Snow White & The Biker

My cheeks go red. “You think it’s that simple? You can swing that big dick at me and think it makes everything okay? That I can forgive everything you did to me.”

He smolders at me. “No, but one day you will. Until then I can care enough for both of us. I know shit is fucked up. I know this is hard to accept. I feel like a bastard for the choices I was forced to make. But we’re gonna get through this.”

“With sex? You can’t be serious.”

“You love my big cock. You’re gonna love it even more when I show you all the things I can use it for.”

I step out of the shower, shedding my soaked tee and reaching for a towel. I wrap the thick black towel around my torso and use a second to wrap around my head. I leave Diego to tend to his own needs. He’s completely bonkers if he thinks I’m going to fuck him again. Even as I think it though my body trembles with the desire to feel his body connected to mine again.

In the bedroom I find a pair of his boxer briefs and another tee in one of the drawers. I feel the heat of his gaze burning into my back and before I can turn around or attempt to get dressed, he’s on me.

Hands on my hips and lips at my neck. Diego presses his naked body against mine and jerks away my towel. “Come to bed with me.” The way he voices the words they come out like a plea instead of a command and he sounds vulnerable. I turn into him wondering what kind of game he’s really playing though my thoughts die when I see the haunted expression in his eyes.

“Something’s eating at you.”

“Don’t want to talk, baby.” He dips his head, his mouth moving toward mine.

I turn my head, giving him my jaw.

“You gonna deny me, Princessa.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Diego grips my upper arms, walking me backwards toward the bed. My legs hit the mattress and I shove him. “No way.”

His lips twitch upward. “You think you have a choice.”

“What?” I know he can hear the disdain in my voice. “You don’t own me.”

“You’re mine, Sybil. If I want to fuck you, baby. I’m going to fuck you.” His tone is low and feral. Threatening but so damn sexy. He reaches for me, and I shake my head. I have to be strong enough to resist him. My head is at war with my heart. I’m confused. I want him and yet hate him at the same time. More than physical attraction. We share a connection.

“You don’t want me,” he whispers, the cords of muscles moving in his throat. Cupping me between the legs, he strokes a finger over my pussy lips and repeats himself. “You don’t want me. Baby, you not only mean. You a damn liar.” He rubs that same finger light as a feather in a circle over my clit and I whimper. My body betrays me yet again. Warmth pools between my thighs and my lips part. My hesitation to stop him seems to be all the invitation Diego needs, because he moves in all demanding and dominating and I don’t even try to say no.

I don’t want to.

I want him.

I want this.

Whatever it is.

I need it.

His words replay in my head. “You. Sybil. I’m fighting for you. I’d kill for you, baby. Bleed for you. Die for you.”

Sinking down on the bed, I give in completely. I give in to desire and temptation. I give in to Diego. He scares me but in a good way. In a way that makes me afraid I will become completely lost to him and I want that. I crave it. The darkness and deepness that is him.

He rolls to his back, stroking that big dick and he wasn’t wrong, I do love it. I love the magnificence that is him even if I don’t understand why I am drawn to him. There is something that pulls me to him. As much as I try to fight it I can’t. Something inside me screams that his words are true. I am his.

Diego’s tortured soul calls out to me. I don’t know what haunts him, but I know if I walk away from him before fucking him one last time, I’ll live with regret and I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.

I need this. One good memory to replace all the bad.

Chapter 15

—Consuela

Earlier that morning

I’m exhausted. I forgot how draining a press tour can be. I interviewed with three local stations and two international ones. I’m so sick of talking about Sybil. No one cares how this is affecting me. It’s all tells us about your stepdaughter. What kind of student was she? What were her hobbies? What were her future plans? Did she have a boyfriend? Blah. Blah. Blah. Who cares? Not me that’s for damn sure.