Fall by Autumn Archer
9
I never imagined this could be possible, but is it what I want right now?
With her spine molded into my chest and my arms securing her slender figure, our breathing mirrors in rhythm. Together, we witness a spectacular sunrise. I’ve been on this terrace countless mornings before and never fully appreciated the glory of new beginnings. In the past it merely signified more time wasted where Gabriela’s murderers walked free. Another day to plot and plan. Too much light to reveal my identity.
This morning, the suffocating shadow of cruel inner demons are noticeably absent. Yet the awareness of imminent danger hangs over me like mist swirling the treetops.
I calculate that it’s a day at most before Miguel arrives, which means he’ll be here soon. My men will hunt him out like a scavenging rodent. They’ll bag him and drag him away from Brasilia. He’ll simply vanish without a trace. Eventually, his people in Rio will notice he’s gone. Feelers will creep out of the underworld. The search will begin.
There’s a brief span of safe hours to spend with Iris. After that, I doubt I’ll cope with Miguel polluting my Oasis, breathing the same air as someone else I care about. Even if he’s locked up and restrained. Beaten and hung from his wrists. Shit happens. Lives are stolen. I can’t be too careful with this particular snake.
It’s a colossal risk bringing him here. And a big mistake to fall for Iris’s persuasive tactics.
“Are you okay?” She does a one-eighty and catches my angst-ridden scowl.
“I’m hungry. I’ll make us something to eat.” I shrug it off. She wants Dante, not the maniacal thoughts of el Fantasma.
Falling back into the shade, I saunter to the drawers next to my bed and locate a pair of shorts. I run through the options, unsure if I should entertain her in my Oasis for another day. The only feasible strategy is detainment. I’ll keep her up here, in the only place that will hide her from prying eyes. It’s my rules, or she’s on the first chopper out of here.
“Don’t cover up on my behalf.” She trots up behind me and hesitates by the foot of the bed. “I like it when you’re naked and wild.”
“Naked and wild?” I mutter, angling around to marvel at her womanly curves.
“Yeah, like Tarzan.” Her prolific laugh catches me by surprise.
She’s gone from defiant and stand-offish to brazen and bold in a matter of hours. If I thought the uncontrollable arousal I harbored came from craving the forbidden, then I was sorely mistaken. Her willingness is a far greater prize. A laugh bubbles from my throat in a tune of joy. It’s a sound I’ve long forgotten. An emotion I surrendered years ago.
She presses the tips of her fingers to her lips, hiding a shy smile. My heart thumps in my chest, and the chuckle subsides. I scratch my chin in the weird lull of my unexpected outburst. “Tarzan. Is that your fantasy, beija flor?”
Her cheeks flush to rosy pink, and she almost winces. “Sorry… that was…”
Tossing the shorts aside, I keep my gaze fixed on her fidgety hands that are unsure which body part to cover. “Well?” I narrow my eyes, strolling closer. “Do you like wild sex? Is that it?”
Her lips suck in, and she twiddles the ends of her hair. “Maybe,” she breathes out, peering up at me with a face framed by messy curls.
Tucking rogue locks behind her ear, I tilt her chin higher. “I know exactly what you enjoy and what you need.” Quick puffs feather my face until I cover her mouth with mine. I tease her lips with light pressure, mindful of the nails scratching my shoulders as she silently begs for more. “Shall I tell you what gets me off?” I tug her lower lip between my teeth and let it pop free. “Tasting myself down here.” My hand firmly cups between her thighs. “Knowing I’ve claimed you with my dick and my cum.” My finger slips into her heat, and she shudders. “What could be wilder than fucking a gutsy red head in the midst of the jungle with no one around to hear her scream?” Angling my wrist, I push up further. “I used to get turned on by obedience.” Her breath catches. “Turns out I’d rather have your untamed rebellion and innocent resistance. You’re my fantasy, beija flor. Without even trying.”
It starts out as a shiver and ends with a spasm of muscles clenching my fingers. My name tatters her composure until she’s panting and shaking in my arms.
With my dick primed for fucking, I scoop her into my arms and swivel to the bed. The brutal desire to hang her head over the mattress and fuck her throat is matched with an overpowering urge to simply hold her close and watch myself catch fire in her eyes. The gentler notion wins. I lay her down and spread her legs, then sink in balls deep.
My palm secures her jaw. Our gazes unite. Her fingers roughly thread my hair. My forehead bangs into hers. And I combust in the sensations of a euphoric adrenaline rush.
I empty everything inside my beautiful mistake and kiss her so hard that a coppery tinge blends our passion and seals our fate.
In the wake of heart shattering tremors, I clamber to the side and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The blood is my own. I take solace in the sting. I’ll only administer pain where pleasure follows, and it sure as fuck won’t cause her to bleed. “How do you do that, beija flor?”
My head spins. Goosebumps careen over my skin when she traces my bicep with roaming fingertips. “Do what?”
“Blow my mind every damn time.” I run a hand over my face and let my breathing regulate.
“Sir?” Luiz's voice crackles over the airwaves. “I have an update.”
I straighten to sitting and spring off the bed, crossing the floor until I reach the radio transmitter. Selecting a fully charged walkie-talkie, I carry it onto the wrap around terrace and move out of earshot.
“Luiz, what have you got for me?”
“The package landed in Brasilia. With back up.”
“Estimated time of pick up?”
“We’re surveying the collection point. Approximately an hour, sir.”
“Okay. Get in touch the second you’re in possession.”
“Understood. It won’t be long.”
We lured him to the outskirts of Brasilia for a make-believe drug deal. I’ve tracked his shady dealings long enough to know what makes him tick––cocaine. I’m sure he’ll replace the spineless hired help who my assassins killed recently. The very same assholes who showed up at my home in Rio with Miguel and sealed their fate as Gabriela’s murderers. They were there. They were just as involved in her death as the fucker who pulled the trigger. My paid assassins dropped those two guys off at the gates of Hell. He’ll need all the help he can get this time.
My men are skilled in combat. The best of the fucking best. And we have the advantage and foresight. By my reckoning, Miguel will be here after sunset. He’ll be unconscious for a few hours, and then the games will begin.
My stomach roils. The bright sunlight smarts my tired eyes. I didn’t get much sleep, not that I normally sleep for long anyway. Usually, I’m hunched over a keyboard with a cyber mission, not attuned to a female who fits into the scenery like a rare species.
I half expect her to be loitering close by, eavesdropping on my brief conversation. Instead, she’s holding up one of my T-shirts and muttering under her breath. I blink in the sight, palming my chest to ease the blood pumping faster. She’s cursed me with a permanent state of arousal.
“I’ll need clothes.” She slips her arms into the khaki colored material and glances over at me.
Standing straighter, I fight the impulse to storm across the room and seize the fabric hiding her physique. “You don’t need clothes up here,” I snap. “Take it off.”
She fakes a scowl. “Do you really want your staff ogling me?”
“Believe me, they won’t see you.” I return the walkie-talkie and twist the volume dial on the transmitter to zero. “No one is allowed up here. The only time the guys see this place is when they lower supplies from a helicopter.”
“I mean down there.” She points to the woven rug beneath her bare feet, signaling to the dark understory at the foot of the treehouse. “I can’t navigate the rainforest like this. Anyway, I’d like to see Sal again.”
My hands curl into fists. “That’s not part of the deal.”
Iris folds her arms and pads closer. “From what I recall, we’re still in the negotiation stage.”
This woman will be the death of me. I massage the base of my skull and sigh out my displeasure. Bartering isn’t one of my strongest qualities. I’m not the kind of man who gives in. That way mistakes don’t happen. There’s no room for misunderstandings. Which is why it’s hard for me to relent, but having her here has drained the aggression I’ve manifested for years. It’s grown into an ungoverned beast. Somehow, she’s softened all the jagged edges of my past and made them more tolerable. There’s no question that I should send her home, but the thought of never touching her again makes me hesitate.
What makes her so special?
She’s just a pretty girl hoping for sunshine, and I'm a thunderbolt waiting to torch the earth.
If she wants to drag out a goodbye, then she’ll stay hidden for a few days at most. That way I can focus on my business and ensure her safety.
“We aren’t negotiating. I’m telling you how it will be.” I cover the open plan sitting area with determined strides. “Stay up here where it’s safe, or go home.” My tone scratches the facade of our potential happiness. This is real life. Not a whimsical fantasy.
Locating the shorts I’d disposed of earlier, I step into them and trap my dick before it rises to the occasion again.
She slots her hands on narrow hips and clears her throat with a purposeful cough. In a beat she’s before me, glaring up with masterful provocation. “Part of the reason I've asked to stay is for that.” Her finger jabs the air, pointing to the greenery. “To carry on documenting the natural species and uncharted terrain. How can I do that if I’m stuck up here?”
A headache spreads over my brow, worsening as my teeth clamp together. “It’s a no,” I grit out. “You’re leaving.”
Her mouth contorts. “It’s a yes.”
Darkness creeps across my features. I picture her cold, lifeless body on a bed of decomposed leaves. No laughter. No pride. No graceful countenance. Just a stony figure robbed of life.
Unbelievably, over the course of time, this stubborn woman has become the very thing I swore I’d never permit again––someone to mourn. Iris is more than important—she’s rightfully mine. The cruel vision of her future death rots my unstable mind, stabs holes in the healing blisters and sets my blackened heart alight with an eternal flame of grief. Where she nursed its burnt ventricles with possibilities of reparation, any chance of losing her to death pulverizes the need to have her in my arms. The reality of consequences numbs my out-of-time heartbeat and deadens the wish for normalcy.
My hands fly to my temples. I battle the chaotic demons running riot in my head with an almighty snarl. It’s a very real growl, matching my very real memories. Pounding my skull with the heel of my hand, I chase away the hateful image of her blood drained corpse and icy skin. Her curious eyes turn vacant until the final breath rattles from her lungs and silence falls. Loneliness shrouds my mood all over again.
“Fuck!” My gut pinches and twists.
My chaotic temper is threadbare. She scurries away, clearly scared of the deranged monster losing his shit. And it's all Miguel’s fault.
Pinning her with a fierce gaze, I witness her stomach rise and fall. Uncertainty flickers in her wide eyes, and her teeth sink into her lips. “Dante,” she whispers. “You promised me I’d never meet this side of you again. Don’t do this.”
I’d love to snatch her quaking limbs and restrain her with a bundle of knots. To trap her under a weight of smothering protection. Most of all, I wish I could kiss away the terror projected right at me, hold her hand until the trembling anxiety of my next move eases and press her to my chest so the panicky jitters fade.
“I can’t make that promise to you.”
For the longest moment, we stare at each other in an electrified storm of uncertainty. My nostrils flare as I govern ragged breathing. Her shaky palm settles on her heaving belly as she tries to stay upright.
A gentle breeze blows through the treehouse. It’s such a blessing for a treetop location in a sweltering hideout, gently blanketing our distress with tranquility. I can either send beija flor home and banish her from my future, choosing my own misery over her salvation, or I can hand the verdict over to fate to decide if we deserve a happy ending together.
The two paths are equally as precarious.
Both options scare me beyond comprehension.
Both roads can strip my sanity to the bone.
“Dante.” My heart pounds as her sultry voice licks around my anguish. “I don’t want to stay as your prisoner. That’s not what this was about.”
Prisoner! That’s what she thinks this is. She has no idea how I feel inside. Even I can’t grapple with the torrential rainfall of mixed emotions ruining my all-powerful demeanor. I’m a mess. She single handedly ridiculed my title of master and kicked me from my position.
I draw back my shoulders and uncurl my fists. In four long strides, we’re face to face. “I can’t do this. If you aren’t prepared to stay up here, then...”
She swallows hard. “Then what?”
“You have until tomorrow morning to say your goodbyes. You’re not welcome here anymore.” No one will truly understand the trauma I’ve suffered or even grasp a glimpse of the fear eating my soul.
“Just like that?” she snaps.
“It seems that way, beija flor.” The second I say the name I’ve grown accustomed to breathing, my stomach flips, and I suppress the laughable consequence of allowing a dream into my life. “We both have different ideas.”
I chose the split in the road that ends with her happiness—freedom.
“Clearly we do,” she replies with a breathless rasp, turning away.
In that one movement, adrenaline ruptures my sanity, and I bite back the words on the tip of my tongue. Although we’ve both endured a lot, I can’t remember a time when I’d felt so unsure and so uncertain about a decision before now.
