I gave in.
I escaped with him to a place beyond rational comprehension, and it was the best fucking thrill of my life.
Hurrying off the bed, I stagger into the adjoining bathroom and stare at the full massacre of smashed wax and blazing marks reflecting back at me. Somewhere in the dark, fucked-up crevices of my mind, I feel as if I’m home again—like my home is in him.
The marks he left are his way of proving to me that I am his. However, that doesn't mean anything more than a token of ownership. It’s just a man who has everything claiming one more thing.
Between my thighs there’s a burning ache, a sweet sting that curses my name for wanting more. My hands tremble when I turn on the hot water and step under the showerhead. I slam my palms to the tiles to steady myself, letting the water jets crash on top of me. I desperately want to forget the emotions gripping me in a choke hold.
I’m exhausted and starving, so I drag myself out of the shower and wrap the softest towel around me before returning to the bedroom. I don't know what I expected to find, but my belly knots when I’m still alone.
Resigning myself to the fact he used me, I shake out the duvet and perch on the edge of the bed, my hair dripping and my chest heavy. It happens without my permission, the liquid resentment that burns the back of my eyes.
“I’m sure you’re hungry.” His sonorous Spanish accent comes from the doorway where André stalks toward me, eyes dark, his features shaded by shadows.
My breath catches at the sight of him, oblivious to the plate of food he’s carrying. He’s not dressed, confidence oozing from every step in the natural habitat of this confusing man.
“Here.” My brows pinch together when I look at the sandwich he offers me. “Bread, butter, banana, and a sprinkle of sugar. Just how you like it.”
I’m speechless. Quickly blinking, I swipe a finger under my lash line and dab, struggling to hide my confused vulnerability. He observes me in silence, sets the plate on the nightstand beside the glowing candle, lowers to his haunches, and stares right at me.
His head cocks to the side as he watches me build my defenses brick by brick. Then, out of the blue, he says, “Your eyes are so fucking pretty when they’re filled with tears.”
He reaches out and thumbs a solitary tear trying its best to escape from the corner of my eye. I shiver at the tender contact and swallow hard. As soon as the salty liquid coats his skin, he withdraws and stands tall before me. “Eat.”
And then he pivots and saunters away again, leaving me alone with my all-time favorite sandwich.
22
ANDRÉ
“I’m starving.”
Sinéad takes a small backpack off her shoulders and unzips it. “Here you go.” She drops a silver-foiled package onto my lap. “Mammy made extra.”
I peel it open, finding triangular-cut sandwiches neatly stacked. “Extra?”
“Yeah, for you.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and then I sink my teeth into the strangest combination I’ve ever tasted. It’s sweet, savory, and fruity, all at the same time. And to my surprise, the mushy mouthful tastes amazing, which says a lot since the Souzas and Hennessys have personal chefs.
“Banana sandwiches?”
“Aye. And a spoonful of sugar.”
“I’ve never tried anything like these before.”
She grins at me. “They’re my favorite.”
A glass of whiskey lands on the coaster in front of me, dragging my mind to the present and the quiet restaurant I’m sitting in, discreetly hidden at the rear of the secured establishment.
“There you go, sir. Can I get you anything else while you wait?” the suited server asks.
“Not at the minute. My guest won’t be long.” I glance at my iPhone on the table and consider sending my wife a message. It’s been a few days since we fucked like animals. I still have claw marks on my shoulders.
My heart pounds and the energy flowing through my veins turns electric. I’m on edge since I sank my dick into her perfect little cunt.
When she had stared up at me with those glittering turquoise eyes, the glossy tears put a bullet in my heart. She’d looked torn—miserable and irresistible in the afterglow of a filthy fuck. The irony is, I swore to her once before that I’d kill anyone who made her cry. I guess that guy is me, which probably explains why I’m so restless.
