Page 290 of His To Erase

His mouth opens, then closes again. His hand stills on my back. And for once, I don’t fill the silence with a sarcastic jab or some emotionally-deflective punchline. I just sit there.

He exhales like I just knocked the wind out of him. “When I thought I lost you…” His voice cracks—just enough to break me. “Everything in me fractured.”

My chest caves a little more.

“You don’t get to say that and then make me wait till tomorrow,” I whisper. “Talk.”

He hesitates. Brushing his thumb along my arm like he’s trying to ground both of us. “Frank planned to sell you the second you signed those papers, honey. You’re the key to unlocking your grandfather's entire empire.”

I go still. “…What?”

“You heard me.”

There he goes, holding my entire world by the throat with three words and no apology.

“…My grandfathers what?”

His eyes don’t move. “I’m not sugarcoating it for you, pretty girl. You’re too damn strong for that, and we both know it. So I’m going to say it straight, and you’re going to take it—because you can and you’ve already survived worse. Then we’ll figure out the rest. Together.”

He leans in close to my ear and his voice drops to something darker. “Maybe—if you’re a good girl—I’ll let you come. On my fingers first, then my tongue, and if you’re still breathing after that… I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your own name. Once your body’s had a chance to recover, that is.”

I like how he negotiates.

Heat floods my body, settling between my legs. My thighs clench together, desperate and aching, because I’m suddenly too fucking aware of where his hand sits on my waist.

There’s tension crackling between us that’s so goddamn thick I can taste it. And all I can think about is how this man just handed me my entire legacy like it was nothing—while gripping me like he plans to fuck the sanity right out of my body with the other hand.

And God help me, I want him to.

I swallow once and lean in close enough that my mouth nearly brushes his ear.

“Then talk,” I whisper, then shift on his lap just to feel the thick length of him already hard beneath me. “Or do you want me to beg for it first, sir?”

He glances at me again, eyes a shade darker than before. “Your grandfather—Emilio Rivera—wasn’t just a rich old man with property in Puerto Rico. He was one of the last remaining heads of a multi-generational crime network. Drugs. Weapons. Shipping ports. Offshore accounts. Government ties. The Rivera family is one of the oldest organized crime syndicates on the island.”

My lungs seize and I stop breathing entirely.

“When he died,” he says, quieter now. “The entire network went into lockdown. No one could touch the money or the land, and the people loyal to him refused to move. Not without blood.”

And suddenly I’m five again. Sitting in the hallway while my parents whispered about Puerto Rico in Spanish, always looking over their shoulders. I used to think it was about pride. Or grief. Or some irreparable rift that families just bury instead of fix.

But this? This can’t be real.

He watches me fall apart in silence.

“You’re his heir, Ani. His only heir. The will—his whole legacy—it’s tied to your blood. Frank found out. And he wanted it.”

There’s no way he’s saying what I think he’s saying.

I shake my head. “Why not just take it? I didn't know any of this. He could’ve just taken it and I never would’ve known any different.”

“Because he couldn’t,” Steven says, choosing each word carefully. “Rivera’s estate isn’t like a normal inheritance. It wasn’t just money or property. Everything your grandfather built—the land, the offshore accounts, the people loyal to him—was locked behind legal bullshit and bloodline clauses. Nothing could be transferred or touched unless it went to a direct descendant.”

He pauses, watching my face like he’s waiting for the pieces to snap together.

“He needed to be bound to you by marriage,” he says. “Your signature was the last piece. You’re the only one the Rivera estate would legally recognize.”

My stomach twists. “So…”