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“What is it?” I ask.
“Someone’s coming.”
Before I can react to what he’s just said, he scoops me off the counter and moves us into the pantry. We stand there completely silent as in the distance, voices can be heard.
“Are they coming here?” I whisper.
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns me around, takes hold of my hips, and enters me from behind. I cry out in surprise, slapping my palms against the door to steady myself.
Santos grabs my hair and pulls until my back is pressed to his front. “Shh. I’ll kill whoever it is if you make a sound,” he murmurs. “No one is allowed to see your body, Sonia. It belongs to only me. Do you understand?”
Although I’m not sure he’d actually kill one of his own men simply for seeing me naked, I’m also not sure he wouldn’t. I nod, but when he moves inside me, it incites a moan I struggle to suppress. But the worst is yet to come as he slides his hands upward.
Slowly, he roams them over my hips, my ribcage, and finally, my breasts. My pussy clamps onto his cock when his palms graze my nipples oh so softly. This is torture. It’s sweetly agonizing torture I never want to end but torture, nonetheless.
I bite my lower lip until I taste blood, listening intently to the male voices coming from just outside the kitchen as he plays with my nipples. But it becomes almost unbearable when he drops one hand between my legs, sliding his fingertip over my clit at the same time that he grazes his teeth against the crook of my neck. As if I’m some sort of animal, my response is to arch my back, digging my ass into him harder.
Don’t moan. Don’t make a sound.
His cock seems even bigger when he’s not furiously pounding into me but, instead, moving with slow, controlled strokes. The inability to moan, to cry out and scream his name, seems to almost enhance every sensation. I shut my eyes tightly as they begin to water, and tears stream down my cheeks as I part my lips in a soundless gasp.
Someone walks into to the kitchen. Heavy footsteps move toward the fridge, then stop. I can hardly breathe as they come toward us. Yet Santos doesn’t pull out of me. If anything, he increases the tempo of his thrusts.
The door handle rattles and I reach for it, but Santos grabs my wrist.
“Jaime, you coming?” someone else asks. “The girls aren’t going to wait forever.”
“Yeah, coming,” the one near us says, releasing the handle and walking away.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Santos takes hold of the back of my neck and drives powerfully into me. Gone is all sense of control, leaving behind only instinctual mating. His fingers form a vise, pinning me in place as he comes with a growl, filling me with all that he is.
When he’s done, he pulls out, and his cum flows down my legs. But I do nothing. I want to move from here, but I’m too sore. Too tired.
He must realize this, because he scoops me up, kicking the door to the pantry open. The omelet completely forgotten, I snuggle my head into his neck as he carries me all the way to the bedroom, where he tosses me onto the bed and drops in beside me.
“Would you really have killed that man if he’d come in just for seeing me naked?”
“No. But I’ll kill anyone who dares to fucking touch you. That, I will do without hesitation. You’re mine.”
A shiver of something inexplicable goes over me. Annoyance that he’d think he can declare me his? Pleasure at his possessive tone?
Whatever it is, I’m too tired to worry about it right now. He can kill whoever he wants to. Hell, war could break out and I wouldn’t have the energy to care. Like a contented cat, I stretch and shut my eyes, too sleepy to worry about what tomorrow will bring.
* * *
“¡Patron! ¡Patron!”
I wake suddenly at the sound of pounding at the door. Santos is already out of bed and tugging on his jeans as I sleepily sit up.
Yawning, I peer at the clock that says it’s seven in the morning and wipe the hair that’s stuck to my forehead. “What’s happening?”
He tosses me the clothes I wore yesterday and carelessly threw on the floor. “Get dressed. We have to go.”
“What?” My heart begins to race when he grabs two of his pistols and loads them. “Santos, what’s happening?”
Without answering me, he goes to the door and cracks it slightly. I hold the blanket higher to my neck as I listen to him speak to someone.
“They’ve broken through the gate,” the other man says.
