Page 23 of El Malo

His lips press against my hair and he turns his body to press his cock against my backside. I’m locked in his grip and I’m not looking to escape.

“You’re right,” he says, amusement in his tone. “Nobody fucking cares about the lawn chair cushions.”

“I do,” I say with a huff, genuinely offended.

“Because you’re the good maid,” he growls, his thumb sliding over my erect nipple through my tank top. “The best maid. My favorite one, in fact.”

I melt against him and tilt my head to the side. I like him touching me. I like him whispering things to me and touching me so sweetly. I’ve been so starved of affection that I’m desperate for what he offers.

“What’s wrong with me?” I ask suddenly, tears prickling my eyes again.

His lips seek my neck, giving me what I silently ask for. “Nothing, manzanita. Absolutely nothing.” He runs his tongue along my flesh, causing me to shiver. “You let Michael fill your head with filth. He’s a loser and undeserving of such a gem.” His teeth nip at my skin. “Could he even make my good little maid come?”

I roll my head back against him. With the tequila turning my bones to molten lava, I melt at his words and touch. I’m greedy to prolong whatever it is that’s happening. In fact, I want to encourage it.

“He did in the past,” I admit. “Not recently.”

“Tonight?”

I stiffen and my heart aches as tears well in my eyes. “I felt used.”

His thumb brushes along my nipple again. “He fucked you?”

Bitter tears roll down my cheeks and I sniffle. He presses sweet kisses along my neck to my ear. His large palm cups my breast and his other one slides from my hip to between my thighs. He grips me possessively over my shorts in a claiming sort of way.

“He fucked me,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I wanted him to even though I caught him with a prostitute.” A sob catches in my throat. “I used to not be like this. So weak.”

His longest finger rubs my clit over my shorts. Slowly but expertly. “You are not weak,” he whispers. “You are fierce.”

I am fierce.

Fierce, strong, smart.

I needed the reminder.

“I’m going to make you come,” he utters, his voice sure and unwavering. He continues his unhurried assault, successfully making my panties grow wet for him. An embarrassing moan climbs from my throat. “That’s it, Rosa, let me show you how it feels to be with a real man.”

Stars glitter around me as my orgasm nears.

God, I want more.

“Javier,” I whisper.

“Sweet woman,” he rumbles. “My name on your lips is torture.”

“I need…”

I don’t know what I need. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t even know who I am anymore. But this…this I need. This man touching me and making my body come alive. This man whispering things that awaken the battered soul that has been haunting this body.

His finger leaves my pussy, causing me to whine, but then his giant hand is delving into my shorts past my panties. I cry out when his hot fingers seek out my soaked flesh. He pushes a finger past my opening, wetting it, before he slides it back up to my clit. It’s slippery and it gives him the movement he’s searching for. With quick, expert circles, he brings me to orgasm. His name bursts from my lips and my knees buckle.

I’m spent.

Dizzy and confused and spent.

And now I’m flying.

I’m in Javier’s arms and he’s striding through his massive estate. He carries me to his bedroom. The moment his masculine scent that is strongest in his room hits my nose, a sliver of panic flitters through me.

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