I’m gaping at him, lips parted while he waits, patiently. Warm and inviting, that goddamn power over me that I’ll never understand urging only one response.
A subtle nod of my head, and a hushed, “Si, Diablo.”
He looks elated, but not surprised as he kisses my fingers. “Are you… mi chiquita mala?”
My bad little girl…
Fuck.
My insides throb, and my breathing hitches. In an instant, I’m squirming, and he’s grinning.No need for an answer, I guess…
“Baby, this is what I wanted,” he croons. “Since the first night, at The Edge, I wanted you to understand… entiendes, mi cariño. No one else will know you as I do.” He brushes his lips over mine, and I shiver. “And I didn’t need to feed you lines or try to pick you up.”
“No, I suppose you didn’t…” I utter hoarsely.
He rumbles, displaying a faux-pout. “I saw your face when the bartender touched you…”
Humiliation crawls beneath my skin. But he grasps my chin to hold me still. “It’s not your fault, beautiful. It’s everyone else. If they don’t understand you, it’s because they’re not meant to. No one else is meant to have you, precious.Onlyme. You are so very breathtaking, sweet baby bird.You.”
“I… I’m…”
“Dime,” he whispers, lips brushing mine. Then my jaw. Then my ear. “Cómo te sientes.”
Tell me how you feel.
“I’m not… sure.”
This is intense. It’s a conversation I’ve never even had with myself, though I’m desperate to have it with someone.
But he’s… El Diablo.
Why does hecare?
Am I not meant to be just a sex slave?
Why is he acting like it’s more than that, dammit??
I justknowI’m pink as fuck. But I blink up at him, because it’s all I can do.
He’s wearing even more wide-eyed fascination. “Are you sure… that you’re not sure?” I snort and he grins. “Never say what you think someone wants to hear… especially me.” He plays with my hair. “We both know you don’t care about my feelings.”
I have to chuckle at that, and the easy way his lips are sloped doesn’t even seem real.
“I just don’t understand why you… care. About how I feel.”
He frowns. “I captured you, didn’t I?” My lashes flutter in perplexity. “I want to know you, little bird. I want you to be exactlyyou, however that feels.”
“Um… okay,” I breathe.I guess we’re doing this.“It’s just that… well, usually it’s only sexual,” I admit my quiet, confusing feelings. “Sometimes… my body doesn’t feel… exactly right. During sex.”
I clear my throat, trying hard not to choke on the emotion, because I’ve never said this out loud to anyone before. But he doesn’t seem shocked, or creeped out.
He’s not staring at me like this is an interrogation, or he’s my shrink, or like I’m an alien from Mars.
He’s just quietlyabsorbingmy words, and honestly, he looks kind of empowered for me.
The Ivory islistening.
“Continuas,” he rumbles, kissing my neck, gently. Still, playing with my fingers.
