The way into her heart was without a doubt a path of tribulation. But where he put his mouth and cock wasn’t the key factor in obtaining his goal. It was the ability to connect with her on a fundamental level.
Curling his fingers over the black lace on her hips, he drew her toward him and settled her on his thigh.
She sat rigidly, hissing from the pain, elbows locked against her sides, and legs shaking. With an arm around her waist, he pulled her back against his chest and scooted the chair forward, sliding her lower half beneath the edge of the table top.
Stiff as a board, she refused to relax against his reclined body. Her breaths sharpened, expanding her rib cage and testing the seams of the corset.
She really wasn’t going to appreciate his hands on her, but anyone outside of his table would expect a public display of groping to be the only reason he moved her to his lap.
Over the years, he’d brought slaves to dinner, not for his pleasure, but for the sole purpose of tormenting them. After Camila’s disappearance, he’d taken a special interest in slavery. He so badly wanted to sit her down and explain his involvement. Hell, he wanted to explain everything. But she wasn’t ready.
Beneath the concealment of the table, he cupped her pussy over the panties. His other hand rested lightly against her throat as he made a shushing noise at her ear.
She drew several more breaths. Then her muscles began to loosen against his legs and chest. An eternal moment later, she let her head fall back on his shoulder. He released her neck.
Her soft hair brushed against his throat, and the heat of her body seeped through the threads of his suit. Christ, he’d waited so fucking long for this, to feel the beat of her heart against his, protected in his home, and held in his arms.
With great reluctance, he removed his hand from between her legs, trailing fingers gingerly around the welts on her thigh. His chest squeezed with regret, and hers inflated with a held breath. Shifting his hand toward his pocket, he slipped the pill between two fingers.
“Open your mouth,” he whispered at her ear. “For the pain.”
Her instant obedience was a testament to how much she was hurting.
He placed the pill on her tongue and traced the plump flesh of her bottom lip. Then he offered her a glass of water, which she drank greedily.
He didn’t have to glance up at the room to know he was being watched. Yessica, for one, would spend the entire evening trying to gauge his interest in Camila. Others would simply be looking for weaknesses. They might work for the same team, but they would kill one another if it meant moving up in the ranks. And Matias held a covetous position.
Giving a slave a pill, however, wasn’t uncommon. Ecstasy, roofies, any number of trance-like drugs made unwilling partners more malleable.
He returned her water glass to the table and slid his hand beneath the front of her panties. Her abdomen quivered, and her thighs clenched together like a vise.
“Open,” he whispered firmly.
She parted her legs, and he caressed the delicate flesh, slowly, teasingly.
“So I’ve been thinking…” Chispa stroked the thin mustache on his lip. “We need to work on our PR.”
“Se necesita un cerebro para pensar,” Picar muttered.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?” Chispa grinned.
Picar held up a fist with his pinkie and index finger extended like bull horns. The gesture was as old as Colombia, meaning Your wife’s a cheating whore.
Matias chuckled. Since Chispa wasn’t married, he could interpret it however he wanted.
“You need to loosen up, Picar.” Chispa folded his twiggy arms behind his head. “Sometimes you gotta let your ball sac hang like two cacay nuts in a wet baggie to know you’re alive.”
Given Picar’s stony glare, his next gesture would involve making a fist shape out of his strongest hand and slamming it into Chispa’s face.
“You two need to get a room.” Matias roamed his fingers lazily across Camila’s soft folds.
She relaxed against him, breaths even and silent and eyes lowered. He guessed most of that was an act. The painkiller wouldn’t have kicked in yet, and he knew she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be as invisible as possible while studying every person on the veranda.
He turned his attention to Chispa. “What did you have in mind for PR?”
Soliciting low-rank falcons was an aggravation, but they were the eyes and ears of the streets and the best access to information on the activities of the police, military, and rival gangs. They also propagated fear. Scaring the picadas out of the general public kept people in line and out of the way.
Matias slid his finger through moisture. Warm, wet arousal. His cock hardened, suddenly and painfully. His breathing sped up as he stroked deeper, circling the entrance of her pussy without penetrating.
Her thigh kicked up and bumped the underside of the table, rattling dishes.
No one at the table spared her a passing glance, but Matias vibrated with excitement. He knew her mind was fighting this, fighting him, but her body still loved his touch.
“We need a motto.” Chispa tapped a fist on the table.
“How about Give us your shit or we’ll kill you,” Nico said with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
Her breath hitched.
“Or…” Matias stroked his other hand down her arm, smiling. “There are some things that can’t be smuggled. For everything else, there's the Restrepos.”
“Not bad, not bad.” Chispa nodded thoughtfully.
Picar swiped a gnarled finger across his eyebrow, his expression dead serious. “Armas got?”
“Got guns?” Chispa howled with laughter.
The entire inner circle joined in, hooting and slapping the table.
When they finally settled down, Chispa snorted. “I’ve got one. The Quicker Fucker Upper.”
The laughter began again.
Matias enjoyed
