Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

Then his head lowered and I sharply inhaled as he tasted me.

He did it slow. He did it hard. Gentle. Lazily.

And I watched him as I moaned and arched until I couldn’t anymore.

“Connor,” I cried.

“That’s it, baby.” He slipped two fingers inside me and I clinched around them. He pumped in and out.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.” I closed my eyes, body tightening as fireworks ignited inside me and I came hard and fast.

My body sated and tingling, he trailed kisses across my skin until he found my lips and kissed me.

I sagged into the bed. Melting. Bending. Yielding to his mouth.

I had no thoughts of yesterday or tomorrow.

It was just us. It was now.

Until it ended.

Until he pulled back and said, “I swear I’ll never forget you again, Alina.”

Then he threw on his clothes and left.Question 7: Would you ever polar bear dip?PAST“HE WANTS TO see you,” Diego said.

He was behind me as I stood on the terrace where I’d been taking close-up photos of flowers. My passion was people, but Carlos didn’t allow me to take pictures of anyone.

I lowered my camera and let it hang from my neck as I faced my husband’s shadow.

Diego was Carlos’s right-hand man. Deadly. Cold. Cruel. I hated him.

No, hate was too gentle of a word. I abhorred him. Carlos loved to play mind games with his victims while Diego thrived on physical pain. Torture. He’d never touched me, but I’d heard the rumors and I’d seen the twinkle in his eyes when Carlos asked him to ‘look after’ someone.

I knew what ‘look after’ meant—kill. But first there were hours or days of torture. Carlos fed Diego’s need to inflict pain by tossing him scraps every once in a while. The scraps were people.

He wasn’t that tall, maybe five foot ten, but what he lacked in height, he had in width because he was thick. And it was all muscle. His nose was large and had a crook in it, probably from having it broken a number of times, and he had a square jaw and thick brows.

Diego didn’t wait to see if I’d follow him because he knew I would. Any fight had been snuffed out years ago when one of Diego’s scraps had been my brother.

We strode through the garden, up the steps and into the open living room that overlooked the garden. The white curtains on either side of the entrance lay still, just like the air.

Still and quiet. Quiet was never good with Carlos.

He sat on the couch, one knee bent over the other, a drink in his hand. The ice clinked against the sides of the glass as he gently swirled the liquid.

“Come in, darling.” He raised his hand, his finger flicking to gesture me closer.

I stepped into the room and walked toward him. Diego stood off to the side, hand on his gun at his hip. I tensed. Why did he have his hand on his gun?

My heart pounded and warning hairs rose on the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right. Carlos had an unmistakable gleam in his eyes accompanied by a tiny smirk at the corners of his mouth.

My stomach knotted and goose bumps rose.

When I was close enough, he held out his hand and I took it. His fingers closed around mine and he guided me closer. “I’ve been gone a week. What kind of welcome home is that from a wife?” He glanced over at Diego. “A proper greeting would be a wife on her knees sucking his cock.”

Diego laughed. Carlos chuckled.

I feigned a smile because he’d want me to, then leaned in and kissed him. “I’m sorry, Carlos. I missed you,” I lied. I always lied. He wanted me to say the words whether they were lies or not. In the beginning, I refused. I told him he could own my body as payment, but he’d never own me. He’d never have me willingly.

Then he killed my brother and threatened my mother’s life. Then the threat was no longer a threat and he killed her, too, last year. I didn’t know why. He just did. My only consolation was that it had been quick, not like Juan who’d been Diego’s play toy first.

“I have a gift for you.”

Carlos gave me gifts all the time. Jewelry mostly, but they weren’t for me; they were a show of his power and money.

I straightened and he reached into his side pocket and pulled out a wad of glossy papers. Photos? I was surprised it wasn’t a velvet box and even more surprised he was giving me something I actually might appreciate. He knew how much I loved photography. It was the only part of me I had left.

When I put my eye to the lens, I saw freedom. I saw possibility. And now I saw a different story from the one I lived. Photographs used to offer me a glimpse into other people’s lives. Now they let me escape my own.