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“Perhaps I do. You’d learn the second I don’t. But we can save those messy topics for another conversation, chica. For now, I want you to repay the favor I have bestowed.”
My heart skips a beat. Does he mean buy him a garage filled with luxury cars? No. His request is far more nuanced than that.
“Whisper your favorite quote into my ear,” he murmurs. “I want to know what words a sexy viper-kitty lives by.”
“I don’t have one—”
“Liar,” he scolds. “You do so without even realizing it, Lupe. That faraway look always betrays you.”
I open my mouth to deny it—then I realize… He’s right. Perhaps there is one quote I’ve lived by, but for so long that I’ve forgotten where it came from. Ironically, he must be partial to the same phrase because he’s used it in front of me.
“Men are masters of their own fate.”
“That’s not what I asked for,” he murmurs.
I bite my lip before leaning forward, brushing my lips along his ear lobe. Low and raspy, I repeat the quote.
And a sound rumbles from his throat that I have never heard. Thickened. Guttural. Violent.
“Again.”
“M-Men are—”
His hands ghost between my legs. What feels like a thumb hooks beneath the rim of my panties, sliding against the uncovered flesh, and my breath catches.
“Lupe,” he warns, and I race to voice the words again.
Pleased, he shoves two fingers inside me at once, and I feel my eyes roll back into my skull.
“And who is the master of you?” he wonders, his voice alarmingly deep.
Damn him.If this were some sexy, romantic play, I would know the line I’m meant to say.You, Jaguar. You are my master.Somewhere in the middle of enduring his touch, a new answer springs to my lips before I can hold it back.
“Me.”
He chuckles. Thankfully, I don’t sense anger in the sound. Just… Amusement? Pleasure.
“Ah, there is an honest answer,” he says, his voice grated with praise. “You keep that mind under lock and key, but I think you could enjoy relinquishing some control to me.”
“For what?” I find myself gasping in response.
He slides those fingers deeper inside me, twisting them in ways that make me gasp for air and writhe on his lap like a woman possessed. It’s cruel how he does it—simulating the ease with which a puppet master controls his doll.
“Because I can show you that world you’ve dreamt about but never thought you’d taste for yourself,” he says. “You know the one. The power and control you’ve lusted after for so damn long, all while convincing yourself that you didn’t care for it.”
I don’t like how convincing he can sound. As if he believes it. As if it’s true.
Rather than challenge him outright, I point out the glaring flaw in his logic. The one thing that the actions of him and other men have taught me over and over again.
“Men like you never share their power.”
“Perhaps,” he admits while tilting his head so that I’m facing him again. The next second, his tongue slides along my lower lip, urging both apart. “But we can gift it to those deemed worthy enough. Is that woman you?”
I feel myself relax into him, tentatively brushing his tongue with mine.
“Perhaps,” I say, copying his use of the word. “But nothing I say will change your mind. You’ve already made it up. It’s why you had me jump through so many hoops. You aren’t a man who decides things lightly.”
A facet of his personality that I’ve learned the hard way. The man is a convoluted puzzle, changing his methodology at every turn. Never once do I feel as though I have him entirely deciphered.
