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He paused for a moment, rededicating himself to the role of Papi, his enigmatic glare resurrecting some assertiveness that initially drew me to him.
“Rule number two, Gemma: patience begets pleasure.” He carefully pulled away, sucking the taste of my wetness into his mouth that still sat on his fingers. He licked me off, enjoying a piece of me that relaxed the permanent brood to his face. I felt perplexed.
“I was so—” I stumbled, trembling with how close I was to coming.
“I know… but this is an emergency.” He returned to the phone, lifting it into his hands.
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s just…work.”
“Work from Lina?”
He ignored my question. “I need to take this.”
“Should I leave?” I couldn’t help but stare as he massaged the bridge of his brow, unsure if the interruption was the reason for his scowl, or perhaps the person on the other line.
“Absolutely not. I don’t want you going anywhere. You’re my prisoner tonight, Gemma. I’ll keep you in my bed till you’re fucking raw. You understand?” His brute warning was met with the most charming smile.
I grinned back, an impressive feat considering my ruined orgasm. “Ok, then. I guess I’ll just wait.” I hesitated, as he quickly kissed me, tormented by his sculpted ass in black, fitted slacks as he left the room.
I covered myself as I sat up on the counter, lifting my dress, redirecting my focus to the name I just read.
Miguel?
I’d seen that name before when Lina visited me, so I assumed it was about the case.
I could hear the slam of the door in the distance, causing me to crane my neck for a quick peek of where he was. Regardless of how quickly he left, I couldn’t ignore the sense of playfulness I still felt, the cunning little game of him being my daddy.
Maybe I just wanted to participate, be the little brat who’d disturb his call. After all, what did he expect from me? I still tasted him on my lips, the smooth tequila he harvested, and the sweet and tarty tinge of cherries from his supple tongue.
But it wasn’t until I hopped off the counter that I began to feel different. A shout? A hiss? The distant and harsh boom of his voice was a strange invitation that somehow pulled me towards the hall. He was arguing.
His reverberating tone made me hesitant to even approach him, exchanging the city-lit kitchen, for the eerily eclipsed hall that led to some forgotten spare bedroom. All of this, paired with the darkness, felt reminiscent to the shouting that caused me to hide in a closet as a little girl, raising some irrational fear but also some incurable curiosity. I shook myself away from the thought, fixating on his voice.
“Don’t you ever threaten me…” I heard Alejandro say so clearly, “I never hurt her, not like you.”
Her?
I stepped closer, my bare feet silent along the wood as I neared the framed light of his shut door.
He screamed at someone on the other end, a sudden and unimaginable car crash to my chest that made me turn and fall over myself.
“You’re the killer,” he slammed his fist against the wall, “not me…”
Chapter12
Gemma
The Big Hurt. That’s what Claire would call it; the ultimate pain she’d warn me of before a depressive spell.“It’s a long way up, letting someone in, and a long way down, letting them go.” She would say this; living, breathing, and preaching these words the moment my father left us so long ago.
I didn’t fear the feeling so much as the embodiment of how that event could shape me, stepping away from the hall, my chest constricting itself into a knot from Alejandro’s words. “You’re the killer, not me.”
What the hell could that mean, other than how it sounded? I treaded quietly along the floor, more cautious as I backed away, trying not to panic, realizing the gravity of Parker’s accusations. What if he was right, what if my version of Alejandro wasn’t real? Could Alejandro be mybig hurt? I didn’t want to wait to find out.
I scurried quickly into the kitchen, passing the pockets of darkness and light, fixing what little dress I still had over my shoulders.
I had to move fast.
