Page 4 of Birdy

Well, his ninety-days was up a week ago.

He may be loyal and reliable, but that doesn’t excuse him from paying his dues. Not to mention, I gave him seven additional days, and I’ve not heard from him once.

“What time is it?” Ángel’s raspy voice husks out suddenly from my bedroom.

My stomach coils at the sound of it, hand freezing mid-air around the mascara wand. Not only did he stay the night—sucking what remained of my soul from my body with that wicked tongue—but I woke up to him still in my bed.

I expected him to be long gone by now, only the ghost of his scent lingering on my skin.

“Nine-thirty,” I answer, applying a second coat to my lashes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I’m gonna be late.”

Late for?

I don’t get to ask. I’m too caught up watching him through the bathroom mirror, my mouth drying at the sight of him lazily sitting up,butt-ass naked. Broad shoulders and a wide back that tapers in, every muscle ripples beneath his ink as he stretches. His back piece is my favorite: harshly shaded angel wings with the Upper Echelon’s all-seeing eye in the center,New World Orderscripted beneath the pyramid.

I’ve got the same one etched on my left sleeve on a smaller scale. All of us who work for him do.

A monstrous yawn erupts from deep within his throat, breaking through the silence of my ogling. He must sense the burn of my stare because sheer seconds later, he’s peeking over his shoulder, our eyes meeting in the glass.

That fucking, sexy-ass grin slowly claims his sleepy expression.“Coño, mami.Good morning to you, too.”

My brow arches. “What?”

“Those little shorts.” He tips his chin at me. “Where you going dressed like that?”

Like what? All I’m wearing is high-rise jean shorts and a tied-up white tee, my hair held back in a high, wavy pony. I shrug, capping the mascara and screwing it shut. “Gotta play collections today.”

Ángel rises from my bed and effortlessly slides into his briefs as he saunters into the bathroom. He looks nothing short of a giant in the small space. “You roughing him up or seducing the motherfucker?”

Seduce Enrique? That’s fucking sick, and my face relays as much. “Neither. He’s fat, balding, and sweats profusely.Notmy type,papi.”

Ángel’s arms wrap around me from behind, our stares locked in the mirror as his fingers dig into my stomach. “What about me? Am I your type?”

Absolutelyfuckingyes.

“Isn’t the answer obvious?”

Well, isn’t it?I let him fuck me raw.I’ve never let another man take me without protection, and he knows this. I made it known the first time I allowed it.

“It is,” he laughs against my shoulder. “I just want to hear you say it.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t play stupid. You know you look good.”

“And so do you,muñeca.”He tightens his hold on me, sliding one hand up to my neck. “Welook good together.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that. He’s not wrong; we seem to fit one another seamlessly—a fact I like a little too much, but the point of the matter is, where is this coming from?

“You’re going to be late,” I remind him, breaking the spell of his intense gaze with a glance downward at my makeup bag. “And you still need to drop me off.”

There’s no way in hell I’d dare to open that can of worms right now. For as badly as I want to know, we don’t have time for it, and who knows what bullshit feelings that answer might elicit.

Feelings I have no business feeling when our arrangement has been clear since day one.

“Benni…” He spins me around, caging me between the sink and his hard body.“Que pasa?Why are you shutting down on me?”

I don’t miss the urgency in his tone, but it’s all the more prominent in those stormy irises. “I’m not shutting down on you, Ángel.” My throat bobs through a swallow, harder still when his head cocks aside, brows shooting up to the top of his head.

---