Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Her soft hair brushed against his throat, and the heat of her body seeped through the threads of his suit. Christ, he’d waited so fucking long for this, to feel the beat of her heart against his, protected in his home, and held in his arms.
With great reluctance, he removed his hand from between her legs, trailing fingers gingerly around the welts on her thigh. His chest squeezed with regret, and hers inflated with a held breath. Shifting his hand toward his pocket, he slipped the pill between two fingers.
“Open your mouth,” he whispered at her ear. “For the pain.”
Her instant obedience was a testament to how much she was hurting.
He placed the pill on her tongue and traced the plump flesh of her bottom lip. Then he offered her a glass of water, which she drank greedily.
He didn’t have to glance up at the room to know he was being watched. Yessica, for one, would spend the entire evening trying to gauge his interest in Camila. Others would simply be looking for weaknesses. They might work for the same team, but they would kill one another if it meant moving up in the ranks. And Matias held a covetous position.
Giving a slave a pill, however, wasn’t uncommon. Ecstasy, roofies, any number of trance-like drugs made unwilling partners more malleable.
He returned her water glass to the table and slid his hand beneath the front of her panties. Her abdomen quivered, and her thighs clenched together like a vise.
“Open,” he whispered firmly.
She parted her legs, and he caressed the delicate flesh, slowly, teasingly.
“So I’ve been thinking…” Chispa stroked the thin mustache on his lip. “We need to work on our PR.”
“Se necesita un cerebro para pensar,” Picar muttered.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?” Chispa grinned.
Picar held up a fist with his pinkie and index finger extended like bull horns. The gesture was as old as Colombia, meaning Your wife’s a cheating whore.
Matias chuckled. Since Chispa wasn’t married, he could interpret it however he wanted.
“You need to loosen up, Picar.” Chispa folded his twiggy arms behind his head. “Sometimes you gotta let your ball sac hang like two cacay nuts in a wet baggie to know you’re alive.”
Given Picar’s stony glare, his next gesture would involve making a fist shape out of his strongest hand and slamming it into Chispa’s face.
“You two need to get a room.” Matias roamed his fingers lazily across Camila’s soft folds.
She relaxed against him, breaths even and silent and eyes lowered. He guessed most of that was an act. The painkiller wouldn’t have kicked in yet, and he knew she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be as invisible as possible while studying every person on the veranda.
He turned his attention to Chispa. “What did you have in mind for PR?”
Soliciting low-rank falcons was an aggravation, but they were the eyes and ears of the streets and the best access to information on the activities of the police, military, and rival gangs. They also propagated fear. Scaring the picadas out of the general public kept people in line and out of the way.
Matias slid his finger through moisture. Warm, wet arousal. His cock hardened, suddenly and painfully. His breathing sped up as he stroked deeper, circling the entrance of her pussy without penetrating.
Her thigh kicked up and bumped the underside of the table, rattling dishes.
No one at the table spared her a passing glance, but Matias vibrated with excitement. He knew her mind was fighting this, fighting him, but her body still loved his touch.
“We need a motto.” Chispa tapped a fist on the table.
“How about Give us your shit or we’ll kill you,” Nico said with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
Her breath hitched.
“Or…” Matias stroked his other hand down her arm, smiling. “There are some things that can’t be smuggled. For everything else, there’s the Restrepos.”
“Not bad, not bad.” Chispa nodded thoughtfully.
Picar swiped a gnarled finger across his eyebrow, his expression dead serious. “Armas got?”
“Got guns?” Chispa howled with laughter.
The entire inner circle joined in, hooting and slapping the table.
When they finally settled down, Chispa snorted. “I’ve got one. The Quicker Fucker Upper.”
The laughter began again.
Matias enjoyed nights like this. A departure from the stress of business to drink and shoot the shit. Camila appeared to be focused solely on what his hand was doing, but he knew she was listening, picking apart every word and judging the whole lot of them.
Someday she would sit here among them as his equal and join in the camaraderie. Hopefully, someday soon.
For now, he was content with just holding her while reacquainting himself with her body. As much as he wanted to sink his fingers inside her, he’d rather show her how much pleasure he could give her in private, when he could focus on only her and not on the countless others who might be scrutinizing his motivations.