“I can’t deny what I feel,” I finally say. “We met before, as kids. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was meant to happen this way.” I pause, shifting on my feet. “Maybe you aren’t a monster to me. Maybe you are my hero instead.”
He breathes harder, and I hear the small groan bubbling in his chest. “I am far from a hero, Gianna. I am still the villain. You may see the good, but I am not a good man. The people have seen the damage I’ve done. They know it’s me against the world. To them, I will never be a hero. To them, I will forever be the devil in expensive suits. A lot of innocent people have died because of me—because of what Yessica did to Thiago. And a lot more will probably die soon.”
“We have to do what we have to do.”
“Many months ago, you wouldn’t have been saying this.” He raises a brow.
“Things change.”
His eyes drop to my cleavage. I almost forget I’m standing in only a robe. He runs his tongue over his lips, eyeing me briefly before focusing on my bosom again. Grabbing the loosely tied rope around my waist, he tugs on it, causing it to fall.
My robe falls open, but I don’t waver. I don’t cower or cover myself up. He takes a step back to absorb what he sees, and I stand there, letting him take it all in.
“Some things may have changed,” he rasps, “but there is one thing that hasn’t.” He steps closer, cupping a large hand around the back of my neck and applying pressure to make my chin tilt.
“What’s that?” I ask when his lips barely touch mine.
“Your body is still the same. Especially your pussy. Tight and so fucking wet.”
I clench with need as he runs a palm over my hip, swiveling it around and sinking it between my legs. His middle finger presses into me, applying gentle pressure to my clit when he’s found it. His eyes are locked on mine, lips parted, breathing deep and heavy.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, voice a near growl.
“Yes,” I whimper when he slowly massages my clit with the pad of his finger.
“Beg me.”
“You know I don’t like to beg.”
“Then you don’t want me to fuck you.”
I stare into his hard eyes, trying to challenge his statement, but I feel so weak. So vulnerable. So ready.
He stares right back, and before I know it, his finger is absent. He picks me up, forcing my legs around him and walking inside again.
Tossing me on the bed, he flips me over, bringing my ass up in the air. His belt buckle jingles, and when I look to my left, at the oversized mirror that gives full view of our reflection, I watch as he folds the leather belt in half and brings his arm in the air.
A sharp sting bites my ass, and I let out a soft cry.
“Beg,” he demands.
I clutch the sheets, pressing my cheek to the comforter, studying him at this angle. He looks so hostile and angry, but still so wickedly delicious. The candlelight flickers, revealing his pulsing jaw.
He’s still upset with me. I can see it—feel the quiet rage radiating off his already hot skin.
He grabs my ass with one large hand, lifting the folded belt in the air again.
“I won’t ask again, Gianna,” he growls.
“Please,” I finally whisper, giving into his demand.
He tosses the belt aside, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Through the mirror, I see his pants and then the briefs come down, his hard, thick cock appearing.
He fists himself and pumps with ease, using his other hand to grip my waist. He moves forward, barely an inch, his thick, heavy cock still in hand, and slides the head of it through my slit and up to my clit. He does it over and over and over again, making me writhe, ache—need so much more of him.
“Beg again,” he groans.
My mind is spiraling now, my body overheated. Seeing him like this, how he stares down at me like he wants to own and dominate every inch of me, leaves me no choice but to beg.
I breathe raggedly, my damp hair falling over my face. His cock slides back and forth, toying with my clit. He barely dips the head into my entrance. He does it just so I can feel it—know he’s there. Teasing me until I break.
“Está panochita está bien mojada,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. This little pussy is so wet.
I breathe my pleasure, loving the way his native language rolls of his tongue.
“Say more,” I beg. “In Spanish.”
“Ruégame,” he demands with bite in his tone. Beg me.
“Please,” I beg again.
He lets out a sharp, stilled breath, still gripping his cock, lightly pumping. His other hand rides up my spine and clutches the back of my neck. The head of his cock presses on my entrance, and finally, he sinks into me, tightening his grip on my neck with each inch inside.