Kingpin's Property

His thumb brushed over my lower lip, making it tingle with the memory of his intense kiss. “Don’t be obstinate, kitten,” he chided. “I’m not trying to get you drunk. I know you’re a mezcal aficionado like me. I selected this añejo tobalá just for you.”

The glass appeared in front of my face, which was still trapped in place by his hand beneath my jaw. Notes of buttery caramel with a hit of salt teased through the air, the exquisite bouquet tempting me.

“You don’t have to say no to everything I offer you out of sheer stubbornness.” His voice dropped deeper, the low rumble sinking inside me and reaching dark, wanton places I’d tried to forget completely. “I selected this purely for your enjoyment. Not to punish you. Not to control you. Simply because I think you’ll like it, and I want you to have it. Being with me doesn’t have to be miserable, Carmen.”

Yes, it does, a faint voice whispered somewhere deep in my mind. If I wasn’t miserable with Stefano, that meant it would be too easy to fall prey to his masterful manipulations.

“What if I want it to be miserable?” I managed to counter softly, clinging to my defiance by a thread.

He nuzzled my hair and pressed a tender kiss against my cheek. “I think you’ve been miserable for far too long,” he murmured the awful truth, cutting right to the core of me. “You don’t know how to not be miserable, and I think that scares you. You don’t have to be angry and on your guard all the time, kitten. You can relax with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I can keep myself safe,” I asserted, struggling to remember why I had to fight him when he was holding me so gently. His strong arms surrounded my body, cradling rather than crushing. The cage felt far too comforting, and I was tempted to forget that it was meant to lock me in rather than keep all the monsters out.

He pressed another kiss against my temple. “I know you can, clever girl. But you don’t always have to. Nothing bad will happen if you let go and allow me to take care of you. You’ll still be the fierce and formidable Carmen Ronaldo. I don’t want you any other way.”

His strange declarations fogged my mind, messing with my thought processes. My heart ached at his promise of safety, but the tension in my gut told me I would be a fool to trust him.

“Just take a sip, kitten,” he urged, pressing the glass to my lips. The cool crystal against my heated, sensitive flesh had my body obeying before I could think better of it. “Good girl,” he praised, slowly tilting the glass until a tiny swallow of mezcal hit my tongue.

A rich variety of sweet notes awakened my palate: an intricate array of orange, mango, burnt tangerine, and caramelized sugar, with a hint of spice at the finish.

I closed my eyes, and a soft, appreciative moan hummed through my lips.

“I want a taste.” Stefano’s rough words trailed off on a growl, and his mouth descended on mine.

The warm flavors of the mezcal and his alluring promises had already all but melted me. When his lips caressed mine, I opened for him on a sigh, welcoming him to taste me.

His kiss was slow, languorous. He took his time to sample every nuance of my physical responses. His hand remained at my neck, keeping my face tipped back so he could explore me at his leisure.

He didn’t paw at me or push for more than I was ready to give. He continued to coax me, warming my body with his tender attentions rather than forcibly claiming my surrender. I lost myself in the kiss, existing in a separate plane where I wasn’t Stefano’s captive. I wasn’t the disgraced head of a decimated cartel. I wasn’t filled with rage and hatred.

I was just…Carmen, a woman who wasn’t fearful for her safety and survival. I wasn’t certain if I even recognized her as myself. If I had my wits about me, I wouldn’t know how to be her.

Surrounded by Stefano’s strength and steady warmth, I could almost believe that I was safe.

A buzz jolted me back to full awareness, and Stefano broke our kiss.

I stared up into his dark eyes, which were fierce and hungry on my face. I realized I was panting for air. My left hand pressed against his chest; not to push him away, but to indulge in the feel of his muscular frame. My right hand rested against his jaw, studying the defined planes of his face while my fingertips tested the texture of his black hair.

I sucked in a sharp breath and jerked my hands away as though I’d been burned.

His mouth firmed to a slash, but he didn’t rebuke me for recoiling.