Rosa
I step out of my shower, newly cleaned but still harboring a lot of pain. After Javier showed up out of the blue this evening, I’d been reeling. I kept waiting for him to reveal he knows who I am. What I am. But he didn’t. Simply took me to the shed.
The shed.
One of the locations that have alluded the CIA for years. He simply drove straight to it with me in tow.
I’m not a threat.
Even after him catching me snooping, he didn’t feel as though he needed to keep such a private thing from me. By digging around a little deeper, he let me in.
Michael is right.
I do need to do this.
Seduce the one-dimpled, sexy-as-sin monster.
My core throbs at the reminder of him touching me. If I’m to seduce him, the prospect of him touching me more is a very real idea.
Images of myself naked and beneath that beast of a man flip through my mind fast enough to catch fire. A mewl escapes me. That would be terrifying. Right?
I’m having a hard time convincing myself.
If I’m going to have to fuck Javier Estrada, willingly, then I’m going to need a drink. I walk out of my bathroom once I’m dried and hunt down something sexy. Of course, I own nothing. In the end, I choose a tank top and a short pair of cotton shorts. My pajamas. I groan but don’t give up. I leave my wet hair down to air dry and quickly put on some makeup. Just enough to look like I didn’t put any on. I do, though, make sure to apply a dark shade of red on my lips. Every man loves red lips, I’d assume.
Once I’m satisfied that I look decent enough, I slide on some flip-flops and sneak past the girls’ room. When I’d come home earlier, Yolanda and Silvia were still out. Leticia made me some dinner and pouted when I picked at it. Nobody, including me, knows where Araceli is, but at least Alejandro slipped and indicated she was fine. It gives me hope.
I make my way downstairs and rummage around in the liquor cabinet in the kitchen. There is liquor all over this house, but the kitchen has what I want. Tequila. I grab the bottle and head to the back patio. I’ll get some liquid courage in my veins and then I’ll seek out Estrada. I know he’s here.
The wind is cool and hard enough that it hisses through the trees. I unscrew the bottle and take a long pull on the alcohol. It burns as it slides down my throat. Since I’m always on the job, I don’t drink. I forgot how gross it is. Groaning, I tip the bottle again. I swallow down some more, but my esophagus is already on fire, so it isn’t as difficult to drink this time.
I plop down on a lounger and watch leaves blow into the pool. I make a mental note to have Pablo scoop them out tomorrow. With Yoet coming, I know Javier will want the heated pool ready. His father enjoys swimming.
Sometimes, I look out past the beautiful home and watch the waves. For just a few moments, I can pretend I’m on vacation. Lord knows I need one. I imagine I’m at a fancy hotel and allow myself to dream. Much like I did when I was a young girl. Before all hell broke loose and destroyed my life. Back then, I imagined growing up to be beautiful like my mother. I wanted to marry someone who was just as handsome and fearsome as my father. I realize now that was ridiculous, but at the time it was a girly dream.
In the end, I chose retribution.
I chose a career.
Family and marriage and white picket fences are for soft people. I’m too hard for all that. I started hardening the day I watched my mother bleed out on a greasy kitchen floor.
Tears flood, thanks to the alcohol, and I don’t hold them in. I drink the warming tequila and welcome the fall. My heart that wasn’t very big to begin with suffered its final blow tonight. I’d been reaching and hoping for something with Michael. A small step toward a sliver of happiness. An almost happily ever after. It felt attainable.
But for my every tug for this relationship, he pulled away.
My bitter heart aches for the loss of him.
A part of me is furious at him. I’m a strong, educated, brave woman—imbedded in the hornet’s nest. Each day I stare at the face of danger on behalf of the CIA. I’m a catch. Right?
What does Michael, besides being my superior, have over me that makes him better than me? What makes him think it’s okay to fuck me and then fuck whores behind my back?
Rage bubbles up inside me. Hot and violent. I won’t take him back. Ever. Over the past four years, we’ve had our ups and downs, but for some stupid reason, I forgave him. I give and give and give.
He takes and takes and takes.
Fuck, Michael.
A low, deep voice rumbles behind me. “Yeah, fuck, Michael.”
I nearly drop the bottle of tequila. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Javier emerges from the shadows on the side of the house with his hands in his pockets. His big, expensive watch catches the moonlight and flashes. He’s changed from earlier, his hair wet from a recent shower. My gaze roves over his white T-shirt that molds to his impressive chest. His black track pants hug his muscled thighs and my mouth waters.
I can do this.
It’s not like he’s a dog.
He’s a fine-looking man.
Seducing him will be second nature.
“Storm’s coming,” he murmurs as he walks past me. He rests his forearms on the railing and I get a nice view of his ass.
“Yep,” I agree as I swallow more tequila.
He turns and flashes me a dimpled grin that makes my thighs clinch. “Better slow down on that tequila, manzanita, or you’ll end up naked in my bed.”
I laugh at his arrogance. “You wish, baddie.”
He walks over to me and pries the tequila bottle from my grip, his fingers brushing against the back of my hand, sending hot currents of excitement coursing through me. “Baddie?”
With the liquor burning through my veins, I feel bolder. I poke his hard stomach. “Yep. El Malo,” I mock, making my voice deep like a man. “The bad. And you’re the king baddie.”
His dimple reappears as he brings the bottle to his lips. I lick my own because damn he’s making me thirsty. He tilts his head back and swallows, his Adam’s apple moving as he drinks.
“Well, if you work for the king baddie,” he says with a black eyebrow raised, “what does that make you, criada?”
I shrug as I grab the bottle and take another drink. “The bad maid?”
He chuckles as he reaches down and curls his strong hand around my wrist. I’m tugged to my feet easily. Dizzy on my feet, I sway slightly. His hands find my waist to steady me. “You’re a good maid, mami. So good.” His dark eyes flicker with hunger.
I want to get eaten.
A giggle bursts from me. “You want to eat me.”
His lips turn up in a wolfish grin. “I sure do. I bet you taste like sweet, succulent apples.”
“I—” A scream rips from me the moment I see one of the lawn chair cushions blowing away. The bottle falls from my grip and hits the deck, shattering.
A strong arm wraps around my waist and he lifts me while simultaneously pulling a gun from his waistband. He swings it around to shoot at whatever I screamed at. His quick movements to protect me have my heart swelling in my chest.
“It’s gone,” I complain, my bottom lip pouting out. My feet dangle as he holds me in his grip.
His nose nuzzles my hair and he inhales me, sending blasts of need rippling through me. “What’s gone, Rosa?”
“The cushion.”
He chuckles against my hair as he tucks his gun behind him back into his pants. “You scared the fuck out of me, mami.”
My flesh heats. “Don’t tell anyone a little ol’ maid can scare the big bad baddie of them all.”
He walks us away from the mess and drops me to my feet. His arm stays curled around me, just under my breasts. “You shouldn’t scream like that unless you’re getting hurt or when my mouth is latched onto your cunt.”
I tremble in his grip. Fear is the last thing I’m feeling right now. My plan to seduce him is almost too easy. A job perk if you will. I want him to slide his palm under my shirt and pinch my nipple. “Nobody cares about them.”
“Who?”
“The lawn chair cushions.”
His lips press against my hair and he turns his body to press his cock against my backside. I’m locked in his grip and I’m not looking to escape.
“You’re right,” he says, amusement in his tone. “Nobody fucking cares about the lawn chair cushions.”
“I do,” I say with a huff, genuinely offended.
“Because you’re the good maid,” he growls, his thumb sliding over my erect nipple through my tank top. “The best maid. My favorite one, in fact.”
I melt against him and tilt my head to the side. I like him touching me. I like him whispering things to me and touching me so sweetly. I’ve been so starved of affection that I’m desperate for what he offers.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask suddenly, tears prickling my eyes again.
His lips seek my neck, giving me what I silently ask for. “Nothing, manzanita. Absolutely nothing.” He runs his tongue along my flesh, causing me to shiver. “You let Michael fill your head with filth. He’s a loser and undeserving of such a gem.” His teeth nip at my skin. “Could he even make my good little maid come?”
I roll my head back against him. With the tequila turning my bones to molten lava, I melt at his words and touch. I’m greedy to prolong whatever it is that’s happening. In fact, I want to encourage it.
“He did in the past,” I admit. “Not recently.”
“Tonight?”
I stiffen and my heart aches as tears well in my eyes. “I felt used.”
His thumb brushes along my nipple again. “He fucked you?”
Bitter tears roll down my cheeks and I sniffle. He presses sweet kisses along my neck to my ear. His large palm cups my breast and his other one slides from my hip to between my thighs. He grips me possessively over my shorts in a claiming sort of way.
“He fucked me,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I wanted him to even though I caught him with a prostitute.” A sob catches in my throat. “I used to not be like this. So weak.”
His longest finger rubs my clit over my shorts. Slowly but expertly. “You are not weak,” he whispers. “You are fierce.”
I am fierce.
Fierce, strong, smart.
I needed the reminder.
“I’m going to make you come,” he utters, his voice sure and unwavering. He continues his unhurried assault, successfully making my panties grow wet for him. An embarrassing moan climbs from my throat. “That’s it, Rosa, let me show you how it feels to be with a real man.”
Stars glitter around me as my orgasm nears.
God, I want more.
“Javier,” I whisper.
“Sweet woman,” he rumbles. “My name on your lips is torture.”
“I need…”
I don’t know what I need. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t even know who I am anymore. But this…this I need. This man touching me and making my body come alive. This man whispering things that awaken the battered soul that has been haunting this body.
His finger leaves my pussy, causing me to whine, but then his giant hand is delving into my shorts past my panties. I cry out when his hot fingers seek out my soaked flesh. He pushes a finger past my opening, wetting it, before he slides it back up to my clit. It’s slippery and it gives him the movement he’s searching for. With quick, expert circles, he brings me to orgasm. His name bursts from my lips and my knees buckle.
I’m spent.
Dizzy and confused and spent.
And now I’m flying.
I’m in Javier’s arms and he’s striding through his massive estate. He carries me to his bedroom. The moment his masculine scent that is strongest in his room hits my nose, a sliver of panic flitters through me.
He tosses me on the bed and his eyes flare with hunger. Suddenly shy, I cross my legs.
“You can’t hide from me now,” he says with a grin, his dimple making an appearance. “You’re in my lair now and I’m starved.”
I wait for him to pounce and take me, but instead he lowers the lights and places his phone on a music dock. He scrolls through some songs and then lands on a fairly new Mexican band I’ve heard on the radio a few times. The singer’s voice is sultry and almost pleading as he croons for his love to understand who he is behind the many faces he’s forced to wear.
My eyes clash with Javier’s. His hair is messy and it makes him appear younger than his thirties. He reaches behind him to grab hold of his T-shirt and he pulls it off his body. When he tosses it at me, I let out a surprised laugh.
“Hey,” I grumble.
“I had to do something to distract you,” he teases. “Your eyes were going to roll right out of your head.”
But he was wrong…
Now my eyes are going to pop out. His chiseled chest is on full display, making my mouth water. Tattoos litter his flesh, but the most eye-catching one is El Malo scrawled across his lower abdomen right between the hard edges of his “V” written in a script font. The “o” on the word doesn’t end but curls a black line that whips around and dips below the waistband of his pants. I’m still gaping at his perfect body when something flashes, catching my attention.
His gun.
He’s pulled it from his back and it hangs at his side in his grip. For a second, I worry he knows and he’s going to shoot me. Yet, he doesn’t. He simply sets it on the end table. Another song comes on and his hips start moving. I become mesmerized in the way he dances.
It’s hypnotic.
Relaxing.
Safe.
I close my eyes and let the tension bleed from me as I listen to the song. He starts singing along and I’ll be damned if I don’t find myself singing along too.