“You are in charge of my protection until I get fed up and go to Mullen myself. Or the NSA or the CIA or whoever would be interested in snatching Maldonado. I bet I would have my pick, big narco badass that he is.”
He pulled a bit out and then surged in, ripping a surprised gasp out of her. “You want to leave? Go ahead. See how far away you’d get without me. There’s a compass on top of the fireplace. Whether you like it or not, you need me.”
Suddenly she noticed his finger teasing the rosette of her ass.
“I said I don’t like that,” she bit out, her body clenching around him, discrediting her words.
“I won’t breach it. I’ll stay at the door. If you don’t come explosively, I will never touch you there again.”
Her curt “fuck you” died on her throat as he softly slid in the tip of his finger and massaged her backside, stretching her muscles while he rocked against her, giving her clit all the friction she needed.
“Fucking sweet, pet. You feel like heaven, your * wrapped around my cock, your ass flexing around my finger. Trying to suck me in. So hot.”
It was too much. Her ass was spasming, her core too. Fighting for breath, she sank her hands into his hair, spellbound by his intense eyes. He was everywhere, in front of her, inside her, enveloping her. So strong, so masterful.
“Come for me,” he whispered against her lips. “Now.”
She would have loved to disobey him but her body was going solo, imploding into a thousand pieces. Her mind too. All sparkly, bright colors, sending her into a place where there was no room for female pride or outrage. Just pleasure.
Coming down from that high was a long process. When she opened her eyes and saw the satisfied look in Jack’s, all the fuzziness from the orgasm disappeared and anger replaced it.
“You can’t stop pushing, can you, Jack? Or should I call you Alex?” She tried to wrench away, embarrassed that her body had hijacked her mind. “This is a new low for me; I don’t know the name of the man fucking me.”
His expression was fierce, he flipped her on the bed and grabbed both of her hands in one of his over her head, immobilizing her. Once he had her pinned down, he got in her face. “You know who’s fucking you. The same one who has been fucking you for the last week. Jack. There’s no Alex here. This is me. This is real. No pretending. No sugarcoating shit.”
“No kidding,” she retorted. “Alex looked like a charmer. Educated. Exuding sex appeal. Not a rude ass who takes what he wants.”
She tried pulling her arms free, and when she found she couldn’t, an unexpected and rather shameful shiver of excitement jolted through her, her * contracting.
He loomed over her, their noses touching. He looked feral. “Alex is a lowlife, cynical son of a bitch who would sell his own mother for money. It’s all a facade. Using women for his benefit. This is real,” he insisted, surging inside her to the hilt. “This is me. And you know me.”
All his restraint seemed to have vanished. He thrust into her, keeping a hard rhythm, touching all her sweet spots, and much to her dismay, and while she was trapped by the powerful grip of his hands, he sent her over again before emptying himself in her.
Jack lay on the bed, unable to move. He always made the same mistake with Elle.
Whenever he tried to use sex to reassert his position of power, the end result never changed: she always floored him, leaving him shattered.
Her breath was still labored, but she wasn’t moving either. Good, because he wouldn’t be able to chase her.
With his gaze fixed on the ceiling, he inhaled deeply and started. “Alex Ayala is the fake identity I use when I go undercover. Bulletproof cover with perfect background checks.” That multilayered identity had held up under prolonged scrutiny by major warlords and kingpins without a hitch. Until Elle, who’d blown it to hell and back. Fitting, if one took into account how fast she’d blown his head, his peace of mind, and his emotional detachment.
Hanging out with the Bowens had been a dangerous level of exposure for someone like him. Hanging out with Elle, social butterfly that she was, had been suicide.
He felt her gaze on him, but he refused to meet it.
“What does Alex Ayala do?”
“He brokers deals. Arms deals. Human-trafficking deals. Drug deals.” Alex Ayala was successful enough to socialize with the likes of Exxum at plush fund-raisers, conducting business on private islands, a great entertainer and charmer of powerful women, but ruthless enough to handle the lowlifes, willing to take risks and supervising the business from the ground level, getting his hands dirty to get ahead. “I’ve been after Maldonado for years but I haven’t been able to pin anything on him. He makes every witness disappear.”