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Her laughter stops as she goes still. Sitting up, she looks around the room. “Manuel?”
“I wish I was there. Look up. One camera is in the ceiling fan, and the other is in the corner for a full view of the room and you.”
Eyes wide, she shakes her head and rolls onto her stomach. “I can’t believe you have cameras in our room! I’m so pissed at you right now. When did you put in the cameras? Did you do them through Valdez? Can he access them?”
I’m laughing until she mentions Valdez. Not only mentions him but calls him by his last name the way he prefers. Valdez is how he introduces himself. A decorated veteran of more wars than a person could count on their fingers and even dirtier wars only the military and the countries they destroyed knew about.
Valdez operated the most powerful civil contracting company in the world. The company specializes in ‘peacekeeping’. His men are all former Special Forces. Not soldiers, Special Forces. There were no men—or women—who left their own country’s military as a grunt or even a captain if they were in the general population. They also have more boots in combat on the ground than seventy percent of the countries in the world.
He started in ‘intelligence gathering’, which meant they had the kind of hackers who could find out everything about everyone from the beginning of their creation. People thought it an exaggeration until one of their hackers pulled the name of the secretary for the head of the Pentagon’s childhood best friend from thin air when the man previously scoffed at her skills.
There’s one thing he’ll never tell anyone. He might introduce himself as Valdez when he answers a call. However, he never gives his first name. Because it might be Diego, or it might be James. James is the English version of Diego and Diego’s twin brother. It was only recently all question was dispelled they are my half-brothers. My father and—by extension—the Rodriguez cartel gave them the money to start their business.
“How do you know Valdez?”
She shrugs, still face down while she tries to reach for the sheets to cover herself. “Everyone knows Valdez. He’s the go-to for cameras and surveillance. The Outfit fears and loves him. Fears that they love him because of all he can find and all he knows. If he can get all they want on someone else, then he can get it on them. At least, that’s what Helena said about him. His company put in the cameras in our house. And I found out the reason Franco showed up that night was because I have a tracker that came from Valdez.”
“Hmm.” I’m glad to know she already has a tracker in her. I make a mental note to get the tracker information from Valdez. Helena is the daughter of a capo, Christopher Pasio, who ran the Des Plaines and Morton Grove area. He’s also the father of the dead fiancé. The mere thought of the dead man sends needles to the back of my neck. If he weren’t dead already, I would kill him for knowing the touch of her skin. Did he know what her moans sounded like? Had he touched her breasts—fuck.
A wave of rage crashes into me. I want to kill a dead man. I want to dig him up and defile him in ways that would make a man’s stomach turn—the fantasy is stopped instantly at the sound of my name on Nicky’s lips.
Sunlight pulls me up from the depths of hell into heaven with the most beautiful angel. I stare at her through the camera. She’s turned over again, the covers up to her neck. “I installed them before I left—”
Her big brown eyes are accusing. “You knew you were going to leave and didn’t warn me? I had to find out from a maid.”
Rage threatens to consume me at the pain in her eyes. I search hard for control. “Please, Nicky baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to ruin our time together. When you get sad, it does something to me that I don’t like.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re right. I should have told you. Whether it was when I found out or leaving a note before I left…”
“I understand you do the thing where you compartmental or something, but it hurts more when you don’t tell me things than if you told me from the beginning.”
The smile at her not getting the word correctly takes over my whole face. “It’s called compartmentalization, keeping my focus on what’s right in front of me or the job at hand and keep everything else separate. I don’t want you ever touched by the dirty shit I do. From my lifetime experience with death, I’ve found people prefer to never see the worst coming. However, from the beginning, I said I would be open and honest and communicate freely, and I haven’t done that. I apologize. If you need something from me, I need you to say it. Can you do that for me?”
Smiling shyly, she nods. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I won’t yell next time you call. I promise.”
“If you need to yell, then yell. My focus is hazy when it comes to you, if I’m not inside you,” I admit.
She laughs. I’m pulling air deep into my lungs in an effort not to pass out at the way her face in laughter is almost sexier than when she’s breaking apart in orgasm.
As her laughter fades, those brown eyes narrow on the camera. For a moment, it’s as if our eyes meet. Her hands are splayed across the simple black silk nightgown covering her stomach. Although the sheet and comforter shield most of her, I see the gown is bunched around her hips. “Manuel?”
The longing in her moan of my name sends blood rushing to my cock so fast it hurts. I bite back my own moan, tearing open my bottom lip—tasting the salty copper of blood. “Yes, Nicolette.” I don’t recognize my husky whisper.
Watching her shiver releases a stream of pre-come out of me to coat my cock. I give in and grip my cock tight. A small, pink tongue slides out to lick her bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth. This witch is going to show me if it’s possible to come without touching my cock, I have no doubt. I squeeze the base of my cock to get control.
“I wish you were here now.” Is it a whisper or is she merely moving her lips, and I understand because I recognize them in the marrow of my bones?
“I am there, Nicky. I’m holding you in my arms. Your soft hair, smelling of coconuts and feeling like silk, is pressing into my chest. The most luscious ass in the world is pressed against my leaking cock. Do you feel how hard you make me?”
Closing her eyes, what comes from her might be ayes,but is more of a hum as she cups her left breast with that hand. A small sleepy smile stretches across her wet lips. “All of you is always hard, my dear husband.”
Hearing her refer to me as hers has my cock jerking. She inhales deeply enough her breasts press against her nightgown, and I want them in my mouth right thisfuckingminute. “You might be holding me in your arms, but your hands always find their way to my breasts.”
“And there’s a reason I’m always hard, isn’t there? Tell me, witch. Why am I always hard?”
“Me.” The word is filled with pride.
