Page 68 of Bad Blood

“Can you ask him to trust me?”

Another nod. She turns to leave again.

“One more thing...” She waits impatiently. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Santi

Thalia Santiago’spussy is going to send me to an early grave.

I slam my bedroom door, unsure if I’m about to put a bullet in the wall or in my own head. I wanted her to beg for me. No, Ineededher to beg for me.

For my touch… My kiss… My cock.

Please.

One word and I would have devoured her. I would’ve made her come with my fingers and then sank my tongue into that greedy pussy until she screamed for mercy.

Screamed my fucking name.

I can’t decide if I’m more furious with myself for letting it get so far or with her for denying me the pleasure of breaking her. One simple word from those lips, and I would’ve taken more than her name…

The scent of her arousal still coats my fingers as I rip off my tie. It’s an infuriating cocktail of jasmine and pussy juice, causing me to tear at my shirt until the buttons pop off. Shrugging it off my shoulders, I break the zipper on my pants in a desperate attempt to free my swollen cock.

The moment it curls against my stomach, I turn and drive my fist into the wall.

It only hardens my dick even more.

Taking a vicious hold at the root, I pump my hand, my cock enduring a savage punishment meant for her.

The faster I stroke, the harder my fist pounds into the wall.

Pound. Pump. Pound. Pump.

“Dios mío, fuck… Thalia…” She’s all around me—her face in my head, her scent in the air, her taste on my tongue. As my hips thrust into my hand, I imagine it’s her cunt I’m driving into. Her cunt I’m fucking. Her Santiago cunt I’m going to stain with Carrera cum.

It’s that image that pushes me over the edge.

My balls tighten as my rhythmic strokes and punches become frenzied and frantic.

Pound. Pump. Pound. Pump. Pound. Pump.

I close my eyes and see her face—cheeks flushed, and eyes glazed with desire. My breath comes hard and ragged. In my fantasy, I’m grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her upright off the counter.

“Look,” I rasp, thrusting harder. “Watch the moment I own you, Thalia Carrera.”

Then my mind goes blank, and I roar out my release, like I’m spilling every drop of cum inside her.

When the fog clears, I draw air back into my lungs and slowly open my eyes.

My clenched fist is encircled by countless dents in a wall, where a few inches below, a trail of cum slowly drips down the dark paint.

Pushing away, I step back and stare at it—and decide not to clean it up.

Let it stain.

Let it be a reminder to us both.