Tucked away behind a crumbling stone wall at the far end of the garden, there’s a small alcove that nature has begun to reclaim. Vines creep along the wall’s jagged edges, and a single bench sits half-hidden by overgrown ivy.
The alcove isn’t entirely shielded; the sound of footsteps on the gravel paths is faint but ever-present. However, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Carmen only has a moment to take in the location before I push her flush against the wall, shielding my body with hers should anyone try to peer through the gaps in the ivy.
“I wonder,” I say, merely a whisper against her cheek. “If I fucked you properly, would you curse me in Italian or Spanish?”
Her lips part in a small gasp, and her pupils become so large I can barely make out the ring of caramel.
Oh. She wants to find out.
“Have you tried thinking about that?” I continue as my lips absently begin to caress her neck. “When you touch yourself? Have you tried thinking about all the ways I could take your precious virtue?”
She’s trembling then, finally dropping her mask of indifference. “We can’t.”
“We can imagine it, though, can’t we?” I press myself further into her neck. It’s torturous. Divine. “You liked the feeling of my fingers, of my tongue. I liked the way you tasted, princess. I think I would taste you again, make sure you were ready for me.”
“Dante,” her voice is strained as I suckle at her exposed collar bones.
“I would ease you open, bring you to the very cusp of your orgasm, feel you shivering in my arms.” The fact that she’s shivering now only adds hunger to my words.
“It would be painful the first time. But I’d be so very gentle with you. I’d make you feel so, so good. I’d hold you the way you like. I’d stroke your hair. I’d kiss your neck. I would be positively romantic about it.”
Carmen suddenly becomes eerily still. Her eyes are distant.
I pause, a cool sense of dread washing over me. Have I overstepped? Did I push too far…
“He won’t be gentle with me, will he?” she whispers.
And suddenly, the world feels like it’s on fire.
There’s no need for me to ask who she’s referring to or wonder why she suddenly seems so afraid. I can see it now, plain as day.
And Carmen is shaking now. Not of lust or desire.
“Dante,” her voice is desperate. “He’s…he’s…”
My arms wrap around her instantly, pulling her into the safety of my chest. Having her so close dulls some of the raging inferno, but she’s stillshaking.
There’s only one solution in my mind that seems suitable. Hernando Lacruz must die.
“He won’t touch you,” I say with certainty.
“You don’t understand. He will. He has to. He…”
“He won’t.”
But she’s shaking her head. Out of fear or disbelief of my conviction, it’s hard to say.
“I always knew, but then I never really thought…” she cuts herself off. Her eyes suddenly find mine, and there’s something no mistaking the conviction that lies behind them.
“Kiss me.”
12
CARMEN
“You said…”
