Chapter 27 #3
I’m on her in an instant, my mouth crashing down on hers in a brutal, violent kiss.
This is not a kiss of tenderness. It is a kiss of possession, of rage, of a desire so fierce it borders on madness.
I devour her mouth, my tongue plunging past her lips, tasting the faint sweetness of wine and the sharper, metallic tang of her defiance.
Her hands come up to my chest, pushing, but it's a feeble effort.
I deepen the kiss, one hand tangling in her hair, tilting her head back, while the other travels down her body.
My fingers find the hem of the emerald dress.
I don't hesitate as I shove the silk fabric up, bunching it around her waist, exposing the black lace she wears.
She gasps into my mouth, a choked sound of surprise and arousal.
I break the kiss, my lips trailing a hot path down her throat, over her collarbone, to the swell of her breast. My hand slides between her thighs and I feel she’s already wet.
So wet for me and that sends another jolt of raw lust through me.
I press my fingers against the thin lace, applying a small amount of pressure over her clit. She moans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through her body straight into mine.
"Ernesto…" she breathes, her voice a ragged plea. The way she says my name, like a prayer, a curse is intoxicating.
I move my fingers in slow deliberate circles, her hips lift off the couch, chasing the pressure. I keep her pinned with my weight, my thumb stroking, teasing. Kissing the sensitive skin of her neck, grazing gently with my teeth, and she whimpers, her body trembling under mine.
She’s getting close, I can feel the tension in her muscles coiling tighter and tighter. But tonight, feeling her come isn’t enough. For weeks, a dark hunger has been building inside me–a need to taste her, consume her. To claim every part of her.
I pull back, moving off her.
She looks up at me, her eyes dazed, lips swollen and flushed from my kisses, confusion clouding her beautiful complexion.
"What…" she starts to ask.
She doesn’t get to finish the question as I move to the edge of the couch and drop to my knees before her and pull her to the edge. Her eyes widen with shock as she tries to sit up, pushing at my shoulders, her hands fluttering.
"No, Ernesto, don't," she whispers.. " I'm not… I'm dirty."
Her resistance, her sudden shyness, only makes my cock harder. "Dejate de babosadas y acuestate," I growl, pushing her back against the leather cushions. I part her legs, my hands firm on her thighs, and lower myself to her pussy.
Not wasting any time, my tongue flicks her clit through the wet lace. She screams, a high, sharp sound of pure shock and pleasure and I quickly cover her mouth with my hand, muffling the noise.
I work her with my tongue, relentlessly, my hand still clamped over her mouth as she moans and writhes.
The taste of her is intoxicating, it makes me feral.
I feel the goosebumps rise on her thighs, a testament to her pleasure.
Pleasure I’m the one giving her. I move the lace panties aside, needing direct contact with her sweet cunt.
My tongue moves faster, harder as she shakes above me, her hips bucking.
I slide a finger inside her, feeling her tight hot virgin tunnel wrap itself around it.
Her entire body arches off the couch, her back bowing.
Fuck, she’s so close, I can feel the frantic flutter of her pulse against my palm.
She claws at my hand, trying to pull it from her mouth, not to stop me, but to scream.
I push my finger deeper and lap at her faster until she comes apart, her body seizing in a violent, shuddering orgasm.
She shoves my head harder against her, her fingers tangling in my hair, her muffled cries a symphony of pure ecstasy.
When the last tremor has faded, I give her one last, slow lick, a final taste of her release. I pull back and stand up, my own body aching with need but I’m perfectly content seeing how I left her wrecked on my couch.
But she once again surprises me.
As I start to adjust my clothes, her hand shoots out, her fingers curling around my belt buckle. She pulls me back toward her, her eyes heavy-lidded and glazed with pleasure, as a slow, wicked smile curves her lips. She tugs me forward until my crotch is level with her face.
With a deliberateness that makes my breath catch, she undoes my belt, then my pants. My cock, painfully hard, springs free. Alejandra looks up at me, her gaze challenging, and then she spits on the head.
Fuck.
She takes me into her mouth, her lips closing around me, her tongue immediately going to work.
The pleasure is instantaneous and overwhelming.
I can't help but groan, hunching over her, my hands bracing against the back of the couch to keep myself upright, my legs shaking from holding myself up. Her throat takes me deep as her hand strokes my shaft in a perfect, maddening rhythm and shit, it’s too much.
I grab a fistful of her dark curls, pulling her head back until I slip from her mouth.
She looks up at me, her lips parted, and sticks her tongue out– an invitation.
Grabbing my cock, I stroke myself until I come with a muffled roar, spilling my release all over her tongue, her lips, her chin.
The sight of her, painted with my seed, eyes hazy with satisfaction, is the most degenerate and gorgeous thing I have ever seen.
I quickly tuck my cock back into my pants but I can’t help reaching out my thumb to smear my cum across her lower lip as if it were her own personalized lipstick. My Palomita looks absolutely fucked out of her mind. A stupidly cute, lopsided smile appears on her face.
She lays her head back against the couch with a soft giggle. "Well," she murmurs, her voice thick and husky. "I guess that's one way to end an argument."
The unexpected joke catches me completely off guard as a genuine chuckle escapes me. I watch as she slowly sits up, a new light in her eyes. She stands, her dress still bunched around her waist, and places her hands on my chest. There’s no way she doesn’t feel how my heart hammers against it.
She rises on her toes and places a kiss on my lips. Her kiss is completely different from mine. It’s not violent and claiming, it’s tender. Sweet like her. And against all my better judgment, I kiss her back. For the first time in our marriage, we share kiss. A real, true kiss.
We forget about the guests, about my uncle. The world outside this office ceases to exist.
It only takes a few seconds of kissing before I step away and help her straighten her dress, my hands lingering on her waist. I lace our fingers together, and lead her out of the office.
She tries to ask where we’re going but I don’t answer as we stop by the security room at the front of the house.
Hector, at the main desk, watching the monitors.
"The party is over," I tell him. "Make sure everyone gets home safely. Have Consuelo see them out."
He nods, his expression unreadable. "Sir."
Hand in hand, we walk up the grand staircase.
At the top of the stairs, Alejandra hesitates, and pulls me toward Camilla's room.
We push the door open a crack and in the soft glow of her nightlight, my daughter is fast asleep, her face peaceful, a stuffed bear clutched in her arms. We stand together, a silent promise in the doorway.
I take Alejandra's hand again and lead her toward our bedroom.
I’m already in bed, the sheets cool against my hot skin, when she emerges from the bathroom.
She’s taken off the diamonds, washed her face, but she is still in the emerald dress.
I don’t think she has any plans of joining me in bed anytime soon because she begins pacing the room, her movements light, almost buoyant.
"I can't believe that happened," she says, a note of awe in her voice. She runs a hand through her hair, shaking out the last of the professionally styled waves. "Your uncle… he's a real piece of work."
I watch her, propping myself up on one elbow. "He is."
"And Mrs. Huerta! Asking about babies…I thought I was going to die right then and there.
" She laughs, a free, happy sound that fills the quiet room.
She stops in front of the full-length mirror, looking at her reflection.
"But the dinner was a success, right? Consuelo es una bendición de Dios. I’ll need to find a way to compensate for her and the staff's hard work today. And everyone seemed to like me."
“And everyone seemed to like me." She turns to face me, and her face is glowing with pride. She did indeed succeed tonight. Not as my contracted wife, but as herself. A feeling swells in my chest, one that is dangerously close to admiration. Taking pride in her.
I watch this woman, a whirlwind of fire and grace, and I know, with a terrifying certainty, that I’ve made the right choice. She is no longer just a solution to a problem, she’s the answer to a question I never knew I was asking.
"They did more than like you," I say, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "You’ve earned their respect."
She stops pacing and looks at me, a small, uncertain smile playing on her lips. The emerald dress shimmers as she moves toward the bed, the silk whispering against her skin. She perches on the edge, her back to me, and traces the pattern of the duvet with her finger.
"He deserved it," she murmurs, her voice soft but still laced with the fire from the garden. "No one gets to talk about you or Camilla like that."
I reach out, my hand settling on the warm, bare skin of her back. She flinches before leaning into my touch.
Her loyalty is a dangerous thing, igniting an obsessive feeling in me. I slide my hand up, my fingers tangling in the loose waves of her hair and tug gently, tilting her head back until her eyes, dark and luminous in the dim light, meet mine.
"No one has ever bothered coming to my defense before," I say, the admission costing me more than I care to admit. In my world, defense is a sign of weakness. You fight your own battles, or you die. But her defending me didn’t feel like weakness…
it feels like reinforcement. Like a shield I didn't know I needed.
She turns on the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress as she faces me fully. Her expression is serious, the earlier giddiness replaced by an intensity.
"Then they haven't been paying attention," she whispers, her hand coming up to cup my jaw.
Her touch is feather-light, hesitant, yet it sends a jolt through me, a current of warmth that travels straight to my chest. "You carry the weight of your world, Ernesto.
The company, this family, all of it. You shouldn't have to carry the weight of defending yourself from your own blood, too. "
Her insight is like a bullet penetrating through layers of armor I've spent a lifetime building. She sees it. She sees the crushing responsibility, the isolation of my crown. She doesn't just see El Rey; she sees the man drowning beneath the title.
My throat tightens as my words fail me. I can command boardrooms and armies, but in the face of my wife’s startling perception, I’m completely unarmed.
I cover her hand with mine, pressing her palm flat against my cheek, against the rough scrape of my stubble and close my eyes, just for a second, and allow myself the indulgence of her touch.
When I open them again, her eyes are on me, her gaze soft and searching. She leans in, her lips parting slightly. I meet her halfway, my mouth claiming hers in a kiss that is a universe away from the ones in my office. This kiss is a silent conversation between husband and wife.
I pull her down onto the bed with me, her body a pliant weight against mine.
The kiss deepens, our breaths mingling, our heartbeats syncing into a single, frantic rhythm.
My hand traces the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hip.
Her body is a landscape I’m only just beginning to explore, and I want to map every inch of it.