Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

I didn’t know any other man who felt so deeply, much less possessed the gift of expressing it so beautifully. A tear of love and joy slid down my cheek. “Diego.”

“There is no greater pleasure than to be in the presence of your love,” he finished.

I put my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me. He kissed me, running a hand along my waist and under my backside, then drew me against him.

I gasped softly as the length of him slid over my thigh. I was both eager and tentative to finally touch him. I wanted to do it right, to know that I could make him feel good.

He brushed his lips along my neck, and I quivered as he kissed my collarbone, then down my chest. “I can’t believe we’ve held off this long,” he said.

“Our patience has been admirable.”

“Our patience has been foreplay,” he said, running his tongue along the skin under my nipple, “and it will be rewarded.”

In that moment, the sensation of his cool tongue and warm breath on my tender skin was the best thing I’d ever felt—until he pulled my nipple into his mouth and sucked, sending ripple after ripple of pleasure down my stomach.

“Oh.” I moaned, inadvertently drawing my shoulder blades together to give him more access.

“I’m trying not to rush, my love—but I can’t wait much longer to be inside you,” he said before lavishing the same diligent attention on my other breast.

My heart skipped at the thought of unleashing a fire between us that had been simmering for years. I wanted to tear through our patience, but I was grateful for Diego’s slow, careful movements that forced me to savor this.

He took the elastic band of my underwear between his teeth and tugged it down, murmuring, “Jesucristo.”

Calling for Jesus between my legs inspired thoughts of heaven and hell. As Diego discarded my panties, parted my thighs, and slid his tongue over my core, I was reminded of his brother’s hands threatening to trespass. No, I didn’t think of Jesus, or my Diego and his tender promises, but of the antichrist’s violent passion.

I thought of Diego’s brother.

I jerked my head to the other side as if it would rid him from my mind, and my eyes landed on the framed Virgin Mary over my dresser.

“Diego,” I said, shoving away thoughts that could only be blamed on the stressful events of the past few days.

“Hmm?” His response vibrated in me, before he plunged his tongue inside me.

I gripped his hair with the unnerving sensation. It felt neither good nor bad, just new. A friend of mine in California liked to brag that her boyfriend ate pussy like he was trying to get all the meat off a chicken bone, and ever since, I’d been scared just at the thought of it—but Diego’s gentle tonguing wasn’t anything like that.

“Talia?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You shouldn’t be this . . . quiet.”

“I’m not—I think I hear something,” I said.

He stilled, glancing up at me. “Really?”

I shook my head, putting a finger over my mouth to quiet him. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Papá was unlikely to be anywhere but his bedroom or study this late, and since my mother, he’d never had overnight visitors. Nobody wandered the halls of the second floor except the housekeepers, Barto, or the security team.

“I don’t hear anything,” he whispered.

Neither did I.

Perhaps they’d been phantom footsteps, sleek dress shoes that’d followed me to the foot of my bed earlier that day. Cristiano had cleaned me, bandaged me—tended to me without my explicit permission. He hadn’t violated me, but if he had, he wouldn’t take care like Diego did. Cristiano would eat pussy like a wild animal feasting on its kill, fending off any other predator foolish enough to approach. I’m scarier than any monster. Twin threads of revulsion and desire pulled sharply in my tummy, and I sucked in a breath at a visual that should’ve appalled me.

“There she is,” Diego said. He slipped his arms under my hips and gripped them as he pulled me hard onto his mouth.

“Ay,” I breathed on a moan.

“¿Te gusta?” he asked and then dove back in. He went from licking and sucking my most intimate spot to making love to it with his mouth. His tongue plunged deep and flicked over my clit. When he added one finger, and then another, my back bowed as I cried out.

“This is just the warm-up,” he said, smiling at me from between my legs. “But no matter how wet I get you, or how careful I am, you might bleed.”

“I know. The maids will think it’s my period.”

He climbed up my body and kissed my breasts again, sending spasms of pleasure through me with each pull of my nipple into his mouth. He took one between his teeth and pinched, and I bucked my hips into him.