Page 25 of Serena (Shattered Queens #1)

Well, that ruined me. Now I want more, and I know she does too.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her to come out of her room.

I can hear her movements in the bedroom; she’s probably overthinking what happened last night.

But I’ll remind her she doesn’t need to.

“Serena, are you planning on coming out?”

I hear the bedroom door open, and she casually walks over.

She’s wearing a camisole and matching pajama shorts.

I can’t with this woman. She is a walking and talking temptation.

She takes a seat next to me, looks at my coffee cup, and takes it.

I bite my lip every time she sips on my coffee.

It’s becoming our little routine, and I love it.

With a heavy sigh, I know what’s coming before she even says it.

“Ian, last night was a mistake.” She tries to sound indifferent.

“Oh, really?” I can’t help but snap at her. “I beg to differ. I remember you screaming my name and coming so ha—”

“I know what happened, I was there,” she interrupts. “Ian, we work together, and I don’t want to be that person who sleeps with someone they work with. Things can get messy.”

“Fine, I’ll quit and have Gabe take over, and things won’t get messy. I promise you.”

“What! No, you can’t do that! Your father asked you.”

“My father can deal with it. Gabriel is very capable of running the company. Hermosa, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

She stands to walk away, but I grab her by the waist and pull her to me. She’s between my legs, and her ass is hitting the table.

“Stop. This running away shit is going to stop.” I stand up and cage her in. “Do you need a reminder of what it felt like to have my head between your thighs? My tongue fucking that tight cunt. The way your body begged for it.”

I move my hand to her throat and squeeze it. Her pulse rate is high, her lips are parted, but when I look at the thin camisole, I see the peaks of her hard nipples. She’s turned on. I wonder if her pussy is soaking like last night. I can’t help but let out a groan.

“Baby, are you wet for me?”

She nods, and that’s all it takes. I grab her thighs and lift her enough to have her sit on the edge of the table. Then I gently lean her onto her back.

“Ian, what are you doing?”

“I’m reminding you. Now be a good girl, and lie still.”

I pull out a pocketknife, and she freezes.

“What are you doing?” She glares at the small weapon in my hand, then back at me.

“Hermosa, I’m not going to hurt you. See.” I show her the small knife and press my thumb on the sharp blade.” Trust me.” I move the blade to her sleep shorts, and she tenses; she’s shaking, but I need to push her. She needs to overcome this, and I’ll help her.

“It’s okay.”

“Ian…” she pleads.

I bend down and lay a kiss on her stomach.

I grab her hand and place it on top of mine, still holding the knife.

Together, we move to the waist of her shorts, slightly turning the sharp blade onto the fabric until it starts to tear.

She lets go, and I continue until there is nothing left of the shorts, then I do the same to her top.

I put the weapon away. Move my hands to her thighs and spread them open, then I caress my way to her breasts, taking one in each hand, and I squeeze them.

They fit so well in my hands, the perfect size.

I tug on her nipples, putting them in between my fingers, and pinch.

The moans that escape her lips are nothing but music to my ears.

“Ian,” she whimpers.

I let go and take a seat on the chair. The view in front of me is nothing short of a masterpiece. Serena on the table, naked, with her legs spread out just for me. I can see her dripping for me and only for me. I wrap my arms around her thighs.

“Baby, I haven’t had breakfast this morning, and I’m starving.” Then I eat like a starved man. I devour my meal. I lick her all the way down to her back entrance. I kiss her scar, which I know helps her relax. I use my fingers to stretch her opening, and I fuck her with my tongue.

“Goddamn, my tongue is addicted to this pussy. Do you want me to keep going?” I ask with a grin on my face because the answer is obvious by the state she’s in. Moans and whimpers are all I hear.

I grin. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes, Ian, please, I need more.”

I pull back. My hand slaps her pussy.

“Ahh.” She cries out.

“This is for trying to run away.” Her cries turn into a low moan.

I do it again, and a louder moan escapes her lips.

Fuck me. She likes it. And that thought turns me feral.

I dive back in, fucking her with my mouth, then I decide to add two fingers because one won’t be enough.

I push inside her, and she becomes needy.

Her back arches, and she moves her hand to my head, pulling me closer.

My fingers fuck her while I lick her juices. Jesus, I’m about to come in my pants.

“Ohhh Ian… I’m so close… More, please,” she begs.

I can feel how close she is; fuck, I need my cock inside her.

I feel her pussy clench around my fingers as she comes, but I don’t let up; I take everything she gives me.

I stand up and bring my mouth to hers. I love her arousal on me, but I love when she tastes herself on me even more. I pull away from our kiss.

“Next time you want to run, remember how good it feels to have me between your legs.” I devour her with another kiss.

“Now get ready. We have somewhere to be.” I help her off the table and look at the discarded clothes that are on the floor with a sense of pride.

On shaky legs, she nods and starts to walk toward her room.

And just because I know she likes it, and I want to tease her, I slap her ass hard.

“Ian, that hurts.” I don’t miss the moan that escapes. Damn it, I need a cold shower—again.

All I can think about is last night and this morning and all the other things I'd like to do to her. My dick’s been hard all day.

I've caught her staring at me on and off all day, her eyes wandering below my waist. She’s fighting so hard, but the harder she fights, the harder she’ll fall.

Today my plan is to just be with her, enjoy our time together, because knowing her, the moment we get back home, she’ll try to freeze me out.

This morning, we had breakfast by the beach, followed by some shopping, which I insisted on paying for.

One, because I want to spoil her, and two, because I plan on ripping all her clothes from her body, and it doesn’t seem fair to make her pay for them.

I don’t think she noticed how her breathing turned shallow, how her cheeks flushed, and how her nipples seemed to harden when she held the small knife between our hands.

I notice, because when it comes to her, I notice everything.

After arguing in front of the cashier for five minutes about who would pay, she conceded and let me.

It bothers me that she can’t allow herself to be taken care of by others. Others, being me, and only me.

We make our way along the outdoor shops, and Serena spots a man on the sidewalk. He’s selling fruits and shaved ice.

“Do you want something?” she asks me.

“Um, no thanks.” Truth be told, this is new to me.

“What’s your favorite fruit?”

“I don’t have one.”

She looks at me as if I’ve committed a felony for my lack of choice.

“Una orden de sandía y una de jícama con todo, por favor.”

The man selects a watermelon from his range of fruits and chops it up, adds lime and chili powder, then does the same with the jícama and hands it to Serena. She pays him, and we carry on walking.

“You seem like a watermelon type of guy. Let me know if you like it.”

I take a bite, savoring the fresh fruit. It’s different from anything I’ve tasted before. Refreshing and sweet, but the lime and chili combination gives a unique, smoky taste.

“I really like it.”

She smiles. The sound of music replaces the sound of the ocean, and Serena walks toward it.

Following her, we gather around a small crowd in the middle of the promenade.

There are lounging chairs facing the guitarist, inviting the audience to sit and enjoy the show.

I lead Serena toward an open seat, my hand on the small of her back, so gentle but possessive.

I live for these moments until I can have her completely, which won’t be long now.

We sit and listen to the music, when a waiter approaches our table, offering a menu.

“Hungry?” I ask. “How does pizza sound?” She turns to look at me with a smile.

“Sounds perfect.” Then her gaze returns to the guitarist. A couple of songs later, our food arrives, and the artist goes on a break. “I love the sound of a guitar being played,” she shares as she takes a bite of the pizza slice.

“What else do you like?” I’m curious.

“Hmmm. Regarding food?”

“Anything and everything.” I’m trying not to sound so eager and fail miserably.

“My favorite dish is chicken enchiladas, but I can’t make the sauces, well, not like my grandmother.

I hate kiwis, hate shopping, unless it’s for a work function, which is mostly the case.

My least favorite jewel is a diamond. Although I have received them as gifts.

I always exchange them for something else or don’t wear them.

Let's see…what else? I’d rather stay in than go out. ”

“You don’t like diamonds? I know women who would kill for them.” I laugh.

“Well, Mr. Kayde, I’m not all women.”

“That’s true. Can I ask why not?” I ignore the change in my name. I can see her body language transforming from casual and relaxed to alert. She takes a deep breath. “You promise not to ask more about this if I answer your question?” No, I want to say.

“Yes.”

“Diamonds remind me of little pieces of shattered glass.” She looks away.

Shit! Now I feel like an asshole. I see her getting lost in her thoughts.

The music begins again, so I grab her elbow and bring her to me, placing her on my lap, and I wrap my hands around her waist. We’re both facing the guitarist, and I feel her melt into me, leaning back onto my chest. I whisper in her ear, “I prefer emeralds anyway.” I could sit here and hold her forever. She stays on my lap and eats her pizza.

She excuses herself to go to the restroom, giving me the opportunity to pay the bill, but she’s taking a while. It’s Saturday night, so it’s getting busy with the bar nightlife. It’s been ten minutes. Why is she taking so long? I decide to go find out. I start making my way to her.

“Back off, asshole.” I hear a woman yell, but I immediately recognize the voice—Serena.

I turn right into the hallway that’s now full of partygoers, and there against the wall, a couple of feet away from the restroom, is Serena with a man hunched over her.

It’s as if she can sense me, and we lock eyes.

The man just made the biggest mistake of his life.

He stands up to his full height, which is still a couple of inches shorter than mine.

This motherfucker is trying to intimidate my woman.

I know what he’s about to do before he even does it.

Without hesitation, I lunge at him, grab him by the back of his neck, and pull him away from her.

I turn him toward me and punch him straight in the face until I hear bone crack, then throw him to the ground. I turn to her. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, but…”

“Tell me.” My tone is harsher than I intended because I'm mad at myself.

“He bumped into me and spilled his drink on my top. Then he grabbed my breasts. I pushed him off and punched him in the throat.”

It’s so hot that she can defend herself, but this guy is almost a foot taller than her and seems to weigh more than me. She needs to learn to pick her battles, that or carry a goddamn weapon. I pull out my phone and send a text.

“Which hand?” I ask her.

“What?”

“Which hand did he touch you with?”

“He-he, both, he used both.”

Well, this motherfucker just signed his death sentence. I look up to see Augustus walking toward Serena and me. “Take her back to the hotel,” I order. I turn to her, my expression lacking anything but warmth. “Go with Augustus and don’t leave the fucking room. I’ll join you shortly.”

“Ian…”

“Don’t argue with me, Serena. This is not the time nor the place.”

Augustus leads her out of the shitty hallway, and I turn my attention back to the piece of shit lying cold on the ground. This seems to be the norm here because no one is paying any attention to us. As soon as Serena and Augustus are out of view, two men make their way to me.