Then I turn and walk away leaving him standing there alone. I’m not sure if there’s a score being kept, but if so, I’ve definitely won that round. I lock the door behind me with trembling fingers, then brace both palms against the marble counter and lean in until my forehead nearly touches the mirror. My knees are shaking, my mouth is raw, and my throat aches. When I finally force myself to look up, my eyes are something else entirely. I look like a wild woman. I barelyrecognize my reflection as I stare myself down, refusing to look away.
“Jesus, Liana. What the hell are you doing?” I whisper, but there’s no answer.
I run the water and rinse my mouth, swishing the cold water back and forth. I continue spitting until the taste of him is gone. The memory of his hands in my hair, his cock in my mouth, and his hips jerking as he lost control is still there though. It was brutal. It was humiliating. And God help me, it was the most powerful I’ve ever felt in my life. I loved every second of it. Still, I want to hate him. I want to hate what he did to me. I want to hate him for playing with my head and my heart. I want to hate what just happened, but the ache between my legs says otherwise. The way my skin burns for more…I fucking hate it. I hate that he can do this to me, that he can make me hate and love him all at once.
I swipe at my smudged makeup, attempting to fix my mascara but I’m not sure it helps.
“You can do this. You can survive this…you can survive him. You’re a Manitellie. You are not going to lose to a bastard cartel prince, no matter how good looking he is.”
Adjusting the straps of my lingerie, I run my hands down the sides to smooth it, and square my shoulders. This is just the beginning and I’m keeping score now. I’ll outlast him and I’ll win. Even if I have to use every trick I ever learned from a book, then so be it.
When I finally walk out, the bedroom is empty. I glance around before I hear his voice through the suite’s patio door. It sounds muffled but angry, a mixture of Spanish and English that I can’t understand. I stand frozen just inside the bedroom, listening as he finishes the call with a curt, “Text when it’s done.” It’s then that it hits me that the call has actually ended. I don’t want to be here when he comes back. I don’t want totalk about what just happened because I’m not really even sure myself. I quickly crawl into bed, slip beneath the sheets, and curl up as close as I can on the far edge of the mattress. I hear the door open, then close, and the sound of him crossing the carpet. I close my eyes and force my breathing into slow, even patterns, hoping he’ll believe I’m already asleep.
‘Please don’t touch me again tonight. I don’t think I’m strong enough to pretend to hate you right now.’
He stands there a long time. I swear I can feel his eyes burning into me from behind. He lets out a slow sigh, then moves to the bathroom and I listen as the sound of the shower comes on. I’m not sure how long he’s in there for but I know it’s a while. The worst part is I can’t even fall asleep as I lay there listening to the running water. When he finally comes out, he climbs in beside me, and I find myself tensing under the covers. Disappointment hits me when he doesn’t try to touch me and confusion quickly follows that thought. Eventually, sleep pulls me down as I get lost in the sound of his steady breathing.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liana
Iwake to the smell of something delicious. For half a second, memories slam into me from the night before. My wedding night, this hotel room and his hands shackling me to the wall. The shame of kneeling and the lie of not liking it rush through my body. I sit up quickly in bed and immediately see the tray. My stomach grumbles. Strawberries coated in dark chocolate, a bowl of yogurt with granola and grapes heaped in a huge pile sit on a metal tray.
For a minute, I just stare at it, trying to decipher what is being played now. The sunlight shines through the curtains, stinging my eyes, and for a moment, I just want to stay curled under the covers and refuse to participate in whatever new game he’s cooked up. But my hunger wins out, so I sit up straighter, pushing the tangle of sheets down to my hips and lean over to grab a handful of grapes. I pop one into my mouth, savoring the crisp burst of sweetness and the shock of cold against my teeth.
“Mmm,” I moan out loud as I crunch another one into my mouth.
The bathroom door swings open, causing me to jump, and Rio strides out, barefoot with a towel slung low around his hips.
‘Jesus, how many showers does this man need?’
I choke a little on the grape, half from surprise, half because he looks like a fucking sculpture. His shoulders are broad, his skin slick and golden and that V-shaped cut…it’s so sharp it should come with a warning label. For a moment, I just stare. He’s so unfairly hot it makes me want to claw my own eyes out.
He sees me looking and grins. A slow, evil curve that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He even makes that look sexy and I hate him for it. I roll my eyes and glance away, but the image of him is burned onto the inside of my eyelids. He stalks toward the bed confidently, never breaking eye contact with me.
“See something you like, Datura?” he asks, voice smug.
“Absolutely not,” I say, as cool as I can, and shove another grape into my mouth.
‘Lie.’
He laughs like he knows I’m a liar. It’s a real one too, and the sound slices through the awkwardness like a blade. Then before I can react, he moves fast, gripping my chin hard between his fingers as he holds me in place and sucks the grape straight from my lips…with his mouth. I can feel his lips close around mine as he does it, his tongue swiping in between my lips obscenely as he does it. Heat pools between my legs and I find myself clenching them together in search of friction.
“Liar,” he whispers, smirking as he pulls away, chewing the grape slowly. He backs away, but the heat he leaves behind is nuclear. My cheeks flame, and I hate myself for the way my thighs are still squeezed together under the sheets.
Then, it’s as if a switch is flipped. He gestures at the breakfast tray, his tone abruptly businesslike.
“Eat. Then get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”
I blink, unsure if I heard right.
“Leaving? Where are we going?”
He gives me a look that says I’m an idiot for even asking.
“Home,” he says blankly.
The word hits me weirdly. Home. Like there’s ever been a home for me in Arizona.
