Page 67 of Lourdes & the Mafia
Yet somehow, I felt the whisper of her breath across my mouth and instead of pulling away like I should have, my first instinct was to press closer. To take her lips in mine. To devour her mouth.
I hate her.
I despise her.
I despise what she stands for.
And yet in the same breath, she’s making me want.
I watch her now, my senses alert to everything and everyone around her, but it’s her who takes up space within my mind. It’s her who demands my attention.
Her dance is a call of seduction. She’s lulling me in, a siren pulling me to my death. And I, like so many sailors, fall prey. My feet push up on what seems to be their own volition and stalk towards her.
I try to tell myself that it’s for her protection. That I won’t touch. That I won’t dare desire. Just being close is enough. Just being near her makes me crave things I never thought I’d crave before.
Things like hope.
Just thinking the word makes me angry. Never before have I fallen prey to someone like her. I never thought I would. I am king of The Pit. I am the thing nightmares are made of. Souls tremble when I come near because they know what I can wreak upon their foolish little existence.
And she?
She tests me at every corner. She flounces around with my brothers, holding their hands, smiling at them, and it is me who she looks at with disdain. It’s me who she cannot touch.
And it’s me who desperately wants it.
As I approach, she smiles, a smirk of satisfaction as if this is a fucking game that she’s just won.
It’s the straw that breaks my fucking back. Because if she wants to play?
I’m the master of games in torture.
My magic lashes out when I’m close, phantom hands spreading in shadows, gripping her by the waist. She gasps as I touch her with my magic and I feel it. Not like the real thing, but a phantom of what it’d be like to have her in my grasp.
With a hard yank, I jerk her towards me, leaving an inch of space between us. The sudden movement has a yelp tumbling from her mouth. Her breathing goes ragged, and for a moment, she starts to squirm. I grip her tighter, all with my hands stuffed into the pockets of my pants.
Her pupils blow wide and her hands lift. Before she can shove me away, my magic responds, gripping her by the wrists and yanking them behind, pressing them against the top of her ass. Her chest heaves, perfect breasts moving up and down with each inhale.
Immediately, the sharp scent of desire pools from between her legs, the smell permeating through my senses.
Lourdes likes being restrained.
Good.
Because I am going to be her jailor, and I’ll throw away the fucking keys.
“I told you to be very fucking careful about what you do and say.”
She gasps just as I use the magic to swallow us whole and take us away from the dance floor. We end up in a quieter, empty VIP room upstairs.
“Pero, ¿qué coño estás haciendo?” The demand is nothing but a mere whisper. Her body trembles where she stands, restrained with her hands behind her back, glaring at me with plump, pouty lips that are begging to be kissed.
To be fucking punished.
“I told you to watch what you say and do,” I remind her, stepping close. But not close enough. Never close enough.
Her breathing hitches.
My magic tightens around her, cutting through the skin at her wrists. Her knees buckle, but she doesn’t go down. She plants her feet, tilting her head up and squaring her shoulders as best as she can.
