To Have & to Hurt by Morgan Bridges
Violetta
Ican’t remove the image of Tristano’s cock from my mind.
My face is flushed beyond measure and I hope it cools off so he doesn’t think to take my temperature and check me for a fever. However, I would be feverish, but only because of my intense arousal. I’ve been sitting on the bed and fanning my cheeks ever since I ran from the bathroom doorway and I’m not sure it’s helped whatsoever.
The doorbell rings, startling me. I hesitate on whether or not I should see who it is. Being in a foreign country with only strangers for traveling companions is not exactly the type of environment that encourages feelings of security. If I didn’t speak Spanish, I wouldn’t even consider answering the door.
With a towel wrapped around his waist and a pistol tucked into the material at his back, Tristano exits the bathroom and opens the door, one hand near the firearm. The hotel’s staff member in the hallway blinks at him once as her mouth drops open. I can’t say I blame her.
And she hasn’t even seen what’s under the towel like I have.
Since he’s facing away from me, I take the opportunity to view his body and run my gaze over the muscles and tendons that undulate with each of his movements. The bronze of his skin makes him appear as though he’s a high-end model, and though his features aren’t without flaws, due to various scars and lack of perfect symmetry, he’s pretty close to perfection.
Tristano is gorgeous. There’s no disputing the fact.
“Room 230?” he asks.
At his inquiry, she snaps her jaw shut and nods. “Sí, señor.”
He walks over to his wallet, retrieves some cash, and holds it out to her. She takes it, her gaze still fastened to his bare chest. “Thank you,” he says, grabbing the cart’s handle and pulling it through the doorway. Then he shuts the door in her bewildered face.
It’s comical and I drop my head to keep from laughing, but also so he doesn’t catch me staring. After what just happened between us, I have to be more careful than ever. This man has uncovered a set of deep desires I hadn’t realized were there, and not only that, he’s brought them to the surface, rendering me unable to unsee them.
And also unable to fulfill them.
Tristano steers the cart and then parks it beside the table and chairs next to the windows. I salivate over his body and my breakfast. The scent of his freshly cleansed skin and hair, along with the aroma coming from the food, brush my nose and I greedily inhale them both.
“Eat whatever you wish,” he says, gesturing to the plates covered with silver lids.
I meet his gaze, slightly frowning.
He deciphers my unspoken question and answers it with, “I’ll eat after you’ve had your fill.”
I nod while keeping my features void of any emotion. I’m still unsettled by Tristano’s ability to read me so easily and voice the thoughts in my head. Does that mean he knows how much I desired him earlier and still do? That very idea is disconcerting. However, he gave me an out and I took it.
After hesitating.
The lingering regret of my decision has yet to subside…
He selects several articles of clothing lying on top of the dresser. The items must’ve arrived while I was asleep and from what I can tell, there’s something for me as well. I hope it fits, but I’ll wear it even if it doesn't just to get rid of this filthy dress.
As soon as Tristano re-enters the bathroom, some of the edginess leaves me. I scoot to the edge of the mattress and slide down to place my feet on the floor. With quiet steps, I pad across the carpet and seat myself at the table, pulling the cart closer to me. Then I lift the lid of the plate directly in front of me to reveal eggs and chorizo, bacon, and toast. It looks more delicious than it smells and I quickly remove the remaining lids of the four other dishes. My mouth waters and my stomach answers with a tiny grumble, urging me to choose.
Grabbing the nearby utensils, I dive into my meal and groan softly. The last time I ate was almost twenty-four hours ago, right before my cousin’s wedding. So much has happened since then, and although I don’t want to, my mind chooses that moment to process everything.
My sister is safe.
That is, by far, the most important piece of information. I’d love to hear her voice on the phone, but what would be the point if I don’t plan on saying anything back? I guess I’ll have to be content with the knowledge she is alive and well, and that I’ll be reunited with her soon.
Rafael cares for my sister and he’ll ensure nothing happens to her while I’m gone. However, he’s a complication. Almost as much as Tristano. If Carina loves him, then it’s very likely we won’t be leaving Chicago and the thought has my skin crawling with anxiety. I want to be as far away from there as I can get, but everything doesn’t revolve around me. My sister’s happiness matters more to me than anything else in the world, so if she wants to be with Rafael, then I’ll stay.
Which means periodically running into Tristano after this trip has concluded. This, along with many other reasons, is why I have to keep things professional between us, despite my intense attraction to him. That would be easier to do if I hadn’t kissed him and experienced the heat of his mouth, or felt the way my skin nearly burst into flames at his touch. I could rationalize my reactions to him, but not when he’s less than ten feet away.
Even now, knowing I need to maintain my distance, I’m still drawn to him.
I’m also perplexed that what happened with Tristano didn’t frighten or disgust me, as I thought it would with any man I became intimate with. He’s not even someone I know well, or at all really, yet I felt secure in his embrace and while under his protection.
I may not like it, but I can’t deny the truth.
With a contented sigh due to a full stomach, I drop my head to rest it on the back of the chair and close my eyes. That sigh is followed by another but one of exasperation. This business meeting, which was supposed to be quick, has now turned into a full-on business trip, and based on the way Tristano acted when speaking with Octavia, it’s going to be longer than I’d like. I need this time with him shortened, not lengthened.
Because in a moment of weakness I spoke his name. And I could accidentally do it again.
I groan at that, berating myself for my lack of willpower. As if weeping and screaming in front of Tristano wasn’t bad enough, I had to compound my embarrassment by calling for him in my sleep. And why did I? He makes me feel safe, yet there’s no logical reason why. Yes, he was kind to my sister, but he also threatened me, grabbed me, and lectured me.
And he set my soul on fire.
“I assume that noise means you’ve eaten your fill?”
My eyes fly open at the sound of his voice and I lift my head. Our gazes meet and I quickly drop mine, running it over him. His dress shoes are midnight black, his slacks such a dark navy they appear black, and his shirt is a crisp white, the first couple buttons undone, exposing the strong column of his throat. Tristano looks as though he just walked the runway, if not for the damp hair and the serious expression on his face.
I nod in response to his question since I’m finished eating and wait. He is not a man who enjoys being sedentary, which ensures he’ll expect me to do something here shortly.
“Please choose your attire and keep in mind that we’re not here to socialize,” he says. “You may use the shower and anything else you require, but be sure to finish within a reasonable amount of time.”
I have the urge to salute him because of his authoritative tone. Instead, I nod like I always do and then get to my feet. He follows me with his gaze and I pretend not to notice as I walk over to the dresser and pick up what I'm supposed to wear. It's a traditional Guatemalan skirt that’s brightly colored with pinks, blues, and purples, separated with thin strips of white. The peasant top has a square neckline with frilly edges on the neck and sleeves. It’s a lovely ensemble, but this trip is not conducive to wearing skirts, dresses, or anything of that sort, yet that’s what I’ve been given. I’d love to have a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but local customs must be observed, and I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention anyway.
Once I’m alone in the bathroom with the door locked, I lean against it and exhale. Tristano is overbearing, arrogant, and demanding. I remind myself that I’ll only be around him for a little longer and then I can relax. Or try to. I’m uncertain of the dynamic between Rafael, Carina, and myself, which is a huge concern for me.
How am I going to fit into their lives?
A knock on the bathroom door, which is closer to someone pounding on it, has a shriek erupting from my throat. I spin to face it and stupidly wait for Tristano to burst through the wood.
“Don’t lock this door or any other,” he says, his voice easily heard from the other side.
I glare in his direction. Does he really think I’ll shower with the door unlocked?
“Did you hear what I said?” he asks, his tone more severe than before. “If I have to break down this door, you’re going to be extremely contrite by the time I get through with you.”
With a huff I mockingly salute him, right before I flip the lock’s position. He’s quick to pull it open and we stare at one another, me with my eyes narrowed in irritation and him sporting a mild scowl. He cocks his head and there’s a slight lift of his brows.
“Is there a problem, signorina?”
I give a minute shake of my head, still glaring.
“Be grateful I’m allowing you to shut the door.”
I take the quickest shower in history.
It’s not because I believe Tristano is so attracted to me that he can’t keep his eyes off me. It’s because he’s the only one of us comfortable with nudity. I’ve hated my breasts and hips for as long as they’ve been rounded and large, knowing it’d only bring unwanted attention from men. And it did. Carina and I were the recipients of licentious gazes and lewd gestures for the majority of our teenage years.
Men are fucking disgusting like that.
There’s no need to prance around Tristano and unknowingly invite him to pursue me sexually. However, he’s the only man I wouldn’t mind chasing me.
If Tristano wasn’t related to my sister’s lover…
I’m quick to style my hair in a French braid, hoping it’ll keep the long strands from getting in my way and annoying me. A travel case of makeup was also delivered and I choose to utilize only the moisturizer and chapstick. Like Tristano said, I’m not here to socialize, and for the first time I don’t have to dress myself up to be on display.
I can simply be myself.
Who is that exactly?
The question stops me short and I halt in the middle of putting on my clothes. That provoking line of thought leaves me staring blankly ahead with my mouth slack.
It’s always been Carina and me…
A razor-sharp pain slices into my heart and I clench the shirt in my hands and bring it to my chest as if it’ll soothe me. Breathing is a struggle and I do my best to extricate my mind from the original inquiry or I won’t be able to function, let alone breathe. Imagining Tristano bursting through the door to find me half-dressed is enough of an incentive for me to gather myself.
When I finally walk out of the bathroom, Tristano’s gaze zips to me and lingers. He peruses me from head to toe and I fist my hands to keep from fidgeting under the blatant inspection. After he’s finished assessing me, or whatever he was doing, he gives me a curt nod.
“That’s suitable.”
I don’t say anything, of course, but I also refuse to answer in a non-verbal way as well. Let him think what he wants. I’m here because he forced me to be, not for any other reason, so his approval or lack thereof doesn’t mean anything. As long as Tristano doesn’t make good on his earlier threat to spank me, I’ll be fine.
I mentally toss that prohibited type of introspection into the same locked chest as my unknown identity. They both can stay there until I’m strong enough to think on them without losing my breath, that reaction stemming from different reasons. One is sexual and the other is terrifying.
Both are overwhelming.
Tristano jerks his chin at the empty chair across from him. “Come sit. We need to talk.”
My stomach somersaults and I battle the uncomfortable feeling as I make my way over to him and take my seat. I’ve followed his instructions, odious though they may be, so what could he possibly want to discuss?
“There are a few things you need to be aware of,” he says. “The criminal organization we are in the midst of is not without substantial power and influence, which does extend beyond this country. Each of its members would not blink an eye over killing you, especially since they may not know your Nardone’s daughter. Even that might not be enough for someone to spare your life. And if they did, you’ll probably wish they hadn’t.”
He plants his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “I have no intention of revealing who you are, not just for your safety but my own, as well as Benito’s. I don’t have to remind you of the fact we are outnumbered and my status in the underworld will only protect us against so much, which is why I need you to maintain your silence. Not just here, but after we’re back in the U.S., no matter what you overhear or witness.”
The compliant expression on my face is genuine when I nod my agreement. I don’t want anything to do with these people or their criminal activities and I certainly don’t plan on talking anytime soon.
“Very good.” Tristano takes his cell phone in hand and I assume the discussion is over, until he speaks again. “However, you may speak when we are alone, but only then, ribelle.”
I blink several times. Does he really believe that since I broke my silence once it’ll happen again? And that I’d speak to him, of all people? I may be attracted to Tristano and willing to extend him a limited amount of trust to keep me safe, but that’s nothing compared to offering up my thoughts in verbal communication.
He looks up from the screen of his phone and pierces me with his gaze. The silver within is heated, churning like metal at a high temperature, right before it melts. “I gather from your indignant expression that speaking to me is not on your agenda?” he asks with a deceptively mild tone.
Unsure which type of response will keep me out of trouble, I simply don’t give one and stay completely still.
He tilts his head just so. “Need I remind you what will happen if you refuse to answer me?”
I pause, thinking back to our conversation on the private jet, and in that time Tristano gets to his feet. My eyes widen in panic and I nod vigorously. He folds his arms, somehow enlarging and towering over me with greater dominion but doesn’t take a single step in my direction.
“I can clearly see you remember. Now, answer the question before that, the one concerning you talking to me.”
The moment I shake my head, telling him I don’t wish to speak to him, his mouth thins. I chose to answer honestly with the hope he’d see me as a lost cause. But it appears to have had the opposite effect, if his glower is anything to go by.
Tristano drops his arms to his sides and takes a step toward me, causing my spine to stiffen, and I grip the armrests to keep from bolting. However, a knock at the door stops him and he immediately changes direction. Once he reaches the door, with his fingers already curled around the firearm resting against his lower back, he glances through the peephole and then turns the doorknob.
“Buenos dias, señorita!” Beni says, waltzing past Tristano, who shoots a death glare at his back. “And buenos dias to you too, jefecito. I come bearing gifts.”
I inwardly smile at his usage of the word “boss,” since Tristano is not a “little” anything, let alone a boss. My curiosity gets the best of me and I crane my neck just a bit to get a glimpse of what Beni’s holding. He comes to stand beside me, then drops into the closest vacant seat, and that’s followed by him slamming two thin books onto the table’s surface.
“I challenge you to a duel,” he says. “Again.”
Tristano watches us from across the room, leaning against the wall with his phone dangling between his long fingers. I ignore him and look to Beni, furrowing my brows.
He raises his hand to wag his index finger at me. “Last time we played Tetris and you cheated. Fuck Tetris anyway. This is Sudoku, and not only that, but it’s on an ancient medium we old people refer to as ‘paper.’ Teenagers like you probably don’t even know what it is.”
My lips twitch at his antics. Beni is utterly ridiculous and delightfully entertaining.
“Furthermore,” he continues, still waving his hand in my face, “you cannot type any cheat codes in. It’s going to be just you and me, along with pen and paper. Have you ever done one of these before?”
I slide the book in my direction and then open it. The instructions are simple, but I’m not familiar with this type of puzzle, so I shake my head and let the book fall closed.
Beni grins at me and his gaze lights up. “Well, you better prepare yourself for an ass whipping because I’m not fucking around like last time. You’re going down, Violet the vanquished.”
My lips form a smirk and I tilt my head.
Game on, Beni the bitch.