Page 43 of The Enforcer

She hadn’t gotten the chance yet to explore him the way she wanted. To explore every dent, every scar on his body.

Luckily, she had the rest of her life to do just that. She was actually married to Hector Diaz, the sexiest man alive. How had she gotten this lucky? For years, she had seemed cold toward men. Afraid of intimacy. As a child, her mind had shut down at what had almost happened the night her uncle had sneaked into her room. Over the years, she hadn’t wanted to deal with it. There was no place for shame like that in her grandfather’s house. One did not speak about vile things that could damage the family name. So, she had kept it inside. But bad memories had a way of dripping into a bucket until one day, that famous last drop fell.

Eventually, she had sought help. It had taking extensive therapy, but she’d given the horror of what had happened a place, and had moved on. Right now, she felt at total peace with herself. She was right where she wanted to be.

Her finger trailed over his pecs, outlining the tattoo that was a reminder of his time as a Marine. Hector was a loyal, honorable man. He deserved to be happy. Whatever it was that had him and his brother—crime lord or not—drift apart, she hoped they could work it out. She didn’t want it to come bite him in the ass one day. She was going to keep him safe and sound, both physically and mentally.

Her hand trailed up to his navel and her eyes widened when she saw his morning wood, growing by the second.

“Morning,” she said softly.

He tugged at the sheet covering her breasts. “Don’t hide your breasts from me. I love them.”

“I’ve noticed.” He really was a breast man. He’d woken her during the night just to nibble on her breasts until he’d finger fucked her again.

Something in his tattoo caught her eye. In the intricately woven design, she discovered a date and the text RIP. It was from almost a year ago. She wondered who he had honored on his chest.

Hector placed his hand on hers, his eyes narrowing at the question in her eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she told him. She could see how the memory hurt him. The last thing she wanted was to add to his pain.

He took a deep breath. “It’s the date a guy from my unit, John Decker, died. We didn’t get to take his body home. He died in action, the way he always said he wanted to go out, but it doesn’t make it any easier. He didn’t have any family, except for a brother in the Army he always talked about.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t just let him fade away, you know? Figured he had to be remembered by more than one person.”

In her eyes, he was a hero, always would be. The military had been a big part of his life and even though she had an inkling of what he must’ve been through, in reality, she’d probably barely scratched the surface.

So, she offered him solace the only way she knew how; by kissing him, determined to cast away the sorrow in his eyes.

He pulled her over him until her breasts swayed above his mouth.

“Put your hands on the headboard.”

The second she’d steadied herself, he palmed her breasts, pressed them together, and brought them to his mouth.

“Mercy.”

His reverent whisper opened up her chest and set loose a jar of butterflies to her stomach.

He molded his hands around a globe and tried to put as much of it in his mouth as he could. When he released one wet breast from his mouth, his teeth latched on to a piercing. He tugged on them, right before he bit the hard peak, eliciting a moan from her.

She closed her eyes as she found a nice spot for her ass, right on his dick. It poked her butt, asking for attention, so she grinded against him. Her grinding became more frantic as she felt herself getting more wet.

“One day, I’m gonna fuck you between your tits.”

Her clit was throbbing, demanding attention. This was torture. Nothing but sweet torture.

But two could play that game. She may not have his experience, but she did have his passion and want. Oh, she had want. While he devoured her breast, sucking, and nibbling the sensitive flesh, she put a hand on his shaft. Stroking him.

Finally, after what had felt for an eternity of exquisite torture, he let go of her breast with a pop. “You still sore?”

“A little.”

He hauled her up. “Straddle my face. I’m gonna eat you.”

She held on to his shoulders, while she hovered above him.

He sat up against the headboard, hands on her ass, pulling her on to his mouth and started licking. All too soon, his tongue started over her pussy, trailing a path from her core, dipping into her navel, and back. Then he speared his tongue inside her and started sucking.

Mary couldn’t hold her moan in any longer. He started to push her lower body on his mouth. Only when she couldn’t hold her own weight any longer and came, did he let her go.

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