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But not tonight. He winds his fingers through my hair instead, wrenching me toward him. Our lips meet, and in the back of my mind, I realize it’s for the first time. We haven’t kissed before, but tasting him…
It’s an entirely different sensation from riding his cock. His lips are surprisingly soft, navigating mine with a gentleness that catches me off guard. I let him in deeper than I mean to, tilting my head to chase his unique flavor.
A deep sound rumbles in his throat. A warning? His eyes flash with a manic gleam when he withdraws from the kiss.
“I knew you were a woman who liked to kiss,” he tells me, but his tone reveals he doesn’t intend that as a compliment. “All the better for you to hook your claws into a man, eh, Lupe?”
“Men like you love kissing because it gives you power,” I breathlessly counter. “You relish being unattached and unclaimed. You’re merely going through the motions.”
I lean in, feeling bold enough to tease him further.
“Because if you kissed the way you fuck, you probably would have bitten me.”
His eyes narrow at the suggestion, and I get the sense that he agrees. His hand palms my thigh, easing them further apart.
“I’m not into foreplay,” he grates, and I take my cue, guiding him into my hand.
He lets me pretend I’m in control right up until the moment I steer him toward my entrance. The second he feels me against his tip, he bucks, and he’s so deep my head rears back at the sensation.
“Neither am I,” I manage to choke out. With him, fondling isn’t necessary. I’m already ready, and I doubt any foreplay could make him feel better than he already does. I think the fact that he’s dropped part of his charade makes every inch of him all the sweeter. There is no need for pretense between us.
No more lies.
But the one thought that makes me already near orgasm before he even starts to move? This will be the last time. I’ll leave after this. Julian Domingas will become a blur on the periphery of my twisted life and join the number of fucked-up men I’ve tangled with.
It doesn’t matter that I ride him with abandon like a woman possessed.
It doesn’t matter that his groans ignite that deep-seated, hidden place within me that only he has ever touched.
It doesn’t matter that the pleasure that rams into me is one-hundred percent real, and my moans aren’t faked as I writhe against the desk.
All that matters is that I’m in control of my own fate once again.
What a damn good feeling that is.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Jaguar hisses as he pulls out of me, his eyes on the mess glistening on the desk’s surface beneath us.
“I never fuck in here,” he says, but his tone is low with genuine irritation. That confession alone reveals so much about him—he keeps his sexual partners in pre-approved areas of the house, leaving other spaces off-limits. I’m intrigued.
Enough that I don’t immediately make an excuse to escape, as I should.
“Don’t tell me I made you act impulsively,” I quip, drawing my knees together.
His eyes cut to mine, devoid of any humor. “Ah, not in the slightest, chica. You merely gave me my prize before I even saw fit to give you your present. Here.”
He withdraws a cell phone from his pocket and angles the screen toward me.
One glance at the headline displayed on it, and my blood goes cold.
“It seems there was a bit of a mess at Braulio’s California mansion earlier tonight,” Jaguar narrates. “The house was set on fire. Three dead—but, suspiciously, not by smoke inhalation. They were executed, one shot to the skull at point-blank range. The police are keeping that part out of the press for now.”
I barely hear him. No… God, no. I just see poor Franco burned and gone because of me. It’s like the world has been swept from beneath my feet. I sink to my knees, weightless.
“You seem disappointed,” Jaguar scolds with a knowing laugh.
All I can do is gape up at him. Then I muster what little strength I have left, and I lunge. “You son of a bitch.”
