The thought excites me so much I close my eyes. I picture what that would be like.
Fucking hot.
“I might text my men and tell them you weren’t feeling well that morning. Ask them how you’re doing.”
“You wouldn’t dare! You wouldn’t make me come in front of them, would you?”
“How would I know what’s happening without me there to see it?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I told you I don’t make idle threats, and my promises are few and far between.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Oh, little girl. It’s most definitely a promise.”
He kisses between my shoulder blades before turning me to face him again. He pumps shampoo into his hand and nudges me so that my body is under the showerhead, but my head isn’t.
“Let me take care of something besides making you come.”
His fingers are like magic. Even better than when my stylist cuts my hair. I let my head drop to rest my forehead against his chest. It might make it awkward for him, but it’s heaven for me. He takes a step forward, and I shuffle one backward until my hair’s under the water. He rinses the suds clean, and I spot a face cleanser that’ll wash off my makeup without leaving me like a racoon. I hurry to scrub my face then rinse it.
“That was divine.”
“Happy to help,chica.”
I pump a dollop of shampoo into my palm and point down. He grins and lowers himself to his knees. It’s the only way I can easily reach all of his hair. While I return the favor, he returns to marking me along the inside of my thighs. He hooks one over his shoulder, bracing me tightly. When he’s left another five or six on one leg, he switches to the other. His hair doesn’t need nearly as long to wash as mine, but it takes twice the time to do it since he refuses to rush his feast.
“I’m saving the rest of you, little girl, for dessert.”
“I look forward to acannololater.”
“You can suck the cream out anytime.”
We rub each other’s bodies with shower gel and poofs I can tell have never been used before. This whole process from watching me remove my wig to washing each other is so intimate. Something a legit couple would do. We’re both aroused the entire time. We both want to give and get oral as well as fuck, but we don’t. We’re normal for a few minutes—not a narcotrafficker or a mercenary, not predator or prey.
When there’s nothing left to wash, we embrace. He felt how wet I am for him even after wiping the cum from between my legs. I see and feel how hard he is. But it’s still not about sex. He’s so fucking gentle with me, even when he’s leaving love bites.
“Let me hold you,chiquita.Just a little while longer.”
“Yes, please, Daddy.”
I test the word I cried out as he made me come. It doesn’t feel weird to say it outside sex, but I’m still unsure whether he likes it or tolerates it.
“I like that,mi chica.” My little girl.
The difference one word makes to an already possessive term of endearment. He’s making me fall for him harder and harder. At first, it was just sex appeal. I wanted to fuck him on the yacht. I would’ve done it for pure enjoyment.
I could’ve followed him to his hotel and killed him on his way to his room. I could’ve been a sniper and taken him out any of the days I followed him. I could’ve shot him and Pablo after the window shattered and Pablo was already injured, and Alejandro was distracted.
“Don’t let go.”
How fucking needy can I sound?
“I won’t.”
I enjoyed our intellectual sparring—our verbal table tennis—too much. I respect how he treated people in the neighborhood. Yes, he was there extorting plenty of them and likely doing some shady-ass deals. But everyone greeted him with a smile. I’ve heard the same isn’t true for Pablo orTres J’s, probably because all four are enforcers. Alejandro seemed like a favored visitor.
