He’s gone.
“Help!” I scream again, but I don’t touch him.
I killed my father. I’m evil—a villain who destroys everything.
THIRTY-SEVEN
VALENTINA
December 1st, 2025
I wake,the warm embrace of Santos’ arms instantly calming my nightmare-riddled mind. Why’s it whenever something good happens, I’m reminded of the demons who dwell within?
I close my eyes, exhaling with a frustrated huff.
“Regretting it already?” Santos grumbles, his voice raspy with sleep. I squirm against him as a shiver races down my spice, and his arms instantly tighten. “Or frustrated it’s morning and you’ll have to pull yourself out of my beautiful, sexy, fabulous?—”
Grabbing a pillow, I smack it against his head. “Pompous ass.”
I feel his grin spread against the crook of my neck. “Even now, you can’t stop thinking about my ass. To be fair, I can’t stop thinking about yours either. My finger looked so good inside you. I’d love to see how you stretch for my co?—”
“Santos,” I groan, instantly wet from his words and the raspy way he’s saying them.
Instead of speaking again, he presses his lips to the hollow beneath my ear before he inhales deeply. His kisses continue,traveling downward slowly and without purpose beyond driving me crazy.
And fuck, if it isn’t working.
I squirm against him again, every thought fleeting beyond getting beneath this beautiful man again. I’d do anything to stay in bed, exploring his hands, his mouth, his cock. In my soul, I know no amount of time will be enough; uninterrupted days or weeks would simply be a tease.
I’m falling for Santos in a way I’ve never fallen for another.
I’d forgive him for any sin, any grievance, just to stay wrapped in his arms.
I moan again, his lips brushing the hard peak of my nipple in a nearly loving way. My legs quiver at his tenderness.
What’s happening to me? I’ve never felt this way about anyone.Am I in lo?—
A pounding at the door has us sitting up in unison, so quickly, our heads crack together and I reel back in shock.
“Fuck, are you okay?” His hands frame my face, mossy green eyes wide with panic. The pain disappears instantly, the ache in my heart outweighing any other.
“I’m okay.” I give him a tentative smile, and I watch the tension dissipate from the cords of his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, I just?—”
The knock comes again, this time louder and more insistent. With it comes the realization I’m in bed with Santos—naked and vulnerable in a way I’ve never been.
What will McCrae think?Does it even matter?
My door knob jiggles, and I throw back the covers. “I’m coming, damn it!”
I jump out of bed, but Santos’ hands grab at my waist, yanking me back into the sheets. He scrambles to straddle me, but I push him off easily. “Shhh.” I giggle, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. He melts at the contact and then flops backonto the bed, starring up at me like the bronze God he is—tan, thoroughly ripped, and naked.So fucking naked.
Even if he wasn’t naked—and growing harder by the moment—anyone who saw him would know he’s been fucked. The blatant smirk and evil look in his eye reeks of sexual prowess and victory.
That, and the hickies peppering his neck.
I don’t totally remember doing that—I’ve never been one to claim or be claimed, but something about this man has me turning upside down and inside out.
