Page 695 of One More Kiss

Chapter10

Steamy showers usedto relax me. Until I was hosed down like a filthy slave in broad daylight.

An hour later, I’m under a hot waterfall balancing on one leg with my injured shin hanging out of the flow. I’m both hiding from my recent indiscretion and celebrating it.

Dirty memories whirl with the mist––my actions unfabled. I had inhaled a glorious cock before experiencing a meaningful kiss. The irony isn’t missed. Why would my damaged lip require tenderness when all it’s known is suffering?

My nerves won’t settle, and my fingers have wrinkled from staying under the steady stream for too long.

Tomás may well be waiting for his unsullied prisoner to join him in the bedroom, but I’m not ready to face him. Not yet. I’m unsure how long I’ve taken solace in his bathroom, with creamy suds and the door shut. Me on the inside, trapped and edgy, and him on the other side, prowling like a beautiful beast.

The cold-hearted gangster had taken what I offered, then brushed it off as insignificant. That’s how he rolls. How men who possess everything treat women who have nothing—with a callous, cruel temperament, ownership, and orders.

If I’m to survive this journey, the sooner I understand his intentions, the better. He’s not the master of my life—he’s the anti-hero I should run from. Those boundaries are clear. Scraped into the dirt with sharp stakes and sealed with my blood.

We are enemies. Not lovers.

Stepping out of the shower, shivery, clean, and free of lust, I swaddle up in a soft towel and stare at the young woman in the mirror. I’m washed out, drained of color. Disheveled sable lengths undulate over my covered breasts and my pouty lips are bruised red. I still look the same on the outside, even if desire had overshadowed me earlier.

I’m so tired and nauseous; deprived of a decent meal and a safe bed to sleep in. The latter being one I no longer wish for. I doubt he expects me to rest in that king-size bed with virginal sheets.

My cheeks blush a shade darker than rose. The prospect of Tomás fucking me isn’t quite as daunting as it should be. I swallow down a lump of guilt stuck in my throat. This isn’t a situation to get comfortable in, even if my armor has turned wafer thin.

Unable to ignore my overspent energy any longer, I rough dry my hair and comb the damp strands with my fingers. Then I stare at the closed door and debate opening it. I step closer, fingering the handle only to retreat, skirting the wall until I’m wedged into a corner.

In another world, this shower room would be sexy with its dark edges and heated floor. The grim reality is there’s only one exit which leads me to the devil.

Exhaustion plays with gravity, dragging me downward. I tuck my thighs close and rest my chin on my knees. All the events leading up to this point crash over me in ice cold waves. Fretful tears spill from my eyes and muted sobs shake my shoulders. Have I really lost everything? My brother. My mentor. My life.

There, huddled on the floor, I wish for somewhere to lay my head that isn’t in Tomás Souza’s noose. Then I pass out.

* * *

The first thingI feel is weightlessness. Floating. Body heat. The smoothest skin. After a sleepy sigh, I’m bouncing on a mattress.

I jackknife to sit, my eyelashes simultaneously springing open. My sedate heart rate jerks to manic when I see him. All my muscles brace as I lock eyes with my antagonist.

Tomás Souza wears silky boxer shorts the color of the night sky and an unimpressed scowl.

I freeze, refusing to say a word. A towel still covers my bruises and keeps his eyes primed on my face. The grogginess from my nap switches to hyper aware and my throat stings from his deep throat thrusting. I’m pretty sure if I speak, my voice will be rougher than broken glass.

He looms over me, every bit the regal criminal I suspect him to be. Exhaustion clots my anger. If I had the ability to set him on fire with my glare, he’d be a heap of ashes. I shimmy backward and slide my ankles under my buttocks so I’m upright.

Just because I’m partially naked, on a four-poster bed where rich cotton sheets beneath me feel like heaven, doesn’t mean this setting resembles a bridal suite, or anything even close. His masculine room within this immense house is simply a showy prison cell. The walls are lined with drug money and the foundations built upon lost lives in cartel gang wars.

As he stares at me with his earthy black eyes, I’m overwhelmed by the distinct feeling he’s about to devour me. Neither of us break the uncomfortable silence. A deadly hush heightens the sound of my pulse hitting its maximum tempo.

Adrenaline courses through my poor veins, pumping harder and faster to keep me both alert and focused on Tomás’ every move. I’m aware how each breath expands his lungs and how his ribcage lifts ever so slightly. So when he folds his arms and moves a hand to his mouth, I witness every curved muscle work under his unyielding authority.

I squirm while watching how he casually thumbs his bottom lip, his unprincipled mind running wild. He moves closer to the bed, the front of his legs butting the frame and his entire body stiff like he’s fighting control. The tenseness of his physique has me petrified.

He could kill me—and no one would know. No one in this house would shed a tear or fight for my redemption. It could be that simple. That quick and heartless.

I wonder what he’s endured in life to choose the path of a villain rather than a prince. How the sight of blood doesn't bother him in the slightest, but its presence on his skin flips a switch. I wish I had the answers to understand my nemesis better, or to remove him from under my skin.

Either way, his taunting gaze has me blushing from my toes to my throat. His eyes glint under the lamplight like a secret treasure unearthed in a shipwreck on the seabed of a turbulent ocean. The shadowy pigment catches specks of gold, each one swirling in the depths like a part of him seeks salvation.

Inwardly, I chant unkind words to train my mind into thinking he’s vile. Except descriptions of demonic, disgusting, and loathsome—they’re all lies. Diabolical untruths I can’t stand behind with vigor.

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