Beth slipped the hotel swipe card into the door. She held her breath as the light flashed green. The thought of what she would find on the other side made her stomach twist into an angry knot.
Torres sat in the corner, his shirt draped across the back of a chair. He looked like a panther ready to pounce. All the lights were off, only the light from the hallway allowed her to see into the inky darkness.
“Go away.”
Beth didn’t move.
“I mean it. Go. How did you even find me?”
Beth switched on the light. Immediately her eyes were drawn to the line of empty liquor bottles from the minibar, eight in total.
A hard lump formed in her throat. Torres didn’t drink. In all the years she had known him, he had never had so much as a beer. He was scared of losing control and becoming like his father and brothers.
Beth licked her dry lips. Her pulse would not slow. It beat against her ribs like the frantic wings of a hummingbird ready to take flight. “I’m a government employee with security clearance. I was always going to find you.”
Torres threw back his head and laughed. It was a bitter sound, void of any warmth. “You didn’t find me in Colombia. I was left to rot then.”
Pain clawed at her stomach. “Torres…” Her mouth was too dry to speak. She would have stopped at nothing to find him…if she had only known. But she didn’t…and that was all down to Patterson.
“Go!” When he shouted the solid wall of his abdomen tensed, accentuating the deep ridges between each muscle.
Tentatively Beth took a step forward, allowing the door to slam shut behind her. A small voice in her mind screamed, telling her she was trapped now.
“Go away!” he roared as he stood up.
Beth’s gaze locked on the intricate Santa Muerte tattoo that covered the left side of his broad chest, and then her eyes traveled up to the deep slash on the side of his face. Even after a decade in the DEA, dealing with every manner of killer and criminal, no man scared her more with his physical presence than Torres.
Any sane woman would heed his warning and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. But she wasn’t sane or rational when it came to Torres. Through the terror, there was a deeper connection drawing her in, pulling with an intensity that drowned out all need for reason or self-preservation.
“There is nothing going on between Patterson and I.” She held her breath as she waited for a reply. There was a kinetic energy in the room; like a pin had been pulled from a grenade and they were trapped in the moment before the explosion. “I needed something done. That’s it.”
“What! What can he do that I didn’t do for you? Kill for you? Bring millions of dollars’ worth of drugs into the country? Sell his soul? What is it, Beth? What’s left? What more can you want?”
Beth took a deep breath. Torres didn’t have clearance any more but neither did Patterson. She was no longer playing by the rules and any moral code she had was on shaky ground. “A wiretap. Illegal. I went to him because it can’t be traced back to me. I’m going to find El Escorpion. I’m doing this for you, for Paige, for Moses Archila. I’m doing this for every person who has died because of this asshole. This is my job, Torres. I’ll do whatever it takes. You knew that going in.”
Doing anything had included manipulating Torres in joining the DEA. She used his loyalty to Archila against him. She should feel guilty about that, she once did, but now she knew she was capable of far worse.
Torres’ gaze bore down on her pinning her into place. “Why him?”
Beth started to speak but Torres cut her off. “I know your body, Gatita. I know your face when you lie,” he warned her. His voice was like acid.
Beth bit into the side of her mouth. Why? Why Patterson? Because it was easy. Because he was Patterson and he would get it done. Because she knew he still loved her and he would do it. Because she was a shitty person but she was a good agent and she was going to finish the job no matter what.
“Don’t say anything. Just go home.” His eyes narrowed. His hands were clenched into tight fists; the white of his knuckles contrasted with his dark skin. Not for the first time, she realized this was what he looked like when he killed. Terror shot through her. She would be an idiot not to be scared. There was a duality to Torres. Part was like an animal in captivity, he had the ability to act tame but there was always the danger that the illusion of domestication would be violently shattered.
Beth forced herself to fight all natural instincts of self-preservation. He wouldn’t hurt her. He had the capacity to destroy her without even trying, but he never did. “I’m not going anywhere.”
In an instant Torres was inches from her. “Pretending to be brave?” he whispered. His breath was hot on her neck. The smell of whiskey clung to him. “But, I know you, Beth. You’re scared. I see it on your face.” His calloused finger ran down her cheek, scratching against her smooth skin.
Beth straightened her back, eking out every inch of her height. It was a futile effort, because he still towered over her. “I’m not scared of you.”
Torres took in a ragged breath. “You’re pretty when you lie.” His thumb rubbed the spot between her eyes creased by deep lines and then slowly down her face, settling around her throat. Powerful fingers fanned out over the delicate column of her neck. “But you should be scared.” His eyes narrowed into angry slits.
Her breath faltered as he applied the slightest pressure. She couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t from the hand around her neck, he was barely squeezing, it was the look in his eyes, completely devoid of any warmth. There was no duality here, only simmering rage.
She forced her eyes open. “I’m not scared,” she said again, but her voice betrayed her by cracking.
“Really?” His pressure tightened slightly, just enough for her to notice the change. “Cause I’m scared for you.”
She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs would not take in air. She closed her eyes. “I’m not scared. Do what you want, but I’m not scared of you.”
Torres threw his head back and laughed. “Do what I want? Now you should be really scared.”
His hands dropped from her throat to her hips. He pulled her hard against him. “I see. You want me to fuck it better. That’s what we do now isn’t it? No need to talk, we just fuck our feelings away.” His words bit into her. “You’re sad, we fuck. You’re angry, we fuck. You’ve had a bad day, we fuck. But you need something done. What do you do then? Who do you go to then?”
Beth tried to shake her head but in an instant his hands were on her keeping her firmly in place. “Don’t look away, Gatita. I want to see your eyes when you try to lie to me.”
For the first time her fear outweighed her desire. “You’re drunk.”
“Am I? I can’t tell. Feels the same to me.”
“Yeah, you overshot numb and landed back at angry.” She was speaking from experience.
He grunted a response.
Beth reached up and stroked the slash along his cheek. There were things they never spoke of. That is how they got by, ignoring all the glaring reasons they should not be together, but they were always there, hanging between them, taunting all their attempts at happiness.
“He never meant anything to me. Patterson means nothing.”
Torres pushed her back, his jaw tensed, the muscles bunched, straining under his dark skin. She took in a ragged breath as she stumbled, throwing her hands out to keep from falling. Every time Beth thought they had reached the bottom of his antipathy, the floor gave way and she was sucked to places even lower and darker.
“Leave. Now.”
“No.” In her mind her voice was more than a whisper.
“I don’t trust myself.”
Beth took in a sharp breath. She glanced at the door. Safety was on the other side. But Torres was here.
Beth closed her eyes. There was no decision to be made. Whatever was going to happen, this is where she wanted to be. No, this is where she needed to be. Tentatively she took a step forward. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll hurt you if you stay.” She wasn’t sure if the warning was for her or him.
She nodded. “I know.” She took another step towards him. “Do what you need to do.” She held her breath as she waited for him to say something. She was offering her body to him, to use…however he wanted…whatever it took to make him feel better, to make things right. She had used him often enough. After Paige had died, it was all that worked, nothing numbed the pain any more, not even alcohol, only Torres.
If she could take any of his pain or anger, she would, no matter the cost.
“This won’t be pretty.”
She nodded again closing her eyes.
“No. I mean it. Look at me. You need to know. I won’t be gentle. I can’t be right now,” he warned. “I will hurt you.”
“I know. If that’s what you need, hurt me.”
“You have thirty seconds to leave. After that I won’t let you. You’re mine. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She was his from the start, even before she realized it. The moment she met him, standing shirtless in the Texas sun, she belonged to him; nothing could change that, not their mistakes or their years apart. She belonged to him.
“Ten seconds,” Torres warned.
She nodded.
“I mean it. I won’t stop. No matter what.”
The urge to run overwhelmed her but she stood perfectly still.
“Times up. Take off your shirt.”
Beth fumbled awkwardly with the line of pearl buttons that lined her sweater.
“Now,” Torres demanded. He pulled violently on the material; buttons flew off in every direction. Then his hands were on her camisole. With a single movement it was over her head and lying on the floor along with her ripped cardigan. She wasn’t wearing a bra because the camisole provided enough support. Immediately her hands flew to her chest, which was stupid because Torres had seen every inch of her before.
Torres took his shirt off the back of the chair and quickly tore it into several strips. “Give me your hands.”
Beth only hesitated for a fraction of a second but it was long enough. “Smart woman. You should be scared.” Torres tied her hands securely, the fabric biting into her wrists. The binds were tight, but if she resisted the temptation to pull against them she would be fine.
Torres spun her around. “Open your mouth.” Tendrils of fear wrapped around her heart. Beth couldn’t stop herself from turning her head to face him. He had tied her up before, but he had never gagged her. He had always wanted her mouth free…and he had never had to worry about her screaming.
Slowly Beth turned away, her mouth opened complying with his order. She bit down on the soft fabric as he tied it below her ponytail.
Torres spun her around to face him. In an instant his hands were on her zipper then pulling down her jeans and her underwear. She balanced against him as he took them off.
Then he stood up. He stared at her, his gaze wandering over her slowly. Her skin warmed…anxiety…fear…desire.
Torres returned to his seat in the corner, his hot stare never leaving her. Then he opened the minibar and took out the remaining drink.
Beth’s eyes widened. She tried to speak, not remembering the gag.
Torres held up his hand. “Shh, Gatita. We have all night. I’m going to enjoy you. No, don’t try to cover up.”
Beth glanced frantically at the wall light. The room was too bright. She was too naked.
Torres shook his head. “No. The light stays on.” Torres unscrewed the top and downed the measure.
Nine. She was keeping track.
Eventually Torres stood. “Where should I start?” The words would have filled her with excitement if he weren’t eying her like a hunter examining a fresh kill.
Torres pushed her back, but the bed broke her fall.
“You really should have left.” Sadness pulled at his full mouth but in a flash it was gone, replaced by anger. “You didn’t tell him we’re married.” Torres pushed her legs apart. The temptation to pull her legs together was strong but she wouldn’t let herself succumb to fear. If this was what he needed, this was what she would do. “You didn’t tell Jessop either.”
Beth tied to speak through her gag, desperate to explain that she hadn’t told anyone because it was no one’s business. This, whatever this was, what they had was private. No one got to know that. There was a separate compartment in her life just for him.
“You probably only told Alejandra because it was getting hard to explain the ugly Mexican in your bed.”
Beth shook her head. Torres was many things: scary, scarred, tattooed, but he wasn’t ugly. He was far and away the sexiest man she had ever met.
Torres ran his hand up her side and over the curve of her breast. Her nipple strained painfully at his touch. He leaned over and captured the peak in his mouth. She winced as an electric current of pain shot through her.
He sucked again and this time the pain was matched with a flood of pleasure. Her back arched, but he pushed her back down hard against the mattress. He stood above her, jeans still on, slung low over his hips where the pronounced muscles on his obliques formed a “V”. The light above created a halo around his dark head, making him look like an angel, a very dangerous angel.
Slowly his head lowered, settling over her naval. His tongue slipped into her. Hot greed flooded her senses, pushing away every feeling except desire. And then his head went lower, to the top of thighs. With the pad of his thumb he parted her; his hands were calloused, the skin rough against her. In an instant he found the spot. He knew her body, every trigger, every response. His thumb slowly circled her clit. Back and forth he rubbed her, rough skin against smooth. Her hips rocked against his hand demanding more. Exquisite pressure built in her, pushing her higher.
His mouth lowered again, this time settling between her legs. Slowly he licked the seam that parted her body. His tongue darted into her, strumming her clit with long deliberate strokes, over and over, higher, and higher. Warmth flooded her, all the blood in her body settling below his mouth. Every touch, every lick was electric. Her hips bucked to meet his mouth as his tongue traveled lower. His tongue entered her, while his hand stroked her. In and out…in and out…over and over…his tongue darted into her, making love to her with his mouth. Her hips rocked against his face. She was almost there; she was about to come. Her breath was coming in soft pants. Oh God she was almost there.
But then he stopped.
She moaned but the sound was muffled by the gag.
“You really should have left,” he said again.
In an instant he turned her over until she was laying belly down on the sheets, her hands stretched above her. He pushed her head into the bed as he raised her onto her knees.
She was wet, but she wasn’t ready, not for this. She pulled against her bindings, desperately trying to pull her hands apart. She screamed but the sound was lost between her gag and the sheets. She tried to bend lower herself to the bed but he kept her firmly in place, her ass pointed up.
She could hear rather than see him unbutton his jeans. She squeezed her lids shut until there was nothing but blackness. Before she met Torres, she had limits. But those were gone now. Her body belonged to him. It was always his to use: nothing was off limits. But not like this, not in anger.
She took a deep breath and commanded her body to relax, but it wouldn’t, every nerve ending, every fiber was stretched taut.
His tongue ran down her spine. Her back arched against his mouth. His hand reached under her, finding her clit. Again he rubbed. Softly at first, the touch so gentle she didn’t know if she was imagining. Then the pressure increased and another wave of pleasure started to build.
Shamelessly she rocked against his hand. So close…she was almost there. She could taste her release, but it was just out of her reach. Almost there…oh God. Please let me come this time. It felt too good…she couldn’t stand it. He was driving her mad. Wantonly she rode his hand, the hard callouses of his thumbs biting into her with the most exquisite pressure. She was about to come. He was pushing her higher and higher.
Then with a single powerful stroke, he was in her. Her lids flew open. Searing pain robbed her of breath. The tight ring of muscles strained to stretch and accommodate him. He was too big…it was too much…it ached. Her knees buckled. She needed time to adjust but he wouldn’t give it to her. She could not hold herself up, but Torres held her up, as he continued to pump into her with punishing strokes.
His hand stroked her again. Pleasure built in her, mingling with pain, each sensation intensified the other, robbing her of her senses until she did not know which she craved more. She ached but it felt so good. There was no room in her body for him but she wanted him there, deep inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. Don’t stop…she said a silent prayer that he would keep going and lose himself in her.
Her hands pulled at her bonds. The shreds of fabric were biting into her hands but she couldn’t stop pulling. It felt too good.
Pain…pleasure…anger…desire…higher.
Bright colours flashed behind her lids as wave after wave of pleasure rocked her body.
A guttural groan reverberated through Torres and with a final stroke he came.
She collapsed onto the bed, Torres still inside her. Gently he eased out. She lay face down as the final tremors of pleasure washed over her.
She was sore but completely satisfied. Slowly her breathing returned to normal. Torres pulled her against his chest, rolling her onto her side.
“You’re mine,” he breathed against her ear. “All of you.”
She nodded as he took the binding from her mouth.
She felt safe against his hard chest. They were OK again; she could feel it. She closed her eyes as exhaustion set in: physical and emotional.
She rolled onto her back. Her hands were still bound, but she was too tired to care. She wanted to see Torres.
She kissed the slash on his cheek. I love you. She couldn’t say the words, they didn’t say it, not since he left four years ago, but her heart felt them with each beat.
“I’m glad I stayed.” She smiled. He captured her mouth, kissing her deeply. His hand lowered to her breast, stroking her. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging gently.
She gasped at the sensation. A sharp pain and then a dull ache settled in her breast.
Torres pulled back so he could see her. His eyes narrowed. Again his hand went to her breast. He squeezed gently but it was still enough to make her wince.
Disbelief spread over his dark features.
His hand traced the gentle contour of her belly.
“When were you going to tell me that you’re pregnant?”