Page 40 of Cartel Devil

I blurt my question, and I want to melt into the floor all over again. That was supposed to remain part of my inner monologue, not something I shared when she’s already going through her own turmoil. She shouldn’t have to reassure me right now. I should be doing that for her.

“Why on Earth would you think you wouldn’t be? You’re already protective of me and a child that might not exist. Your family is so close that I can’t imagine you being anything but the best father.”

“But I don’t know how to be one. I didn’t have one to watch and learn from.”

Pain sears through my chest as I admit one of my greatest fears. I never considered having a family before now. I didn’t want to pass along my Cartel legacy to a child. I didn’t want a wife and kids who’d be in constant danger because of me. I didn’t want to bring a wife and children near my darkness—my morally devoid soul. All I can think about are the mistakes and regrets I have. All my failures.

“You have other father figures in your life. You’ve seen them.”

“It’s not the same. Tío Matías, Tío Enrique, and Tío Luis have always loved my brothers and me, but I didn’t go home to them every day after school. Not too long after Papá died, older boys from the street gangs started harassing my brothers and me. We protected each other, but we had to do it without anyone teaching us. Mamá made sure we could defend ourselves long enough to get away. It wasn’t long before those skills weren’t enough, and we had to figure things out on our own. We didn’t want to scare our grieving mother. Even now, I don’t think she knows half the shit that happened. What if I die, and my child doesn’t have a papá to protect them?”

There were a few years where we stayed in Bogotá after Papá died, but we moved to the States when rival Cartel men started pressuring Mamá to marry them and started actively “recruiting” my brothers and me. It just became untenable to stay.

“Caro, you might not have had a dad at home with you, but I can already tell you’ll love any child you have. You’ll make sure you’re there for them the way your dad couldn’t be. You’ll do all the things you wish he could’ve. I can’t tell you your fears are baseless or unnecessary. But I can tell you I don’t share them. Just the opposite. I’m scared to bring a child into a Mafia family and a Cartel family and all that entails. But I don’t fear you being our child’s father. I don’t know a man who could make me feel safer.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep it if you are pregnant?”

She hesitates. “We’re speaking as though I am. We don’t know that yet. I don’t know how I’ll feel if I’m looking at a positive test. What do you want?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m in the same boat. I won’t be sure until I see the test. But I’ve never considered having a family with any other woman I know. You feel—right.”

“You sound like Goldilocks, and I’m the bed you prefer.”

She grins, and it lifts the weight of the world from my shoulders. She wants an “us.” She isn’t running for the hills or categorically refusing to consider having a baby with me.

I cup her face and draw her in for another kiss. It starts out tender, filled with promise. But it only takes a moment for it to ignite. Our hands roam over each other as she rocks against my still hard dick. My physical arousal waned a little while we talked, even if my emotions still ran hard. But the moment she moves on my lap, I want to bury myself in her. I want to claim her as mine—baby or no baby.

We yank off our clothes, struggling to do it while holding onto each other. I wrap my arms around her once we’re naked and lift her onto the bed. I stretch out over her as our gazes lock.

“You are so damn beautiful, chiquita. There’s never been anyone more beautiful to me.”

There never will be.

Her fingers run through my hair before they fist it. Her other fingers trail down my chest between my pecs until her nails graze my abs.

“You’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and it’s not just your looks, caro.”

That’s the second time she’s called me darling. I don’t need her to translate it. I’ve heard the Mancinelli couples call each other that for two decades. I’d never cared before. Now it’s an endearment I long for her to call me for the rest of time.

I kiss her neck and along her collarbone before nipping at her ear. Her thighs bracket my hips as hers rise and fall to rub against me. My cock slides between her wet pussy lips, wanting to bury itself in what I already know is the tightest, hottest, smoothest cunt I’ve ever felt. I shift to ease down the bed, but her hands wrap around the underside of my arms before she grips my biceps. She shakes her head as she lifts her hips completely off the bed.

“No foreplay. Not this time. I need you.”

I surge into her with one thrust. I groan as she moans. The feel is euphoric. If entering her is this good, an orgasm might kill me.

“Fuck, chica. I’d stay inside you forever if I could.”

I grasp her left thigh and lift it higher, allowing me to plunge even deeper. I keep my thrusts short, not wanting to pull away from her any farther than I need to, to keep driving into her. We kiss to smother the sounds we’re making. At least the ones from our mouths. There’s no muting the sound of our bodies moving together or how the bedsprings squeak.

“Harder, Joaco. You won’t break me.”

“I’ll leave you sore. I don’t want to harm you.”

“You better leave me sore. I want to feel you tomorrow. That’s not harming me. It’s pleasuring me.”

I grunt as I slam into her over and over.

“You want to remember I claimed your sweet little pussy.”