Her body was my greatest damnation.
I craved her and the way she came alive beneath my fingers. The way she’d let me force my will upon her tender flesh, so breakable and trusting—open to all I could teach her.
The moment I laid eyes on my defenseless gatita, everything within me shifted. Everything about her sang to my most basic of needs. She made me want things that never mattered before, that had no place within my solitary existence.
Amanda let me take. She let me gorge myself on all she had to give and never complained. I became addicted to her.
I was supposed to be the one in control. The master of our time together.
But this was never my game.
I was never in charge.
And now, I’m left dealing with the consequences of everything. My hunger, denial...the resentment.
“I hate that I love you.”
Rage was packed as I pulled up to the valet parking area. The lines were long, and the college crowd was out in full force. As my eyes traveled down the line, the hemlines of each tiny outfit receded, much to my enjoyment.
“Holy shit!” a soft feminine voice squeaked by the club’s entrance, and my body hummed at the sound. It sparked my curiosity, and I walked closer. There was a pull. An ache that began to take a hold of me the closer to her I got.
She was the closest to me out of her group, and it was something I was thankful for. No one between her and me to witness the effect she had on me.
A warm breeze passed through us, causing her scent to swirl around me. It was sweet and fresh. Nothing overpowering like the stuff most girls her age used. I took in a deep inhale and groaned out a low, “fuck.”
My pants grew tight, and my cock strained against the zipper. The pressure made me both excited and apprehensive. I’ve never reacted so strongly to a woman’s voice or smell. Women flocked to me, not the other way around.
Her back was turned to me as she walked through the club’s doors. What a spectacular fucking view. Ass high and round—tight, encased in distressed denim that molded around her curves.
There’s nothing sexier to me than when a woman is proud of her body. Tiny or plus sized. A woman, like the one a few feet away from me, was a sinful delight. You could tell by the way she walked—her sway—that she felt desirable.
I followed close behind, barely throwing a glance at the bouncer as I passed them by. They knew me well enough and gave me a quick head nod in greeting. Being a regular had its benefits.
The girls stopped once within the club’s main floor, right between the dance area and bar. She was facing away from me. My fingers twitched beside me. Something within me needed to touch her. See her face. Feel her skin.
“What’re you drinking?” the girl beside her yelled over the music. “I’m in a vodka kind of mood.”
“With OJ?” my girl added; her hips moved to the heavy Jamaican beat pulsing through the speakers. Her voice carried over to me, and I shivered. Its tone captivated me—caressed my cock with its husky timbre.
I wanted to hear her moan my name.
“Is there any other way?” the first girl answered, and then turned to listen to the other two standing beside her. They spoke, but I didn’t hear a word. Most men in my position would be enjoying the view of what stood before me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.
My body was in tune with hers. My cock throbbed for her pussy.
Standing off to the side, I watched while they made their way toward the VIP section of the club. Her hips swayed deliciously from side to side, the plumpness of her ass calling my name with each tiny step she took. She sauntered toward the empty table with a reserved sign and sat down.
“Gatita,” I whispered low, and took a step closer.
“Who are you calling a little pussy cat?” Oliver stood beside me now with an amused expression on his face. When the fuck did he get here? “A few minutes ago.”
Was I speaking aloud?
“No,” he answered, “the look on your face said it all.”
I ignored him and took a step closer, but his hand on my arm made me pause. “What?” My tone held annoyance; he was standing in the way of my latest craving. Turning back to look at him, I raised a brow and signaled toward his hand over my forearm.
Oliver released me and held his hands up. “Where are you going?”
Good question. What was I doing?
“No clue.” And it was the truth. There was a lure I felt—a fascination I needed to fuck out of my system, preferably with her.
It was as the last syllable passed through my lips that the unthinkable happened. She turned—my gatita faced me and smiled toward the bar. That innocent move fucked up every preconceived notion of what I thought my life should be.
Was it love? Fuck and no. I don’t believe in that at first sight crap. There was something there, though, lust being the predominant emotion. It enticed me into seeking her out.
A low growl escaped my lips as she pulled her face away and turned to listen to her friend. My eyes devoured every inch and curve it could, from the poutiness of her lips to the swell of her perfect breasts.
“Stop being a pussy and go talk to her,” Oliver deadpanned, and for a second, I snapped out of whatever trance she had me under. He looked beyond excited over whatever was happening to me. Fucker.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Evasion was the key in this matter. He’d seen enough.
Oliver let out a deep belly laugh, loud enough to draw attention our way. “Bullshit.”
“Wait a minute,” my gatita hissed and slammed her hand on the tabletop. “Is that what…fuck! Did you see Hunter?”
Her angry voice pulled my attention her way once again. Who the fuck was Hunter? Why did she look so upset at the mere mention of his name?
Why did I care?
The group spoke in heated whispers. They were trying to calm her down by the way they each smiled or patted her back. She didn’t care for any of it and stood up to leave. “You’re right. Fuck him. Hunter will not ruin my night.”
Her irate disposition only made her hotter in my eyes.
Angry sex was the best kind of sex.
They applauded, following behind her to the dance floor. Her body moved to the beat, a slow, sensual roll of her hips that caught the eyes of a few men. Irritation bloomed within me at the sight of so many lusting over what I’d claimed as mine.
Is that what I did? Fuck, yes. If anyone was leaving with that beauty tonight, it would be me.
Then I saw her sad face, and my plans changed.
I stood up, not caring one bit for what Oliver would witness. Something within me screamed to go to her. Make whatever he did a distant memory. My chair scraped against the club’s floor, and the people around us turned to look. Not one fuck was given over the spectacle I was creating.
She needed to be in my arms. I’d make everything better.
“One so beautiful should never wear such a sad expression.”
Fall in love with Camden and Amanda from the beginning:
About the Author
Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned.
Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn't until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting her characters grow.