Chapter 7
KAIRO
Ileave her on the shower floor with my cum still on her lips and force myself to walk away. If I look back, I’ll step back in there and fuck her against the tile until neither of us can stand.
My office is at the end of the east wing, the one room she hasn’t been inside yet. I lock the door, drop into my chair, and pull up the monitors. Every camera in the villa, the jungle, the beach … all of it feeds here. I built this system years ago. Back then it was for business, now it’s for her.
On the bathroom feed, she’s still sitting on the floor under the water.
For a second, I worry I actually broke her.
Then she slowly stands, rinses her face, and stares at herself in the mirror.
She touches her swollen lips, the ones that were wrapped around my cock ten minutes ago.
The sight makes my dick twitch hard. Fuck she gives phenomenal head.
But I watch the exact moment she starts hating herself again.
Her jaw tightens, her eyes go cold, and the soft, needy girl who was moaning around my cock disappears behind the wall she rebuilds every time I’m not touching her.
She goes to the closet and picks out the white bikini I chose for her months ago.
Every piece in there was selected by me for her, every color, every cut, every fabric picked because I spent seven years learning exactly what looks best on her skin.
My phone rings, and it’s fucking Andreas, my best friend and second in command.
“Make it quick,” I bark, eyes still glued to the screen as she slips on the bikini.
“Port’s clear. We have a new window confirmed for Thursday. You running it, or am I?”
“Run it. I’m not leaving the island anytime soon.”
He chuckles. “Enjoying the honeymoon?”
“Fuck you.”
My eyes drop to her tits as she adjusts the top. Round, full, perfect. Those pretty pink nipples I want in my mouth right now. My cock is already straining against my pants.
Andreas laughs again. "The Colombians are getting impatient. Reyes called twice yesterday. He's making noise about renegotiating the split."
"Let him make noise. He renegotiates when I say he can."
"I told him that. He didn't love it." Andreas pauses. "He also asked where you were. I told him you were handling something personal. He's fishing, Kairo. He knows you're off the grid."
"Good, let him wonder. No one can know I am married, not yet, not until she is ready to stand beside me.”
"And Castellano's people were sniffing around the eastern corridor again. Two trucks, unmarked, running the coast road at three a.m. Could be nothing, but could be him testing the fence while you're gone."
Castellano. Victor fucking Castellano. The man who's been circling my territory for three years, waiting for me to slip. I file it but I don't bite, not today, not yet.
"Put eyes on it. If they cross the line, handle it. Don't call me unless there's a body."
"Understood." I hear him shift, a chair creaking, probably at his desk with his feet up because he has no fucking respect. "Now, your in-laws."
I sit up straighter. "Talk."
"Mario's been making calls. A lot of them, to people he shouldn't still have the number for. Old contacts, guys he burned bridges with years ago. He's rebuilding something or trying to."
"Rebuilding with what? I took everything worth taking."
"That's what worries me. A man with nothing left to trade starts trading people.
" He pauses, and I hear the shift in his tone, the one that means he's about to say something I won't like.
"And Storm's been moving. Three meetings this month that don't match his usual pattern. Different parts of the city with people he doesn’t usually mingle with. "
"Who?"
"Don't know yet. My guy lost him after the second one. The kid's getting smarter, or someone's teaching him to be."
I stare at the monitor. Summer is walking toward the pool now, the white bikini bright against her tanned skin. She has no idea what her family is doing, she probably thinks her brother misses her.
"Stay on Storm. I want to know who he's meeting and what he's selling because that little shit is always selling something."
"Already on it." Andreas is quiet for a beat before asking, "You good?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine, especially for someone who is on his honeymoon with a woman he’s been obsessing over for seven years.”
I’m not listening to his bullshit. "Goodbye, Andreas."
"Have fun with your obsession." He's still laughing when I hang up on him.
Summer is at the pool now and the cover-up is gone.
She stands at the edge in that white bikini, hair loose down her back, the morning sun kissing every curve I claimed this morning.
She dives in cleanly and starts swimming laps with strong, confident strokes.
I lean back in my chair and watch her. She’s a good swimmer, really good.
Another thing I know about her that she doesn’t know I know, is that her mother used to take her swimming every Saturday before she died.
Summer was nine when she lost her, and after that, no one took her anywhere ever again.
Until now.
I want to show her the world, she deserves it. I just need her to not fight me every step of the way. She swims for twenty minutes, and when she eventually climbs out, the white bikini is almost completely see-through. I watch the water run down her body like liquid silk.
I’m rock hard.
I undo my belt and pull my cock out, it’s already leaking.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I can have her whenever I want.
But there’s something about watching her when she thinks she’s alone …
when the walls are down, and she’s just Summer.
I wrap my fist around my thick shaft and start stroking slowly as she dries herself.
The towel glides over her tits, down her stomach, between her thighs, and my hand matches her pace.
She wraps the towel around her waist and begins walking the perimeter of the pool deck.
She’s mapping, her eyes flick to the cliff edge, calculating the drop.
She scans the tree line, judging distance.
Every few steps, she pauses, pretending to admire the view, but I see everything.
My strokes get firmer, and precum leaks over my thumb.
Keep looking, baby.
She bends slightly near the infinity pool, and the towel rides up, flashing the bottom curve of her ass still marked with my fingerprints from the jungle.
“Fuck …” I groan, pumping my cock harder.
I imagine dragging her back inside right now, bending her over the nearest surface, and fucking her until she forgets every escape plan in that pretty head.
Until the only thing she can think about is my cock stretching her and my cum filling her.
She turns, scanning the jungle again, and I squeeze the head of my cock, my breath coming faster.
“You can run all you want, Summer,” I mutter to the empty room, eyes locked on her. “I’ll always catch you. And next time I won’t be gentle when I breed that tight little cunt.”
My strokes turn rough and fast, the sight of her still plotting while wearing my marks does something feral to me.
My balls tighten. I picture her belly swollen with my child, her tits full and heavy, everyone knowing she belongs to me.
I come hard with a low, guttural groan. Cum shoots across my fist and onto the desk as I keep stroking through it, milking every last drop while my eyes stay glued to her on the monitor.
Even after I finish, I don’t let go of my cock.
I just sit there, breathing hard, watching her.
She has no idea how deep she already is.
And I’m nowhere near done with her.
I clean myself up and get to work, emails, manifests, logistics, the empire doesn't stop because I'm obsessed with my wife and on my honeymoon. Maybe it should. Let me get through this backlog, and then I’m going to enjoy my wife. I work through it with her on the screen in the corner of my eye. She tries the service door off the kitchen. It’s locked, same as before.
I notice she checks the windows in the east wing, they are sealed, hurricane-rated glass, they won't break without a sledgehammer.
She walks the garden wall, running her fingers along the stone like she's looking for loose mortar. There is none.
Then she's inside, moving through the villa. She passes through the living area, and something catches her eyes, and she stops.
The library.
Finally, she’s noticed it. I built it months ago when I knew what my plan was, while she had no idea that her father was going to sell her.
She was obsessed with the Beauty and the Beast tale, and I know her dream library was the one in that movie.
So, I created it, flew a designer in to build the shelves, walnut and brass, floor to ceiling, with a rolling ladder and reading lights recessed into the wood.
The reading chair is Italian leather, oversized, and deep enough to curl up in.
I had it upholstered in dark green because she wore that color to her father's Christmas party four years ago, and she looked beautiful.
The books took longer than the shelves, seven years of surveillance means seven years of data.
I know every book she's ever bought, every title she's searched online, every novel she checked out of the library.
I know she reads literary fiction and romance in equal measure.
I know she's read Jane Eyre four times and never finished Wuthering Heights because she thinks Heathcliff is pathetic.
I would disagree. I know she dog-ears pages instead of using bookmarks and writes in the margins in pencil, and I had every one of her favorites sourced in first edition or early print where I could find them.
She doesn't know any of this at the moment, all she sees is a beautiful library full of books.
On the monitor, I watch her face light up as she runs her hand along the spines.
She pulls one out, looks at the cover, presses it to her chest, and smiles.
She pulls out another, then another. Her mouth is open, and she's turning in a slow circle, taking in the shelves, the ladder, the reading lights, the chair.
She sits down in the leather chair, pulls her legs up, opens a book, and stays there for the next three hours.
I watch her read while I continue to work, but I’m distracted by her sitting in the corner of my screen, curled up in the chair I chose, reading a book I put there for her, in a room I built because I've been in love with her for years.
At six, I shower and dress. I want to take her somewhere special tonight, so I put on a white linen shirt and dark pants.
I walk down to the library, stand in the doorway, and watch her for a moment before she notices me.
She's deep in the book, her legs are tucked underneath her, her hair has dried in waves from the pool, and the early evening light is coming through the window behind her and turning everything gold.
She looks settled, comfortable, like she's forgotten, just for a few hours, that she's a prisoner.
"I see you found the library," I say.
She looks up with a start, so lost in her book that I scared her. The softness disappears instantly, replaced by the sharpness she wears like armor whenever I'm in the room. But it's slower this time, it takes a beat longer to come back.
"It's incredible," she says, and I can hear that she means it even though she doesn't want to. "Whoever stocked it has impeccable taste. Every book I've ever wanted to read is in here."
"Is that so?" I smirk.
"Some of them are first editions." She holds up the book in her hands. "This is a signed first edition. Do you have any idea how rare this is?"
I know exactly how rare it is. I paid fourteen thousand dollars for it at a private auction in London.
"I'm glad you like it," I say.
She narrows her eyes, suspicious. She should be, but she doesn't push it, not yet. "Get dressed. We're having dinner on the boat."
Her eyes widen. “But I'm reading."
She does look comfortable. "You can bring the book," I tell her.
She looks at me, then at the book, then back at me. A look crosses her face that I haven't seen before, curiosity.
"Fine," she says as she unfolds herself from the chair and walks past me, the book still in her hand. I watch her go and think about how I just spent an entire day watching this woman, and I still can’t get enough of her.