Seduction Page 12

“If you need anything,” he says, “call me.”

  He leaves without looking back.

  —

  I meet Lucas in Durty Nelly’s Irish Pub. It’s crowded. We find two empty stools at the bar, and I order a whiskey sour. “Where’d you dump the bastard?” I ask.

  “Shavano Park,” he answers between sips of beer. He reaches inside his jacket pocket and then slams a cellphone and wallet on the bar. “Here.”

  I open the wallet and take out Estevan’s driver’s license. I stare at his mug shot, antipathy swelling inside me. “Was he still unconscious when you left him?”

  “Out cold.”

  I watch him open his own wallet, then grab a twenty. His gold badge flashes before he shuts it. I’m envious.

  “Want it that bad?” Lucas asks.

  I stare up at him. “Yeah.”

  He orders two shots of tequila. “Then fix it. Apply to Lake Jackson P.D. and come to work with me. Or I’ll write a letter of recommendation to whatever department you choose. Anything you need, bro.” He studies my face. “The girl? You’re in love with her?”

  I tap my fingers on the bar. “That obvious?”

  He laughs.

  Impossible to hide it. I smile. I really am, damn it. I never thought it would happen. “Did you do the background check?” I change the subject.

  “Two underage D.W.I.s and a recent assault charge. His daddy is on the city council—well connected.”

  I scratch my head. “How’d you access his juvenile record so fast?”

  “Friends.”

  I have a collection of those types of connections, too. Police enforcement has its privileges and I miss them.

  “I don’t think he knows what hit him yet,” Lucas comments. “By the time he gets back to his hotel and checks Facebook, he’ll figure out what happened.”

  The bartender serves our drinks and then swipes the money off the bar. I swallow mine down, the alcohol burning my throat. “Shit.”

  Lucas chuckles. “Hitting the races Sunday?”

  I consider it. I’m not sure Marisela will be in the mood. “That’s not up to me,” I say. “Whatever the lady decides.”

  “I understand.”

  After we shoot the shit for a half hour, I stash Estevan’s wallet and phone in my pocket, then walk Lucas to the lobby. “Visit soon,” I say. We fist bump and he leaves.

  I’m in no hurry to go upstairs. Not sure what to do with all the nervous energy I have. Any other time, I’d have sex. I walk outside. The temperature has dropped. I watch a riverboat skim by. I planned on taking Marisela for a ride tomorrow. I wanted her to enjoy the weekend, but now it’s ruined. That bastard ruined our holiday. I pull Estevan’s wallet out and toss it in the water. I memorized his vitals. Name, address, phone number…“I’m coming for you,” I whisper.

  I march past several couples holding hands and kissing, immediately regretting leaving Marisela alone. I check my watch. It’s one a.m. Too late to be wandering around when I have a beautiful woman waiting for me upstairs.

  I head back to the hotel.

  —

  Where’s Craig? I’m bathed, dressed to seduce him, and sitting in a hotel room in San Antonio, alone. I fidget with the bracelet he bought me. Wined, dined, and nearly kidnapped…My God. Another testament to the poor choices I’ve made.

  Is he afraid to be near me because he thinks I’m too terrorized to make love? I’m not. After what Craig did…I’d nearly lost all hope after Estevan threatened to drag me to his hotel. With a knife aimed at my stomach, what else was I going to do? One kick and Estevan wilted. A grim memory surfaces…three months ago.

  I’m staying the night at Estevan’s parents’ house after a home game. Estevan arrives late—drunk as usual. I meet him at the front door. He towers over me, groping my breasts and kissing me at the same time. He stinks of sweat and booze. And perfume, but not mine. I recoil immediately.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Really?” I say. “Do you need me to tell you?”

  He shrugs. “Boys will be boys.”

  “No.” I refuse to accept it. “I won’t stick around to find out.”

  I turn to go, but he squeezes my face between both hands and kisses me, hard. I scream and he shoves me. He’s angry. He staggers toward me, intent on dominating me. My survival instinct kicks in. I punch his nose.

  “Bitch.” He cups my face, then stares at me like the devil.

  I run into the living room and cower next to his mom, who’s sitting in her favorite recliner. She looks up just as Estevan wobbles in.

  “Mom!” he screams. “She punched me.”

  Mrs. Beltran eyes me, then casually looks at her son. “Estevan,” she starts, “I’m glad someone did what I’ve been too cowardly to do all these years.” She gives me a reassuring smile and then returns to her knitting.

  Estevan is stunned silent, and so am I. I spend the night in the guest room adjacent to his parents’ bedroom, behind a locked door.

  Suddenly, the hotel door opens and I scramble out of bed. I left the light on in the living room. It’s Craig. He swaggers, then stops when he sees me. His intense gaze could burn holes in me. “Baby…”

  I’m wearing a baby-blue crisscross lace chemise. It leaves little to the imagination. He sucks in a breath as his gaze drifts to my breasts. “Why?” he asks as he swoops and pulls me against the muscled length of his body. “I can’t get enough of you, Marisela,” he whispers against my cheek. He gathers my long hair in his hands and kisses me, his tongue gently flicking along the seam of my mouth. “We don’t have to make love, baby. If you need some time…”

  I back up several feet and fist my hands at my sides. He’s afraid to touch me because of the assault. I never wanted it to come down to this. Pity. I’ve dealt with my feelings on my own. When I gave myself to Craig it empowered me—made me feel like a whole woman again.

  His rejection is unsettling. I’m overwhelmed by emotions. Passion. Love. Hate. Regret. It all merges inside my belly. Every inch of my body is resisting. I want Estevan gone. “Get him out of my head, please.”

  He makes a growling sound in the back of his throat, then sheds his coat, shirt, boots, pants, socks, and underwear before he reaches me. I’ve never seen that menacing look before—I can’t move. What’s he thinking? Is he mad at me?

  “Do you know what you do to me, Marisela?” He takes a measured step forward, and strokes himself.

  I can only imagine. I retreat. “No.”

  My gaze sweeps down his body. What pagan god breathed life into him? I shake my head. I want to run my hands and tongue over every inch of his flesh. I’m in awe. His arousal is breath-stealing. I stare at his shaft and giggle mindlessly. It’s so enormous. His chest and arms are thickly muscled, his abs beautifully ripped, and his long legs remind me of marble columns. He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about.

  “Do you want me to tell you?” he asks.

  I’m not sure I can handle hearing it, not right now. He takes another step. I’m standing in the doorway between the living room and bedroom. His gaze devours me—I can barely breathe.

  “I’ll show you…” He slides closer, then kneels at my feet. His face is level with my stomach, my crotch. I’m already wet as sin. But the moment I feel his hot breath through the lace barrier of my lingerie, my core tingles and my legs shake.

  He gazes up at me savagely. “Stand still.” He grips my thighs roughly, then spreads my legs.

  Stand still? Is he crazy? He shoves the material aside and his thick fingers dip inside me. I arch my neck, staring at the ceiling. He starts gently, whispering my name, fingering me until his hand is slick with my juices. He growls—tasting me. His tongue skirts around my center. He nips my lips and I cry out. Then he slowly withdraws his fingers and grabs my ass cheeks. Pulling me against his face, he sinks his tongue inside me, thrusting violently. I writhe and moan, riding him. Just when I start to feel a faint pulse, he deprives me of his touch.

  My hips jerk. I don
’t want him to stop. “Please, Craig…don’t make me beg.”

  “You’ll beg.”

  I look down. Something in his demeanor changes. He stands suddenly, suspended over me. I gulp. His mouth collides with mine and our tongues wrestle brutally for control. He cups the back of my head with both hands, nearly swallowing me—sucking me inside him. My hands land on his chest. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. I’m helpless. He rips his mouth away.

  “Tell me, Marisela.” His fingers penetrate me again, plunging deep.

  Within a few strokes I’m ready to climax again. He stops. Craig lifts his hand and sucks on his fingers one by one. Next, he gently slides his fingers under my nose. “Nothing smells or tastes as sweet as you,” he says.

  It’s incredibly erotic, the scent of my own excitement on his hand. My body is screaming. I want him inside me. I cradle his shaft between my hands, but he gently pushes me away. “What do you want, Marisela?” He forces me back a few steps. There’s no doubt in my mind what I need.

  I swallow so loud he can hear it. My gaze zigzags around the room nervously. “I want to get lost in you. Make me forget everything. Get kinky. Tie my hands up—tease me until I can’t think straight.”

  He groans. “There’s nothing I’d like better than having complete control, Marisela. But…”

  “I’m fine.”

  He stares at me like he doesn’t believe me. I need this—living out one of my fantasies with Craig will help me forget. I appreciate his concern, but I’m tired of letting my ex ruin my life. “Please.”

  He stalks to the dresser, then opens the top drawer and retrieves a silk tie. He slams the drawer shut and spins around. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. Very sure. “Yes.”

  “I don’t think it’s right…”

  “Fuck me senseless.”

  He closes his eyes for a second, inhales a deep breath, then opens his eyes again. Then he comes at me.

  My body is in sensory overload. When I see that tie, my insides spark to life.

  He grips my hair with one hand, forcing my head back. He walks me backward until I feel the frame of the bed against my legs. Our gazes lock. “Lie down,” he commands.

  I don’t even look; I fall onto the soft mattress. He grips my shoulders, turns me, then shoves me upward. In seconds, I’m bound to the headboard. Excitement rushes through me. I’ve never done this before. My gaze follows him as he circles the bed—ogling me—owning me without speech or touch. He rubs the back of his neck. “Goddamnit, Marisela.” He sounds strangled, almost beaten.

  My hips buck. I want to touch him but can’t move my hands, so I twist. He chuckles, then grins wickedly at me. My body has a mind of its own; my snatch is on fire. “Please…”

  He walks to the end of the bed, staring. He leans in, tracing the insides of my thighs with one finger. Any stimulus at this point goes straight to my slit. I close my eyes. Please touch me. Love me. He crawls between my legs, then cups my breasts, gently at first. I gasp as he pinches my nipples. I watch every deliberate move he makes. He leans over and nips my breasts, trailing kisses across my chest. I kick. Deprivation is killing me.

  —

  An insane urge to live out every filthy fantasy I’ve ever imagined with Marisela consumes me. Things I’ve never done with any woman. I can’t help myself—the way her tiny body responds to mine, the way she rides my face when my tongue is buried inside her drives me crazy. After she begged me to get Estevan out of her head…I don’t know what came over me. My willpower disintegrates whenever I touch her. And I like seeing her tethered to the bed.

  “Craig, I want to feel you inside me.”

  I place my hands on either side of her face and capture her lips. My hand drifts between her legs—I finger her clit. She caresses my tongue with hers, sucking gently. I moan. She encourages me by slamming her core against me. This should be long and slow. Not with her begging and that crazy mouth of hers. I press my shaft against her stomach, testing her desire. Then I slide inside her. She’s so slick. I recoil and she moans. I do it again, feeding her a couple more inches. I nibble on her lower lip, staring into her wicked eyes.

  “You drive me crazy, baby.” I hammer inside her.

  She matches me stroke for urgent stroke. I can’t get Estevan out of my head so I pound harder—she cries out in pleasure. I reach up, and then release her hands from the headboard. She immediately loops her arms around my neck, pulling me against her.

  “Harder,” she insists.

  I gently roll over, letting her sit astride. I stare up at her. Her dark hair spills around her shoulders in a tangled, sexy mess. Her breasts bounce as she rides me, her hips spiraling unrestrainedly. I clamp her thighs and close my eyes, tired of struggling, tired of holding back. Any sexual discipline I had before I met Marisela disintegrates; she’s in full control. She bends forward, sweeping her hot tongue over my bottom lip. Chills fly through me. She whimpers when our bodies slam together, then threads her fingers through my hair, arching her back. I squeeze her ass with both hands. “I can feel you throbbing,” I say.

  She pulls back enough so I can see her face, then smiles. “I don’t ever want this to stop.”

  “I won’t let it,” I say, giving a hard thrust.

  I can’t resist that naughty grin. I stare at her tiny wrists still bound together and pull out, flipping her on her back. She gasps. I stretch her hands above her head and push forward, filling her again. We fit together so perfectly. She moans, locking her ankles behind my back. She rotates her hips and I plunge deeper. In and out. In and out. We’re both panting, our bodies covered with sweat. I hold her face between my hands and bite frantically at her lips. “You’re addictive, baby. Come with me.”

  She lets go, and I follow.

  Chapter 15

  It’s Friday night, the weekend after my trip to San Antonio. The club is slammed. I’m still floating after Craig told me he wanted to love me—he makes me so happy. Robyn and Garrick haven’t questioned me about our relationship. Craig and I haven’t discussed Estevan in a week. I hope the asshole dropped off the end of the world. I’ve saved enough money to pay two months’ rent to Macey. In short, my new life is shaping up. And I’ve finally worked up the courage to invite Craig over to my sister’s house for dinner on Sunday night. That’s when I’ll reveal my plans to move. Craig doesn’t even know. I’m not sure how he’ll react. As long as I’m living at Robyn’s, I’m safe. My brother-in-law is the only man I know who is fiercer than my boyfriend.

  I’m dancing for a twenty-something-year-old guy who keeps buying table dances but doesn’t react when I’m naked. In fact, he stares up at the ceiling most of the time or closes his eyes. We’re sitting near the catwalk. Craig is working the front door. The latest song ends, and I wiggle into my black velvet dress, then sit down. I take a sip from my nonalcoholic, lady’s drink and watch Desire on the main stage.

  “She’s hot, too,” my customer observes.

  I hate to admit it, but she is. There’s something naturally sensual in the way she moves. “She’s been here a long time.”

  He nods. “After she finishes her rotation onstage, invite her to join us.”

  I grimace. “Sure.” I can’t protest; it’s his time and money. By now, half the club knows Craig and I are dating. Most of the girls have accepted it. Desire’s avowed followers, including a handful of customers overly involved in her life, haven’t. They’ve made it a point to boycott me onstage. But, as Robyn’s little sister, I’m enjoying some popularity of my own.

  A few minutes later, I see a line of Banditos enter the club. I immediately go stiff. Craig throws me a cautionary look. I sink low in my chair. In order to get to the dressing room, I have to walk through the middle of the club. My gaze follows the bikers—they claim the first ten chairs on pervert row on the main stage. Shit. I’ll be up soon.

  “Everything all right, Marisela?” my customer asks.

  I feign a smile. “Sure. I need to get ready for the stage. When I’
m done, I’ll get Desire.”

  He pats my hand, reaches in his pocket, and pulls out a fifty. “Here, baby.”

  “Thank you.” I tuck the bill in my tiny black sequined purse, then walk away. Whoever invented this business was a bit of a lunatic but ingenious.

  I make it to the bar and slip through the double doors unnoticed. There’s a lump in my throat and my heart rate is ridiculously fast. I’m standing in front of the security office where all the monitors are. It’s empty and I peek inside. There are ten screens, and I stare at different live feeds of the club. Two monitors are dedicated to the main stage. I can see the faces of half the bikers. I search desperately for that red-bearded giant who stabbed Craig. I don’t see him.

  Hell, breathe, Marisela. I nearly jump out of my skin when a pair of strong arms encircle me from behind.

  “Easy, baby,” Craig breathes into my ear.

  I get goose bumps all over. I rest the back of my head against his chest and we stand silently for several minutes.

  “He’s here,” Craig announces.

  I know he feels the tension in my body. “What should I do?”

  “Two choices,” Craig says, twirling me around. “Go home, or alter your look as much as possible and stay here with me. I’m not going to make the choice for you.”

  Alter my look? “You want me to play dress-up with you?” I smile.

  He shakes his head. “Everything is linked to sex in that naughty little mind, isn’t it?” He smacks my left butt cheek. “Seriously, Marisela, listen to me. Sooner or later you’re going to have to face Sargent. I’d rather it be here under my direct supervision.” I nod. “Good. Meet Tamera in the dressing room—she has a great idea for a costume change. Don’t come out until Dave calls you onstage. I’ll take care of your music.”

  He plants a kiss on my head, then watches me saunter through the door to the dressing room, where Tamera is waiting for me.

  “Thanks for helping, Tamera.”

  “No problem,” she says. “What do you think about schoolmarms?”

  I think old English lady with spectacles and a frumpy dress. But Tamera changes my mind when she holds up a perfectly tailored navy skirt/jacket ensemble. “Really?”