Page 2 of Morena

I.

The whiskey still burns in my throat, leaving my skin sensitive, every nerve sparking as her mouth closes around me.

Jeans still shackled my ankles, thighs spread wide, cock jerking each time her tongue slid along my length.

My eyes blurred, but I caught the glint of her red hair falling forward, her lips stretching as she took me deeper, choking on me.

Isabella.

Paco’s daughter. My boss’s princess. Forbidden since the day I landed in Barcelona. And still, here she was, on her knees, devouring me like she had been starving.

I tangled my fist in her hair and shoved her down until her throat squeezed tight around me. Her nails dug deep into the skin on my thighs, her eyes watering, cheeks flushed red as a tear slipped free. I didn’t let her pull back.

1 “Dámelo, nena,” I snarled, grinding into her mouth.

Her lashes fluttered, but her eyes stayed locked on mine, pleading and daring me at the same time. She gasped through her nose, gagging, then forced herself into rhythm; slower, faster, until spit slicked her chin.

I dragged her up by the jaw, her lips swollen, eyes glassy, and shoved her back onto the bed.

“Lie down.”

Her body folded beneath my weight, her thighs spread by my knee. She was already dripping, soaking the white sheets. One thrust and she bowed off the mattress, clutching at the fabric as I split her open.

Her moans echoed off the cheap walls, mingling with the slap of skin against skin. I gripped her hips, slammed harder, sweat stinging my eyes. She clawed at the sheets, voice breaking into raw cries.

2 “Rómpeme, papi.”

She wanted me to break her, to ruin her, and so I did.

I hooked her legs over my shoulders and drove in deep, her body straining against the bedframe. She clenched around me, shuddering, one hand sliding from her breasts to her swollen pussy. Fingers circling her clit, desperate and trembling, while I held her pinned open.

A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. “ 3 Muy bien, preciosa. Show me. Show me how you want to come for me.”

Her moans spilled out, breathless and broken, my name caught between her teeth. “Matteo… sí.”

Her thighs trembled, shaking, but I didn’t let up. I shoved her legs aside, twisting her to the right, palms digging into her ass as I slammed harder, my fingers pulling her cheeks open so I could drive in deeper. My restraint snapped; I was seconds from spilling inside her.

I pulled out at the last moment. She crawled toward me on shaky knees, lips parted, eyes burning. My cock slid into her mouth, and I groaned as she swallowed me whole.

4 “Traga,” I growled, my head falling back as she took every pulse from me.

She obeyed like she was born for it, no hesitation, no mercy. Not a drop wasted, not a breath spared. She devoured me until there was nothing left.

When she finally rose, wiping her lips, she took her black dress from the floor and tied her red hair into a bun. “If my father finds us here, he’ll kill you.”

I smirked, lying on the bed, still reeling. “Live a little, 5 preciosa.”

She tossed a shirt at my chest, her voice harder now. “Matteo, you can’t afford to lose this job. He’ll kick you out the second he suspects.”

“I know.”

And I did. But reason meant nothing with her still standing there naked, daring me with that fire in her eyes. I caught her wrist, yanking her back down to me.

“Stay,” I whispered, dragging her down onto me. “One more round.”

She rolled her eyes, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, but straddled me anyway. Wet heat smeared against my cock, teasing my raw skin until I hissed.

“What would you do if I stayed?” she breathed against my mouth.

“I would fuck you from every angle on this bed,” I murmured, sliding my hand up to her breast, squeezing. “Until you can’t stand it.”

Her lips curved. “Promise… or threat?”

“Maybe I should show you.”

My cock hardened again under her, and she moaned low, taking me in her hand, rubbing herself before sinking, inch by inch, still soaking from earlier.

My hands slid onto her hips as she began to ride, slow at first, then faster, harder, her breasts bouncing in one of her palms as her hair whipped around her face. She braced one hand on my chest, gasping for air, head thrown back as her moans cracked through the room.

And just between our breaths, the door slammed open.

Paco.

His shadow filled the frame, his face turning red with rage.

For a split second, she didn’t even stop, her body still rolling on my cock like her need outweighed fear itself.

But the moment her eyes locked on his, she froze, shrieked, and scrambled for the sheet, dragging it over herself as tears blurred her flushed face.

I was drunk, too drunk, and yet the image burned clear: my cock still inside his daughter, and Paco’s eyes, bloodshot, locked on me.

6 “Hijo de puta!” he shouted, charging forward, ripping Isabella off me by her arm. She sobbed, freckles drowned in streaks of red.

“Paco, wait, I can explain,” I stammered, clutching myself, rising unsteadily.

“I’ll kill you, 7 cabrón.” His spit hitting the floor with his words. He lunged, but Isabella threw herself between us, trembling, the sheet slipping from her shoulder.

“Dad, please, it was me. It’s my fault. Don’t touch him.”

“Your fault?” he spat. His voice cracked the air like a whip. “He’s the 8 Don Juan of the block, 9 hija. He’ll ruin you!”

When I thought the worst had happened, I heard the click of metal. In his hands he held a silver gun. His hands were steady as death as he aimed towards me.

“You have five minutes,” he growled, raising it to my chest. “Pack your shit. Then get the fuck out.”

Five minutes. That’s all it took to lose everything.

Five minutes and I was out on the street with no roof, no job, and no future. I came here chasing a dream, but dreams don’t mean shit when you’re standing in the dark with nothing but your breath.

So, I did the only thing I knew I could. I ran.

Behind me, Isabella’s eyes filled with tears. She wanted more, even after knowing what we were. They always do. Someone always falls, someone always loves, and it’s never me.

Call it heartless, but the truth is, I don’t believe in love, in hope, in anything that pretends to last.

2 days before

Last night wasn’t sleepless just because I had no roof over my head.

It was my mind haunting me again, reminding me of what I did.

What I always did when I got too comfortable somewhere.

I know I’m the problem. I’ve always been the one who needs fixing.

But when you grow up with no one, you learn quickly that you’re not meant to keep anyone.

I’m broken, and I’ve never pretended otherwise.

What I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to be fixed.

I didn’t wish to move on, didn’t want to “heal.” I just existed.

Every day felt like it could be my last, and I lived like I didn’t care if it was.

Perhaps that was the real problem: I don’t care.

The fucks I should’ve given were buried deep in a past I barely remembered.

Beside me, on the bench, sat a black trash bag stuffed with clothes. On top of it lay an old burner phone Isabella had slipped me, her way of making sure I could answer when she called. And that morning, too early, with the streets still cold, she did.

The screen lit up. I stared at it for a good two minutes, weighing whether to answer, but in the end I did.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“Hey,” her voice came soft. “How are you?”

I laughed. “What do you think?”

She sighed, and I could almost hear her guilt pressing through the line. She knew part of this was on her. Maybe she had realized I wasn’t good for her, but Isabella was one of those girls who wanted to possess whoever she wanted.

“Listen,” she went on, “ 10 mi tío is looking for someone to work in one of his old properties.”

“What’s the job?” I asked right away.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, then paused, exhaling hard. “But you need it… just write down a number.”

I dug a pen from my jacket pocket, the same jacket I had pulled out of the trash bag, and started scribbling across my palm.

She fed me the numbers, and when she reached the last one, her tone dropped. “Whatever it is, take it,” she whispered. “And maybe you can call me after?”

I rolled my eyes.

11 “Claro,” I said, chuckling.

God forbid Paco’s precious princess be seen with a homeless man. I was just her secret, someone she called for the night, when loneliness was too hard for her. She craved the kind of man her parents paraded before her, who could ever give.

So I didn’t say anything else. I just hung up and stared at the black screen.

I had been leaving everything for the last minute, delaying life itself as long as I could. But now there was no room left to stall. The delays had already caught up to me. For the first time, I acted immediately. And it was not because I wanted to, but because I had no choice.

I punched in the numbers she’d given me and pressed the dial. The line rang a few times before a man picked up.

“Who is it?” That was the first thing out of his mouth. No hello. No name.

“Matteo De la Cruz. Calling about a job,” I said, giving him as much as I knew, which wasn’t much.

He made a low sound in his throat. “I can’t talk over the phone. Meet me at Carrer de Montcada, thirty-three. Five this afternoon.”

12 “Bien,” I said with a nod, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll be there.”

The call cut off the second the words left my mouth.

Carrer de Montcada was about an hour’s walk from the bench where I’d spent the night. Since nothing tied me there, I started walking. The sun was already high, heat rising off the streets, making sweat form on my forehead with each step I took.

Montcada carried its own kind of stories. Back in the eighties, it was the hunting ground of 13 El Trece , the serial killer who was never caught.