Page 70 of No Sweeter Poison

Diego says, “And what do we do about Sandro? This is the second time he’s come for you.”

Lettie nods her agreement. “We’ll bring it to the families. They’ll be obligated to act.”

“No. He’ll pin yesterday on the Irish and we can’t draw attention to what happened earlier in the summer. We still haven’t found Ibanez and Montenegro.” My temples begin to pulse with the onset of another migraine. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t risk Dahlia’s safety like that.”

“One of my guys got tipped off the other day,” Diego tells me. “Sandro knows you’re looking for them.”

“Yes, but he’ll think it’s because I need them to prove he put a hit on me in June. Not because they saw Dahlia. I’m not drawing attention to it, Diego. Anything can happen. What we need to focus on instead, is how the fuck Collins’ and Walsh’s hitmen knew where to find me.”

“I have a theory,” Lettie says. “Give me some time to look into it and I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, we should all stay in the villa.”

Diego nods. “I’ll call Martinez in Vallvidrera. Abuelo should have more men outside.”

I get to my feet. “That’s fine. Someone tell Doña Ana to call the doctor. I’m going to go shower.”

B y the time I return to Dahlia’s room an hour later, the bed is empty.

It’s raining monsoons outside, odd for this time of year, and most of the curtains are closed. The pitter patter of droplets against the glass almost drowns out the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. I know I should leave and give her privacy but I’m already halfway across the room before I can help myself.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar so I push it open the rest of the way. Dense steam fills the room and obscures most of the mirrors and windows. All I see behind the glass doors of the shower is red hair and the outline of a woman’s figure as she stretches her arms and touches her legs. Already, I feel myself straining against my pants and it’s so ridiculous I’m tempted to bang my head against the wall. After the night we had and the hell she experienced twelve hours ago, I should be able to fucking keep it together.

Obviously, I can’t, because I open the shower door.

Dahlia gasps and spins around, arms coming up to cover herself. The sponge slips from her hands. “Oh…” she says, when she realizes it’s me. I watch her throat move as she swallows. “I thought you left.”

Something about the way she says it hits me like a dagger to the chest. Immediately I shake my head.

“Diego and Lettie needed me. I didn’t want them to wake you up.”

My answer seems to satisfy her because she nods and moves away to return to her shower. At the last minute, she hesitates and turns around. “Alex?”

I step over the threshold and into the shower, under the steady stream of hot water, and she rises to the tips of her toes, throwing her arms around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. I walk us back until she’s pinned against the wall and me and when she tries to clench her thighs together, I push my knee between her legs, forcing them apart.

Last night was slow and tempered and it seems that now, she intends on making up for it. The way she tightens her grip in my hair and moans against my mouth, forcing me to open for her as she slips her tongue inside to explore, has me weak in the knees. She swings one leg around my waist and brings me closer, grinding her hips against mine, until my dick is so hard it hurts. I want to force her to her knees and make her take me in her mouth, spin her around until she’s flush against the glass door while I take her from behind, have her bent over the bathroom sink and begging for more. There are too many different scenarios flashing through my mind that I can’t bring my thoughts back into focus.

She pulls my shirt over my head and kisses her way across my body. Down the column of my throat, soft, butterfly kisses where bruises have taken form, then all the way down my abdomen where she unzips my pants. As tempting as it is, I’ll finish too quickly inside her mouth, and I intend on savoring this shower interlude as long as it lasts.

I grip her by the back of the neck and lift her mouth to mine, crushing our lips together until my teeth hurt. The cut on my bottom lips opens and she runs her tongue along the seam, something about such a simple gesture making me feral.

I take her nipple into my mouth and suck until it forms a hardened peak on my tongue.

She gasps and grabs my shoulder. “Alejandro—”

I move on to the other and she seems to have forgotten whatever it was that she wanted to say. I fall to my knees in front of her and she looks down at me as drops of water roll down the length of her long lashes.

I wait for her signal and when she nods, I disappear between her thighs.

Her head falls back as my tongue delves inside her, tracing maddening circles around her clit as she squirms in my grip, and her thighs tighten around my face. I savor the taste of her and she rocks against me, the sound of her moans filling the bathroom. When I thrust a finger inside her, Dahlia’s grip on my hair tightens, so I curve my finger in search of the spot that drives her crazy. She’s hot and tight around me and I have to ease her into a second finger, thrusting at a slow and steady pace, as my teeth glide along her wet folds, tongue flickering over the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. She’s coming in seconds, her walls tightening around my fingers, arousal dripping down my face as I lick her clean.

Dahlia pulls me to my feet and her mouth meets mine. No matter how many times I’ve touched her, kissed her, been inside her, it’s never enough. It goes beyond want or desire; being with her is a need. A necessity. As vital to life as air, water, food, shelter. How many times did I fantasize about having her again? After that first time in Barcelona when she disappeared the next morning, how often had I dreamt of having her this close? So long as she was here, I never thought she’d open herself up to me again. Nor did I think, even after the night we got back from El Rey, she would have taken it this far.

She touches me like I belong to her, hands exploring every inch of my body as if she’s done it a million times before and will never get sick of it. Her fingers skim my biceps, run down the length spine, before coming back around and following every ridge and contour of my abs and chest. Dahlia’s open palms spread over my shoulders and she brings me closer, holding me against her, and guilt gnaws away at me. Last night she was in danger for the second time this summer and it was because of me.

She reaches behind her for the marble soap dish imbedded in the wall of the shower and produces a condom.

“You know, I was wondering why these were everywhere.”

I practically scoff as I snatch the condom from her and roll it on. “My fucking cousin, Anthony.”