Page 67 of Promise and Punishment

“Oh my god, it’s so fucking sticky,” I gasped, biting back a smile.

“It’s a fucking mess. But I think you got me addicted to messes now.” Alejandro dug his hand into my thigh as he got on one knee, sticking his tongue out, stopping the syrup from going too far, as it drizzled itself onto the tip of my aching nub. He hummed my name right into my sensitive clit, radiating it up with the flick of his tongue.

“You cleaning me up?” I shivered, placing my legs over his shoulders. He jutted my ass forward, causing me to slouch into my chair.

“Can’t let this get inside. I better suck it off those pretty lips.” He lapped me up softly with the firm press of his velvet tongue on my asshole. From there, he untangled every sense of insecurity, relishing the entirety of his lick that parted my folds. I dropped my mouth, completely consumed, my robe falling off my shoulder. I wanted it; I wantedhim, deep inside, fucking me like a dog in this very chair. This anticipation, this hair gripping, nail digging moment silenced itself into a sudden and sharp ring in my ears.

“What the fuck?” Alejandro barked, his chair falling to the floor as he stood up. His scowl of pleasure morphed into genuine distaste as he pushed himself off, blistered by the shouting man that appeared on the T.V. behind us.

“Alex Rivers is not who he says he is. Don’t be fooled. He’s the reason his mother’s dead!”

Chapter23

Gemma

Iclutched my robe, absolutely stunned as an older man with thick grey hair and darkened skin spoke vehemently into the camera. His piercing eyes seemed undeniably familiar; his cadence a rolling blend of the man who stood beside me.

“What the hell is he doing?” Alejandro turned up the volume, filling the room with the loud image of an angry crowd; a rallying community who stood behind the single man who spoke equal parts Spanish and English. I was lost in the translation, the sound and faces on T.V. so present, that it left me feeling totally exposed.

“Tiene una mecha corta.”The man struggled to explain, chopping into his own hand. “It’s what he does. He doesn’t just ruin lives, lo robas también… I’m ready to tell everyone who he really is…”

I stood up from my seat as Alejandro rushed to the counter, grabbing his phone. “Jesus Christ.”

“What’s happening?”

“It’s Lina… forty missed calls?” He swiped at his screen as a searing wave of panic rushed over my chest.

“Yes, she called and I tried telling you, but I…” I shouted, but Alejandro barely noticed, typing a string of wild texts to his phone after attempting to call Lina.

“Fuck. She was supposed to take care of this. He’s not supposed to be on T.V.”

Everything about Alejandro suddenly terrified me, his voice, his panic, but nothing as much as his grueling apprehension. He paced across the kitchen, but I was positively frozen, stuck from the feet up as Alejandro threw his phone against the wall.

“Alejandro?” I asked, completely sick with what the man said next, a devastating confession that made me lean against the counter to keep myself from falling.

“He’s not an actor… he’s a killer!”

My hands began to shake as I backed away from the screen, from the thick, white letters that ran across the bottom of the channel:Miguel Rivera-Father of Alex Rivers comes forward in daring accusation of mother’s murder.

“I don’t understand?” I asked disoriented. “What the hell is happening?”

Ruins lives? Killer?

He ignored me, still fixated on the angry man on the news.

And Miguel?

He wasn’t some studio agent, he was Alejandro’s father—his ‘dead’ father—and now, nothing Alejandro said made sense, because nothing he said was true.

Immediately, I thought of Natalie Brower, The Pierre Hotel, Belmont Hills. I faced him, petrified of the truth, but brave enough for the answer. Was Parker right all along?

“Look at me!” I yelled, pulling him away from the screen, his eyes glistened with red blurry mist. “Please just tell me what’s going on. Let me be here for you, let me do this.”

Alejandro smashed the remote against the counter. I flinched as fragments of plastic scattered about.

“You want to know what’s happening?” he shouted at the T.V., pointing viciously at the man. “He’s a fucking liar and a drunk! Goddamn it.No me busques porque me encuentras,” he swore under his breath, losing me in the translation. “He’ll do anything to ruin me…”

“Liar? I don’t know who the liar is, or who to believe, because you’re the one that said you weren’t a killer. Jesus, there was never a script, was there?” I realized out loud. “You made me believe Miguel was a studio agent, that what I heard was a misunderstanding,” I reached for his arm. “If there’s something to say, then say it, but don’t shut me out!”

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