Engaged in a constant war, with him, with herself, she was tired. So goddamn tired.
As he sensed her body begin to yield, he braced his bleeding arm on the wall beside hers and guided her other hand between her legs. She was wet, not just from the shower but from her treacherous arousal.
Twining their fingers together, he glided them through her folds and around her clit. He stroked himself, stroked her, his foreplay an endless night of mind-fucking torment.
By the time he stuffed his cock into her from behind, she was grinding in his arms and panting raggedly.
He banged her against the wall, with his hand trapping hers where they were joined. Just another of his wicked tortures, forcing her to feel his strokes with her fingers, using their hands to caress each glide of his length as he thrust.
That erotic touch brought an awareness to the connection she couldn’t ignore. Sparks of pleasure shimmered across her fevered skin. Pleasure that belonged only to them. She couldn’t fight it, didn’t want to.
Greedy and mindless, she surrendered to the climax, moaning and rocking and clawing at the shower wall.
He pulled out, spun her around, and took her again, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, hiking her up his body, so he could kiss her as deeply as he pounded into her. He came fast and hard, roaring her name and shaking from head to toe.
“Never letting you go,” he whispered long after he finished, still buried inside her, still chanting her name as he caught his breath.
It wasn’t the last time he fucked her in the shower. Over the next two weeks, he took her there, on the mattress, the floor, and everywhere.
He moved her into his room, made her sleep in his bed, and spent more time inside her than out of her.
His headaches came and went. Some days, he exercised downstairs. Every day, he worked out in her body.
When she found the energy to fight him, he restrained her with rope. When she felt herself slipping under his seductive spell, she remembered Tate.
Tate, sitting alone in a shack, with a bucket to shit in and a tattoo of the woman he loved.
That reminder helped her cling to her hatred. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto the anger forever.
Tiago was inside her, possessing her like a demon and cherishing her like a man.
She saw the truth in the devoted way he kissed her, in those breathless moments when she returned his passion with a fire of her own, in the homage that scratched his voice as he said her name.
The chemistry between them burned so hot she had to shield her eyes and look away. But she still saw it. It was Tiago who didn’t know it went both ways.
She told him she hated him, and he never doubted it. He didn’t know about the times when she felt herself swaying, softening, falling.
Someday, Tate would be free, but she would still be here, staring at the crime lord who stood at the edge of hell, with his arms open, waiting to catch her.Tiago pushed through his work out, tossing up weights and annihilating his cardio routine with a nourishing burn in his lungs.
His strength had returned, his headaches completely gone, his health back to normal.
He might’ve been fifteen years older than Kate, but he’d spent the past two weeks fucking her like he was in his twenties.
With a grunt, he grabbed a heavier weight and heaved it through a set of bicep curls. He should’ve been focused on his upcoming return to Caracas, but his thoughts constantly wandered back to her.
What was she doing right now? Was she staring at the front door and plotting her escape? Or was she caressing the lush curves of her greedy body and thinking about his hands?
She despised him with every breath she took, but she loved the way he touched her, kissed her, and moved inside the tight clasp of her cunt.
“Goddamn.” His skin tingled and heated.
He dropped the weight and dragged a towel down his face.
They were leaving for Caracas in just a few days. He didn’t want her anywhere near the cesspool of his organization, but he would never leave without her. Hell, he couldn’t even bear being in a different part of the house than her.
Finished with the work out, he exited the backroom and stepped into the hall.
Iliana had stayed out of his way since he set the record straight. She and the other guards received the same message two weeks ago.
He and Kate were off-limits.
No more touching or flirting.
No sharing.
Kate would be treated with the same respect as Boones. Keeping her and the old doctor safe was his top priority, and he made certain his security team knew it was theirs, too.
As he prowled down the hall toward the kitchen, the sweet sound of her voice reached his ears. He peered around the corner and found her at the table with Boones.