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Fuck you, throat. Betrayer.
Some juice leaks down his fingers…?his nice and long fingers. He has large hands…?verymanlyhands. Very…sexy fingers that can do probably do something magnificent to a certain, much, needier part of a woman's body. Not mine, of course.
“You don’t like mangoes?” he asks with that slur in his accent.
I grab for the water bottle, needing it to lather my dry ass throat. “No, I don’t like mangoes,” I say awkwardly. I do like mangoes, but the way he’s eating it should be a sin. Against the damn law.
He chews slowly, a twitch permitting on his mouth. “Come on. Try it.”
“Mangoes aren’t my thing.”
He licks up the juice delicately from his middle finger. “It can be. It’s sweet, delicious, and can be a bit sour.” As he’s talking, he places the seed onto the plate, grabbing a towel to clean his hands. “Kind of rough. But I promise you’ll enjoy it. It’ll fill you up nicely. You won’t ever think about any other fruit again,” he drawls in Portuguese, licking the juice from his lips. My eyes fall to the lascivious act as an unwarranted throb shoots between my legs, beeping like a signal; heat forms on my cheeks. He doesn’t know, but I understoodevery singlething he just said. I’m fluent in Portuguese, studied for two years, including Spanish.
And why do I feel like we aren’t talking about ‘fruits’ anymore?
And he is flirting with me? Is he actually intending we?…?my cheeks heat, and a tingle flicks down my spine. When did ‘like’ ever mean flirt, but hey since he wants to go there, I’m your best component.
“I’m more of a banana girl,” I say, bringing the bottle to my lips, falling into the trap. My tongue slightly glides on the rim before wrapping my lips over the ridges and drinking the water.
He watches the movement, his eyes deepening and wandering to my lips, then back up to me. “Bananas, hm?”
I nod, lowering the bottle, catching the spill over the side of my mouth with my tongue and licking it quickly. “Bananas are perfect.” I begin with a smirk. “Easy to swallow, even though it’s big and long. Sometimes thick depending on the tree. It fits inyour mouth perfectly. You don’t choke on the juice, and it’s very, delicious.” I speak back in French, my native language.
I hope he doesn’t understand the language because we’redefinitelynot discussing fruits.
An inferno sets in his gaze, hardening right before me with a grin spreading further. I examine his face; the scar trailing down his cheek and the slice above his lip.
A vision of me licking up the marks fills my mind.Stop before you make a mess of yourself.
I lean over, placing my elbows on the counter with a tilt to my head. “I’m ready when you are,Headman.” I need to get to that dungeon and wipe this lust off on Fred’s face. Okay, that doesn’t sound right.
His gaze is tempestuous and if I wasn’t logical, I would stoke the beast some more, giving into my normal ways. The affliction I always send when I want to lure a man in.
Ronanis not that guy. No matter how sexy he looks, or downright sinister. I’ll never cross that bridge.
No matter how much the whispers in the darkness of my mind tell me otherwise.
*Bom dia- Good morning
Bonjour - Good morning
Chapter 26
Venom
Operation: Get the job done. And don’t focus on how attractive Ronan looks.
The time is now to put my blade where it fits. Anticipation is a funny thing. It makes your skin clammy and your nerves jitter like a rattlesnake. It’s not nervousness, it’s the excitement to see the light dim from his eyes and us smiling down on him as he wishes it never happened in the first place.
Ronan leads us down a tunnel. It’s clean with a paved trail, air circulation, and not all at all like what a torture dungeon should look like. There are other cells along the walkway. They’ve painted the bars a perfect black and only a small floor cot with a pail. I wonder who he holds in these cells.
As if reading my mind, he points to the cells. “Sometimes, we enforce thelawon our own terms.” He ends it with a light and throaty chuckle. I side eye him. Does he even answer to the law?
We pass the cells and end back at the cemented gray walls and lights stand upon the low rocky ceiling to bring light. All I need is a hand lamp to bring it all together.
“I think it goes to say I do the torturing. You do the talking,” I say, running my palm down my gelled hair.
“What gave you the idea I was going to allow you to do anything?”