The Mule: An Erotic Romance in Colombia Page 9

  “Gnpf.”

  He chuckled and ran a hand down into the hot slickness by the buzzing vibrator. Exploring inside her with a finger, he could feel her tense and try to arch but his weight and the scarves were holding her in place. As always, her excited helplessness was driving him to the edge too. He could feel himself swell and throb inside her. A moan and whimper told him she was feeling it too.

  “Don’t come yet, love.”

  A small moan was the only response.

  His finger inside her found the telltale roughness of the g-spot. At the same time, he moved his hips a little. Instantly she tightened around him, shuddering with pleasure. Teasing her, he rolled his hips slowly, pulling out half an inch and sinking back into her. She was so wet that he felt her creaminess drench his balls as they slapped lightly against her. If he kept the movement small, he could ride her for ages, draw out this delicious sensation.

  For Cleo the world switched into a universe of quivering, shuddering pleasure. She could feel her entire body throb, from her tingling tight nipples to her curling toes. Feeling him sink deep into her, unable to move more than a finger, was filling her with rapture. He was moving very slowly, stretching her, teasing her, leading her to the brink of orgasm and then keeping still, knowing she was hovering helplessly on the edge of release.

  The butterfly shimmered in the hot centre of a web of electric shivers that pulsed through her. She tried to buck, to make him ride her hard, but he just chuckled and continued to tease her by rocking gently.

  Gradually his small movements quickened and amplified. His skin, hot and dry against hers, now began to dampen. That hot, dark scent of his that excited her so much, was enveloping her. She could hear his breath quicken as he slowly thrust in and out of her. The pressure built. She could feel her body tighten around him, clenching in anticipation of shattering release.

  “All right, love, here we go. Come for me.”

  He was holding her hips, rocking her to his rhythm while he moved in and out of her faster and faster. Feeling him move hard against her, hearing him begin to gasp, feeling him pulse inside her, pushed her over the edge. She screamed in final, shattering release as he came inside her, exploding in swift, hard thrusts.

  Collapsing slowly on top of her, he put his arms around her, hugging her tight as he nuzzled her hair. “You’re a star, love.”

  “Gnpf.”

  Knowing she’d had enough, he didn’t lick the neck or nibble the shoulder blades that lay tantalisingly beneath his tongue. Instead, he pulled out of her very gently and tugged at the scarves, releasing her wrists. Letting her stretch slowly, he dealt with the condom, then wrapped himself around her.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Hmmm.” She turned and buried her face in his neck. “Gurm.”

  Connor laughed. Having Cleo curled up in his arms, so completely satiated that she couldn’t speak, was a joy that would never pall. He kissed her softly, relishing this delicious girl who lay so comfortingly against him. Quietly he removed the scarf from her knees. Instantly, she curled herself around him. “Grumphinmo.”

  “Sure, we can stay here for a while,” he interpreted accurately. To his surprise, Cleo didn’t drop off into deep sleep as she usually did. She clamped herself around him, then stirred and yawned.

  “That was terrific,” she mumbled.

  “Hmmm.”

  “That turtle thing. We’ve got to do that again.”

  “You think?”

  Laughing eyes looked into his. “I’m pretty sure I messed up.”

  He was grinning at her. “Well, that means we have to do it again for sure.”

  Cleo impulsively kissed him on the nose. “You know, Connor, I feel really bad when I think about The Angel Club,” Cleo confessed. “There’s something about selling yourself that’s just....” she reached for the words, “soul destroying.” She put her face in Connor’s neck. “I know we made a deal but this doesn’t feel wrong. You always make me feel good.”

  “I’m glad I make you feel good,” he murmured. “And stop punishing yourself, Cleo. We all do things we regret.”

  “Grnf.”

  Connor looked down at her. She had snuggled into the curve of his arm and secured her position by throwing an arm over his chest. When he moved, she grumbled and pinned him down with a leg. Seconds later, she was fast asleep. Connor smiled.

  He’d been right to get her to agree to his deal. Cleo was sweet, fun and totally incapable of looking out for her own interests. She needed someone to care of her. Left on her own, she’d fall in with another Peter, Carlos or Juan. They’d destroy her. She was lucky he’d gotten to her on time.

  Connor had no illusions about himself. He had made choices that had burned something out of him. Although he could pity, he was aware that his ability to empathise had atrophied. He had switched off those emotions so he could function effectively in his work and somehow he’d lost the ability to turn them on again. The only people he felt truly comfortable with were his old unit.

  He had spoken honestly when he’d told Cleo that he’d left the army because he was fed up with killing people but, what he hadn’t told her was that he often battled with surges of rage. He suspected it was guilt. It was one thing to throw a grenade into a bush, or to kill in the heat of combat but killing dozens of people by sighting them carefully through his scope before pulling the trigger, knowing that they weren’t even aware of his presence, had left their mark.

  Connor knew that the incidence of alcoholism, drug abuse and other self-destructive behaviour was high in his line of work but he was determined to conquer his problems. Creating the garden with a spade instead of a rotavator was his therapy. When the frenzy surged through him, looking for an outlet, aching for the release of a kill, beasting seemed the best way of dealing with it.

  Looking down at Cleo, Connor felt a huge sense of relief. He knew he could no longer provide the give and take that most women demanded from a relationship. He had hoped for a while that his sexual tastes would provide a civilian lifestyle for him but experimenting had revealed he wasn’t fit for a dominant-submissive deal either. He wasn’t sure if he fit into any niche but Connor knew one thing: he might be a bugger to live with sometimes but he wasn’t an animal who preyed on the Cleos of this world. He would protect her and treasure her to the best of his capabilities. He could offer her more than respite from the consequences of her time with Garcia Riviera; he thought he could make her reasonably happy.

  Cleo stirred and pressed into him. “Juan,” she murmured.

  Connor sighed. And if that bastard dared come near her again, he’d kill him.

  Chapter Seven

  A week later, he was turning over the topsoil in the herb patch and adding a little fertiliser, when Cleo came up to watch him. By her very careful ultra-casual approach, he knew she was up to something.

  Connor hoped she’d be quick and then leave him alone for a bit. He hadn’t slept well the last few nights and being tired made him edgy. Connor was aware that the reign on his temper was prone to slipping when he was tired. He mustn’t lose control. Doggedly, he kept digging.

  “Its nice and peaceful here,” Cleo said hesitantly. “Do you go to town often?”

  “Every few months.”

  “Oh.”

  So she was bored. He’d been expecting it. Connor was aware that he wanted to be out of the world while she wanted to be in it. It was a good thing too: Cleo would make sure he didn’t become a complete recluse.

  Cleo was getting better. Her lows were shorter and less frequent. Even so, he didn’t want her going out and be tempted to take, “just one line”. Connor reckoned it would be another fortnight or so before Cleo was stable enough to go out and about. He’d take her to some village fiestas. She’d enjoy that.

  Connor didn’t care whether he saw people or not. He had little interest in the world outside his own gates these days. He hadn’t even looked at the news on his iPad since she’d arrived. It was locked in his
gun safe. In a few weeks, he’d tell her about it. If he let her use it now, she’d only try to reach Juan and when he rejected her, which he was certain to do now that she was useless to him, she would pine.

  Connor wished Cleo would realise Garcia Riviera had set her up but he knew it was useless to talk to her about it. She still worshipped the man and was convinced there was some terrible misunderstanding between them that could be fixed. Connor knew that anything he might tell her would be ignored. She had to find out eventually but it would be better if she got over her coke problem first. In her fragile state the knowledge that she’d been set up might destroy her.

  Connor noted that Cleo was twitching nervously. It wasn’t the sort of fidgeting that came with a craving. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot in a way that showed she wanted something, something she thought he wouldn’t give her. But ever-optimistic Cleo was going to ask anyway.

  Connor knew he was getting very fond of her. He was willing to make an effort to make her happy but it didn’t include letting her into a situation where she might take coke or see Garcia Riviera. It wouldn’t be easy though. Connor steeled himself to be tough and resist those pleading blue eyes.

  “When you go into town, can I come? I won’t take coke,” she assured him hastily.

  Connor gave her an old-fashioned look. “Is that so?”

  She nodded fervently. If he would take her, maybe she could see Juan. Or one of his cousins. She knew that if only she could explain what had happened, it would all be all right and Juan would forgive her.

  Connor found it hard to look at her. Her transparent wish to see Garcia Riviera was almost painful. Just thinking about that bastard made him fume. He pushed the irritation away. “You’re an addict,” Connor said coolly. “You’re not going anywhere until I know you’re past temptation.”

  “Oh!” Cleo was crushed. “I know I have a coke problem, Connor, but I’m already much better.”

  Until now, she’d avoided confronting the truth; admitting she had a problem was a giant step forward. He smiled at her. “Well, we’ll see how it goes.” He turned over the next patch of soil, building another row. A thought occurred to him. Maybe he could help her forward. “Exercise is one way to beat the craving. Meditation is another. Have you ever tried it before?”

  Cleo shook her head, looking rather surprised. “No.”

  He put down the spade. “I’ll show you how to start.”

  Cleo hadn’t expected Connor to be into meditation. Yet here they were, sitting cross-legged, in the shade, by the pool.

  “Meditation is a way to channel and focus your energy on things that matter and to let go of what doesn’t matter. We’ll start by breathing.”

  Cleo listened closely as he talked her through relaxing her muscles from her toes up to her head. That sounded doable but when he suggested she focus on her inner self and accept her thoughts as they came but without attaching meaning to them, it was as if he were speaking a foreign language.

  “I don’t get that,” Cleo said bewildered.

  “The idea is that you recognise unwanted thoughts, like wanting coke, accept them for what they are, just thoughts, and to let them pass through you.”

  Cleo tried and failed. “I can’t think at all,” she complained.

  “Just be patient. Focus on relaxing your body, the rest will follow.”

  They sat for fifteen minutes. Connor found it soothing and refreshing but to Cleo it was torture. Instead of relaxing, she became tenser. “I don’t get it,” she said eventually. “I don’t think this is for me.”

  She wasn’t ready yet. “All right,” Connor said amiably. He got up, resolving to add a little meditation to his day from now on. He’d been so focussed on the benefits of digging and other hard physical work that he’d forgotten about the usefulness of just being. If he meditated later, he should sleep well tonight. He didn’t fancy another night filled with shadowy nightmarish dreams.

  Cleo hesitated. “ This really works for you?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I guess you’re better at shutting things out than I am, “ Cleo said without thinking. “That must be useful if you’re killing people.”

  For a moment Connor loomed over her. She saw fury flare in his eyes. The sheer size of him towering over her was frightening. For long moments, Cleo didn’t breathe. Seeing his inner anger paralysed her.

  Then he stepped back and shrugged. “If it’s not working for you, go for a swim, Cleo.”

  He went back to his workshop, leaving Cleo feeling tense and strange. She had been feeling so comfortable around him and now, suddenly, she was aware again of the murderous rage that was always near the surface. What if he lost it one day?

  Cleo shuddered. She had a sudden sense of danger. It didn’t occur to her that her nerves were on tenterhooks because of her withdrawal pangs. She didn’t know that the meditation attempt had backfired either. Instead of letting go of the idea of taking coke, she’d focussed on how much she was missing it. Now her body and mind were surging confusedly as she entered one of her lows.

  Oblivious to what was at the root of her feelings, all Cleo knew was that she was at his mercy and miles away from civilisation. Connor had made a joke about burying bodies under the lettuce patch and now Cleo wondered seriously if anyone would ever miss her if she disappeared. It was an awful feeling knowing that nobody in the world cared whether she lived or died. At least, not any more.

  She really wished she could see Juan. If she could see him, everything would be ok again; she knew it in her soul.

  Cleo looked out of the gate. She wondered how far away the Garcia Riviera mine was. It couldn’t be more than a few miles. They’d driven the distance in about half an hour and they hadn’t been going fast. And from here the mine was all down hill. It probably wouldn’t take her long to get there. She could walk or she could maybe get a lift from someone along the way. It was quiet here but there was a village nearby. Someone was bound to be out and about.

  Also, Connor probably wouldn’t miss her for ages. And when he did, he’d come after her in the car. She could hide in the jungle when she heard the engine.

  Without quite knowing how she got there, Cleo found herself at the gate. Connor was nowhere to be seen. She was safe. Cleo knew the gates were electric but there was an inbuilt door. Connor’s visitors always used it so they didn’t have the hassle of having to get the electric gate clicker.

  Cleo quietly turned the handle. The door made a creaking sound as it opened. Connor was going to hear it. Cleo held her breath and pushed down on the handle, willing the sound to muffle. She looked towards the workshop. Still no movement.

  The door was now open enough to let her slip through. Cleo could hear her heart beating. Her stomach was trying to leap out of her throat. The second she inched her way out onto the road, she wished she hadn’t done it. She felt vulnerable, as if a dozen eyes were watching her. If Connor caught her, he’d be furious. Cleo swallowed nervously, looked down the road, back at the house and hesitated.

  “You have to see Juan,” she told herself out loud. “And this is the only way.”

  She took a few steps down the road. Now she was committed. She walked faster.

  “Cleo! Get the hell back in here!”

  Connor stood at the gate, glowering at her. For a moment it felt like all he had to do was reach out and touch her. Then her vision snapped back. He couldn’t reach her; he was too far away.

  Cleo stood dead still, uncertain if she should go back or run.

  Seeing her poised for flight, Connor was filled with dismay and anger. He hadn’t expected this. What was she thinking? The place was full of hopped up, gun toting maniacs and she was walking merrily down the road, wearing a top that didn’t cover her midriff and a skirt that was no better than a pussy pelmet. If the FARC didn’t get her and gang rape her, the landmines strewn along the jungle footpaths by drug barons and army, each keen to catch the other out, would.

  “Get back inside,” he ord
ered her. He didn’t want to have to chase her down. Especially if she ran into the brush. It might be suicide.

  He tried to stare her down, willing her to obey him. He was also aware of the fury that was flooding through him. He battled to control it. He didn’t want to lose his temper. Never again.

  Cleo paused. She knew she couldn’t outrun him but she was afraid to go back. She was certain that he’d beat the hell out of her. It wasn’t just what she could see in his eyes; his hands were curling into fists too. Connor was seething.

  “You can’t tell me what to do!”

  He tried to appeal to her sense of obligation. “We have an agreement. You promised.”

  “I don’t care!”

  She looked at the jungle that stretched out by the side of the road. It was thick enough to hide in. All she’d have to do was outdistance him for a short space; then she could dive into the undergrowth and he’d never find her.

  She took a step sideways, readying to bolt into the jungle. Connor braced himself to follow her. He couldn’t just let her run into trouble. If he was fast, he could get her out quickly, and the risk would be minimal. Probably.

  A loud whistle broke in on them. As if by magic, two men appeared out of the trees behind Cleo. They were carrying rifles, their expressions were grim and they were covered in blood.

  With a squawk of dismay, Cleo ran back to the gate. Connor stood back, motioning urgently for her to come in. To her horror, he opened the door even wider, waving the men in after her. Cleo hung back, wondering who they were. Two more men appeared behind them. They were carrying a body. Blood was dripping onto the ground, leaving a smeared trail of gore.

  “Get the white case from the cupboard under the sink in my bathroom,” Connor snapped. “Hurry!”

  Cleo raced into the house, her feet barely touching the ground. When she ran out ten seconds later, Connor called her from his workshop.