WHEN I WAKE up in the morning, Aria is in my arms. This has been happening every day this week. Our nights always start out the same way. Aria climbs into bed and situates herself as far away from me as physically possible on the opposite side of the mattress before closing her eyes. But at some point, while she’s sleeping, she gravitates towards me like a magnet and ends up curled in my arms, cuddling with the monster she was desperately trying to avoid.
Even though all of this feels foreign to me, I truly don’t mind it. I could easily push her away or demand she sleep in another bed or another room, for that matter; but for some fucked-up reason, I want her close to me. I could do without the puddle of drool she always leaves behind, though.
I stare down at her as she snores softly against my chest, drool leaking out of her beautiful mouth and onto my skin, and I have to bite back a chuckle. Even the drooling is kind of…cute.
Fuck, I must be losing my goddamn mind.
I know deep down we shouldn’t be doing any of this domestic shit for a million different reasons — not a single one of which comes to mind at this moment.
Aria stirs, her pretty amber eyes blinking open and focusing on me. Our mornings continuously begin this way. At first, she’s surprised and confused to see that she wound up in my arms again. And then, she quickly withdraws from me, like she can’t stand touching me for another single second.
“Sorry,” she whispers as she sits up, moving away from me.
I grind my jaw at her response. I would think she would stop apologizing after doing it for so many mornings, but she’s still trying to hold back from me, still trying to act like she’s not affected by any of this. And it’s driving me insane.
“What are you sorry for? For falling asleep on me or for trying to drown me with all this drool?” I snap.
She turns to me, appalled, clearly offended and embarrassed by the very notion that she could possibly have a flaw. “I do not drool,” she says indignantly.
“I have a lake on my chest that proves it,” I tell her, pointing to the evidence.
Huffing in frustration, she climbs out of bed and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I can’t hold back the chuckle. Fuck, I love it when she gets mad at me.
I lay in bed, listening to the sound of the shower turning on in the other room. She hogs all the hot water too, but I won’t bring that up. I love when she emerges from a fresh shower or bath, smelling like flowers and honey. Her soft, unique scent drives me crazy, though. It makes me want to taste her, lick her, bite her and fuck her. I don’t even care in what order. I just want to feel her writhing under me as I take what I want.
Biting back a groan, I sit on the edge of the bed, scooping up my cell phone from the nightstand and unlocking it to check my messages since I have time to kill.
I’m halfway through typing out an email when my phone rings. A Bolivian by the name of Cristóbal Espinoza is calling. He’s an older gentleman who throws some of the most lavish parties in the country. He’s been out of the game for a long time; now dedicating his life to more philanthropic adventures.
I answer it on the fourth ring. “Hola?”
“Buenos días, Mateo.” His voice is deep and gruff from fifty plus years of smoking.
“Buenos días,” I respond. Cristóbal only calls when he’s hosting parties or events and needs my presence and money to make a difference. I donate a lot of money to charity. Hell, there’s even a school named after me in the south. But my benevolent side does not make my enemies fear me, so I rarely discuss it with anyone who’s not in my inner circle. Only those closest to me the most know about my humanitarian efforts.
“I’m hosting an event at my house on Friday. I’m only inviting my biggest donors to join me for a special dinner. It’s to benefit the influx of families and orphans that have been recently deported back into our country. Can I expect to see you there?”
“Of course, mi amigo,” I tell him. “I’ll be there with a hefty checkbook.”
That earns me a chuckle. “Bien, bien,” he says. “Now, for the dinner, will you be bringing a plus one?”
He always asks me this question even though he already knows the answer. “No,” I say.
“Ah, just checking,” he admits.
The thought of having Aria there does appeal to me. By then she’ll have received her new wardrobe. And having an excuse for her to dress up and take her out of this place for some much-needed time away is what has me speaking without second-guessing the consequences. “Wait. Yes, I will be bringing a plus one.”
I can sense the smile on his face as he tells me, “That’s wonderful news. I’ll be delighted to meet her. Adiós, Mateo.”
“Adiós,” I say before ending the call. The old man holds a soft spot in my black heart, and it’s hard for me to tell him no. When I was first building my empire, I had the help of my uncle, yes, but Cristóbal is the one who funded most of it. He had lots of money, and he did the one thing that nobody back then did — he believed in me. He could see my potential, what I would ultimately become.
Now I am head of the familia with more money than I would ever need in ten lifetimes and more power than one man should ever have. And so, if the old man needs money for his charities, I’ll gladly fill his pockets. It’s the least I can do.
The bathroom door opens, and Aria’s familiar scent wafts in the room. My cock stirs in my boxers as I slowly stand and stalk towards her. Fuck, if she were mine, I would ravage her right now. She wouldn’t stand a chance against me. I would bring her mind-blowing pleasure until she begged me to fuck her.
Aria’s eyes widen when I come towards her. Perhaps she can sense my predatory thoughts. She stifles a gasp when I walk past her, closing the door and pressing my back to it. Releasing a sigh, I know that neither one of us is ready to cross the line between prisoner and lover. But perhaps taking her to this party will be the start of something. If she sees my other side, then maybe, just maybe she’ll start to see me as more than her captor.
