Joaquin utters a deep, quiet moan. “Anything, baby doll.”
Stroking both hands down the length of his shaft, I draw his cock into my mouth and open my throat to take him as deep as I can.
“Fuck,” he growls, thrusting his hips and pulling my hair. “I fucking love the way you suck me.”
Moaning as I repeat the motion, I cut my eyes up to look at him. His eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed, and this is a good time to plant an idea in his head.
I release his cock from my mouth and switch back to licking up and down the length. “Think about taking us back home.”
He pants, and his face contorts. “Huh?”
I circle my tongue again. “I think we should go back and try to sort things out with your parents.”
He groans again, but this time his tone is saturated with exasperation. “Fuck… honey… I will do anything you want as long as you stop talking about my parents while you’re sucking my cock.”
I simper, catching his gaze for a second. “I’m sorry,cariño.”
He grips my hair, pulling my head to him just as I sink his dick deep into my throat again. I bob my head up and down, faster and faster, and he thrusts his hips, moaning and panting, until he cups the back of my head.
“Stop,” he growls. “Come here.”
I release my hands from the base of his shaft and pin his wrists to the mattress, giving him no choice but to let me finish him. Considerate as he is, Joaquin has never let me finish him off, but as Xavier mentioned, I need to make sure I have my husband securely by the balls. And swallowing his cum is a surefire way to accomplish it.
It only takes a couple more minutes before Joaquin unleashes a guttural growl, white-knuckling the sheet as his cock twitches, and the hot, thick liquid surges down my throat. I swallow, lick my lips, and gaze up at him. His chest heaves as he stares at the ceiling for a second before reaching for my shoulders and hoisting me up to lie next to him.
He holds me against his side, his heart rate and breathing slowing, gazing at me with a look in his eyes that I’d be a fool to not recognize.
Well, God damn it.
“Natalia,” he murmurs, and here it fucking comes.
“Yes,cariño.”
“I…”
There’s a beat of silence, and I lift my brows expectantly.
Joaquin closes his mouth for a second and then opens it again. “I’ll take us back tomorrow. It means a lot to me that you care enough about my family to try to work all this out. You’re a good wife.”
So, he chickened out.
Nevertheless, he’s going to tell me eventually, and then, I’m still going to have to murder him. And with us returning to his home tomorrow, that time is swiftly approaching.
I don’t have any real experience with love—at least, outside of the one little snippet I remember of my mother. Despite that, something in me knows that killing someone who genuinely loves you is a sin above all other sins. But I’m still going to have to do it, and that bothers me more and more every day.
But I can’t let on to any of that, so I simply smile at him. “Well, you are a good husband. I want to be good to you.”
NINE
JOAQUIN
I PERCH RIGIDLY ON the edge of a loveseat in the great room at the home I’ve lived in my entire life. I’m no stranger to confrontation, chastisement, and straight-up punishment taking place in this exact room. Whenever my behavior as a child or a teen became too unruly or otherwise undesirable, this was the room in which my father handed down the consequences. Mamá was always there, too, seated on the opposite loveseat next to Papá, just like she is now. Papá would look at me with a stone-like expression, just likeheis now. And then I would get what was coming to me.
Unlikeall those previous confrontations, I’m not wrong this time. Over the past few days, I have basically gottenhighon how completelyrightI am, and howwrongmy father is. Also unlike all those previous times, Natalia, mywife, is seated supportively and lovingly next to me, her hand wrapped around my bicep, her fingers lightly stroking the fabric of my tailored Armani suit jacket. She’s dressed in a cream-colored Chanel skirt suit with neutral heels, a pile of saltwater pearls around her neck, legs crossed at the ankles. We are the perfect picture of a devoted, unified married couple, despite being newlyweds that got married as perfect strangers a couple of weeks ago.
And finally, alsounlikeall of those previous confrontations, I don’t give a fuck what my father’s about to say to me. Unlike before, I am prepared to walk away from this house forever, take whatever of my trust fund I can get away with, and invest it in a business venture that will provide for my wife, me, and our future family—just like my father did long before I was born.
As much as he hates to admit it, his blood runs hot through my veins, and I am fully capable and equipped to reject the overbearing position I was born into and create the life I deem is best for me and my wife. Again, just like he did.
