Page 22 of Cartel King

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back for a moment. When he looks at me, there’s regret in his eyes. I pull away, but he holds onto me.

“Let me say what I have to say. If you want me to let go of you—if you want me to leave—I will. But I need to feel you in my arms while I tell you things I’ve told no one else.”

What the hell is he going to confess?

His expression is so earnest, but it grows more vulnerable the longer I watch him. I’m unprepared for it after the man who just spanked me. He’s dreading what he has to say. I grip the front of his shirt but sit up. I press my pussy against his semi-aroused dick. It lengthens, and I nearly moan. He pulls me close, and I have this urge to sit on his cock. Not for sex. Not to edge either of us. It’s as though I need that physical connection to prepare me for whatever emotional shit’s about to come up.

“Before we go any further, you should know my last name, too. It’s Diaz.”

“Enrique Diaz?”

Oh, holy fucking shit on a shingle.

“Yes. Do you recognize the name?”

Do I lie?

“I’ve heard it before.”

He stares at me for a moment. I haven’t moved. Some of it is shock, but nothing makes me want to bolt.

“What have you heard?”

Do I lie?

“I know you’re one of the wealthiest men in the world. I know you have business connections everywhere.”

He’s watching me intently enough to make most people squirm. I’m not most people.

“Anything else,chiquita?”

“There are rumors and speculation I’ve read in articles. What do you want me to know about you, Enrique?”

“Do you believe those rumors now that you know me?”

“I believe you’re capable of those things, but so are millions of other people. It doesn’t mean you’ve done what they’ve accused you of, but maybe you have.”

“Do you think I run a drug cartel?”

“Do you?” I notch up my chin.

Shit got real, real fast.

“Yes.”

Well, that sure was blunt.

“Will someone kill you if you don’t?”

“Yes.”

“Would someone have killed you if you hadn’t taken over?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

He waits for me to say more, but I think that speaks volumes. He watches me, and I know he’s trying to tell whether I mean it, whether it’s bravado, whether I have some twisted bad boy complex.

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