“Livid.” My body flushes hotter as he slides his hand between my thighs and yanks up my skirt. He aggressively palms at my pussy. The heavy lips throb, saturating for him. His rock-hard front frames against my back. I open my eyes. It’s a long way down.
Dominic slides my panties over. Fire blazes across my hip as his swat prompts me to widen my stance.
“That’s right, chula. Be angry as fuck.” He launches a vicious kiss against my earlobe while thrusting into me. The pure carnality of him spearing my insides and slamming deep sends my teeth grinding into my bottom lip. I arch feverishly, cursing and praising him.
“Condom . . .” I start, my pussy drowning down on him.
“Too late, mami.” He taunts, attacking the nape of my neck with his teeth. The smoothness of his dick, the thick steel of it, pistons into me. Each drive propels me on my tippy toes and leaning toward liftoff. I bounce back on his manhood to keep from having an insane case of vertigo.
“My little chula is angry.” With his hips bucking like a stallion, his fingertips stroke circles across my clitoris. The stimulation causes my eyes to bite closed.
“Dominic, Dom!” I scream.
His bicep comes around my neck. My body is planted against his. His cock twitches in my body, changing positions. “You’re so loud, LeAnna. They can hear you. See us.”
Inhibitions dead to me, I fuck back against him. Dominic runs his hand along my throat and breast and back up again. His tongue twirls in my ear. “Let them see us, LeAnna. You are mine now, sí?”
“Ye-yessss.” I groan.
“That’s what I want to hear.” He growls into my ear. “Now, put your fucking hands back on the railing, chula. Hold tight.”
My voice shatters into a moan. Body trembling, I gasp for oxygen as Dominic surges over me. His pace grows into a frenzy, unhooking every neuron in my brain. Memories, thoughts, are all wiped away, save for sensation. I feel him, his powerful limbs. I smell him, his delicious, testosterone scent. The command of his dick. Him. Over me, under me, surrounding me, inside of me. His control.
Dominic grips my bun, sliding my face around where his breath skirts across my cheek. I gaze into his lust-hooded beautiful eyes then slide my tongue across his gritted lips. The mere sentiment begs him for entrance. Dominic consents. He fucks me hard, raw, as our tongues clash and swirl. He lets out a guttural moan. His hand curls around my throat. I gasp in a shock of air as he chokes and immerses my core in his cum. The only control I have is my pussy, clamping down on his cock, matching the vitality of his orgasm. We extend on into forever in this moment with him filling me up.
I fall from heaven as Dominic retracts his fist from my throat. His hold around my waist is my only security from falling. Blood drums my ears. My heart batters my chest. In my delirium, one consideration roams through my brain. This is therapy, my therapy.
I close my eyes, breath wavering as I groan. “Okay, no more, El Santo.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
El Santo
A furball shoots out of the room as I slide the steel door open. The bottom of my boot slams down onto the mouse’s tail, catching it by surprise. I take a puff from my cigarette while slamming my other boot into its energetic body.
“Nasty pendejo,” I mutter to myself.
Lifting an electric lantern, I start into the room.
“You’ve gotta let me out of here.” Angelica groans. “My legs . . . El Santo. They’re biting my legs.”
“Okay, lemme check you out.” I pace to her. I don’t know when the vermin came. It had to be after the field behind my building was demolished. A luxury apartment shot up into the sky, rivaling my area for port-front properties. Though I never followed through with construction, the added foot traffic has been a pain.
I lift the lantern and light trickles over her. Her tennis shoes have been masticated. Little marks and dots of drawn blood are all over the surface of her chubby thighs and legs.
“Aye Dios,” I mutter, running a hand over my masked face. Rodents never touched my ángeles. Although it’s the first time I’ve made use of the room, I blame it on the gordita. She isn’t pure.
Angelica’s eyes are bloodshot as I hold the lantern higher. “The flashlight was helping before.”
She tosses her chin across the room. Mangled bits of fur and blood chunks are on the base of the flashlight.
I caress the soft curve of her face, all the apology she’ll ever get from me.
Angelica smiles, yet the faint tremor on her lips is still there. “Di-did you meet LeAnna yet?”
“Sí, mami.” I run the back of my knuckles across her double chin.
A flush of relief brings life beneath her skin. “So, you’ll let me go?”
The edges of my mouth lift upward. I shake my head slowly. “No, mami.”
Angelica’s soft body begins to shake in another bout of tears. “Why?”
“Lemme sit with you for a while.” I settle down next to Angelica and start to clasp her hand.
“Today, I watched my LeAnna for hours. She had this flush of confidence about her while leaving her job.” I recount it fondly. “On Demand, that’s where she works. LeAnna has an eye for the arts. Innocent. She captures beautiful objects—mostly.”
I grit at the thought of how Dominic commanded her attention recently.
“She captures such beauty. None match her beau—”
Chains clink around, and then Angelica lunges toward me. I grip her restraint, bringing it across her neck, and stand. Angelica lifts to her feet, knees bending, hands struggling to save her. What a shame, days have passed since I was disobeyed.
“You’ll learn not to challenge me, Angelica!”
I settle back beside her, breathing in the stench of being so near her. I have to finish this conversation. Angelica is the only person I can talk to.
“She went to this bustling tapas bar. My LeAnna. A place so unlike her. So, very unlike her.”
“Wh-what is she normally like?”
“Shy. Meek. Pure.”
My ángeles.
Just thinking of them brings other thoughts to mind.
“The unnatural position of the victims’ bodies speaks to El Santo’s narcissism and grandiosity. Each woman left nude. Their rigid corpses laid with arms and legs spread wide. At first, it went in context with El Santo performing some sort of sexual fantasy.”
“No?” the novice detective asked.
“Not at all. No penetration whatsoever. Furthermore, the distinctive mark of El Santo positioning his victims is now being profiled as a token of innocence. An offering. A ritualistic killing, not a frenzy. You’ll see the glistening on their skins appears to be some sort of soap.”
“Soap? You’re telling me this monster washes his victims?”
“Yes, he cleanses them thoroughly. The dedication increasing the likelihood of being caught as El Santo is in the presence of his victim for extended periods of time.”
Out of all the detective’s musing, he had some accurate assessments, others not so much. No, I did not defile them. Sí, my girls were strategically placed, and sí, I spent a wealth of time washing them here. I glare at the disgusting, foul figure before me, noting the detective’s mistakes.