’d let that piece of shit touch me.
“I hate that I didn’t listen to you,” I confess.
“I hate it more,” he replies.
Efren closes his eyes, like he’s trying to leash the fury still caged inside him. Before he can open them again, my arms reach for him and bring him into me.
I press my lips to his. The kiss is soft before it unravels into something desperate.
His lips part against mine, and my hands find his hair, tugging him closer.
Needing him closer. Every breath, every flick of his tongue feels like a homecoming.
Like something broken, finally locking back into place.
We stumble backward until the bed catches us. The sheet slips from my body as he lowers me down, and our mouths meet again.
Messy.
Hungry.
Real.
His body presses against mine, and I feel the hard line of him through his sweats. My breath stutters. I arch into him. His groan vibrates against my hips, and something primal sparks inside me. I fist his hair, pulling hard, wanting to hear that sound again, wanting to own it.
He breaks the kiss long enough to look at me. His pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting himself. We’re both holding back, but I feel the aching need rising between our bodies. The tension is fueled by our desire.
“Use me,” he breathes.
The words hang in the air like a vow. My pulse kicks hard, heat spreading through every inch of me. Beneath the grief, beneath the guilt, something comes alive inside me. He flips us gently, guiding me until I’m straddling him. His palms settle on my hips, firm but patient, his eyes locked on mine.
“Use me, Alma,” he says again, voice low and steady. “Take whatever you need.”
I study his face—the man who’s seen the ugliest parts of me and still offers himself without hesitation.
What’s growing between us, what’s always been there at the surface, it isn’t clean or safe, but it is real.
He reaches for my wrists, guiding them up until my palms hover at his throat.
His pulse beats wildly beneath my fingertips, excited and willing.
His eyes reassure me that he wants this as much as I do.
I take the invitation and squeeze. My fingers tighten until his eyes are bulging, and a small moan breaks free.
His dick hardens under me, and something flickers inside me.
Lust is the driving force when I release his neck and pepper kisses down his upper chest, stopping to gently bite his nipple.
Licking around his areola, I bite down harder, and his hand rests on my head.
Sitting up, I stare down at him and wave a finger.
“No touching.” I tsk.
His lips curl into a devious smile as his hands fall to his sides, both arms spread wide like a crucifixion.
“Good boy,” I coo, and his eyes flare.
I’ve always craved this power I’m channeling with him. The power and adrenaline coursing through me are better than any drug I’ve ever taken. My lips are soft as I continue peppering kisses down to the ridge of his abdomen.
A shiver courses through him as I dip my cold hand into his waistband and free his throbbing cock. My eyes lock on the three piercings on his crown. Gathering saliva, I slowly let it drip from my mouth onto the shiny metal balls.
I look up to see his glossy eyes watching with heated intensity.
This is new territory for me, and yet my body quickly adapts, yearning to please him and find my own pleasure.
Every tremor from him feeds something in me that’s been starved for years.
The heat of control curls low inside of me as I lower my breasts, caging his cock between them.
I slide his cock between my breasts a few times, feeling it thicken with each slow glide. Precum glistens on his head, and I lower my mouth to it.
“Mmm. You taste so good for me.” I moan.
Sucking in the full length of him, I relish in the satisfaction that falls from his lips.
I own this dick.
And he owns all of me.
I take him in deeper, sliding my mouth up and down. Releasing him with a satisfying pop, I flick my tongue over the piercings on his crown.
“Alma. Fuck.” He gasps, and I lower my mouth again.
My teeth tug hard on one of his piercings, and his abs tighten with the pain.
I massage his balls, then tug at the other metal piercing.
The masochist being birthed out of me stares at him in awe.
I tug at another one, this time harder, and he hisses.
I massage his balls again gently, then kiss them.
“You’re such a good boy,” I say before climbing on top of him.
My own arousal from the blow job is slick between my thighs.
I lower myself onto him, welcoming the tip of his cock into me.
His hands move to my hips, and I push them back to the side.
Threading my fingers through his, I pin his hands, then lower myself further, feeling his cock extending inside me.
A small whimper escapes, and I spread my legs wider.
Hooking my feet behind me, I rest them on his thighs and ride his dick.
In and out.
I keep his hands pinned and bounce my ass like I do when I’m on stage. He meets every motion from under me.
Thrust after thrust.
I release his hands so I can sit up. Leaning back, I feel his dick hit deep inside me. A carnal moan escapes him. My hand lowers back to his neck, and I squeeze.
“You don’t cum until I tell you too,” I command as he thrusts from underneath.
“That’s it, Efren. Fuck me hard.” I meet each thrust as I squeeze his throat.
My orgasm pools from deep inside me. Our bodies thrust violently together, both of us lost in the sensation. It’s maddening, the power I feel riding his cock like this. Knowing he belongs to me. Knowing my body is orchestrating his, using him as I release everything inside me.
“I’m close. I’m so close, Efren.” I moan, my grip loosening and tightening around his throat.
Everything inside me is coming undone, preparing for the orgasm to hit. I can smell my arousal perfuming the air. My legs shake, but I keep fucking him.
Harder.
Faster.
“Cum for me, Papi.” The words fall seductively from my lips.
Efren thrusts hard, and moans spill from me.
“Cum inside me,” I cry out, my hand tightening around his throat.
Efren cums on my second command, and I meet him there, my orgasm surging through me like a wave of electricity, igniting every cell inside my body. I release his throat, and my head falls back when I feel his cum warm inside me.
“Efren. God. Fuck.”
The words slur as I catch my breath. For a moment, neither of us moves.
I fall forward onto him, my head resting on his shoulder.
He kisses my forehead. The silence between our breaths stretches thin.
His cock is still buried in me, but I don’t move.
I don’t want to. Efren’s hand brushes my damp hair from my face.
“You okay, Kitten?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse.
I nod, though my mind races. There’s a strange calm that follows the thought, not fear, not regret, just awareness.
As if my body finally understands what it means to take something meant to control me and turn it into my own power.
Efren is giving that to me, helping me transmute the feelings and releasing them. I look up at him.
“I’ve never had control like that,” I confess. My fingers dance across the love bites I left on this chest.
“You own me, Alma. Every fucking part of me.”
His words sink into me, heavy and certain.
I slide off him, pulling the sheet over my body.
The warmth between my thighs, the marks on his skin, the silence that follows, all feel like the walls between us are finally crumbling.
My lips part, caught between confession and restraint, but nothing comes out.
Efren props his head onto his hand and watches me. His eyes are soft in the dim light. I turn away, clutching the sheet closer as my pulse slows and my breath steadies. The words I want to say burn in my throat, too fragile to survive the night.
So instead, I whisper three different ones. “Hold me, please.”
It’s safer than the truth.
Because what I feel terrifies me.