Page 40 of Total Abandon

“Right, well. I'm just…going to shower.” I scramble to my feet as my cheeks flush, feeling my breath coming in a little heavier than it should be and deciding the best thing I can do is retreat.

“Want company?”

My eyes snap to his in alarm, but a small part of my brain has raced away with the idea like a cart on tracks. Like the ones those little goblins control in Gringotts, but the destination is a mental image of Zeke naked, all six feet and five inches of him dripping wet while I kneel at his feet.

“I’ll manage, thank you,” I respond dryly, forcing myself to turn my back on the devilish man in my bed offering himself up to me, and walk away. I click the door of the en-suite shut behind me and let out a long, loose breath as I slide the lock into place. Flicking on the shower, I perch on the edge of the sink for a moment while the water heats. I’m pulled under by heated thoughts of how big and firm he felt in my hand. What would he do if I marched back out there and demanded he put his money where his mouth is? Would he actually go through with it, or does he just enjoy the game?

“Say please,” I mutter to myself with a snort, starting to shuck off my night clothes. It will be a cold day in Hell before I beg for anything from Zeke Guerra.

The scalding hot water does nothing to ease the languid ache in my gut, and I try to ignore it as much as possible. But my brain and my vagina are not on the same page and I find myself skating fingertips dangerously close to the apex of my thighs, imagining they are his. Hesitating, I peer through the billowing steam and glass partition at the locked door. Fuck it.

My back kisses the wet tile and my fingers glide down, all the way down and along the sensitive seam of my sex. Sucking in a sharp breath and closing my eyes, I circle the slick bud of nerves there while images of Zeke flash through my mind like streaks of sizzling hot lighting. Him towering over me while he stuffs my throat full of his cock. Him bending me over and holding me down on the bed while he has his wicked way with me. Him on his knees while he shows me what he can do with that decadent mouth.

A stuttered moan falls from my lips as I feel pleasure swell and snap at the base of my spine, my muscles tightening under myministrations. I plunge two fingers into my slick hole, using both hands in tandem to bring myself to a crashing riptide of pleasure that causes me to crumple in on myself. My hand slaps against the glass partition to stop myself from toppling over and I curse under my breath as my heart races. Regret washes over me instantly, and what’s worse is I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface of the itch that has buried its claws deep under my skin.

Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom in a billowing cloud of steam—scrubbed raw and practically scalded. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dwarfing it with his wide frame, his long legs planted firmly in front of himself. With only his black boxer shorts on and his elbows planted on his knees, I can see every rippling line in his obliques.

He pauses a deep rumble of Spanish, glancing across at me with his phone at his ear. I tip my chin up and look away, padding quietly over to my bag on the desk to pull out a change of clothes. This towel is hardly the most revealing thing he’s seen me in, so I refuse to feel uncomfortable. It was probably the bikini for starters, but even my night camisole and shorts were more revealing than this. Acid wash Levi’s, a dark blue checked shirt and a white tank top hit the wooden desktop as the soft rumble of Spanish picks up again. I tip my ear, listening. He’s using the quiet, calm tone he reserves for Diego.

Smiling, I realize I’m starting to get a real soft spot for the kid. Unbeknownst to his dad, he’s been sneaking into my room most nights, well after he’s meant to be asleep. So much so that I’ve started leaving my dressing table stool by the side of the bed so he can climb up on his own. If I’m asleep, he wakes me with a pudgy hand on my cheek, but if I’m awake, I pretend otherwise until he’s right on top of me and make a big show of trying to eat his hand. Either way, I lie and listen to him rattle on about everything and nothing, and then carry him back to his bed when he talks himself to sleep.

“Diego speaks Spanish?” I ask as I hear the call come to an end and zip up my overnight bag.

“Of course,” Zeke replies behind me and from the brief rustle of sheets, it sounds like he’s stood up.

I frown, glancing over my shoulder. He’s standing watching me with a slightly narrowed gaze, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that makes every muscle ripple and bulge. Holy fucking hot. “Why doesn’t he speak Spanish at home?” I have to clear my throat a couple of times after turning my attention back to my clothes.

“Because he knows it’s rude to speak it around someone who doesn’t.” I let out an incredulous huff of laughter, spinning on the spot with a pointed look. He shrugs fleetingly, a slight smirk tipping up his lips. “I’m old enough to choose when to follow the rules.”

“Right.” My voice drips with scorn as I watch him slowly prowl closer. The beat of my heart kicks up a gear and I find my attempt to swallow lodged in a suddenly dry throat.

“Is Diego having fun with his mom?” I’m trying to distract myself from the devilish glint in his eye.

“He’s not with his mom, she isn’t in the picture.” My brows crease as I consider this new information. Now that I think of it, Diego has been at the penthouse every night since I arrived. This also throws Zeke into a whole new shade of devoted father. I knew he was a great dad, that much is obvious, but to be a single father? Something bright and primal heats my chest. It’s quickly doused by rage that a woman could abandon a kid like that. I guess being a shitty person doesn’t discriminate between genders.

“You said he was with his mom's side of the family this weekend.” This is the only lame response I can choke out. I should be conveying how sorry I am that Diego’s mom isn’t there for his son, but he’s closing in on me slowly with a look on his face like he’s going to eat me for breakfast.Would that be so bad?the slutty part of my brain drawls as it whirls to life.

“Her father, his grandpa—he’s the only one Diego has a relationship with.”

No wonder the kid crawls into bed with me, he’s starved for female attention. “Right.” my voice sounds rough even to my own ears and I turn, picking up my clothes with every intention of heading back to the bathroom. Large hands plant on the desk on either side of my hips and the baby hairs at the back of my neckprickle with awareness. Swallowing roughly, I turn. He’s leaning over me, scanning me with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

“You were in that shower for a long time.”

“Aw, big guy! When did you learn to tell time?” I use the same voice I would when speaking to Diego—overly enthusiastic—and reach up to pat his scratchy jaw with a level of teasing I don’t feel. He’s too close and all too undressed. Pine, musk, and something that is inherently…himclaws at my nostrils and that infuriatingly unsatisfied tightness in my lower belly is making itself known again. One hand swipes up to snatch my hand from his face, and all the air whooshes out of my lungs when he tilts his head and delivers a sharp bite to my palm.

“It’s funny, I could have sworn I heard something,” he murmurs against my skin before dropping our hands to the side, but he doesn’t let go. His gaze darts down as he brushes a thumb over the indents his teeth just made. The muscles in his jaw clamp tightly shut and flex. “Were you touching yourself, Chloe?”

Busted. His glittering gaze snares me, caging me in just as much as his arms. Fight or flight? Denial or brazen admission? The answer rings clear as day in my mind. I’ve never been one to run from a fight. Tipping my chin, I meet him head on. “So what if I was?”

Lightning flashes in those stormy orbs. “Tell me, mi fuego, were you thinking of me?”

Trembles feather through my knees, my heart pounding in my ribcage so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. I need to get away from him before I do something stupid. “Your brother, actually.” I throw the first piece of shrapnel I can lay my hands on at him.

He rears his head back a few inches, nostrils flared. One large, calloused hand reaches up to clamp around my neck, just below my jawline. “Nice try, mi dulce pequeña mentirosa. Keep going and I’ll fuck those asinine words right out of your mouth.” Flames lick at my cheeks, my lips falling open on a stuttered intake of breath. I can feel my pulse thrumming traitorously like a hummingbird’s wings under his long fingers, and he lets out a dark chuckle as he squeezes. “I’ll leave the door unlocked, in case you’rebrave enough to come and watch the show.” He leans his dark head down and my eyelids flutter shut just a moment before he dusts his lips over them in a tender gesture so far removed from his filthy words.

He turns and stalks toward the bathroom, giving me a fantastic view of his broadly muscled back and tight ass. The second the door clicks shut, I collapse back into the desk, my hand pressed to my sternum. “Holy fuck.”

I stay frozen as the sound of the shower picks up. Awareness lingers over every inch of skin he’s touched, like he’s branded me. My tongue darts across my lower lip before I suck it into my mouth and bite down, hard. Has he out-bluffed me? Laying down a gauntlet like that, knowing I wouldn’t be able to think about anything other than the fact he’s touching himself in there, is bold. Perhaps bolder than I would have the balls to be. My eyes dart around the room, indecision warring.