"Ah! Master—!" Her voice was a needy whine, her body arching into the pain. "It's too much—I'm going to—"
I could feel her pussy fluttering around me, her orgasm building. I leaned down and captured her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her moans as I fucked her through it.
Ema's pussy was swollen and dripping, her walls clinging to my cock like a second skin, every ridge of me stretching her to the limit.
She was whimpering nonstop, her fingers clawing at my back, her short nails biting into my skin as she panted, "Oh god, Master, it's too deep—"
Her voice was thick with need, her breath hitching as my cock swelled inside her. I could feel her pussy fluttering around me, her body trembling on the edge of something big. "You can take it," I growled, my voice rough as gravel. "You were made to take my cum, Ema."
Her breath hitched, her thighs shaking violently as I pounded into her harder. The slap of skin filled the room, the wet, obscene sounds of her pussy taking me, mixing with her broken moans.
"I—I can't—" she sobbed, but her hips rolled up, her feet hooking behind my back, pulling me deeper. "It's too much—"
I could feel my orgasm building, my cock throbbing, swelling inside her tight heat. "You're gonna take every drop," I snarled, my fingers digging into her hips. "And you're gonna fucking love it."
Her eyes rolled back, her back arching off the floor as I slammed into her one last time—
"Oh god, Master—!"
My cock erupted, the first hot spurt of cum hitting deep inside her. Ema screamed, her body convulsing as my release flooded her womb. The pressure was too much—her pussy clenched around me, and then—
"Oh my god—! I'm—! Nngh—!"
A gush of fluid sprayed out from between her legs, soaking the rug beneath us. Her eyes flew open, her mouth falling slack as she realized what was happening.
"What the fuck—?!" she choked out, her voice panicked. "Master, I—I'm pissing—?!"
"No," I growled, my cock still pulsing inside her, filling her with cum. "You're squirting, you filthy slut. Because my cock feels that good inside you."
Her face burned crimson, her breath coming in ragged gasps as another wave hit her, her pussy gushing again. "No—! I—I don't—! Ah—! I don't do this—!" she sobbed, but her hips kept bucking, her body betraying her as she sprayed again, her juices mixing with my cum.
"You do now," I snarled, my fingers twisting her nipple rings as I fucked her through it. "Because I own this pussy. And it loves my cock."
"Fuck—!" she whined, but her legs locked around me, her heels digging into my ass, forcing me deeper.
I growled, my cock twitching as I emptied the last of my cum inside her. "Take it," I ordered. "Every. Fucking. Drop."
Her back bowed, her mouth open in a silent scream as her pussy milked me dry, her squirt soaking the floor beneath us.
"God—" she panted, her chest heaving, her body trembling. "I—I've never—!"
"You have now," I said, my voice dark with satisfaction. "And you're mine."
She whimpered, her pussy still fluttering around my cock as I pulled out, my cum dripping from her ruined hole.
"Yes, Master," she breathed, her voice broken, her body spent. "Yours." Her fingers traced lazy circles on my chest, her breath still ragged. "That was... oh my god, Master. I didn't know I could—"
"You can," I cut her off, my hand sliding up to grip her throat gently. "Because you're mine. And your body knows it."
The moment my cock slipped free from Ema's well-used pussy, she immediately dropped to her knees, her plump lips wrapping around the head with a hungry moan. Her tongue swirled around the cock, lapping up every drop of our mixed fluids with obscene enthusiasm.
"Mmm... so delicious, Master," she purred, her eyes locked onto mine as she took me deep, her throat fluttering around the tip. The wet, sloppy sounds of her sucking filled the air, her fingers massaging my thighs as she worshipped my cock like it was her sacred duty.
When she finally released me with a lewd pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to my cock, she didn't hesitate. Turning with fluid grace, she assumed the perfect doggy position, her round, heart-shaped ass presented to me like an offering.
The cheeks were pale and smooth, slightly jiggling as she spread them wider with trembling fingers, revealing her tight, pink asshole—glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, puckered and untouched, the delicate folds quivering in anticipation.
"Such a perfect little hole," I murmured, my thumb tracing the sensitive ring of muscle. Ema shivered, her breath hitching as she pushed her ass back, silently begging for more. "You want me here, slut?"
"Yes, Master," she whimpered, her voice thick with need. "I want you everywhere."
I didn't give her time to prepare.
Positioning myself behind her, I gripped my cock and pressed the throbbing head against her virgin asshole. Ema froze, her breath catching as she realized what was coming. "Master, I—I've never—"
Before she could finish, I slammed forward, the wide head of my cock breaching her tight ring in one brutal thrust.
Ema's scream was raw and guttural, her body locking up as her asshole stretched obscenely around my girth. "Oh—fuck—!" she choked, her fingers clawing at the rug, her knuckles turning white. "It's—it's ripping me—!"
"That's the point," I growled, my hands digging into her hips as I forced another inch inside. Her ass clenched around me, the burning stretch making her whimper in pain and pleasure. "You were made to take my cock anywhere, Ema. Even this tight little ass."
Her moans turned desperate, her body trembling as I pounded into her, my cock destroying her virgin ass. "Master—! It's too much!" she sobbed, but her hips rolled back, taking me deeper despite her protests. "I can't—nngh—I can't take it—!"
"You can," I snarled, my fingers twisting her nipple rings as I fucked her harder, my cock swelling inside her tight heat. "And you will."
Her asshole fluttered around me, the obscene squelching of her stretched hole filling the room. "Oh god—!" she wailed, her voice cracking. "I'm your slut—! Your ass slut—!"
"Damn right you are," I growled, my hips snapping forward, my cock hitting depths she never knew existed. "And you're gonna take my cum in this ass like the filthy whore you are."
"Yes—!" she screamed, her body convulsing as I slammed into her, my cock throbbing inside her. "Give it to me, Master! Breed my ass—!"
With a rough groan, I buried myself to the hilt and came, my cum flooding her ass as she screamed, her body shuddering with the force of it. Her asshole pulsed around my cock, milking every last drop as she collapsed beneath me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Such a good slut," I murmured, my hand sliding over her sore, well-used ass as I pulled out, my cum dripping from her gaping hole. "You took me so well, Ema."
She whimpered, her body spent but her voice still thick with need. "For you, Master," she breathed, her fingers tracing lazy circles on the rug. "Always for you." Her ass twitched, still leaking my cum, her voice soft but eager. "Can I... can I lick it clean, Master?"
The door creaked open just as Ema was about to lean down to lick my cock clean.
My head snapped toward the sound, and there stood Marina, her arms crossed, her eyes blazing with a mix of amusement and dominance. "You..." she said, her voice dripping with a dangerous sweetness that made my cock twitch.
Ema's face paled, her body freezing mid-motion. "M-Master's wife—!" she stammered, her voice trembling as she scrambled to cover herself. "I was just—"
Marina's smile was sharp, her fingers curling into Ema's hair before she could finish. "You are stealing my man," Marina purred, her voice like velvet wrapped around a blade. "You deserve to be punished, don't you?"
Ema's breath hitched, her body trembling as Marina yanked her forward, shoving her face directly onto my still-hard cock. "Mmmph—!" Ema gagged instantly, her nose pressing against my skin as Marina forced her to take me deep. Saliva dripped from her lips, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe.
"That's right," Marina cooed, her fingers tightening in Ema's hair as she ground her face against my cock. "Choke on it, slut. Show me how sorry you are."
Ema's whimpers were muffled, her nose running, tears streaming down her face as Marina held her there, her lips sealed around the base of my shaft. She gurgled, her chest heaving as she fought for air, but Marina didn't let up.
"Look at you," Marina murmured, her voice dark with satisfaction. "Such a filthy little whore, stealing what's mine." She finally pulled Ema back, letting her gasp for air, her face a mess of snot, tears, and saliva.
Ema coughed violently, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "I... I-I'm sorry, Mistress—!" she sobbed, her voice broken.
Marina smirked, her fingers trailing down Ema's cheek before gripping her chin. "You will be," she said, her voice cold and sweet.
"But first... you're going to clean him up properly." She shoved Ema's face back onto my cock, this time letting her lick—but only because she ordered it.
Ema obeyed instantly, her tongue swirling around the head, her moans vibrating against my skin as she worshipped me under Marina's watchful gaze.
"Good girl," Marina purred, her hand patting Ema's head like a pet. "Now... let's see how well you can share."
Marina's fingers traced lazy circles on Ema's head, her dark eyes flickering with amusement as she leaned in closer to my cock. The air was thick with the scent of sex—Ema's musk, my cum, the raw tang of her ass—and Marina inhaled deeply, her nose wrinkling in exaggerated disgust.
"Ugh," she said, her voice dripping with feigned revulsion as she pulled back slightly. "What is this smell?" Her fingers pinched her nose dramatically, her lips curling into a sneer. "Did you seriously just fuck her asshole, husband? Without even cleaning her first?"
I could see the glint of mischief in her eyes, the way her lips twitched as she fought to keep her expression serious. She was playing, and we both knew it. But the game was too good to resist.
Before she could say another word, I gripped the base of my cock and swung, slapping it hard against her cheek.
The wet smack echoed through the room, Marina's head snapping to the side from the force. A thin trail of pre-cum and Ema's juices smeared across her skin, glistening in the dim light.
"How dare you?" I growled, my voice rough with mock outrage. "My cock doesn't stink—it smells like my slut's ass, and you fucking love it."
Marina's breath hitched, her fingers pressing against her cheek where the red imprint of my cock still lingered. For a second, she looked genuinely shocked—then her expression melted into something dark and hungry.
"Oh, do I?" she purred, her voice dropping into a sultry purr as she turned her face back toward me. Her tongue darted out, licking the smear from her cheek with slow, deliberate strokes. "Mmm... maybe you're right."
She didn't stop there. Her hand wrapped around the base of my cock, her thumb brushing over the head before she pressed it against her lips, her tongue swirling around the tip. "But if it's my husband's cock," she murmured, her breath hot against my skin, "then it should taste like me, shouldn't it?"
Ema whimpered beside her, her body trembling as she watched Marina claim what was hers.
Marina shot her a sharp, possessive glance before turning her attention back to me. "On your knees, slut," she ordered Ema, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And watch how a real woman pleases her man."
Ema obeyed instantly, her body folding to the floor as she knelt beside Marina, her eyes wide and hungry as she watched. Marina didn't waste a second. Her lips parted, her tongue flattening against the underside of my cock as she took me deep into her throat, her gag reflex nonexistent as she swallowed around the head.
"Fuck," I groaned, my fingers tangling in her hair as she bobbed her head, her lips sealed tight around the base. The wet, sloppy sounds of her sucking filled the room, her free hand massaging my balls as she worked me with expert precision.
She pulled back with a lewd pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to my cock. "See that, Ema?" she purred, her voice thick with arrogance as she turned to look at the other girl. "This is how you really please a man."
Ema's breath hitched, her fingers clenching against her thighs as she watched. "Y-Yes, Mistress," she whispered, her voice trembling with need.
Marina smirked, her hand tightening around my cock as she guided it back to her lips. "Good," she murmured, her tongue flicking against the tip. "Now crawl over here and lick my husband's balls while I finish what you started."
Ema didn't hesitate. She scurried forward, her lips pressing against the sensitive skin of my balls, her tongue swirling as Marina took me deep again. The dual sensations—Marina's tight throat, Ema's wet tongue—had me groaning, my hips rolling forward as I fucked Marina's mouth.
"That's it," Marina moaned around my cock, her voice vibrating against my skin. "Show me how desperate you are to please him."
Ema's moans grew louder, her tongue working frantically as she worshipped my balls, her fingers digging into my thighs. Marina's eyes rolled back as she took me all the way, her throat fluttering around the head of my cock.
"Fuck, I'm close," I growled, my fingers tightening in Marina's hair.
She pulled back, her lips glistening as she grinned up at me. "Then cum, husband," she purred. "But not in my mouth..." She turned her head slightly, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "On my face."
Ema whimpered, her tongue never stopping as Marina stroked me, her hand moving fast as she aimed my cock at her flushed cheeks.
"Do it," she breathed. "Mark me."
With a rough groan, I erupted, the first hot spurt of cum splattering across her cheek. Marina moaned, her tongue darting out to catch the next rope as it landed on her lips. Ema whined, her mouth still working my balls as she watched my cum paint Marina's face.
"Good girl," I panted, my cock twitching as the last drops dripped onto Marina's chin.
She licked her lips, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she turned to Ema. "Now you clean the rest," she ordered, her voice dripping with dominance.
Ema didn't hesitate. She crawled forward, her tongue swiping up the trails of cum on Marina's face, her moans growing desperate as she licked her clean.
Marina smirked, her fingers carding through Ema's hair. "Such a good slut," she purred. "But remember…" She gripped Ema's chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. "You share. You don't steal."
I lunged forward, my hands gripping Marina's hips with bruising force as I flipped her onto the bed. She let out a surprised yelp as I spread her legs wide, her asshole clenching under my gaze—glistening, used, and still dripping from earlier. I leaned in, inhaling deeply, the musky, earthy scent of her filling my lungs.
"You asshole is even more stinky," I growled, my voice thick with dark amusement. "Filthy girl."
Marina's lips curled into a wicked smirk as she twisted around, her thighs squeezing my head as she lowered herself onto my face. "Then I'll stink you to death," she purred, her voice dripping with challenge.
The moment Marina's asshole pressed against my face, the overpowering stench hit me like a fucking wall—thick, musky, and so goddamn rank it made my cock twitch.
It wasn't just the scent of sex; it was days of sweat, the tang of her pussy juices, the raw, animalic musk of a woman who knew exactly how filthy she was.
My nose wrinkled for half a second before I fucking dove in, my tongue already flat and hungry against her puckered hole.
"Mmm, that's right," Marina moaned, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction as she ground her ass against my face. "Smell that, husband? That's your wife's ass. The one you love so much."
I groaned, my hands digging into her thighs as I spread her cheeks wider, my nose burying itself in the stinking heat of her.
The edge of her asshole rubbed against my lips, the slick, dirty taste of her flooding my mouth. "Fuck, you're disgusting," I growled, but my tongue was already pushing inside, fucking her like a starved animal.
"Oh, you love it," she taunted, her hips rolling as she smeared her asshole all over my face. "Admit it. You live for this filthy hole."
I mumbled something incoherent against her skin, my nose pressing into the soft, stinking flesh of her ass as my tongue speared deeper. The musky, salty taste of her filled my mouth, her sweat and cum coating my lips. I could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of my tongue fucking her, the obscene squelching of her tight ring around me.
"That's it," she panted, her fingers tangling in my hair as she fucked my face. "Get in there. Taste me. Breathe me."
I growled, my nose grinding against her dirty hole, my tongue swirling inside her. The stench was intoxicating, the taste even better. I could feel her asshole pulsing around my tongue, her body trembling as she ground herself against me.
"You're such a good boy," she cooed, her voice breathy and filthy. "My perfect little ass-licker."
I twisted my tongue inside her, and she gasped, her hips jerking as she pushed herself harder against my face. "Fuck—! Right there—!ngh—! I'm gonna—!"
Her moans turned desperate, her body tensing as she rode my face. I could feel her getting closer, her asshole clenching around my tongue. "You're gonna what?" I mumbled, my lips muffled against her skin.
"I'm gonna piss," she whimpered, her voice shaking. "I can't—ah—I can't hold it—!"
I didn't stop. I fucked her asshole harder, my tongue buried deep as I groaned against her. "Do it," I snarled. "Piss on my face, you filthy slut."
Marina whined, her body shuddering as the first hot stream of her piss splashed across my cheek. "Oh god—!" she cried, her bladder emptying all over me, the warm, salty liquid soaking my face, dripping into my mouth.
I didn't pull away. I kept licking, my tongue still buried in her ass as her piss painted my skin. The mixed scents of her ass, her piss, and her sweat filled my nose, and I fucking loved it.
"Good boy," she panted, her body sagging as the last drops dripped onto my lips. "Such a good boy for your wife."
I pulled back, my face glistening with her filth, my lips slick with her piss and ass. "Fuck," I growled, my cock throbbing as I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
Marina grinned, her eyes dark with satisfaction. "Now that's how you worship a wife's ass," she purred, her fingers trailing down my chest. "But we're not done yet."
She turned, her ass still dripping, and crawled toward Ema, who was still sprawled on the bed, her legs spread, her pussy glistening.
Marina's voice dripped with dark promise as she turned her attention to Ema, her fingers already curling around the other girl's throat. "Your turn, slut," she growled, her voice sending shivers down my spine. "Let's see how well you take what's coming."
Before Ema could react, Marina shoved her onto the bed, forcing her into a perfect doggy position. Ema's ass was round and trembling, her pussy still dripping from earlier, her asshole twitching in anticipation. Marina didn't hesitate—she dropped into position beside her, her own ass raised in the air, her pussy glistening with need.
I didn't waste a second.
Gripping my throbbing cock, I lined up with Marina's tight asshole—still slick from her own juices and the filth of her earlier orgasm. She gasped as I pressed the head against her, but before she could react, I slammed forward, burying myself in one brutal thrust.
"FUCK—!" Marina screamed, her back arching as her asshole stretched obscenely around my cock. "Oh god—! It's—ngh—it's too much—!"
I didn't stop. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her skin as I pounded into her, my balls slapping against her dripping pussy. The wet, slapping sounds of my cock destroying her ass filled the room, her moans turning desperate as she tried to take every inch.
"You love it," I growled, my voice rough as I twisted her nipple ring, making her scream. "Your filthy ass was made for my cock."
"Yes—!" she sobbed, her body trembling as I fucked her harder. "I—I love it—! But—ah!—Ema—!"
I followed her gaze to where Ema was watching, her fingers clutching the sheets, her pussy dripping with need. "You want her?" I snarled, my hips snapping forward as I buried myself in Marina's ass.
"Y-Yes—!" Marina whimpered, her voice breaking. "I want her to watch—! To learn—!"
I grinned, my hand reaching for Ema, yanking her closer. "Then watch," I ordered, my voice dark. "Watch how your Mistress takes my cock in her ass—!"
Ema whined, her eyes wide as she crawled closer, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Please, Master—" she begged, her voice trembling. "Let me help—!"
I fucked them both relentlessly—hard, deep, and without mercy—until they were nothing but trembling, breathless wrecks beneath me. Their tight assholes clenched around my cock, milking every last drop of cum as I filled them again and again, while their dripping pussies took every inch, swollen and soaked from being used so thoroughly.
By the time I was done, they were ruined—whimpering, leaking, and completely owned, their bodies still twitching from the sheer force of how I'd claimed them.
I ran a hand over Marina's sore ass, my fingers spreading her cheeks to watch my cum seep from her used hole. She whimpered, her body twitching at the touch, too exhausted to do more than moan softly. "Mmm... Husband..." she murmured, her voice hoarse, her eyes half-lidded with spent lust.
Ema was no better off, her chest heaving as she trembled, her pussy still clenching around nothing, aching for more even as her body gave out. "I—I can't..." she whined, her fingers weakly clutching the sheets, her legs spread obscenely, cum dripping from both her holes.
I chuckled darkly, my cock still throbbing from the brutal fucking I'd given them. The sheets were ruined, soaked in their juices and my cum, the floor slick with squirt and sweat.
The room smelled like sex—raw, animalistic, and filthy—the kind of scent that lingered in the air, clinging to everything it touched.
I gripped Marina's hip, pulling her closer as I pressed two fingers against her cum-filled pussy, pushing them inside just to watch her flinch and moan. "Still so tight," I murmured, my voice rough. "Even after all that cum."
She whimpered, her hips rolling weakly against my hand. "Aaaah.. husband... I can't take it anymore..." she panted, her body still craving more despite the exhaustion.
Ema whined beside her, her fingers slipping between her own thighs, rubbing her sore clit with a desperate need. "Master..." she begged, her voice breaking.
"You need nothing," I cut her off, my hand leaving Marina to grip Ema's chin, forcing her to look at me. "You took what you needed. Now you rest."
She whined, but obeyed, her hand falling away from her pussy as she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving.
I stood, my cock still glistening with their mixed fluids, and surveyed the mess we'd made. The room was a disaster—cum-stained, sweat-slicked, and reeking of sex. But fuck, it was perfect.
I scooped Marina up first, her limp body melting against mine as I carried her to the bathroom. The warm water hit her skin as I washed her, my fingers tracing the sore, well-used folds of her pussy before cleaning the cum dripping from her asshole. She whimpered as I pressed the cloth against her, her body still sensitive from the pounding.
"Mmm..." she murmured, her voice hoarse, her eyes half-lidded as she leaned into my touch. "You're too good to us, husband."
I smirked, then moved to Ema, lifting her into the shower next. The water rinsed the dried cum from her thighs, her pussy still swollen and leaking. I washed her gently, my fingers spreading her cheeks to clean the cum seeping from her asshole. She moaned softly, her body arching into my touch.
"Master..." she breathed, her voice trembling. "I didn't know it could feel like that..."
I chuckled, helping them both dry off before dressing them. The room was still a mess—cum-stained sheets, the floor slick with their squirt, the air heavy with the scent of sex.
When we stepped out, Eva was standing in the doorway, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes darting around the room.
She was sniffing the air, her nose wrinkling slightly before she quickly straightened, pretending she hadn't been inhaling the filthy scent of what we'd just done.
Ema blushed deeply, her eyes dropping to the floor. "E-Eva..." she stammered, her voice shy. "Help me clean the room..."
Eva's face burned crimson, her fingers twisting in the hem of her dress. "Y-Yes, of course..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Unlike Ema, she wasn't bold or proactive—she was shy, hesitant, the kind of girl who blushed at the thought of being caught in a moment like this.
Marina bit her lip, her cheeks flushing as she glanced at Eva. "You... heard everything, didn't you?" she asked, her voice teasing but tinged with embarrassment.
Eva's eyes flicked between us, her breath hitching. "I—I didn't mean to—" she stammered, her gaze dropping again. "I just... I was passing by and—"
"And you liked what you heard," I cut in, my voice low and knowing. I stepped closer, my fingers tilting her chin up so she had to meet my eyes. "Didn't you?"
Eva's lips parted, her breath coming faster. "I—I—"
"It's okay," Ema said softly, her hand gently touching Eva's arm. "We won't tell anyone..."
Marina smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, we won't?" She stepped forward, her finger tracing Eva's flushed cheek. "Or... maybe we should show her what she's been missing..."
Eva's breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists at her sides—not from fear, but from the electric thrill of anticipation. The air between us crackled, charged with something unspoken, something raw.
I leaned back, a slow grin spreading across my face. "Clean the room first," I said, my voice a velvet threat, low and deliberate. "Then... we'll see just how well you follow orders, Eva."
She held my gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, her lips parting as if to argue, but she only nodded. With a final, lingering glance, she turned and motioned for Ema to follow. The two of them moved through the room, their movements efficient but tense, like predators pretending to be domesticated.
Marina looped her arm through mine, pulling me toward the door. "You're enjoying this too much," she murmured, but there was a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
We stepped outside, the warm Mexican evening wrapping around us like a blanket. Grandma was seated on the porch, her hands busy with a half-finished embroidery. She squinted up at us as we approached. "Going out?" she asked, her voice raspy but sharp.
Marina nodded. "Just for a bit. The night's too nice to waste."
Grandma's eyes flicked to me, then back to Marina. "Take Eva and Ema with you," she said suddenly. "They're always cooped up here, taking care of me. Never get a moment to themselves. Let them have some fun."
Marina didn't hesitate. "Of course." She turned and called out, "Eva! Ema! Get dressed. We're going out."
Eva's face lit up, her earlier tension dissolving into excitement. Ema, ever the quieter of the two, simply nodded and disappeared inside to change.
We piled into a taxi, the city lights blurring past the windows as we headed toward the shopping center. The girls chattered animatedly, their voices a bright contrast to the hum of the engine.
Marina leaned into me, her laughter warm against my shoulder. I let myself relax, just for a moment.
-x-X-x-
The shopping center was alive with noise and color. Marina, Eva, and Ema vanished into the crowd, their arms laden with bags, almost immediately. I, however, had no interest in shopping.
I found a quiet coffee shop tucked into a corner, ordered a black coffee, and settled into a chair by the window.
As I lounged in the coffee shop, my fingers tracing the rim of my espresso cup, a familiar presence prickled at the edge of my awareness.
My gaze lifted, and there she was—a woman in a crisp police uniform, her boots clicking against the tiled floor with deliberate, predatory rhythm.
The badge glinted under the café lights, but it was her face that made my pulse kick up. Sarah. Carolina's sister-in-law.
She didn't just walk toward me—she stalked, like a panther who'd finally cornered her prey.
A slow, dangerous smile curled her lips as she stopped directly in front of my table. The scent of her perfume—something sharp, like gunpowder and jasmine—mingled with the bitter aroma of coffee.
"Well, well," she purred, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. "If it isn't Jack Reynolds himself. Slumming it in a Mexican coffee shop? How... pedestrian of you."
I leaned back in my chair, my smirk never wavering. "Officer Sarah. What a pleasant surprise."
Her eyes flashed, and before I could react, she lunged forward, her fingers clamping around the collar of my shirt like a vise. She yanked me upward, the fabric straining against my throat.
From my seated position, I had a very up-close view of her uniform—how it hugged her curves, the way the buttons of her shirt strained just enough to tease. Damn, she looked good in that uniform. Too good.
"Finally got you, you arrogant piece of shit," she hissed, her breath hot against my face.
I swallowed hard, but my voice remained smooth, unshaken. "Officer, I think there's been a terrible misunderstanding. You wouldn't want to make a scene in front of all these innocent civilians, would you?"
Sarah let out a sharp, mocking laugh, her grip tightening. "Misunderstanding?"
She leaned in closer, her lips brushing the shell of my ear as she whispered, "I know everything about you, Mr. Billionaire. Every dirty secret. Everybody you've buried. And I know I can't touch you in America—too many of your little puppets in high places. But here?"
She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her fingers still twisted in my collar. "This is Mexico, Jack. And in Mexico, money doesn't buy everything."
I raised an eyebrow, my voice cool. "You're making some very serious accusations, Officer Sarah. Care to enlighten me? What exactly am I supposed to have done?"
Her grin was razor-sharp. "Oh, you're going to love this." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, slapping it against my chest. "You're under arrest for the murder of Alejandro Ruiz. Ring any bells?"
I didn't even glance at the paper. "Never heard of him."
Sarah's laughter was a dark, velvety sound. "Of course you haven't. Because he was just another pawn in your little games, wasn't he? But here's the thing, Jack—I know. And I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."
She released my collar with a shove, sending me stumbling back into my chair. "I knew you'd come back eventually. You took Marina and her sister-in-law to America, but you left Grandma behind. Stupid move."
She leaned down, her hands braced on the arms of my chair, caging me in. "I had my men watching her like hawks. Just waiting for you to slip up."
I kept my expression neutral, but my mind raced. SERA had wiped everything clean. No evidence. No trail. Sarah was bluffing. She had to be.
As if reading my thoughts, she straightened and turned her head slightly, her voice carrying across the café. "Officers! Take him into custody."
The men who'd been blending into the background—just ordinary customers sipping coffee, scrolling on their phones—stood in unison. Their jackets parted just enough to reveal the glint of badges. Undercover. Of course.
One of them stepped forward, handcuffs already out, but Sarah held up a hand. "No. I'll do it."
I couldn't help it—I laughed. This was rich. "You're really going to cuff me yourself, Sarah? Afraid your boys won't do it right?"
Her eyes burned with fury, but she didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she grabbed my wrists, her fingers digging into my skin as she jerked them behind my back. The cold metal of the handcuffs clicked into place, the weight oddly comforting. I twisted my hands experimentally, testing her grip.
Sarah leaned in again, her lips brushing my ear as she fastened the cuffs. "That smirk is going to be the first thing I wipe off your face," she murmured.
"You think your money makes you untouchable? That everyone can be bought?" She pulled back, her gaze raking over me with disgust.
"Not me, Jack. I don't care how many zeros are in your bank account. I'm going to enjoy watching you rot in a Mexican prison."
I met her glare with a slow, deliberate smile. "You're adorable when you're angry, Sarah."
Her hand snapped out, gripping my chin hard enough to bruise. "I'm not angry," she spat. "I'm ecstatic. Because I finally have you right where I want you."
The commotion had drawn a crowd now. I spotted Marina first, her heels clicking furiously against the floor as she stormed toward us, Ema and Eva trailing behind, their faces pale with shock.
"Officer Sarah!" Marina's voice was a whip-crack. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Looking at Marina like this... I guess she also remembers Sarah.
Sarah didn't even glance at her. "Stay out of this, Marina. This doesn't concern you."
Marina's eyes were wild, her chest heaving. "Like hell it doesn't! You can't just—"
"Master!" Ema and Eva cried in unison, their voices trembling as they clutched at each other.
Sarah finally turned, her expression dripping with false sympathy. "Oh, don't worry, girls. I'll make sure your master gets a very fair trial."
She grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a date with a prison cell."
I let her drag me, but not before throwing one last smirk over my shoulder at Marina. "Don't worry, darling. I'll be fine."
Marina's gaze locked onto mine, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous—trust. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, the kind that promised secrets and shared understanding.
She didn't need to say it out loud; we both knew the truth. I'd be fine. No handcuffs, no prison cell, not even Sarah's burning vendetta could keep me down for long. But the smirk playing at the corners of her mouth told me she was enjoying the show just as much as I was.
Still, she sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the café doorway, watching Sarah drag me away. The fun had been ruined—at least for tonight.
And Marina hated when our plans got derailed. Not because she feared for me, but because she lived for the chaos, the thrill of the game. And Sarah, with her dramatic arrest and her undercover goons, had just stolen the spotlight.
She tilted her head, her voice dripping with faux concern as she called after me, "Try not to make too many friends in there, mi rey. You know how jealous I get."
Sarah's grip on my arm was iron as she marched me toward a sleek black police cruiser, its lights casting eerie blue reflections on the pavement. She wrenched the back door open with more force than necessary and shoved me inside, the metal frame digging into my shoulder blades as I slumped onto the seat.
Through the window, I caught sight of her colleague climbing into another cruiser parked just behind us, and beyond that, a convoy of police vehicles—lights flashing, engines idling. I raised an eyebrow. "Damn, Officer Sarah. You brought the entire cavalry just for little ol' me? Flattered, but a little overkill, don't you think?"
She slammed the door shut with a resounding thud that rattled the windows. A second later, she yanked open the driver's side and slid in, her movements sharp with barely contained rage. The car smelled like leather, gun oil, and her—something dark and intoxicating, like revenge wrapped in perfume.
I leaned forward, pressing my cuffed hands against the metal grate separating us. "Seriously, though. All this for me? I'm touched."
Sarah jammed the key into the ignition, her knuckles white. "You're a murderer," she snapped, her voice vibrating with fury. "Of course, we take precautions. You think I'd let you anywhere near a station without backup? After what you've done?"
I smirked. "Oh, come on. You're not that scared of me, are you?"
Her jaw clenched as she peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching. The city lights blurred past the windows, the hum of the engine the only sound between us for a long, charged moment.
Then, because I lived to poke the bear, I tilted my head and asked, "Hey, Officer Sarah... this isn't just professional, is it? This isn't about justice." I let the words hang in the air, deliberate, taunting. "This is personal. This is about your brother. What was his name again... Peter?"
The car swerved violently, nearly clipping a streetlamp. Sarah's hands tightened on the wheel, her voice a guttural snarl. "Shut. Up."
I chuckled, low and dark. "Ooooh, did I hit a nerve?"
She didn't answer, but her grip on the wheel was so fierce I half-expected it to snap.
I pressed on, twisting the knife. "I mean, it's not my fault Peter couldn't keep it in his pants. Or that he betrayed Carolina like that. Hell, if you ask me, he got what he deserved. You of all people should understand that, Officer Sarah. Family loyalty and all that." I shrugged, the handcuffs clinking.
Sarah's breath came fast, her chest rising and falling like she was fighting to keep from exploding. "This has nothing to do with my brother," she spat, her voice trembling with barely leashed fury.
"You're under arrest because you're a murderer. Because you think you're above the law. Because people like you always get away with it." She shot me a glare in the rearview mirror, her eyes burning. "Not this time."
I met her gaze, unflinching. "Oh, really?" I drawled. "We both know there's no evidence. We both know this is just you, clutching at straws because you want me to pay for something—anything. But here's the thing, Officer Sarah..." I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You'll fail."
Her foot slammed on the brake with such force that my forehead nearly collided with the metal grate separating us. The car jerked to a halt, and in an instant, Sarah whipped around in her seat, her face so close to mine I could feel the heat of her rage. Her finger stabbed toward me like a blade, her voice a venomous hiss. "I will not fail. I will bury you."
I tilted my head, my smirk never wavering. "Officer Sarah," I began, my tone dripping with false sincerity, "you're taking this awfully personally for someone who's just doing her job."
"SHUT UP!" she exploded, her voice echoing through the car. The veins in her neck pulsed, her chest heaving with fury.
I leaned back, miming zipping my lips shut with my cuffed hands—an exaggerated, mocking gesture. The silence that followed was thick, charged with the kind of tension that could snap at any moment.
The police station loomed ahead, a squat, concrete monstrosity bathed in the sickly yellow glow of flickering streetlights. Sarah yanked me out of the car with enough force to make my shoulders protest, her fingers digging into my bicep like claws.
The night air was thick with the scent of exhaust and something metallic—probably the adrenaline coursing through both of us.
She marched me through the station's heavy double doors, the clatter of keyboards and the murmur of voices dying down as we passed. Every cop in the place seemed to pause mid-sentence, their eyes locking onto us with a mix of shock and curiosity. "Is that—?" "No way." "What's Jack Reynolds doing here?" The whispers followed us like shadows, but Sarah didn't flinch. If anything, her grip tightened, her stride more determined.
We turned down a narrow hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry insects. The walls were lined with framed commendations and wanted posters, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperation.
Sarah stopped in front of a door marked INTERROGATION ROOM 3 and shoved it open with her shoulder. The hinges groaned in protest as she propelled me inside.
Sarah ignored them all, her focus laser-sharp as she shoved me into a windowless interrogation room. The door clanged shut behind us, the sound final, ominous. The room was small, suffocating—just a table, two chairs, and a two-way mirror that I knew had eyes on the other side.
She yanked out her keys, unlocking the cuffs with a sharp click. The moment they fell away, I rolled my wrists, stretching the stiffness out of my muscles. Freedom, even in a room like this, felt good.
Sarah stepped back, her arms crossed, her glare never leaving me. "Don't get comfortable," she snapped. "This isn't a social call."
I rubbed my wrists, my eyes locking onto hers. "Oh, I know," I murmured.
Her jaw clenched, but she didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she jerked her chin toward the chair. "Sit. Down."
I obeyed—slowly, deliberately—pulling out the chair and sinking into it with the ease of a man who knew he held all the cards. "So," I drawled, "what's next, Officer? The good cop routine? The threats?" I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Or are we skipping straight to the part where you realize you've got nothing?"
Sarah stormed back into the interrogation room, her arms laden with a stack of files and a battered laptop. She dumped them onto the table with a thud, the sound echoing like a judge's gavel.
"Alright, Jack," she said, cracking her knuckles as she opened the laptop, "let's get started." The screen cast a pale glow over her face, highlighting the determination in her eyes.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms behind my head. "Officer Sarah," I drawled, my voice dripping with faux innocence, "don't I have the right to call my lawyer?"
Her fingers froze over the keyboard. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of irritation cross her face, but she quickly masked it with a cold, professional smirk. "If you want a lawyer," she said through gritted teeth, "you have the right to a phone call. If not, you'll be assigned a government lawyer."
I feigned surprise, pressing a hand to my chest. "Really? How generous of you." I tapped my fingers on the table, as if deep in thought. "You know, I've seen this in those law dramas—if someone can't afford a lawyer or doesn't request one, the state provides one. How convenient."
Sarah's eye twitched. She knew exactly what I was doing—poking, prodding, trying to get under her skin. "Are you done wasting my time?" she snapped.
I shrugged. "Oh, I'm just getting started." I paused, letting the silence stretch between us. "But fine, if you insist..." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "I don't want to waste my precious lawyer's time on this little... misunderstanding. So, yeah, just assign me, someone from the government."
Sarah's jaw clenched so tightly I thought I heard her teeth grind. "You—" she started, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Fine. It'll take 30 minutes to get her here."
My ears perked up at that. Her. So the lawyer was a woman. Interesting.
I leaned back again, crossing my arms. "Perfect. While we wait, could you be a darling and grab me a coffee? Black, no sugar." I flashed her my most charming smile, the one that usually made women weak in the knees.
Sarah's face turned an impressive shade of red. For a moment, I thought she might refuse, might even throw the files at my head. But then, with a growl of frustration, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I chuckled to myself, shaking my head. This is going to be fun.
Five minutes later, the door swung open again, and Sarah stomped in, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She slammed it onto the table in front of me, a few drops sloshing over the rim. "Here," she snapped. "Your coffee. Now shut up and wait for your lawyer."
I picked up the cup, taking a slow sip. "Mmm. Just like I like it," I said, my eyes never leaving hers. "Strong. Bitter. Just like you, Sarah."
She looked like she was two seconds away from throwing the entire cup at me. Instead, she turned away, her shoulders tense, and started pacing the room like a caged tiger. "You're insufferable," she muttered under her breath.
The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Sarah's back was to me, her shoulders rigid as she paced, her fingers flexing like she was imagining them wrapped around my throat. I could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.
That's when I noticed him—the guy sitting in the corner, pretending to be absorbed in his phone. His eyes kept flicking up, stealing glances at Sarah whenever she turned away. It was obvious.
Painfully obvious. The guy had a crush on her, the kind that made him look like a lovesick puppy every time she moved. But he was also terrified of her, like a man who knew he'd never have the guts to approach an icy beauty like Sarah. Pathetic.
I swirled the coffee in my cup, my mind racing with possibilities. What if I did something unexpected? Something that would make his jaw drop and Sarah's head explode? The thought was too tempting to ignore.
The last sip of coffee burned down my throat, the bitter warmth grounding me as my mind raced with possibilities.
The door swung open, and every muscle in my body tensed—not from fear, but from the sheer, unholy force of the woman who stepped inside. My eyes locked onto her instantly, my brain short-circuiting for half a second before my gaze started its slow, ravenous descent down her body.
Fuck.
She was built like a goddamn sin—the kind of body that made men forget their own names. Her suit was a crime—tailored so tightly it should've been illegal, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin, begging to be torn off.
The blazer was unbuttoned just enough to tease, the crisp white blouse underneath stretched obscenely over her tits—massive, full, heavy—threatening to spill free with every breath she took.
The fabric strained, the buttons looking like they were one deep inhale away from popping like champagne corks.
My cock twitched just imagining it—the way they'd bounce free, those dark, thick nipples already hard from the cool air of the interrogation room, begging for my mouth, my teeth, my hands—
And that ass.
Jesus Christ.
The pencil skirt she wore was a fucking joke—molded to her hips like it had been painted on, the fabric so tight I could see the faint outline of her thong digging into that juicy, round backside.
Every step she took made it sway, hypnotic, like a pendulum swinging just for me. I could already picture my hands sinking into that flesh, my fingers digging in as I pulled her onto my lap, made her ride me right here on this goddamn table—
Her heels clicked against the floor, sharp and authoritative, the sound sending a jolt straight to my dick.
They were fuck-me heels—black, strappy, the kind that wrapped around her ankles like restraints, making her calves flex with every step. I could already imagine them digging into my back as I buried my face between her thighs, her moans echoing off these concrete walls.
She greeted Sarah with a voice like smoked honey, rich and smooth, "Officer Sarah. Officer Diaz." The sound of it made my spine tingle.
Sarah's reply was clipped, jealous—"Lawyer Lorena."—but I barely heard it. I was too busy drowning in the vision of Lorena bending over this table, that skirt riding up, her ass on display for me, her fingers gripping the edge as I took her from behind, her tits swinging with every thrust—
They shook hands, and I nearly groaned when Lorena's arm moved, the shift making her tits jiggle slightly under the fabric.
My cock was hard as steel now, pressing painfully against my zipper. I adjusted myself subtly, but there was no hiding it—not when she was standing this close, not when she smelled like sin and expensive perfume, not when every movement she made was a fucking tease.
Lorena's dark eyes flicked to me, sizing me up with a single, calculating glance. She didn't smile. She didn't need to. "May I see the case files?" she asked Sarah, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Sarah hesitated, then shoved the stack of papers across the table.
Her lips—full, painted a deep, fuckable red—curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, more like a challenge. "Can I talk to my client alone?" she purred, her voice dripping with authority, with promise.
Sarah hesitated, her face twisted in frustration, but she nodded, storming out with Diaz in tow.
The door clicked shut.
Alone.
Lorena's gaze raked over me, slow and deliberate, like she was undressing me with her eyes. She pulled out the chair, the movement making her skirt ride up just enough to flash the top of her stockings—black, lace, fuck—before she sat, crossing her legs.
The fabric of her skirt hitched up, giving me a glimpse of her thighs—thick, smooth, perfect—and I had to clench my fists to keep from reaching out, from spreading them right there and burying my face between them.
Lorena's gaze burned into me as she leaned back in her chair, the movement making her blazer gape just enough to give me another tempting glimpse of the cleavage straining against her blouse. My mind flickered with images of peeling that fabric away, my fingers tracing the swell of her breasts before—
She pulled the file closer, her long, manicured nails tapping against the paper. The first page displayed my name—Jack Reynolds—along with the details of my company, my assets, my empire. Her eyes widened slightly as she read, her full lips parting in a soft gasp. "You're Jack Reynolds?" she breathed, her voice laced with a mix of shock and something else—recognition. "Oh my God... I have seen you somewhere before. That's why you seemed so familiar."
I smirked, leaning back in my chair, my fingers steepled. "Glad I made an impression."
I leaned back in my chair, my smirk deepening. "Glad I left an impression."
Her attention snapped back to the file, and as she turned the page, my own expression darkened. The crime scene photo stared up at us—a man I knew. The guy I'd put down in Marina's store, his lifeless eyes frozen in the image. The memory flashed through my mind like a movie reel—blood splattered across the floor, the cold weight of the gun in my grip, the way his body had crumpled like a ragdoll—all of it leading to her, to Marina, to the moment everything had changed.
Lorena's eyebrows knitted together as she flipped through the pages, her lips pressing into a thin line. Each document laid out the murders I was suspected of, all timed perfectly with my arrival in Mexico. There was no direct evidence, but the circumstantial web was tight—my ties to Tony's gang, my meeting with Marina, Tony's sudden and convenient disappearance. The file painted a picture, one where I was the perfect villain, the man pulling all the strings.
I stayed silent, watching her as she absorbed it all. I didn't know the ins and outs of Mexican law, but I knew power—and Lorena had it in spades. I let my AI lens scan her, the data unfolding in my vision like a dossier:
Name: Lorena Hernández
Age: 32
Profession: Lawyer (High-Profile Corporate & Criminal Defense) Assets: $200 Million (Inherited & Self-Made)
Relationship: None
Background: Daughter of Chief Justice Arturo Hernández, one of the most powerful men in Mexico. A legal titán in her own right, known for taking on high-stakes corporate cases—and select government cases, pro bono.
The thought slithered through my mind like a serpent, cold and calculating. Lorena Hernández wasn't some wide-eyed idealist playing at charity—she was a strategist, a predator wrapped in silk and legal jargon.
The way she carried herself, the way her sharp eyes missed nothing, the way she spoke with the kind of authority that came from real power—it all screamed the same thing: This woman doesn't do anything unless it benefits her.
And the pro bono cases? Please.
I let my gaze trace the lines of her body again—the way her blazer hugged her shoulders, the way her skirt clung to her hips like it was afraid to let go. She was polished, perfect, the kind of woman who knew exactly how to play the game.
But I'd seen her type before. The ones who smiled for the cameras, who took on high-profile cases for free just to get their names in the papers, just to have judges and politicians owe them favors. The ones who built their empires on the backs of other people's desperation.
And then there was Daddy Dearest—Chief Justice Arturo Hernández, the man who probably pulled every string in Mexico's legal system.
I bet he loved the idea of his daughter, the brilliant, selfless Lorena, taking on government cases. It made her look like a saint, didn't it? The dutiful daughter, the righteous lawyer, the woman who cared about justice.
Lorena's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and commanding. "Mr. Jack," she said, her tone leaving no room for bullshit. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, the movement making her blouse gape just enough to give me another tempting glimpse of her cleavage.
"I want the truth. No games." Her finger tapped the file again, her nail clicking against the paper. "There's no direct evidence, but all of this—" she gestured to the pages spread out between us "—points to you. Somehow."
I met her gaze, my expression unreadable. She had the kind of presence that demanded respect—authority wrapped in a body that made men forget their own names. "Does the truth change anything?" I asked, my voice smooth, almost lazy, like I was discussing the weather instead of murder charges.
She didn't blink. "Legally? No. But I need to know what I'm walking into. I don't like surprises, Mr. Reynolds." Her eyes bored into mine, dark and unyielding. "And I really don't like losing."
She paused, tilting her head slightly, her gaze flicking over me like she was trying to peel back my layers. "But there's something else... Why didn't you call your own lawyers? Why request a government-appointed one?"
I chuckled, rubbing my jaw, the stubble rough under my fingers. "Let's just say I was amusing myself with Officer Sarah." I shrugged, my grin turning wicked. "No need to drag my people into a... misunderstanding."
Lorena's lips curled into that slow, knowing smile again, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something far more predatory. "Most men in your position—billionaires, powerful men—would be furious right now," she murmured, her voice dropping into a low, velvety tone that sent a jolt straight to my cock.
"They'd be screaming, threatening lawsuits, demanding to speak to their lawyers. But you?" Her gaze dragged over me, lingering on my lips before flicking back up to my eyes. "You're smiling."
I leaned in just a little closer, close enough that I could catch the faintest hint of her perfume—something rich and intoxicating, like dark chocolate and sin. My voice was a dark purr, the kind that made women's thighs clench.
"Life's too short to waste it on anger, Lawyer Lorena," I said, my eyes deliberately dropping to her chest. The fabric of her blouse strained over her tits, the cleavage deep enough to lose myself in, and I let my gaze linger there just a second too long before dragging it back up to meet hers. "Besides, I've never been one to back down from a challenge."
Lorena's dark eyes locked onto mine, her expression shifting from playful to deadly serious in an instant. "About the case," she said, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.
I held her gaze, my smirk never wavering. "Well," I drawled, leaning back in my chair, "everything in that file is true." My fingers drummed against the table, slow and deliberate. "I did it. The killings. The evidence erasure. All of it."
Her eyebrows shot up, her lips parting in disbelief. For a second, she just stared at me, like she was waiting for the punchline. Then, a low, disbelieving chuckle escaped her. "Stop joking," she said, shaking her head.
"I don't believe it." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Someone like you—someone rich like you—if you wanted someone dead, you'd hire someone to do it. You wouldn't get your hands dirty unless—"
She cut herself off, her eyes widening as the realization hit her. I could see the pieces clicking into place in her mind, the way her breath hitched just slightly, the way her fingers tightened around the edge of the file.
I finished her thought for her, my voice a dark, amused purr. "Unless what, Lorena?" I tilted my head, my grin turning feral. "You guessed it right. I am a psychopath." A low, humorless laugh escaped me. "Heh. Don't tell me you're scared."
Her face went pale for half a second before the color rushed back, her cheeks flushing with something between shock and excitement. She didn't look away. Didn't flinch. Instead, her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. "You're not joking," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shrugged, my gaze never leaving hers. "Nope."
Lorena's fingers stilled against the table, her dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a jolt through my veins. "You actually killed them," she repeated, her voice a low, almost impressed murmur. "Yourself."
I chuckled softly, the sound dark and amused, like the purr of a predator. "Well," I drawled, my smirk deepening, "I liked chopping people with my sword. It was... wonderful." The memory flashed through my mind—the weight of the blade in my hand, the way it sang through the air, the satisfaction of a clean strike. My fingers twitched slightly, as if I could still feel the hilt against my palm.
Lorena's breath hitched, her throat working as she swallowed hard, but she didn't look away. She didn't flinch. Instead, her composure held, her fingers tapping against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like she was recalibrating her entire understanding of me.
"Well," she said, her voice steady despite the flicker of something wild in her eyes, "the police don't have anything concrete to keep you in jail.
They just brought you here as a suspect." She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening. "Officer Sarah is usually upright—she wouldn't drag someone in without concrete evidence. So why would she bring you here?" Suspicion laced her words, her mind clearly racing through the possibilities.
I chuckled, the sound rough and knowing, before coughing lightly into my fist. "That might be because..." I paused, my grin turning wicked, "I stole her brother's wife."
Lorena's eyes widened, her lips parting in shock before a low, disbelieving chuckle escaped her. "Mr. Jack," she said, shaking her head, "you are really something."
I studied her, my voice dropping to a darker, more intimate tone. "Aren't you afraid of me, being a killer?"
She didn't hesitate. "No," she said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. "I've seen a lot of murderers, Mr. Jack. And you? You're different." She leaned back slightly, her gaze never leaving mine.
"Not even a psychopath. The people you killed—they were all scum, working for gang leaders. So no," she said, her voice softening just slightly, "I don't think there's anything wrong with that."
I used my telepathy to probe her thoughts, to see if her words were just a performance—or if she meant them. What I found was sincerity, raw and unfiltered. She wasn't just saying it. She believed it.
A slow, genuine smile spread across my face. "Thank you," I said, my voice quieter now, almost intimate.
She met my gaze, her expression softening just a fraction. "Just call me Jack," I added, my voice rough with something unspoken.
A sudden knock at the door shattered the moment. Sarah stormed in, Officer Diaz trailing behind her, her eyes flicking between Lorena and me. "Are you done?" she demanded, her voice sharp with impatience.
Lorena glanced at me, her expression unreadable, before nodding to Sarah. "Yes," she said smoothly, her voice betraying nothing of the electric tension that had just filled the room. "We're done."
The door burst open with such force that it rattled the two-way mirror on the opposite wall. Sarah stormed in, her boots pounding against the linoleum, Officer Diaz right behind her, his face twisted in barely contained rage.
The air in the room shifted instantly, thick with tension and the kind of fury that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. But I didn't move. I didn't react. I just leaned back in my chair, my fingers steepled, my smirk firmly in place, letting Lorena handle the storm.
Lorena stood with the kind of effortless grace that screamed power, her blazer hugging her curves as she moved. She didn't rush. She didn't raise her voice. She just turned to face Sarah, her voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel.
"I'm sorry to say this, Officer Sarah," she began, her tone cool, measured, "but you don't have an arrest warrant." She reached out, tapping the file on the table with one long, manicured nail, the sound sharp in the heavy silence.
"And you don't have any crucial evidence that directly links my client to murder." Her gaze locked onto Sarah's, unflinching.
"You also brought him here in handcuffs—which, as you well know, is against protocol when the individual in question is merely a suspect, not a convicted criminal." She paused, letting the words sink in, her voice dropping to a darker, more dangerous tone.
"So if we wanted to, Mr. Reynolds could press charges against you for unlawful detention and violation of his rights."
Sarah's face flushed a deep, angry red, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Lawyer Lorena," she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained fury, "this piece of shit is a murderer. He's a psychopath." She jabbed a finger in my direction, her eyes wild with rage. "He killed people. He enjoys it. And you're just going to let him walk?!"
Diaz stepped forward, his voice a low, venomous growl. "You're letting a killer go free," he snarled, his eyes burning with hatred. "He's dangerous. He's unhinged. And you're protecting him?"
Sarah's breath came fast, her chest rising and falling with fury. "You know he's guilty," she hissed, her voice raw with frustration. "You know what he's done. And you're still defending him?!"
Lorena's lips curled into a cold, professional smile. "Knowing and proving are two very different things, Officer," she said, her voice dripping with finality. "And right now, you have nothing but your personal vendetta."
She closed the file with a sharp snap, the sound echoing in the tense silence. "If you want to question my client again, you'll need an arrest warrant. And actual evidence." Her gaze flicked to Diaz, then back to Sarah. "Until then, Mr. Reynolds walks. Freely."
Sarah's hands clenched tighter, her knuckles turning white. "This isn't over," she growled, her voice a low, dangerous snarl.
Lorena didn't react. She just met Sarah's glare with a calm, unshakable stare. "No," she agreed, her voice smooth, "it's not. But right now, you have nothing. And unless you want my client to file a lawsuit against this department for unlawful detention, I suggest you let him go."
The silence that followed was electric, thick with tension and the kind of fury that could ignite the room. Sarah's glare burned into me, but I just met it with a lazy, amused smirk. She knew she'd lost. Lorena had just dismantled her entire case in front of her, piece by piece, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
Diaz let out a frustrated growl, his hands balling into fists. "This is bullshit," he snapped, his voice trembling with rage. "He's a killer. And you're just going to let him walk?"
Lorena turned to him, her expression cool, her voice cutting through his anger like a blade. "Officer Diaz," she said, her tone icy, "if you have evidence, present it. If you have a warrant, use it. Until then, my client is free to go." She gestured toward the door, her gaze never wavering. "Unless, of course, you'd like to add unlawful detention to your list of alleged crimes."
Sarah's breath came in sharp, angry bursts, her eyes flicking between Lorena and me. "You're making a mistake," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "You're letting a monster walk free."
Lorena didn't flinch. She just met Sarah's glare with a calm, unshakable stare. "I'm doing my job, Officer," she said, her voice steady, "just like you should be doing yours."
She turned to me, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Reynolds," she said, her voice smooth, "you're free to go."
I stood, stretching my arms behind my head, my grin widening as I met Sarah's furious gaze. "Always a pleasure, Officer," I purred, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time, bring a warrant."
Diaz let out a low, furious growl, but Sarah just stood there, her body trembling with rage, her eyes burning into me like she wanted to set me on fire. "This isn't over," she snarled, her voice a dark promise.
I chuckled, my voice low and amused. "I hope not," I said, my smirk turning wicked. "I do love a good rematch."
The night air was thick with tension as Lorena and I stepped out of the police station, the hum of the city a distant murmur against the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. My eyes immediately locked onto the sleek, black Aston Martin parked under the flickering glow of a streetlamp, its polished curves reflecting the neon signs of the surrounding buildings.
I let out a low, appreciative whistle, my smirk deepening as I turned to Lorena. "Lawyer Lorena," I said, my voice smooth as aged whiskey, "can I trouble you for a ride?"
She didn't even glance at me, just pressed the unlock button on her key fob with a practiced flick of her wrist. The car's lights flashed in response, and the soft click of the doors unlocking echoed in the quiet night. "Yeah," she said, her voice casual but laced with amusement, "why not?"
I watched as she slid into the driver's seat, her movements fluid and controlled, her skirt riding up just enough to reveal the tops of her stockings—black, lace, fucking tempting.
My pulse kicked up as I took a second to appreciate the view before opening the passenger door and sinking into the buttery soft leather. The interior smelled like her—rich, dark, intoxicating—and I inhaled deeply, my smirk turning predatory.
But before I could shut the door, a sharp, furious voice cut through the night.
"JACK!"
I turned, my eyebrows lifting in mock surprise as Sarah stormed toward me, her boots pounding against the pavement with the kind of rage that made the air around her vibrate.
Officer Diaz trailed behind her, his face twisted in a mix of jealousy and fury, his eyes locked onto me like he wanted to rip me apart. I could feel his glare burning into my back, but I didn't look at him. Not yet.
Sarah grabbed my collar before I could react, her fingers digging in with enough force to make the fabric strain against my throat. "This isn't over," she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained fury, her breath hot and sharp against my face. "You and I both know what you've done."
I didn't resist. Instead, I leaned in, my body pressing against hers, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the way her breath hitched as my mouth moved closer.
"Officer Sarah," I murmured, my voice a dark, velvety growl, "if you know..." I inhaled deeply, her scent—citrus and something wild, like gunpowder and adrenaline—filling my lungs.
"Aren't you afraid?" My lips grazed her earlobe, and I felt her shiver, her grip tightening. "That I'll kill your brother... just like I killed all those people?" I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, my smirk wicked, my eyes dark with promise. "And walk free... just like always?"
Her face paled, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. For a second, she looked like she might slap me—or shoot me. But then I chuckled, low and amused, and stepped back, my hands raised in mock surrender. "I was just joking, Officer Sarah," I said, my grin never wavering, "don't take it so seriously."
But the damage was done. I could see it in her eyes—the flicker of fear, the realization that I wasn't just bluffing. She stood there, frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her fingers trembling against my collar.
Behind her, Diaz looked like he was about to explode. His face was twisted in a mix of jealousy and rage, his eyes locked onto me with a kind of hatred that made me want to laugh.
He wanted to be the one standing here, the one with his hands on Sarah, the one in control. But he wasn't. He was just a spectator, a man too afraid to take what he wanted, too weak to play the game.
I gave Sarah one last, lingering look before sliding into the car, shutting the door with a final click.
Lorena didn't even bat an eye. She just started the engine, the Aston Martin roaring to life with a deep, throaty growl. "What was that about?" she asked, her voice calm, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
I chuckled, buckling my seatbelt. "Oh, nothing," I said, my voice light, "Just threatened to kill her brother."
Lorena didn't flinch. Didn't gasp. Didn't even blink. Instead, she let out a low, amused chuckle, shaking her head. "You're really lawless, Jack."
I grinned, my voice dripping with false innocence. "It's nothing serious, Lawyer Lorena..." I drawled, "Just a joke."
She shot me a sideways glance, her dark eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Just call me Lorena," she said, her voice smooth, before shifting gears and pulling away from the curb.
The car glided into the night, the city lights blurring past the windows. I turned to her, my voice casual, but my gaze intent. "Did you have dinner yet?"
Lorena shook her head, her fingers drumming against the wheel. "No, not yet."
I didn't hesitate. "If you don't mind," I said, my voice dropping into a darker, more intimate tone, "can I have the honor of inviting this beautiful lady to dinner?"
She chuckled, the sound low and rich, her lips curling into a smirk. "Okay," she said, "but where do you want to go?"
I inclined my head, my voice taking on a mock-serious tone. "I do my best," I replied, "though I must admit, I'm at a disadvantage here. I don't know Mexico City well enough to suggest a place worthy of you." I gestured vaguely toward the neon-lit streets outside.
Lorena nodded, her expression thoughtful, before her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "I know just the place," she murmured, pressing down on the gas.
The Aston Martin surged forward, the engine growling as we merged into the traffic, the neon lights of the city reflecting off the windshield. I leaned back in my seat, my gaze lingering on Lorena's profile—the way her blazer hugged her shoulders, the way her skirt clung to her hips, the way her fingers gripped the wheel with confidence.
The Aston Martin glided to a stop in front of a towering, glass-fronted building, its exterior bathed in the soft golden glow of discreet, high-end lighting.
A valet appeared almost instantly, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the car—and then Lorena as she stepped out, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
I followed, my gaze immediately dropping to the sway of her hips, the way her skirt clung to the generous curve of her ass, moving with a rhythm that made my fingers itch to reach out and grip her. The fabric of her blazer pulled taut with every step, the seams straining just enough to tease the fullness of her figure, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from biting my lip.
But I behaved.
Because a man like me knew the value of patience.
The maître d' greeted us with a bow, his voice smooth and deferential as he led us through the restaurant. The place was all polished marble and muted lighting, the kind of atmosphere that whispered money and power in every corner.
We were shown to a private room at the back, secluded behind a heavy velvet curtain that muffled the low hum of conversation from the main dining area. The moment we stepped inside, the door closed behind us with a soft click, sealing us in our own little world.
Lorena moved ahead of me, her hips swaying with every step, and I let my eyes linger for just a second too long before forcing myself to focus. She reached the table—a sleek, dark wood affair set with crystal glasses and polished silverware—and I was right behind her, my hand already reaching for the back of her chair. I pulled it out with a quiet scrape against the floor, my voice low and smooth. "Your throne, abogada."
She glanced over her shoulder at me, her dark eyes glinting with amusement as she settled into the seat. "A gentleman," she murmured, her voice laced with something that wasn't quite surprise, but close. "I didn't take you for one."
I chuckled, rounding the table to take my own seat, my fingers brushing the back of her chair for just a second longer than necessary. "Oh, I can be many things," I said, my grin turning wicked as I met her gaze across the table. "When the occasion calls for it."
Lorena watched me as I sat, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. "And what occasion is this, Jack?" she asked, her voice a dark purr.
I leaned back slightly, my fingers steepling in front of me. "The occasion of a beautiful woman agreeing to dine with me," I said, my tone dripping with charm. "I'd be a fool not to rise to it."
Her laugh was low, rich, the kind that made my pulse kick up. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she murmured, picking up the menu.
I didn't even glance at mine. "Order for me," I said, my voice casual but firm. "Whatever you're having, I'll have the same."
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking up to mine. "You trust my taste?"
I met her eyes, my smirk deepening. "Implicitly," I said, my voice dropping into something darker, more intimate. "I have a feeling you know exactly what you like, Lorena. And I'm eager to find out."
Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching just enough to betray the flicker of heat in her eyes. She didn't look away. Didn't back down. Instead, she held my gaze for a long moment before turning her attention back to the menu, her fingers tracing the embossed lettering. "Then I won't disappoint," she murmured, her voice smooth as aged whiskey.
I watched her as she ordered—first in rapid, fluent Spanish with the waiter, then translating for me with a smirk. "We're starting with ceviche—fresh, citrusy, a little dangerous." Her eyes flicked to mine.
"Followed by arrachera—grilled skirt steak, tender enough to cut with a fork. And to drink..." She paused, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip, "a bottle of Clase Azul Reposado. Unless you'd prefer something... softer?"
I grinned, my voice rough with amusement. "I don't do soft, Lorena," I said, my gaze locked onto hers.
She didn't miss a beat. "Good," she said, her voice a dark purr. "Because I don't either."
The waiter slipped away, leaving us alone in the dimly lit room, the air between us thick with something unspoken.
I reached for my glass of water, my fingers brushing the condensation, my eyes never leaving hers. "You know," I said, my voice dropping into a lower, more intimate tone, "I have to admit, I didn't expect this."
"What?" she asked, her voice teasing, "That I'd agree to dinner with a man who admits to being a killer?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "No," I said, my smirk softening, "that I'd find myself genuinely intrigued by the lawyer assigned to my case." I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping to a murmur. "You're full of surprises, Lorena Hernández."
Lorena's laughter was rich and warm, the kind that made the air between us feel alive. "You are full of surprises," she admitted, her dark eyes glinting with something between amusement and fascination.
"I didn't expect anyone would actually admit to being a murderer—even if I asked them to." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a low, intrigued murmur. "It feels like you're confident you can get away with it all by yourself."
I met her gaze, my smirk unapologetic. "Yeah," I said, my voice smooth, "I am confident in my own ability." I studied her for a moment, the way her fingers traced the rim of her glass, the way her mind worked behind those sharp, calculating eyes. Then, without hesitation, I asked, "Have you ever thought about changing jobs? Working for me?"
Lorena didn't even hesitate. She shook her head, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Thank you for the offer," she said, her voice firm but polite, "but I think I'm doing quite well on my own."
I didn't push it. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, my gaze never leaving hers. "I know you're not after money," I said, my voice dropping into a more serious tone. "But still... what's your end goal? What is it you really want? Power?"
Lorena's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered my question. "Who doesn't want power?" she said, her voice low, almost philosophical.
"You should know better than anyone that even with money, many things are... inconvenient." She took a slow sip of her drink, her gaze never wavering. "But with power? One can be free."
I tilted my head, my curiosity piqued. "So what position would satisfy you?" I asked, my voice smooth, probing. "What's your end goal here? With your father being Chief Justice, there's nothing that can limit you. So what are you worried about?"
Lorena's eyes widened slightly, her brows lifting in surprise. "How did you find out?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine shock. "I never told you—and this is the first time we've met."
I gave her a slow, knowing smile, my voice dropping into a darker, more mysterious tone. "I know far more than you think," I said, my gaze locked onto hers.
Lorena leaned back in her chair, her eyes studying me with a newfound intensity. After a moment, she exhaled, her voice steady, almost resigned. "It's okay to tell you," she said, her fingers tracing the stem of her glass.
"There's nothing to hide." She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "I want to be a senior member in the judiciary community," she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of ambition.
"Once I take the exam for judge—and pass it—through my reputation and goodwill, I'll be assigned high-level cases. I'll be in the limelight... and get promoted easily."
Lorena's voice was steady, her ambition clear as she outlined her path—judge, high-level cases, the limelight—and I listened, my mind already piecing together the advantages she had. With her father as Chief Justice, the doors would open for her like red carpets at a premiere.
"I can't wait to see you in a judge's robe," I said, my voice dropping into a smoother, more playful tone, my smirk turning wicked. "I'm sure you'll look absolutely stunning in them."
The image flashed in my mind—Lorena presiding over a courtroom, that authority in her voice, the way the robe would hug her curves—fuck. I shifted slightly in my seat, my gaze lingering on her for a second too long.
Lorena chuckled, the sound rich and warm, her eyes glinting with amusement. "You're impossible, Jack," she said, shaking her head, but I could see the flicker of pride in her expression.