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I whirl around, scanning the empty lobby. Then it hits me—he’s already here.
I race up to the fifth floor and tentatively open the door to my borrowed apartment. Seated on the couch, cell phone in hand, is Jaguar, appearing as though he never left. He’s even wearing the same dark ensemble.
“I didn’t know you’d come to me,” I rasp as those piercing eyes flick in my direction. He’s angry. The air prickles with the telltale stench of his displeasure, and I shiver. “You’re a busy man,” I add in a halfhearted attempt to plead my case.
But it’s too late.
“And you seem to be a busy woman.”
I’m sweating, my breath escaping in pants. Like I ran here—which I did—but I suspect that’s not the conclusion he’s come to. I look like I’ve been with someone else, only to come crawling to him once finished.
And it’s a suspicion I know in my gut I need to dispel ASAP.
Entering the apartment, I close the door with my hip and approach him, moving slowly so that he can see I only have my purse. It’s the way Braulio likes to be approached, though Diego preferred a different tactic.
To avoid a beating, I had to be all but on my hands and knees.
“I thought I would come to you,” I tell Jaguar. “My apartment is nowhere near worthy of hosting you for dinner—”
“Yourapartment,” he parrots in an unnervingly deep tone. First test, failed. “Your apartment where you keep no clothes. No photographs. Nothing personal whatsoever. You think I don’t recognize a stash house when I see one?”
He has a point, and only God knows what Pedro really uses this place for. I could lie, of course. Spin a good tale.
But I promised this man my honesty, and he’ll get it. A distilled, carefully-sanitized version of it.
“It took you less than a day to figure out who I really am,” I tell him, inching closer though my heart lurches at his cold expression. It’s normal to feel fear, but... This feeling is more akin to when he dragged me into that office and pressed me against the wall. Terrifying and thrilling. “How much easier would it be for Braulio?”
“And that is why you have nothing in your name?” he murmurs, stroking his chin with a dangerous flick of his thumb. “Even your number was hard to find, chica. You cost a pretty penny to track down, and none of the men seemingly footing the bill for your accounts have ever been publicly photographed with you. And you, Tiena. You have been photographed with many,manymen.”
“And you have a harem of women on your arm,” I point out, but my tone is playful. God, I hope he interprets it as playful.
When I come close enough, he extends a hand in my direction. His grip isn’t bruising but firm enough that I can’t easily pull away as he maneuvers me to sit on his thigh.
“I was with only one man last night,” I say, hating the hitch in my voice. It sounds too damn genuine. Too…excited?
“So you say.” His hand settles over my thigh with a familiarity that has me quaking. Boldly, without preamble, he slides those searching fingers beneath my skirt…beneath my panties…inside me.
My head rears back, caught against his shoulder. It should hurt, I think. Feel debasing. Rough. Wrong. Instead, his touch feels…
Like fire, igniting a part of me I never knew could be this sensitive.
“You have been busy,” he says, his voice thick with disapproval. Deliberately, his finger prods deeper, and whatever he feels makes him laugh in a chilling way. “Either that or you are justveryhappy to see me, Tiena.”
I choke at the realization of what has him so skeptical—my passage is already slick with arousal. I’m not used to this feeling. This damp ache that eases his movements inside of me. That’s why it doesn’t hurt. Rather than tense in discomfort at the intrusion, I can relish the thick shape—but it’s nowhere thick enough to rival the fullness from last night.
There isn’t time to marvel at the sensation. He’s furious, and I only have seconds to think of a way to calm him. In this instance, the truth alone should do the trick.
“I told you it would be different between us,” I rasp—but that husky murmur doesn’t sound like me. The real Tiena, perhaps, when she’s working on her latest mark. When she tells her lover the dirty things she’ll do for him and let him do to her. She never means it, but in this case…
“Ah,” he agrees, his tone still caustic. “Because now I have a magic dick in addition to your magic pussy.”
“You felt it,” I manage to croak out. As if to punish me, he adds a second finger beside the first, and I can’t help but shift my hips to adjust. With my legs spread wider, he can reach even deeper, and I long for that pulsing friction.
“Felt what? Your pussy? I hate to fracture your pride, but it didn’t feel like magic to me, chica.”
I bat the insult aside, sensing what he doesn’t say. Last night wasn’t magic, perhaps, but it was different than what he expected. Different from what he is used to.
“I’ve never had sex like that,” I confess, panting heavily. He can hear my honesty, but rather than reassure him, that angry stench grows stronger. His touch becomes firmer, more assured. It’s like he’s searching for any trace of another, daring me to admit it.
