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"Then we fight for more," he says, reaching out to take my hand, his grip firm and warm.
The whiskey's burn is a dull echo in my throat, its warmth seeping into my bloodstream, blurring edges and softening shadows. I'm floating in this strange space between numbness and feeling too much. The carpet beneath us is coarse, scratching at the skin of my bare legs, grounding me back to Constantino's room—his world—a place as raw and unfiltered as the liquor we share.
"Maybe," I start, voice shaky, "it's just that even now, I question everything about myself." The words spill out like an avalanche I can't stop. "Wasn't good enough to keep a husband. Not a good enough doctor, or else why would everyone seem to hate me at work? And if I were really a decent person, wouldn't I have more friends?" It's a spiral, a descent into the darkest parts of me I try to ignore.
Constantino's anger flashes across his face like lightning, quick and fierce. His hands find my shoulders with a grip that demands I focus on him and nothing else. "You're being ridiculous, Evelyn."
I try to laugh it off, some hollow sound that doesn't reach my eyes.
But he won't let me deflect—not this time. His fingers press into my flesh, not enough to hurt, but enough to tether me to this moment. "Listen to me." His voice is a low growl, a primal thing that resonates deep within me. "You are amazing, Evelyn. As a woman, as a doctor, as a goddamn person."
My heart stutters in my chest, and for a second I wonder if this is what prey feels like in the moments before the predator pounces—the anticipation, the fear, the undeniable thrill. "It's the booze talking, Constantino. You wouldn't say this kind of stuff otherwise."
His chuckle is dark, humorless. He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear, and every cell in my body goes on high alert. "I am completely sober. I know exactly what I'm saying to you."
And then his lips are on mine, a touch that's both a promise and a threat. My mind screams at me to pull away, to run from the danger he embodies, but my body betrays me, melting into him. In his kiss, there's a need that echoes my own—a hunger for connection, for something real amid the lies and violence that taint our worlds.
For a fleeting moment, with his taste on my tongue and his hands framing my face, I allow myself to forget the doubts, the insecurities, the judgments. Here, in the eye of the storm that is Constantino Maldonado, I find a twisted kind of peace.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The air is thick with the scent of her perfume. A heartbeat skitters across the room—loud in my ears, loud as the thundering pulse of the city outside, loud like the silent scream of yearnings I've always stifled. My lips press to hers, and it's a kiss laced with a desperation I never knew I harbored.
"Constantino," she whispers against my mouth, her breath mingling with mine, turning the space between us into a fog of longing I can't—and don't want to—navigate my way out of.
"I mean this, Evelyn," I growl lowly, words tangled up with raw emotion. "Everything I said, all of it... I'm not drunk on anything but this, whatever the hell 'this' is."
Her blue eyes are wide, seas I’m sinking into without any intention of swimming to the surface. She kisses me back, and it's like she's trying to stitch her soul to mine with every gentle tug of her lips. It spurs me on, and there's a thought nagging at the edges of my mind—that maybe she gets it. That sheunderstands the mess of feelings I can't unravel into coherent words.
"Your body..." I trail off, hands gliding over her, mapping the terrain of her flesh. The dip of her waist flares into hips I clutch, fingers sinking into softness that has my insides twisting. "Fuck, Evelyn, you're perfect." And I mean it—every goddamn word.
She shudders under my touch, each curve fitting into my palms like they were molded for me alone. Slowly, worshipfully, I strip away the barriers of cloth that keep me from her truth, her secrets—the person she hides from the world. The person I want beside me, always.
"Constantino," she breathes out, voice hitching as fabric falls away, leaving her bare and vulnerable under the weight of my gaze.
"Let me see you," I murmur, more plea than command, because I've shed my armor tonight too. For her. For this woman who's got me facing down feelings I didn't even know had been lurking in the dark corners of my soul.
I peel away the last of her clothing, and there she is—an enigma wrapped in flesh and bone, a puzzle I'm determined to solve not just with my hands, but with my heart. Her body is a canvas, and I'm the artist who's been starved of beauty for far too long.
"Beautiful," I whisper, and it's an oath, a vow, a promise—to her, to myself. Tonight, I leave no part of her untouched, no shadow within her unlit by the fire that rages between us. Tonight, I am both the hunter and the hunted, prey to the desire that consumes us both.
The room is a cocoon of shadows, lit only by the muted glow of moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. The world outside is a distant memory, the carnage of my life with the Maldonados, a story from another lifetime. Here, with Evelyn,everything narrows down to the rise and fall of her chest, the heat of her skin, the tentative trust in her blue eyes.
She says my name again and there's a tremor in her voice that I feel against my own flesh.
"Shh," I hush her gently, my thumb brushing over her lower lip. "I've got you."
I want to say more—tell her how I'm going to strip away every doubt, every fear that's been etched into her by a harsher world. But words are clumsy things, too crude to carry the weight of what I feel. So I let my touch speak—a silent litany against her skin.
"Are you okay?" I ask, watching for any sign of hesitation, any shadow of regret.
Her nod is shy but sure, and it kindles something fierce within me—a protector's resolve. I lean in, kissing her softly, slowly, savoring the taste of her like the finest whiskey, potent and heady. My hands roam, mapping the terrain of her curves, marveling at the softness of her, the strength beneath it.
"God, you're beautiful," I breathe against the tender skin of her collarbone, feeling her shiver under my lips.
She tries to suck in her stomach as I trail kisses downward, and I catch her hand, pressing it against my chest where my heart races wild and unruly. "No, don't," I murmur. "You're perfect. Just like this. Just as you are."
Relief washes over her features, and she melts into my embrace, her insecurities dissolving under the heat of my gaze, my touch, my need to make her see herself through my eyes.
