Tease Me(33)

I went about business as usual. I was close to being done setting up here. Then I’d go back to the city, which I hadn’t told Ellie about. I wondered what she would say. It bothered me that I was worried about it. It didn’t matter. I did what had to be done. Her feelings made no difference. I tried to tell myself that there was nothing special about her, that she wasn’t anything I couldn’t pay to have.

The fact that she shouldn’t be here made me want her more. And there was something else, something I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Rough day at work?” she asked, taking a bite of a strawberry. She was wearing tight jeans that clung to her full ass. She bent over, the seam of her jeans taut against her pussy. I licked my lips, longing to taste her again. She had on a black tank top. It hung loosely around her curves, leaving what was underneath up to my memory from last night.

She was exquisite. She was lean and muscular but still had a womanly figure. Her breasts were large with small, pert nipples. She stomach was flat but still soft and supple. And her pussy—oh God, her sweet pussy—tightly folded in between long, smooth legs.

Her eyes were vivid green, captivating and wild at the same time. Her dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun today. I wanted to rip the clip out and run my fingers through her locks. She wasn’t wearing makeup, not that she needed it. She looked so raw and real, I couldn’t help but find her absolutely beautiful.

“Wait,” she said, holding up her hand. “You don’t talk about work, right? Do you even call it that? Is being a drug cartel a job?” She shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” She picked up a strawberry.

Her full lips surrounded it. She bit down. I crossed the kitchen and grabbed her waist. Ellie’s eyes widened. I picked her up and set her on the counter.

“I never talk about work,” I whispered. Then I pressed my lips to hers. They were soft, tasting like strawberries. Instantly, I wanted more. I shoved my tongue in her mouth, past her teeth until it touched hers. She kissed me back, rough and passionate. She dropped the top of the strawberry on the counter and wrapped her arms around me, leaning back and sliding her ass toward my cock.

I could feel her warmth even through the denim pants she had on. I leaned forward, bending her backward on the counter. Her hands slid down me, and she moaned, drinking me in.

Then her fingers graced the top of the Glock that was tucked in the back of my pants. She hesitated. My heart hammered.

“You know,” she whispered, taking my bottom lip between her teeth, “you should get a proper holster for this.” She grasped the gun but didn’t pull it out. “I’ve seen a few unfortunate accidents.” With a careful tug, she pulled the gun from my pants. “These things don’t have safeties.”

I didn’t move. I swallowed hard, realizing that she was holding a loaded gun. I let out my breath and closed my eyes, moving my head to lick her neck.

She shivered as my tongue ran along her collarbone.

“I would hate to see your dick blown off,” she said, sliding one hand around and taking my semi-hard shaft in her hand. She set the Glock on the counter, spinning it so the barrel was pointed away from us.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve seen dicks blown off?”

She linked her fingers with mine. “Okay, maybe I haven’t seen it personally, but I’ve heard it. I had the most boring job ever, remember? All I saw was a computer screen and after-church traffic. But hey—things got kinda crazy on Christmas and Easter.”

“You did have a pathetic life,” I said endearingly. “Working on holidays.”

She looked surprised. “You care about that stuff?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She blinked several times then shook her head. “I guess I don’t really know about you…or people like you. Cartels, I mean. I only know one side, the business side. I guess I forget you’re people too.”

Her unabashed honesty hit me. Family was important to me. I worked so hard to uphold the family name after all. My mother told me (over and over) that I needed a wife and some children. As my father’s only son, it was up to me to continue the family line.

I would never admit it to my mother—hell, I barely admitted it to myself—that if I ever did have children, I didn’t want them to live this life. I couldn’t imagine not having money. From time to time, my mind drifted to the piles of cash I had stashed away. I had more than enough to sustain myself and any children I might have for years past the end of my life.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.