Coming out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my hips as my phone beeped on the marbled counter, indicating a message from Willa. Pulling another towel from the rack, I used it to get the water out of my hair as I scrolled through her messages.

Willa kept me in the loop by sending me updates. They’d taken Dulce back to her apartment. She and Arush were going to stay for another half an hour just to make sure she was well before they headed back to the hotel. If it weren’t for those two, my life sure would be crazier.

Grateful, I thanked them before switching my phone to silent. Tomorrow’s schedule for Mexico City had no definite timeframe, so I could leave the second I woke up. Still, I asked Arush to wake me up before noon just in case. If I woke up past that hour, my body clock was not the same. It was as if I required a bit of sunshine just to bring me a little cheering up in my hectic, crazy, fun, and yet so dull life. Nonetheless, I made it a mandatory rule to get up before noon no matter what time I got into bed.

It was one-thirty in the morning. Booze and the other fun, albeit harder, cocktail mix still heavily coursed through my veins. Bed was definitely the last thing on my mind. Jacking off was out of the question. The state of my unhappy member remained unchanged, yet I couldn’t bring myself to jerk it in the shower. There was just too much running through my mind. Besides, I didn’t want my horny imagination running explicit images of Cara and me going at it like rabbits.

Cara…

I made a noncommittal shrug, still speechless at her random acts of vengeance.

All right, enough of that. I had to occupy my time with other things. Anything would do so long as it didn’t include the wretched woman.

Promising to push all thoughts of her aside for the rest of the night, I stepped out of the bathroom.

Was I surprised I found said woman naked in my bed?

Not entirely.

From this vantage, it gave me the perfect angle to appreciate the smooth planes of her back, the soft curves of her bottom, and the backs of her shapely legs...

It all simply beckoned a man’s attention.

Offering herself on a platter, I remarked as my eyes noted her physical perfection. As for a peace offering, she could at least try to be original. But then again, in her eyes, I was a mere sinful mortal, prone to satiating their appetites and sexual endeavors.

All of those were true, without a doubt, but after the stunt she had pulled off tonight, a simple apology would’ve sufficed. But in Cara’s world, I supposed apologizing was out of the question.

Cara. Naked. In bed.

No, thanks.

The southern part of my anatomy was charged and ready, threatening to unravel the towel securing it. My body would ceaselessly yearn for her, but my mind was made up. And since I had already made the decision to let her go, our time together was numbered. After Coachella, we’d be parting ways.

Until then, I supposed we could co-exist with civility. Definitely no repeat of last night. If she dared try for a second time, the consequences would be dire.

The Presidential Suite had everything one could ever need, including a grand piano. It would certainly put me in a better mood. My fingers could do with some change. Calloused from playing the guitar, they never stopped me from learning different types of instruments—from drums to electric guitar to the violin. I was rusty on the flute since it was the least I enjoyed.

Stopping at the bar first, I took a glass with a few ice cubes and a bottle of whiskey. Vodka had run its mileage for the day. Time to switch it up a bit.

Placing both glass and bottle on the polished black top, I poured the amber liquid, idly watching it with fascination as the ice cubes shifted, clinking before they rose up, surfacing out of the liquescent pool of golden poison.

Languidly, I took a sip as my middle finger tested a random key, echoing a soft note. The perfectly glistening keys held me entranced, luring me to test them, play them awhile.

Shifting to take my seat, I downed the rest of my drink before flexing my hands and cracking my knuckles. Digits feeling fresh and relaxed, I began to play one of my favorite melodies—“The Swan” by Camille Saint-Saëns.

It was originally done on cello, but I loved playing it on a piano. It was a somber piece, a little haunting and uplifting in some parts, like a perfect salve to soothe a troubled mind. And the way it ends, it was done seamlessly, brilliantly.

I remembered trying to play it without any sheet to guide me. It had been during the filming of my first movie in the hotel’s lounge. It had been right after midnight when the lobby had been less saturated with people, and the ones who were around had too much on their mind to bother with some newbie trying to piece a song together from memory.

Now, every time I performed it, I was always in a mood where something felt amiss. The melancholy notes just pulled at me. It was one of those songs where it connected with you, staring directly in the window of your soul. One only had to hear it to be moved by it. Intrinsically, hands down, a pure masterpiece.

And tonight was just one of those nights when I felt lost, as if my life had no direction. I knew what I wanted—I always had—but rendering a new dream after the fallen one had been harder than imagined.

Growing up in the system made my kind hang on to things, to people … to memories. It was because we had nothing—no family, no history to speak of, basically no identity. Therefore, we cling to the ones we had, making it tough to adjust.

That was what I was … adjusting.

The process was grueling. The mental torment was excruciating. It was as though someone had cut off a limb. Something just wasn’t the same. Something was just … amiss.

Consumed by mounting anguish, I shut my eyes and let my fingers carry my emotions, charging all my energy into this solid, powerful ballad, hoping—praying—it would wash all of this pain away.

And as my finger pressed on the last key, everything remained the same. The pressure in my chest still endured.

“That was beautiful.”

My throat bobbed before I gradually peeled my eyes open to find Cara standing a few feet away, donning one of my Metallica shirts with her long hair cascading over her tiny frame.

One look at her and I knew she was as moved as I was. She connected. Just like I did. A broken man could see a comrade in arms. Had we done this to each other? Or had we always been this way?

Beautiful. Tough…and so goddamn broken.

My eyes linked with dark chocolate ones. Yes, she was definitely a painting. A grand piece. She could’ve easily been in one of Botticelli’s paintings. The Birth of Venus with darker locks.

Yes, definitely a Venus—the Roman goddess of love, beauty, and sex.

And goddamn her for it all. Why had I chosen to give my heart to a heartless bitch? I’d gotten played. She had fucked me to destruction, and I had let her. After all this time, was it really hate I felt for her?

I was sure it had felt like hate at one point …

Unblinkingly, I dared not move. With my eyes penetrating into hers, nothing about me was inviting. More pointedly, she wasn’t invited at all. What made her think she could prance in here and do as she wished?

“Do you hate me more after what I did tonight?” she asked with her eyebrow arching, as though it was meant as a challenge.

I had no doubt that Cara had a strategy for both answers. She was prepared for any inevitability. All her bases covered, checked, and unchecked.

Still, even though my mind was busy spewing all these things, I chose to save my energy. I had learned not to waste it on her. It was better—safer—this way.

“All right.” Stubborn as ever, her chin rose for a few seconds before she blew out a steady breath. Without another word, she simply took hold of the ends of the shirt then pulled it upwards, revealing those perfect dusty pink tits, before she hurled the shirt at me, hitting me on the chest.

It wasn’t my mind that was busy any longer. The southern border was definitely open for business. Even still, I remained resolute as my passionless eyes lingered on her body, noting her new tanned skin and tan lines … which led me back to her pseudo fiancée and the farcical engagement.

Woah.

There it is.

Well, well, well…

The hate was absolutely there. No need to wonder where it had gone. It came in a form of Everett White and his unslick, cheesy, cheap dollar tricks in the hat. And the idiotic bitch lapped it all up, pathetic as pathetic could get. The more I pondered those two, the more it grew, the stronger it festered.

“Keep giving me those looks, River…” she beckoned as she began to move toward me.

Those perfect globes bounced, punctuating each sultry move as she advanced toward me.

I could do nothing but watch.

When Cara got into this mood, it was difficult not to. How could a mere man strain his eyes away from Venus? There was no harm in looking even if I loathed her to Hell and back.

Upon reaching my side, instead of straddling me as I expected her to, Cara skillfully hopped onto the closed-lid of the piano, situating herself in the middle. Arched back, breasts jutting in the air as she ever so slowly planted her soles on the polished platform.

My throat ran dry. My mouth watered as my eyes devoured her while she unhurriedly parted those legs of hers ever so enticingly, giving me a full frontal.

Hot.

Fucking.

Damn.

“I’m wet. It’s all your fault. You made me wait.” With dilated eyes, pouty lips, and those fuck-me-like-you-mean-it eyes, Cara then made a kittenish smile, playing the ultimate enchantress. “While you showered, I was touching myself … thinking about you inside me…” Her husky tone got deeper as her hand found her clit. Her middle finger began to massage it in a circular motion. Each time she did, the wetness made this sucking sound that got my engine gunning for the finish line.

“I know you want me,” she stated as her hand reached into the glass, pulling out the ice cubes then pouring them across her. Traces of diluted whiskey ran from the valley of her breasts and into her navel. The ice merely slid below. One slipped from her navel, landing on the side of her hip. The other glided lower, slipping just under her mons. The ice landed with a soft thud a mere half an inch away from her opening.

And a damn mere second away from my reach.

Cara knew where my eyes were glued, but instead of choosing this particular ice, she chose the one next to her hip, plucking it off before she began rubbing it on her nipple, making the bud hard and tantalizingly pointy. It glistened as a miniscule bead formed at its tip, beckoning my tongue.

The wicked enchantress panted and moaned as she trailed the damn ice farther down, tracing past her toned abs, and upon reaching the soft slope of her mons, she let out a sharp gasp, biting down on her lip as she lowered the wicked thing.

The heat emanating from her cunt made the ice begin to melt faster, adding more wetness trickling down those luscious slits. I was so engrossed I realized too late that I actually snarled when she slipped it into her opening, disappearing into the wet crevice. Those wicked fingers resumed massaging her nub. She was so into it she began to gyrate on top of the damn piano. When her orgasm came, those lips parted, chest heaving as she moaned my name.

Her orgasm came out of her contracting hole, her cream seeping out of it. She whimpered while acutely watching me through those dark sooty lashes of hers.

For the love of fucks, I was in goddamn awe. This was hands down the sexiest I’d seen her. Of all the times I’d known this woman, she had never had the guts to show this kind of intimacy.

Who was this woman in front of me? I guess there were some positive aspects to these changes. This highlighted it.

“Thirsty?” the minx huskily invited.

Her essence glinted at me.

Cunt juice.

Fuck…yes.

Without bothering to stand up, I latched my hands around her ankles, swiftly sliding her lower end to the very edge. The hasty move made her toes land on the keys just as my lips met her pink petal and her hot dripping core. I drank her sweet nectar as I let my tongue abundantly lap each drop of velvety sap.

“More … I need morreeee!” Her body trembled as my tongue slid in and out of her opening, driving her wild. “Baby, fuck me. I need you inside me … please.” She began to pant as she reached out to the back of my head and dug her nails into my scalp, begging, moaning for anything I could give her. “I’m desperate for your cock.”

Hell. There was nothing sexier than that. “Desperate, huh? You want me that bad?” A double entendre. There had to be some irony in there somewhere.

“Fuck yes!” she shrieked as my tongue delved deeper into her heat, fucking her with it while my thumb lightly dipped right below it before inserting it into the other crevice.

Pressing my pad upwards, I searched for the tiny smooth grid before applying pressure on it as my tongue worked its way in and out of her sopping cunt. It took less than a minute to have her screaming and cursing my name. The orgasm came in multiple waves, one after the other. I didn’t let my tongue nor thumb rest until the minx had hair stuck on her sweaty forehead with half-closed lids, and she was an utterly incoherent mess.

In all my adult life, this probably was the hardest I’d ever been. So, it didn’t surprise me how my width had all but doubled, and the woman who had always asked me to slow down until her body could get used to me would feel its full capacity.

The moment the last wave of orgasm quaked through her tight body, I clamped on both ankles again, sending her bottom half suspended in the air at a forty-five-degree angle. Legs spread wide and open, her body directly enveloped my cock. Her cunt heat made me growl in approval. Her eyes widened in shock before hissing as though she couldn’t fathom to take all of it. She barely made it halfway; she better be ready. She did beg for it, didn’t she?

With her legs now tightly wrapped around my thighs, my hands grappled her hips while her elbows anchored her upper body at the very edge of the piano lid.

My eyes bore into hers, ensuring she felt my cock expand inside her before I thrust farther into her channel. I knew with enough lubrication her passage would give way to have all of me. It always caved in to my demands.

I didn’t fuck her slow. I took her the way a man would take a whore—fucking her without letting her catch her breath, without emotions, and definitely with no mercy.

We both came right after each other. After I was through pumping myself dry inside her womb, I pulled out and hastily placed her ass on top of the keys. With her legs slightly parted, my semen began to seep out of her swollen pussy. Using my middle finger, I scooped as much cream as I could and inserted it into Cara’s parted mouth, feeding her my lifeblood. She let out a muffled moan before her tongue snuck out and licked my finger clean.

She then looked up at me in a daze, flushed cheeks and looking more beautiful than I’d ever seen her.

“God, you’re so … amazing.” A soft smile emerged as she took hold of my hand and kissed the inside of my palm. “Do you really need Dulces around when you have me available?”

Tricky question. Was she planning on marking her territory?

Funny that … She still wore his ring.

Seeing it only resurged my wrath. Was she really this thoughtless? Besides, what shenanigans did she have in play now that she had gotten what she wanted from me?

I was her best fuck, and she knew it. “If you don’t want any competition, Cara, you’ve gotta learn how to get on your knees and suck dick. The first rule in keeping a fuckboy in check…you’ve gotta try it sometimes.”

She blinked at me, her smile slowly retreating. “You know I don’t really … do that.”

Well, let me refresh your memory. “You changed your tune in Sweden.”

“That’s different. I was trying to keep you, to make you happy.” She grimaced, looking away. “Guess that means you’ll continue being the way you are, and I get to wait until you need me.”

Watching her apprehension felt good. Yes, the witch was bothered. Cara didn’t like not being worshipped. She’d gotten so used to men granting her anything that seeing me with Dulce had fucked with her ego.

“The solution’s in your hands, Cara.” I let my eyes travel around her pretty face, overwhelmed by emotions rioting all through me. I dared not decipher what it all meant. “Go wash up. I’ll be there in a minute.” Right now, after vowing never to have sex with her and ending up caving in to my body’s demands, I wondered if it would sway my decision of letting her go after Coachella.

Her hands touched my chest, as if she wanted more contact, as if she yearned to get closer to me. Dark eyes lifted to meet mine, and I could feel her thinking … pondering … weighing … yet I had no idea what it was.

“Join me in the shower. I can wash you if you want,” she offered, albeit reluctantly, as her cheeks flushed bright red.

Shower? Shower … ha. This wasn’t what she was thinking. But did I really care to find out what it was? Besides, peeling layers of this newly transformed Cara wasn’t in the cards. I mean, at the end of the day, I knew there was nothing underneath it. Just superficiality. Nothing of substance. Merely smoke and mirrors. And more mind games to entertain her.

It was best to keep her in her place—on her back, on her knees, but never in my heart. She had shut that door forever.

This was as good as it got with me. She had better get used to it.

“I’ll shower after you. I have to check some stuff.” I had nothing to do. She knew it, too, yet she didn’t challenge the outright lie.

“All right…” she huffed out before she slid off the piano keys. On her tippy toes, she lingered at my neck before pressing her lips to my skin. “I miss you,” she whispered closely into my ear before darting out of the living room, disappearing into the master bedroom.

I could hear the shower running. The steady hum of the fridge. The deafening sound of my heart racketing all through my chest.

I miss you.

Three little fucking words. But I didn’t know what they meant in her dictionary. They could mean all sorts of fucking things. Still, the effect didn’t lessen their impact.

Those words made me end up downing the rest of the opened bottle of whiskey. It was an hour after when I found myself in the master suite, standing before her sleeping body while I slowly began to jerk off my dick. Ready for round two.

This time, I prepped her body with the tip of my cock, using it to tease her opening and her clit, gliding it in until she became wetter.

“Juan…” Cara gasped, her hips undulating as her legs opened wider. “Cariño…cógeme…”

Hesitantly, I paused to check on her, seeing if she was wide awake, but she appeared to be asleep. Okay … Was she dreaming of Juan again?

Fuck. Way to go. Kill a man’s confidence.

Should I stop, or should continue having sex with her? My dick made the decision for me.

“Yes … cógeme … cógeme duro…” Her moans weren’t getting any louder. They sounded muffled. Each time she spoke a cógeme, her cunt squirted more juices.

Cógeme … What does that mean?

* * *

Juan stayed every night I took her. And every night, I couldn’t bring myself to cum. Hearing his name kept me up at night. Hell, holding her was out of the question. I kept my distance at every single turn.

Since Arush and Willa knew Cara was with me, the rest of the crew welcomed her. I’d purposely sit across from her whenever we dined with everyone. At a club. On the jet. Even in the limo.

She had no idea what was happening to me, but she knew something was up. So, she tried to pacify me by initiating sex, but I always pulled away.

I dropped the ball after four days and began to entertain hot women when we were out clubbing. Not for the actual sex, but for the oral kind. Cara was there, of course, and I was sure she knew what was going on when I took them into the backroom for half an hour or so, but she never uttered a word about it. Each time I come out after the session with them, she’d stare me down for a good ten minutes before leaving me to party.

During daylight, I rejected her advances, only to come back to her at night, drunk and high, seeking shelter in her warmth … only to find her pretending I was another man.

I was not an idiot. I knew it pissed her off, and it didn’t help that I’d been refusing her with sex. But what she didn’t know was the nocturnal sessions I had with her.

It was the night before Coachella when I learned what it meant. Fucking me a little more.

Cógeme … fuck me.

Cógeme duro … fuck me harder.

I didn’t want to be a little bitch, but hell, it stung. It stung a great deal. As a result, when Petra invited herself to join my crew for Coachella, I didn’t even care. Maybe having her around would make me feel a little better. Yes, it was petty. I know it was pathetic to even go there, but Juan … How the fuck did he get to fuck with me even when he was six feet below the ground?

Three more days.

Freedom awaited.

It couldn’t come soon enough.