It’s because he knows how important this woman is.
“Your father never mentioned me?”
“You know my dad?” she says, sitting up now, causing those breasts to jiggle appetizingly.
I nod. “Yes, I know him. But I don’t think it’s my place to tell you how. I think that’s his responsibility.”
She glares at me, cheeks flaring that almost pink shade that reminds me of her pussy, the way her hole got all sore and needy as I finger-fucked her into oblivion.
“What sort of bullshit riddle is that?” she snaps. “So you took me because you and my dad are, what, rival criminals or something?”
“Call him, ask him,” I snap. “And change your tone when you talk to me unless you want me to bend you over the balcony railing and fuck you until you can’t stand up anymore.”
She bites her lips and then releases it a second later as though wanting to pretend it didn’t happen.
I grin like a wolf at her, like the beast she’s turning me into.
“Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’re one hell of a contradiction, Aida, a virgin nymphomaniac.”
She can’t stop the smile from spreading across her face, taking my words as a compliment.
“I’m not a nympho …”
“So you don’t have secret fantasies about being a wild girl in bed? You don’t read romance novels and imagine that you’re the heroine? There isn’t a needy little slut – a slut just for me, only for me, never for anybody else, ever – waiting inside you, ready to be let out to play?”
With each word, lust dances across her expression.
She makes a whimpering noise that reminds me of the way she sang out her orgasm. Her every quiver, her every breath, sends fire up and down my throbbing length.
Fuck, I need to explode inside of her.
I need to feel her hole gripping me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She’s driving me insane.
“How did you guess?” she murmurs a moment later.
Because I know you because you’re mine because you’re going to be the mother of my children.
“Do you always ask this many questions?” I growl.
She glares. “And you say I’m the contradiction? How can you go from a nice guy to a snappy asshole in one second flat, hmm?”
“A nice guy?” I laugh. “I think you’ve got the wrong man, Aida.”
“If you were really as bad as you want me to believe, I’d still be in that cellar. And back in the shower, you would have …”
“Taken you without consent?” I snarl.
She nods.
“I’d never do that.”
I clench my fists on the table, leaning forward.
Jackal perks up, as though getting ready for a fight.
“There’s nothing lower than a man who does that,” I go on. “I’ll fuck you until you think you can’t take it anymore, but I’ll always know your aching and begging for more deep down. Because that little nympho inside of you, my virgin fuck toy, she’s never going to be satisfied, is she? Not until a river of my hot seed is spilling out of your gaping hole.”
“You’re a freaking animal,” she whimpers.
I smirk, letting my gaze move over her body, noting the way she squirms in her chair.
“Are you soaking wet right now?” I growl.
She bites her lips and nods.
“With words, Aida,” I snap.
“Y-yes,” she says.
“Tell me.”
“I’m soaking, Arturo. I’m freaking drenched.”
My cock swells, almost painful with the rigid tension.
But then the balcony doors slide open, without a knock, which means it better be damn important.
Vinnie stands at the door, one of my most trusted men, perhaps my most trusted man since Elmo’s started having his drug problems.
He’s tall, in his mid-twenties, with a curving scar going from his chin all the way to his forehead from a run-in with the Cartel a few years back. But he never spoke, never gave anything away about the Family.
And when I found the men who cut him, I gave them to Vinnie to do with as he pleased. I was stunned, and goddamn impressed, when he turned them over to the cops to serve life in a maximum-security prison.
It was less messy than the alternative.
Despite my respect for him, I watch him closely as he walks onto the balcony, waiting for any sign that he’s attracted to my woman.
If he so much as glances at her in a way I don’t like, I might lose control and flip him over the balcony.
The fall wouldn’t kill him.
But it’d teach him to respect a man’s property.
It seems he knows better than that though, not even glancing at her.
He paces over to me.
“Sir, there’s a problem.”
I wave a hand. “What is it?”
“It’s a … a Family thing.”
I glance at Aida, who’s spunkily watching the conversation. I think about dismissing her, but I’m not going to be able to keep her in the dark forever, not the future mother of my children, my soulmate if a broken man like me has such a thing.
“Tell me, Vinnie.”
“Elmo’s escaped,” he says.
I stand up, my jaw going so tight my teeth ache, grinding together.
“I have to go,” I growl at Aida. “Eat breakfast without me. Feed Jackal. His food is in the second kitchen.”
I stride toward the balcony door.
“Arturo,” she calls out.
I pause, waiting, thinking of Elmo, the word escape bouncing around my mind.
Motherfucker, I put you in that detox cell for your own good.
“Did you mean it when you said I could use the phone?”
“Yes,” I say. “There’s nothing you can tell your father he doesn’t already know.”
I make to walk away, but then something occurs to me.
I nod to Vinnie to wait beyond the balcony doors and then return to my woman, leaning down to look her firmly in the eyes.
“I’m going to have some more clothes delivered to your room,” I tell her. “Change into something less sexy. That’s an order. If I check my security footage later and see that you’re strutting around the house in that dress, I won’t be fucking pleased. Those legs, those tits, that creamy cunt, it’s just for me. Do you understand?”
She flinches back as though in fear, as though she can sense the change in me, the Don replacing the man I was minutes before.
Fucking Elmo.
“Yes, Arturo, I’ll change.”
“Good girl,” I growl, and then stalk back into the house, mentally readying myself for what’s to come.
Chapter Seven
Aida
I stand in my bedroom – somehow, thinking of it as my bedroom doesn’t feel strange – with Jackal patiently sitting at my side. I’m at the bedside table, where somebody left me a burner cellphone. I’ve already changed into the sweatpants and hoodie that Arturo had delivered for me, somehow being able to tell what size I am by sight alone. He didn’t get it exactly right, though, because they’re a little baggy.
Or maybe he wants it like that, that voice deep inside of me sings, the voice that doesn’t want me to be self-conscious or self-loathing anymore. He wants you all to himself. He doesn’t want to share your body.