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I turn to face her when she collapses beside me. “Better than the shower?”

“This is what I will think about when I touch myself.”

“Shit, babe.” My cock twitches at her words. “You’re going to go back to the hotel and touch yourself? Without me?”

“I wish, but Papa would have you killed.”

“Nice guy,” I scoff.

Valentina smiles, sitting up to fist my cock and scrape her tongue over the head. “Salty,” she purrs and takes me deep in her mouth until I hit the back of her throat.

“Valentina,” I grunt, and she laughs, the sound reverberating all the way from my balls to the top of my tingling scalp.

She releases me slowly and, still fisting my cock, lowers herself onto me, slowly rocking while her pussy is still clenching from her last orgasm. “Fuck, I’m so sensitive.”

Sensitive, wet, and pulsing. I growl and flip our positions, gripping the inside of her thighs and fucking her deeply. My hips move like a wild man, plunging her depths until my balls tighten. “Val,” I growl, a warning.

“Don’t stop,” she moans and moves her fingertips to her clit. “Don’t fucking stop.”

I smile and fuck her harder and deeper until she comes again, clenching hard as her pussy gushes between us. The moisture and the way she squeezes my cock are just what I need. I pull out of her and grab my cock, stroking it while white-hot come spurts onto her belly.

“Fuck, V.” My body spasms like crazy, and I can’t stop, so I jerk my cock a few more times until it ends. “Damn, that was good.”

She’s panting and nodding. “It’s like it keeps getting better and better,” she grins, green eyes wide with shock at all the jizz on her stomach.

“We should shower,” I suggest, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Definitely need a shower. And FYI, you better be careful, Dix,” she says, her eyes locking onto mine. “If you keep this up, I might do something stupid like fall in love with you.”

A chill runs down my spine at the thought. “Do that, and we’ll both be dead,” I reply, my tone low and serious.

Valentina nods, her expression guarded. “You’re probably right.”

The bathroom is small and steamy, the sound of the shower drowning out my thoughts. As we dress, a sense of unease settles over me like a heavy fog.

“You know we probably should stop meeting like this,” Valentina says, avoiding my gaze.

I hesitate before responding. “I know. But I can’t help it.”

Valentina’s eyes soften. “I can’t either.”

The ride back to Beverly Hills is tense and awkward. I slow down pulling into the garage and glide up next to her car. I know it’s probably for the best, and I fucking hate it, but this feels like goodbye.

After the hottest kiss of my life, Valentina closes her car door and drives off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

On the ride back to Angel Harbor, I remind myself why I can never have the cartel princess. We’ll never be anything more than a dirty little secret.

And yet, as I pull back on the throttle, the wind whipping past me, I can’t help but feel a pang of regret.

Valentina is out of the question, forbidden, but the pull between us is undeniable. I know I should stay away, but I can’t fight the urge to say fuck it all and turn around and kiss her again, even if it means risking everything.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Valentina

“The service for Alejandro is next week.” After his announcement, Emiliano directs his gaze on me just as we all sit down to family dinner. It may be old-fashioned, but Papa insists we gather at least once a week when we’re together, no matter where we are in the world.

“You need to go back home.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t answer to you, Emiliano, and I already told you and Bene I am not going.” I look at the spread on the table and let out a wistful sigh. I wish Mama was still here so that I would have an ally in this family. “Drop it.”

Papa sighs and leans back in his chair, disappointment burning in his eyes. “Valentina, it is only right that you attend his funeral. He was family.”

“For you, maybe. For Benedicto and Emiliano, he was family. For me, he was a man you forced me to marry and share a bed with against my will. I have done my duty to you and to this family, and I refuse to give up more time to go back to Colombia to play the role of grieving widow.”

I let out a long, shuddering breath and cross my arms in defiance.

“This is not right!” Emiliano smacks the table with his hand. “How will it look if you don’t go?”

I shrug. “The same way it looked that I was sad and depressed on my wedding day?” A wiser woman might have bitten her tongue, but I will never let any of them forget the truth of my marriage to Alejandro. “I have an idea, Emiliano. Why don’t you go to the funeral as the family representative? His mama is making all the arrangements.”

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