“Yes, Sir.” She lowered her head.
Wicked satisfaction zipped down his spine and coiled low in his groin, throbbing urgency along his hardening shaft. He needed to bury himself inside her and fuck her vigorously and thoroughly until they were both spent. Christ, he’d fantasized about it since the moment he started beating off in their grove.
The end goal was to earn her loyalty and gain her consent, an undertaking that would require weeks, months, maybe longer. In the meantime, he was under no delusions that he had the strength or the honor to wait around while she worked shit out in her head.
He was going to use her body in every way he imagined. She could cry, spit, and writhe in her restraints. Hell, she would definitely be doing all of that, and he would devour every explosive second of it while her pussy clamped around his cock.
Keeping his distance from her for the past four years had nurtured vicious cravings inside him, warping his tastes into an almighty need for painful, destructive sex. He was going to fuck her until they were both annihilated. Until their broken pieces scattered in an unholy tangled mess. And when they put themselves back together, there would no longer be hers and his. Only them.
He didn’t have to look inside her to know what she wanted. She’d come here, willingly, as a slave. She could tell herself it was a mission to stop slavery, but he knew she was searching for something to sate that which she didn’t yet understand, yearning to face a fear that haunted her since her abduction.
She put herself in a position to be raped and tortured because, deep down, this was her way of stepping inside and showing her teeth.
Dammit, he wanted to belt her for being so fucking reckless. But at the same time, she’d finally given him the opportunity to help her. To be there for her when he’d failed so spectacularly in the past.
It was a reminder of why he’d waited. As much as he wanted her, the end result had always been about her and what she needed.
Releasing her arm, he swiped a hand down his face and stared at the tent in his pants.
She needs food and a shower, you impatient bastard.
When he looked up, she tore her gaze away, face flushed. Probably a reaction she hadn’t meant to make so obvious, but there it was. He affected her.
He reclaimed her arm and hurried her across a long balcony that served as an end cap for multiple bedroom suites and corridors that led to more bedrooms. Beyond the glass railing lay a deep valley of majestic Kapok trees.
“Who stays in those rooms?” She stared at the closed doors over her shoulder as she passed.
“There are dozens of guards and hired whores who live on site.”
“Whores.” Her voice tried for deadpan, but it cracked at the edges. “Is this where you’ve been living the last twelve years?”
“More or less.” He tipped his head to the side and watched her eyes track a cloud shadow as it glided across the treescape. “This is our home base. The cartel’s citadel.” The sanctuary he always came back to.
How many times had he imagined bringing her here just to see her stand in awe of the place he called home?
Her blank expression offered zero fucks, but she wasn’t fooling him.
Situated in the southern-most point of Colombia, the fortress was nothing short of spectacular. Bulletproof glass encased the exterior, presenting unobstructed, cinematic views of the self-contained enclosure of tropical rainforest. The kind of views National Geographic enthusiasts would jack off to from any angle in every room.
But security had been the central ethos that had led the construction of every square foot. Panic rooms, iris recognition scanners, tactical cameras, motion detectors, and fortified polycarbonate and ballistic steel building materials made the property virtually impenetrable.
On top of that, very few knew of its existence. Anyone idiotic enough to approach the perimeter wouldn’t live long enough to beg for forgiveness.
She would be protected from outside threats, namely his enemies and anyone she might’ve pissed off in her war against slave traders. But it had taken an exorbitant amount of planning to relocate her here without adversely impacting his objective.
He wanted her completely—heart and soul. While that in itself might’ve seemed preposterous, his approach to winning her was even more outrageous. But he didn’t have a choice. He was competing against a ghost.
His fists clenched. Her heart belonged to a boy who no longer existed. Well, fuck that motherfucker. That was the guy who didn’t protect her a decade ago, who let her get kidnapped. That fucking guy failed her. I failed her.
He wouldn’t fail her again.
“There’s a lot of white.” She stepped into another living room and nodded her chin at the flooring, walls, and furniture. “White, white, white. Not the best color scheme for blood stains.” Her face tightened.
“Bleach is rather effective, but you already know that.” Considering he’d disposed of fourteen bodies for her over the past ten years—slave buyers and their body guards. He’d dealt with the bodies, but she’d cleaned up the blood. “This way.”
He reached the heavy wooden doors that barred entry to his personal space but didn’t unlock them, his focus on the approaching heel-toe click of stilettos in the hall behind him.
“Welcome home, gorgeous,” a familiar voice purred.
“Yessica.” He turned to greet her, taking note of the way Camila stiffened beside him. “This is Camila.” He twisted Camila around to face the other woman. “Camila. Yessica.”
Despite the bottle blonde hair, Yessica’s heritage oozed from every dip and curve on her body. Like most Colombian women, she had more of it on her legs and ass, a cola-shaped figure accentuated by a flat stomach and full hips.
“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Yessica sashayed toward them, long legs stretching her red floor-length dress and heels tapping against the marble.
Camila looked up at him, eyebrow arched, giving him a
