“I’m sure.”
“You don’t look sure. You look like you’re about to pounce, mi alma, which I’m not opposed to either.”
“I’m just admiring the art,” I tell him. Not only is his skin covered in ink, but his body itself is a work ofart. “You have a good tattoo artist. Think they’ll do something on me?”
“Not if they want to keep their hands, and I hear those are useful to artists.” Emmanuel picks up a loofah and squirts a bunch of shower gel on it before rubbing at his arms and torso.
Fuck, I should not be in here. I should not be watching this.
My eyes follow his hands down, down and farther down, until he reaches his dick. There’s a nice little V that leads you right to it. He’s hard, really fucking hard.
“That looks like it hurts.” I grin.
“I’ve been hard since I first laid eyes on you,” he says.
“Good thing your hands work. Want me to leave you to it?” I offer.
“I’m not jerking myself off, mi alma. When I relieve myself, it’ll be inside you,” he says.
“Well, I hope you look forward to a lifetime of celibacy then, because that’s never going to happen.” I walk out of the bathroom, for my own sanity, before I take back what I said and join him in that shower. I really do want to experience what he could do with that dick of his.
I’m stubborn, though. So if I say it’s not happening,it’s not happening. I return to my spot on the floor. I don’t know what else to do.
Emmanuel walks out of the bathroom, a billow of steam trailing behind him. “Get up,” he growls at me.
“Excuse me?” I raise a brow. I’m not a dog. He can’t just bark an order and expect me to follow it.
“I said get off the fucking floor.” He stomps towards me and drags me up by my arms again. “You do not belong on the goddamn floor, Evie.”
“What is your problem with the floor?”
“It’s for people beneath us.Youare not beneath us.” He guides me over to the little table with the tray. “Sit,” he says, pointing at the chair.
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I happen to like sitting on the floor, and people are not beneath me. I’m not better than anyone else.”
“Yes, you are,” he seethes. “We have chairs. Sit on chairs. Sit on the bed. Anywhere but the fucking floor.” He stalks towards another door.
I don’t move. I consider sitting on the floor again. That’s what protests are about, aren’t they?
If I’m honest with myself, I don’t particularly want to risk making him any angrier than I already have, though. I don’t think he’d hurt me.
I’m a fucking idiot. He’s a cartel boss. He’d hurt me if he had to.
Emmanuel comes out in another perfectly-fitted black-on-black suit.
“Do you buy those suits from Costco? Like in bulk or something?” I ask him.
“You own a boutique, Evie. Tell me, do you really think my suits are from Costco?” He raises a brow.
“They could be,” I say, even though I know damn well those suits are custom-fitted.
“Sure. Why didn’t you eat?” He eyes the untouched food.
“Hunger strike,” I tell him.
“Yeah, that’s not fucking happening. Come with me.” Emmanuel grabs hold of my hand and drags me out of the bedroom.
“Where are you taking me?” I huff behind him.
