“Here,” she says, stopping in front of me and handing me the pot. “Ana wanted you to have this.”
“She did?” Surprised, I take the heavy offering. The aroma seeping through the lid is rich and savory, making my mouth water. “Why?”
Esguerra’s housekeeper occasionally sends some cookies or extra fruit to the guards, but this is the first time she’s singled me out like this.
“I don’t know.” For some reason, Rosa’s rounded cheeks turn pink. “I think she just made some extra soup, and Nora and the Señor didn’t want it.”
“I see.” I don’t see, but I’m not about to argue with what smells like a delicious meal. “Well, I’ll gladly eat it if they don’t want it.”
“They don’t. It’s for you.” She gives me a hesitant smile. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say, studying the maid. She’s pretty, with lush curves and sparkling brown eyes, and as I watch her flush deepen under my gaze, it dawns on me that the middle-aged housekeeper might not have been the one behind this.
Rosa’s interested in me. I’m suddenly sure of that.
Doing my best to conceal my discomfort, I wish her a good night and turn away. A couple of months ago, I would’ve been flattered and gladly accepted the invitation evident in the girl’s shy smile. Now, however, all I can think about is the long-legged blonde waiting for me at home and the dirty, savage things I want to do to her.
“Bye,” Rosa calls out as I resume walking, and I give her a neutral smile over my shoulder.
“Thanks for the soup,” I say, but she’s already hurrying back to the house, her maid’s black dress billowing around her like a shroud.#p#分页标题#e#
As soon as I get home, I put the pot in the refrigerator and then go to the living room. I find my prisoner exactly where I left her: tied up in the chair in the middle of the room. Yulia’s head is lowered, her long blond hair veiling most of her upper body. She doesn’t move as I approach, and I realize she must’ve fallen asleep.
Crouching in front of her, I begin untying her ankles, trying to ignore my reaction to her nearness. With her legs bound apart, I can see the tender folds between her thighs, and I recall with sudden vividness how her pussy tasted—and felt around my cock.
Fuck.
I look down at my hands, determined to focus on my task. It doesn’t help. As my fingers brush over her silky skin, I notice that her feet are long and slender, like the rest of her. Despite her height, her build is delicate, her ankles so narrow I can encircle each one with my thumb and index finger.
It would take no effort at all to break those fragile bones. The thought cuts through my haze of lust, and I seize upon it, welcoming the distraction. That’s what I need: to think of her as an enemy, not as a desirable woman. And as an enemy, she’d be easy to torment. With just a bit of pressure, I could snap her feet in half. I know, because I’ve done it. A couple of years ago, a Thai missile manufacturer double-crossed us, and we retaliated by killing his entire family. The man’s wife tried to hide her husband and teenage sons, but we tortured their location out of her, breaking every bone in her legs in the process.
We haven’t had trouble in Thailand since.
That’s what I should do with Yulia: hurt her, make her reveal her secrets, and then kill her. That’s what Esguerra expects me to do.
That’s what I’d planned to do after I had my fill of her.
Her leg twitches, tensing in my grasp, and I look up to find Yulia awake, her blue eyes locked on my face.
“You’re back,” she says quietly, and I nod, rendered mute by a brutal spike of renewed lust. My cock, already semi-stiff, turns into an iron rod in my shorts, and I realize that my right hand is sliding up her inner calf, as though of its own accord. Higher, higher... I can feel her tensing even more, sense her breathing changing as her pupils expand, and I know she’s scared.
Scared and maybe something else, judging by the color creeping up her face.
Unable to resist the dark compulsion, I let my hand continue on its journey, my fingers trailing over the pale curve of her knee and the softness of her inner thigh. Her leg muscles are so tightly bunched they vibrate under my touch, and under the veil of her hair, her nipples harden, drawing into taut pink buds.
Her throat works as she swallows. “Lucas—”
I don’t hear what she’s about to say because at that moment, my phone buzzes loudly in my pocket.
Son of a bitch.
Livid with frustration, I yank my hand away from Yulia’s thigh and pull out my phone. Glancing down, I see a message from Diego.