me. I cry out, gasping and moaning and shaking as the climax thunders through me. Hush keeps his fingers there, stroking me and teasing my clit, until I’m a panting, whimpering mess.
His fingers slowly slip from between my legs, and I watch as he brings them to his lips again. He groans, grunting as he licks them clean, and when he grunts again, I gasp.
“Oh God, are you—”
“Yes,” he groans.
I moan, and when his hand slips back through the hole in the wall, I grab his wrist. I sink his fingers into me, gaping and trembling as he instantly brings me right back to the brink.
“Oh fuck, Catalina,” he groans. “Come with me, baby girl. I’m stroking my big cock so hard for you, Catalina. This pretty pussy and the sweet taste of it is going to make me come so fucking hard.”
I moan, and my eyes squeeze shut. He grunts and roars, and his finger drives deep into me, and suddenly, I’m coming again. I gasp, crying out and rocking on his hand as the second orgasm hits me hard, shaking me to my core as he snarls his own release on the other side of the wall.
Slowly, I come back to earth. My ears are ringing, my face is hot, and my thighs are sticky and wet. And I’m on fucking fire. I’m floating, and I know one thing: nothing is ever going to be the same again.
Chapter Eight
Hush
Two days later, they let me out of the hole. I give one of Manuel’s guys a new dent in his head for their troubles when he gets too close, which feels pretty fucking good, even if I get the shit tased out of me after. The day after that, I’m set to fight again.
I’m not gonna lie, there is a thrill to hearing the crowd when they announce my name. I never really felt it before, but maybe now it’s because I’ve felt sun on my face again. I’ve felt something in my heart I buried long ago. When you’re dead, you don’t feel the feelings Catalina has set aflame inside of me. Which means I’m not dead after all.
It means I am very much alive.
I growl, rolling my neck as the doors open, and I step out into the ring. Fuck, the crowd is huge tonight. From the lights on in all the big-ticket box seats, I know Jorge has a bunch of VIPs here, too. Probably local government guys, police captains, who knows who else from the criminal underworld.
My eyes scan the crowd, ignoring the crew of ragtag looking fiends across the ring from me. Finally, my eyes land on the box I’m looking for, and there, standing in the window with one palm on the glass, is her.
My sunshine. My desert rose.
My Catalina.
Instantly, my blood warms. My skin feels tighter. My cock, in spite of the shit that’s about to go down, thickens and hardens. I can still imagine the taste of her on my lips, from days ago, and I remember the feel of her impossibly tight little cunt rippling and tightening on my thick finger when she came for me. I remember the way she flooded my hand with her honey, and I remember licking it clean.
I remember coming so fucking hard for her, even with a goddamn wall between us.
I look at her, and the rest of the place disappears. The crowds vanish, and the guys trying to kill me with chains and knives across the arena are ghosts. I look up there, and it’s just me and her.
But then the alarm goes off, and with a roar from the crowd, we’re off. I blink, turning back to focus on the seven murderous thugs running at me. I sigh and crack my neck before I move into the fighting stance. These assholes don’t stand a chance—not a one. I used to feel at least a bit of remorse when I first got here. I mean I’m fine with hitting people, but I had no beef with the guys fighting me. Then I found out who they were—scumbags from local jails, utter fiends and villains—and I felt a whole lot less bad. Some of this crew tonight has the symbols of a well-known murderous gang that likes enslaving women tattooed on their faces.
…I’m going to enjoy this.
The bravest, or stupidest, of the group gets to me first—all fury and crazy in his eyes. But that rage turns to blind fear when my hand shoots