Page 33 of Don't Trust Him

“Right,” I laugh, biting the corner of my lips. “Like gods, huh? Too bad our employers will reap all the benefits.” Sighing, I just shrug and drink my tequila, allowing the alcohol to burn its way down my throat. “Oh, well, part of the job, right? And as long as we keep our heads down and keep on getting paid, I think we’ll do just fine.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, taking his glass of tequila in one hand and staring at it intently. Then, he throws his head back and downs it in a single movement, slamming the glass back on the counter. “Maybe I’m tired of doing just fine, Eliza.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You’re Grayson Teague of the La Bonita Muerte cartel. It’s not like you’re a nobody. And within your organization, you can pretty much have anything you could ever want.”

“Maybe what I want isn’t within the organization.”

His voice is steady, his hand is still on my lower back, and his eyes are boring holes into mine. Is he...talking about me?

My heart does a slight somersault inside my chest, and I feel my lungs starting to work overtime to get the air in. At the same time, red blood rushes toward my cheeks, and I force myself to look away from him. Christ, is it getting hot in here or is it just me?

“Just think about it,” he grins, each word that leaves his mouth packing a punch. “Everyone was trying to get to that formula, and only we managed to do it. Together. I don’t give a fuck about what anyone says, but no one else would’ve been able to pull this shit off. The fucking Russians tried, and every single South American cartel was vying for a piece of the formula...and still, we were the ones that got it done.”

“You almost make it sound as if our employers need us more than we need them,” I throw at him. Jesus, my body is just working on instinct, but this little sentence I’ve just said was enough to release a rush of high-powered adrenaline into my bloodstream. If anyone ever heard me say that…

“Probably now more than ever,” he continues, lowering his voice and leaning in so that he’s closer. The smell of his body—leather and gunpower, a man’s scent through and through—is so distracting that I have to do a conscious effort to concentrate. “We have the formula in our hands, no one else knows that we’ve managed to complete a batch...just imagine it, will ya? What could our bosses do if we decided to jump ship and run things solo?”

I stare at him, not saying a word as I try to process what he just said.

“Exactly.” Running the tip of his tongue over his lips, he closes in on me and brushes his mouth against my ear, whispering into it. “They wouldn’t be able to do a thing, would they? The things we could do together, Eliza, can you picture them?”

Holy shit, I’m picturing a lot of different things right now, but none of them has anything to do with running my own cartel. Mostly, they involve Grayson Teague’s naked body and a bedroom in the most expensive suite this freaking hotel has to offer.

Grayson is enough to make my body overheat, but throw in promises of endless money and power, and...fuck, I guess I just short circuit. It might be nothing more than a stupid fantasy we’re daydreaming about in here, but it’s still enough to make me want this man more than I ever wanted anything in my life.

And I always get what I want.

“You and me, Grayson,” I tell him in a husky voice, placing one hand on his chest and grabbing the fabric of his shirt. I pull him toward me until our mouths are almost touching, and I say the words I’ve been dying to say all night. “Take me upstairs, will you?”

Eighteen

Eliza

The moment we’re inside the suite, all bets are off.

He rushes toward me like a tiger, a predator intent on devouring his prey, and the only thing I can do is submit to him. And that’s something I’ve never experienced before: submission.

Most people talk about submission as if it were a forbidden word. A bad word. But it doesn’t need to be, does it? Sometimes, to submit is exactly what you need. It makes you feel needed, and it makes you feel safe. And sometimes, submitting to the right person is exactly what’s going to make you stronger, what’s going to make you dominate your life and those around you.

I’m not saying that it’s easy, or that it’s even aspirational. But sometimes...there’s nothing better than falling on top of a mattress, a delicious predator walking your way to devour you whole, and knowing that there’s nothing you can do about it.

To know that you’ve been caught and that there’s no possible escape...God, it’s the most delicious thing you can experience.

Throughout all my life, I’ve been called bossy and difficult. I guess that makes sense, taking into account the operation I’m in charge of. But it’s not easy, being a woman and having to shoulder the fate of a multibillion dollar operation. Lives—and that quite literally—depend on my ability to keep my head above my shoulders and run things.

And that’s something I excel at.

Deep down, though, I’ve always ached for submission. To leave nothing on the table, and bare all that I am to someone...someone

powerful enough to make that happen. Too bad that men capable of making that happen never really crossed my path.

Until Grayson Teague, that is.

The man is pure power, unbridled dominance burning in his eyes.

With his hands on my waist, he pushes me back against the wall almost too violently, his mouth darting to my neck. As he kisses my skin, I breathe in deeply, his scent making its way up to my brain and taking over me. I close my eyes as he tightens his grip on my hips, the pressure of his fingers making fireworks go off behind my shut eyelids.

“I’ve been fucking dying for this,” he whispers, his lips climbing up from my neck to my mouth. I feel the tip of his tongue parting my lips, and I surrender to his embrace, our kiss becoming more frenzied with each passing second.

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