“Everything,” he whispers.
My eyes clench anew in what I can only describe as the beginnings of agony. I want so desperately to believe him, to think that this thing between us is real, but much like he doesn’t trust me, I don’t trust him, either.
Not with my heart.
He has a piece of it already, and I didn’t even give it to him willingly. He took it like he takes everything else.
Breaking free from his lips, I find myself gulping at the intensity brimming in his stare. He’s analyzing everything, drilling so deeply into me, it’s like he’s trying to catch a glimpse of my soul.
I can’t handle it.
“I thought you said we were going out?” I try averting, quirking his lips knowingly with a slight grin.
“That was before I spent the whole day with you on replay. I sat there mindless as fuck in both meetings. Your eyes, these pouty lips,” he runs his thumb along them, “esa sonrisa, este cuerpecito.” That smile, this tight little body. “All day, mami. All day long you were there with me. The only thing I wanna do right now is get you out of these clothes and get lost in you.”
Same.
I should deny him, should put my foot down and demand we do something other than fuck—because that’s all we ever do—but I want him, too.
I always want him.
Ángel isn’t comparable to any specific drug; he’s all of them combined, the most lethal concoction with the highest risk of overdose scripted in bright red across his toxic, dangerous warning label. And like the masochistic comemierda that I am, I can’t seem to get enough—despite knowing the consequences every time I take another hit.
So deep, I’ve fallen so damn deep, and I hate myself for it because I knew better. I fucking knew better. The minute I felt anything other than just pleasure, I should’ve walked away.
You still can…
It’s the softest whisper in my mind, but the verity of that thought slams into me no less—like I ran face-first into a brick wall.
I can walk away.
Not that it would be remotely easy, but it’s not like the situation itself is any easier. And if he’s going to be gone for two months, that’s more than enough time—and the perfect time—for me to somehow shed this man from my soul and rebuild my armor.
I guess the question is: could I really do it?
“Do it,” I dare him instead, barely subduing the emotional tremor threatening to rack through me. “Fuck me like it’s the last time, Ángel. Fuck me so good I’ll still feel you long after you’ve left me.”
One of his dark brows arches in confusion until he finally puts two and two together, and his puzzled expression morphs into something I’ve never seen emit from his person before.
Fear.
I can see it clearly, melding with uncertainty and desperation, a powerful implosion that results in pure, unadulterated rage once all the frayed pieces of reality hit the ground.
He knows what I’m getting at—and he doesn’t like it.
“Do you listen?” he growls viciously, barreling us through my small apartment like a hell-bent demon to my room. My bed squeaks as he tosses me atop the crimson duvet and reaches over his head to pull off his shirt. I get all of two seconds to appreciate his body before he’s on me, his weight supported on one arm. “No, seriously, Benita, do you fucking listen?”
He’s furious, bordering on manic, the gray of his eyes darker than the most thunderous clouds.
“What are you talking about?” I swallow, chest rising and falling beneath his weight. A stupid question, obviously, but he’s not giving me much to work with.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to leave you. I want you for me.”
♫ En La Intimidad - Ozuna
How many times do I have to ask him the same question?
How is it fair that I’m expected to answer, but he won’t give me the same courtesy in return?
Again, he’s not giving me much to work with other than heated words with no backing.
“Ángel, just…” I try pushing him off to give us both some much-needed distance, but I’m no match beneath his weight.
Beneath his strength.
“Just what?” he grits, clearly tired of my shit, but fuck, so am I. “Why won’t you answer me? Got me out here feeling like an idiot every time I open my mouth.”
And you got me out here feeling like an idiot, period.
I turn away from him, not wanting to dive into this conversation after the one I just had with my mom. Her words hit home in this very moment—he’s not the man for you—and I don’t want to accept them. I don’t want to accept that she’s right, regardless of the fact I know she is.
“What do you want me to tell you, Ángel? I don’t know what you want from me…”
“Coño, you’re stubborn as fuck.” He turns me back toward him, fingers digging into my cheeks. “Do you understand English o necesitas que te lo diga en Espanol? It’s you I want, Benni. Solamente tu.” Just you.
“But why?” Latching onto his wrist, I search his eyes for the answer. “Tell me why. Where is this coming from? It’s so sudden.”
“It’s not.” His grip tightens, squishing my lips together with brute force. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. The days go by quick, but the nights? I’ll lay there for hours just thinking about you, tossing and turning because my restless ass wants you right there next to me.”
Does he really, though?
Ripping myself free from his hold, my breaths shallow and uneven, I feel my eyes narrow of their own accord. “So why not say anything? You’ve had countless opportunities, including phone calls and—”
Ángel brings himself so close, words fail me as the tips of our noses touch. “Because that’s not a conversation I wanted to have over the phone. I wanted to be with you when I told you.”
All the things I want to hear, and yet, that doesn’t make them any more true, no matter how fervently they leave his mouth.
“This is crazy,” I breathe.
“Why?” He laughs softly. “And if you say, ‘the rules’ again, que Dios te ampare.” May the Lord be with you. “Think about it… We could be so good together, Benni. So. Fucking. Good. You’ve gotta know I’d take real good care of you, right?”
Oh, I know, I fucking know. Ángel and I are a force on our own, but together? We’d take the world by storm. And as for taking care of me...that’s a given. He does already…technically.
I wouldn’t have half the shit I have or be able to afford what I can if it weren’t for him.
“Take my pants off, Ángel.” Yes, I’m deflecting again, using the only weapon I have on me as a distraction to this maddening turn of events.
Or so I thought.
Lips trailing to my ear, he rolls his hips against me. “Do you need my dick inside you to believe me?”
“No.” I shake my head. “‘Cause I don’t know if I ever will.”
Ángel laughs, the dark sound a promise of my impending fate. “You say that now, but I’m going to drill it into you tonight. I don’t get why you keep underestimating me. Like I said last night, you should know better than that, mami.”