Page 14 of Wicked Union

He lets me slide lower, sinking onto his thick girth. It slips in me easily as far as he can go and pushes into my back wall so hard I’m seeing stars.

He growls, his grip on my hips tightening. "Fuck, you're so tight. You're so fucking tight. I love the way you feel around me, Aria. You were made for this, for me." His thrusts are angrily slow, like he's trying to imprint his presence into my very soul, to brand me as his for all eternity.

My nails dig into his back as he buries himself inside me over and over again, each thrust hitting that spot that makes my toes curl. I can feel the orgasm building up again, and it's too soon. I can't handle this much pleasure so soon after my first one.

"Tito," I moan, grinding my hips into his in a silent plea for him to stop or at least go faster, anything to finish this torment and get it over with before I combust on him. "Tito, please," I beg, my orgasm barreling toward me like a runaway train and I'm trapped on the tracks. His lips find my earlobe and his tongue teases it, his other hand cupping my breast. "Say it, Aria. Say you're mine and I'll finish this for both of us." He whispers hoarsely in my ear, his thrusts a little more harsh, a little harder, making the orgasm that much closer. "Say it,momiúrín."

"Tito, please," I whimper, my control slipping fast. This isn't how I pictured my surrender to be, but here we are, him fucking me against a tiled wall while the water washes over us both. His hands squeeze my ass cheeks, pulling me closer to him as he thrusts in deeper, his dick hitting spots I didn't know existed. I can feel every single ridge of his cock on the walls of my tight pussy, creating a delicious friction that's driving me insane.

He lowers his head, sucking on my neck roughly, sending shivers down my spine each time he does it. "Say I own you," he growls against my ear. His hand leaves my ass cheek and travels upward to find my clit. He rubs it in circles that leave me gasping for air.

"Oh, God," I moan loudly, “yes, you own me.”

That's all he needed to hear. His pace quickens, slamming into me with a ferocity I didn't know was possible. He pounds into me mercilessly, his hand never leaving my clit. Lightning-fast bolts of electricity course through my body, his thrusts and his fingers working in tandem to bring me crashing over the edge again. My pussy tightens around him, milking him for every drop as I scream his name. He growls out my name, his hips jerking as he shoots his seed inside me. The hot exchange runs down my inner thigh, and only then do I realize the water is getting cooler now.

He pulls out of me, both of us panting heavily as I let my feet down, tiptoes touching the tile floor. He still has me pinned against the wall, though, kissing my shoulder and neck. His hand trails up my sides to my ribs, and the water begins to wash away the evidence of our sex. For a split second, I'm captivated by him, drawn in by the power and the allure. Tito is the head of his family now, or will be any day when his father finally dies. That is a lot of power, power I'll never have in my life.

"Think of what we could do as we lead both of our families, Aria," he growls again, hands now kneading my tits, mouth hungrily clawing at my skin. But I can't.

I can't let his temptation to usurp my brother's throne and oust my father's wishes get into my head. I push him hard, and he backs away. My hand has a mind of its own, flying up to smack him across the face.

Tito looks stunned as his hand covers his cheek and I slip out of the shower, grabbing a towel. He doesn't even protest my flight. I wrap the towel around my body and rush out into the air-conditioned bedroom. Sobs reach up out of my throat and erupt into the night as I dive into bed and cover myself, dripping hair and all.

Isn't it every girl's dream to have a husband who will love and cherish her? Being his partner isn't what I want, though being the head of my own family isn't entirely a horrible thought, and that is what makes me feel like I'm going to throw up. My father deserves better, and I have danced with the devil himself, and almost sold my soul to him, for that power. I'm not fit to be the daughter of Hector Peralta, not if I allow Tito Ramiro to tempt me into assuming power that isn't my own. No, I can't be his partner. I can't let his persuasion get to my heart. My fatherneeds me to be strong, not to fall apart because a man can fuck me so well I forget who I am.

I have to keep Tito out of my head. My father's life depends on it.

12

TITO

My first time at the Peralta home and I'm very impressed. My father has this old-world charm about everything he does. His home screams vintage 1930s, but the Peralta estate has been updated to something more akin to the Twenty-First Century charm I prefer. Though, there are hints of Don Hector's age in the artwork hung on his walls and the curtains draped across his marble floors.

A staff of two maids and a butler greet me at the door when I arrive. They're dressed in black with nametags pinned to their shirts as if I'd ever need their names for any reason. I wonder if Hector is losing his sanity, beginning to grow forgetful as he ages. My father is sharp as a whip, no hint of memory issues or other age-related issues creeping in. If only his lungs hadn't been invaded.

"Mr. Ramiro, it's so good for you to come." A petite woman with dark skin and eyes smiles at me warmly and gestures for me to follow. The woman next to her, with honey-colored hair, nods. "This way, please." She starts off across the large entryway, and Ifollow behind at a casual pace. The second woman and the man, who says nothing, follow behind me.

When Hector asked me to join him and his son for a short meeting about some business items, I couldn’t say no. The man's money troubles precede him in every way. Every crime boss in LA knew he was struggling. It was only a matter of time before he either folded or reached out for an alliance such as the one we created, and I am the lucky one for having crossed his mind at such a dire moment for his family.

The maid leads me to a large open room with windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. Thick, heavy curtains hang from silver rods and puddle on the floor below the windowsills. The room is sparsely furnished, with only two chairs and one table that sits between them. Along one wall is a bookshelf with only a few titles on it, and at the other end is a portrait of Hector and his wife. In their arms is a young baby, and in their eyes is a deep mourning. Aria never told me she had a sibling who died, but I can see it in the eyes staring back at me from that portrait.

"Ah, so nice to see you, Tito." I turn around to see Hector enter. He walks with a cane. A bulge around his right knee beneath his trousers is indicative of an injury. "You remember Jasper," he says, gesturing to his son who walks in after him. The younger Peralta is stern-looking with pursed lips and angry eyes. He and Aria could be twins if he were a few years younger.

"Mr. Peralta," I say, nodding at the younger man. I extend my hand, but he disdains it so much that he doesn't even look at my offer for civility. Clearly, he gets his hatred for charity from his mother, perhaps where Aria gets it as well. Hector has been nothing but open and welcoming.

Hector walks over to the chairs and takes one, holding his hand out toward the other. I also walk to the chairs and have a seat. Jasper stands behind his father, a looming shadow over our conversation. But the younger man, probably ten years my junior, will take over for his father one day, and he'll need to know the ins and outs of things. Or so he thinks. I'll have controlling interest of every business the Peralta family owns in less than two years, and they'll never see it coming.

"So, what brings us here today?" I ask. I unbutton my tie and lean back in the chair, crossing one foot over the other. The black linen upholstery is stiff, the chair's arms rigid and unforgiving. They remind me of my father's personality, of the way he trained me to be.

Hector wrings his hands in his lap after setting his cane to the side. It leans against his chair as he languidly reclines and closes his eyes. I wait for him to speak because while I already have my prepared solution for their situation, I want him to think it's his idea. It's the only way to ensure my plan is fully successful. He has to ask me for it, and when I give it to him, it will only be his fault.

Jasper, however, is ten steps ahead. If Hector listens to his son's rebuttal—the one I see is already swirling in his thoughts, I'll get nowhere fast. I'll have to go back to my drawing board with a new plan, which will take more time. I just want this all to be over with before my father passes so he can see the man I've become and be proud.

"Tito, I'm going to be honest with you. Things are worse than we once believed them to be." Hector presses his fingertips together and purses his lips. His hands, in prayer pose, float toward his face and lightly touch his lips before dropping back to his lap and turning to fists. "We need more help than I was willing to admit."

Jasper has the same smug, defiant look in his eyes that Aria gets at times. I wonder how hard he's going to resist my advice and suggestions. Hector will plead for my help and fall on his knees in gratitude when I tell him I have a solution for him. He's ready to cry even now before he's even spilled the full issue.

"Alright, well tell me what we're dealing with. There is no problem so large that we can't find a solution for it if we put our minds together." I sit straighter as the same maid returns to the room with a tray. On it there are three glasses full of what appears to be lemonade and a pitcher coated in a thick swath of condensation.

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