Corrupt - Elena M. Reyes
Prologue
HER SKIN IS soft beneath my roughened fingertips—yielding—almost melting against me as I pull her in closer. Chest to chest. Lips hovering. She’s like the finest of silks: a motherfucking delicacy that’s been awaiting my arrival and only yearns to please her owner.
Because she’s given herself to me.
Every sigh. Every moan. Every inch of her has always been meant for this brute of a man.
Solimar Quintero is my prize. A reward and coveted possession.
“Please, Alejandro. I need you.” Those beautifully hooded, light grey eyes are on my cognac-colored ones, and in them I see the same emotions reflected back at me. Hunger. Anticipation. A nearly knee-buckling yearning that makes me throb against her midsection.
“Say it, Solimar.” My voice is rough, the grip on her right thigh tightening—fingers digging in as I place one leg over my hip and then the other; I have her right where she should always be...
In my arms, her heat against my cock.
We’re outside and around the back of her home for the time being. It’s an ostentatious building full of history and memories that only the rich and powerful in the country of Columbia remember with fondness.
A place full of armed military guards that let a criminal walk right through its door for a little extra cash. Because they need it. Because giving your family a good life in this country is pricey. Because they’d rather live to see another day than end up as an anecdote on the evening news reporting on my extensive list of crimes and misdeeds.
The beautiful girl pinned by my body moans and the sweet sound settles on the tip of my cock, causing me to flex against her heat. It also pulls a hiss from me, my teeth gritting as I look down and take in how the short, white cotton summer dress has shimmied up and over her hips. Those supple thighs tremble and my fingers on her right one dig in deeper, harder as I enjoy the sinful view.
Matching panties in the same color as her dress.
Goose bumps all along her skin.
Soft satin clinging to the top of her mound.
Indecent perfection.
I shift my upper body back, just enough to get a better look.
She’s wet; the evidence makes the almost translucent material completely see-through.
My eyes snap up when a needy whimper passes through her lips. “Answer me,” I hiss out, my lip curling up at the corner in a barely-contained snarl. The hunger in my tone is palpable, and so is the need to mark her. To leave bruises behind that’ll remind her of me every time she looks in the mirror over the next few days.
Of my touch. Of the pleasure only I can give her.
My inhale is her soft exhale as she shifts a little closer. Just a tiny bit. Her small hands cling to my shirt as her hips gyrate, back arching against the large wall behind her so she can feel every hard inch of me against her core. All that stands between me and her pussy is two thin layers of clothing, and I remove the first without a second thought.
Without giving a fuck about whose house I’m at.
Without giving a fuck about who could see us.
Skimming my fingers to her hip, I grip the thin ribbon there and pull, tearing the delicate satin bow before doing the same to the other side. The material slips down over her mound, exposing the very top of her clit, but gets trapped between us.
A breath gets caught in her chest and her eyes close. “Papi, I... please!”
“Answer me, Preciosa.” Lower, my hand encounters her round and firm asscheek. I palm the flesh—squeeze hard enough to make her mewl before gripping the tattered remnants of her panties and tugging them off.
A single pull and she hisses, shaking in my hold when the delicate material rubs harshly over her sex. My little Solimar bites down on her bottom lip, withholding the moans that want to slip free so we—I—don’t get caught, and I find the action sweet. Endearing.
Pointless, since I’m here to end it all tonight. To collect on a fifteen-year-old debt.
Eyes on hers, I toss them aside and return to her flesh. Two fingers follow the path down to her back entrance, and I add just enough pressure to cause her legs to shake. For her breathing to stutter. For a motherfucking rush of wetness to coat her inner thighs, and then I brush my fingers a little lower to collect the sweet drips.
There’s no resistance from