Selena

Never in my ripe age of youth, did I expect to con the mafia.

On top of that, I need to nurse the emotional bitch-slap of Marc calling me a slut and a retard.

Asshole.

I've been there for him when his mom was at the hospital. How dare he disrespect me like that? And while he's cheating too!

Let's not forget the godawful fact that I'm probably going to report my dad to the police.

He's taking advantage of deprived people for his own greed. So what if he's my blood? What type of a narcissistic hypocrite would I be if I l didn't stop him? 

Yesterday, I learned that Adam's no longer my bodyguard and that the pizza guy—I can't pronounce his name—murdered Charlie, his best friend, who was also Adam's last client. 

Is he seeking revenge and using me as a means to an end?  Why else would he help me? 

He loves you.

Okay, Linda. Calm down.

Tonight's our last night in Mexico. Also knows as our first fake date.

In case I need to kick someone in the face, I slip into a flowing red sundress. It's demure, yet provocative with a bustier corset and my waist-length black beach waves.  

In case I face-plant and crack my nose by accident, I stash a pocket knife under my garter belt's thigh strap. Feeling very much like Angelina Jolie from Mr. & Mrs. Smith.

"Hey, Adam?" I clasp my Valentinos on and sashay out of the room . "Can you teach me some self-defense moves, por favor?"

"Hm?" He's tucking a white undershirt under slim fit black slacks. "Why?"

"To defend myself. Duh. I don't want to chip a nail."

He hides a loaded gun behind his leather belt. "That's not what we agreed on. All you need to do is act like my girlfriend." He faces me, gliding a black short-sleeve over his cast-iron shoulders and leaves it unbuttoned. "Understand?"

I look through narrowed eyes and back up. Then back up some more. And more. All the way until I'm against the wall across the suite's living room.

"If I get a concussion, drink a bottle of vodka, and stand this far away, I might be able to."

"Funny." He claims a chair from a mahogany dining table, folds his 6'5 frame on it and pats his thigh. "Come here."

"Excusez-moi?" I choke out a laugh.

"Sit on my lap. We need to practice. You're not comfortable with physical touch, right? You have a safe word and in case you forget it." He taps his nose. "You can do this, alright? I'll never take advantage of you, Selena. I really hope you trust me more than that by now."

It's...true. I'm only nervous because he's so attractive. But Adam's never made me feel unsafe in that sense. Despite his mysterious years in prison and how he strangled Marc like a squawking chicken.

I creep closer to him. "If I do, will you teach me a badass self-defense move?" 

"You won't need it, but sure." He straightens his spine as I pause between his legs.

"Where?"

"Wherever you want."

Come on, I've done this before! Yeah, but I was drunk and I was dodging a stripper. With my face roasting off, I spin backwards and climb my booty on his thigh.

"No vibrator this time, huh?" 

I bolt off, but he locks a solid arm around my waist. 

"I'm kidding..." He laughs against my hair. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Are you comfortable?"

"No!"

"I can tell. Adjust yourself, I won't move."

"Oh my God."

"Go on." He gives my thigh a condescending pat. "Don't be a pussy."

I toss him a side-eye and scoot higher, hugging his neck. "Hmph."

"How's that?"

My feet dangle back and forth with a mind of their own. Fine. I guess a teeny-weeny part of me indulges in the delusion of being cared for, bundled in his protective arms and cedar cologne. 

I pass him a shy look. "Am I too heavy?"

"Ugh. I can't feel my legs at all." He winks, grin lines slashing his cheeks. "Of course, not."

I scoff out a laugh, snuggling closer on his lap. 

Adam kills a groan with a cough behind his fist. "Right, okay. Let me show you that self-defense move." He nudges me off as we rise to our feet. "Show me how you punch."

"Uh-uh. I have no upper-body strength." I pivot, leaning on my back leg. "I want to kick."

"With those heels?"

"You scared, old fart?"

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"Don't be a pussy." I throw his words back at him.

With a blank, cold gaze he invades my space. My eyes double in size. Crap, I can't kick him. What if I rupture his stomach?

I let out a scared shriek and smash my knuckles on his gut—he hardens it. Ouch. No problem. I fling my knee on his groin—he blocks with no trouble, then yanks me against him.

"Now what?" He traps a taunting forearm around my throat, making me squirm for air. "Hm?"

Think! I drive my heel on his shinbone as hard as I can.

The motherfucker expects it somehow and shifts out of the way.

I gnash my teeth. My forehead is beading with moisture. No matter how deep I claw his arm, he doesn't budge. I can't even move my chin to chomp his arm off.

My knife! I forgot I have my knife. Haha! 

I curl my knee to reach for the blade. It's game over, now. Sucker. You hear me, Adam—

Detains my wrists behind my low back. 

I can't move. Oh, God and he's using just one hand. Helplessness rattles my bones, slacking my jaw in mortification. 

"What's this?" His voice softens to a dangerous level. Despite my writhing protests, he bunches my dress, rumpling it in his veiny, inked hand. My secret is bared. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now if you were actually mine, I'd make sure you never do something stupid like this again."

I surprise myself by laughing. "As if I'd listen!" 

He snaps the steel blade out of my thigh-strap and releases my wrists. "Someone can easily use this against you. Just get a pepper spray, alright? Something you know how to use. Not a knife."

I snag the blade back and stalk off to the door. "I'll consider it."

~

We head down the stairs, following online directions, pass the busy restaurants and find a discreet pathway leading to a private entrance. A fierce-looking bouncer sizes us up. Adam offers him a folded fifty dollar bill, unlocking the metal doors.

Auditory and visual details flood me like a tidal wave. Strobe lights flashing throughout the venue. Erotic, luscious music vibrating the walls. The dance floor congested elbow-to-elbow with sticky, semi-naked bodies. The air is thick with stale beer and smoke.

Adam and I perch on distressed bar stools. He orders a Jameson Whiskey Sour, like a classic gentleman. I choose a Long Island iced tea, because it has vodka, rum and tequila with eighty pounds of sugar.

As always, Adam scopes out the place, his brows clouded with apprehension. Meanwhile, I'm on pins and needles, hoping I don't behave like an alien. 

I drain my glass and pop a preserved cherry in my mouth. 

Within minutes, as the sugary booze drenches my nervous system, I feel more open and loose. It no longer hurts to be out in public. In fact, I might be a closeted party animal.

"Is it getting to you?" Adam observes my content profile.

"Hm." I study him back. "You're still ugly, so unfortunately not yet."

His chocolate eyes glimmer with laughter. "Are you always such a brat?"

"Me? No."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm not trying to be anything! What am I supposed to do?" I unleash an obnoxious giggle behind my hand. "Stop it! Of course, not. I would never drink. I'm a good girl."

"You are a brat." 

"No, I'm not."

"I like it." He dampens his lip with the tip of his tongue. "You were never like this around Marc. I bet you're relieved that you don't have to marry him anymore. Right?"

"I don't want to talk about him. Let's dance! We have to act like a couple." I hop off and grab Adam's hand, dragging him into the crammed dance floor.

Last year, I went through a six month hyperfixation for dancing. Salsa. Bachata. Merengue. Cha-cha. Rumba. I blew two thousand dollars for weekly virtual classes and trained in professional, custom-made heels. Now, I have the muscle memory to flow in rhythmic, sensual ways.

The smoldering music blazes all thoughts into smoke. With the boldness from alcohol, I play with the skirt of my dress, flashing a leg here and there. I let my hair go wild. The fulfillment of being a woman, being feminine, being young explodes my brain with happy chemicals. 

"Adam!" I tug his corded forearm, stumbling him closer. "Dance with me!"

A sudden look of shock passes his eyes before they soften like silk. He pulls my hands in his calloused palms and mirrors my rhythm, raking his gaze over my body. 

Then takes control. 

He can dance? My stomach flips with nervous excitement.

I can't wipe the smile off my face and he returns it with one of his own. Okay, too cheesy. I break away, keeping a smirk on to show that I'm playing. Only he doesn't mind at all. In fact, he's savoring the show with wolfish approval.

Alright, let's see how you handle this.

I hold onto his hands again to do a complicated move, but he beats me to it. My chest fills with laughter. Adam is so smooth! He twirls and twists me in unpredictable directions, keeping me on my toes and high on adrenaline.

Suddenly, my back crashes against his chest. My ass is arched and teasing him at a slow pace. His thick fingers spread on my thigh. Squeezes possessively. Oh, fuck. I close my eyes with weak surrender. Let my head roll back and expose my neck. Heated breaths and unhurried lips taunt, seduce, overwhelm my skin.

This is so wrong. So risky. But we're acting, right? It's fine. We're acting.

Two hours later, my feet might as well get thrown in a blender and be shredded. I beg Adam to go back to the room, gripping his hand to death the whole way there.

I squint as Adam unlocks the blurry door. My face is so numb! I hiccup and lose balance, then bellow with laughter.

"Jesus Christ, come here." Adam scoops me up bridal-style and carries me to the couch.

"You know, I've never been so comfortable with someone touching me. I'm super comfortable with you, I don't know why."

He curses under his breath while struggling to unclasp my designer heels. I giggle at the size of his bulky hands failing to grasp the dainty ankle strap. Hm. I also want to push my heel on his chest, but I don't. Should I?

"Adam?" I lean back on my hands. "Tell me the truth. How many clients have you slept with?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Don't women usually fall for you?" 

"Not really." He finishes removing my shoes, then joins me to untie his. "Why do you care?"

"Would you sleep with me if I asked?"

He freezes and gives me a look. "What?"

"I'm not going to. I just want to know." I actually hope he says yes, so that I can be disappointed and not be as attracted to him anymore. But he if says—

"No." He stands up and sighs with exasperation. "Are you done with the questions? 'Cause I want to sleep."

"Um, actually—"

"You're done." He lifts me by my shoulders and hauls me to the room, making me laugh my head off.

"You're the YEE to my HAW!"

"Goodnight, Selena." He shuts the door on my face. Rude.

I yell through it. "If I told you I work for the UPS, would you let me handle your package?" No response. Hm, what else have I learned from Google? "If you were a vegetable, you'd be a cutecumber! Adam? Hey, Adam! Are you by any chance Japanese?"

"No."

"'Cause I'm trying to get in japanties." 

"Go to sleep." His voice is so moody.

I slip out of my dress. Oh, I'm full of energy. Tonight is our last night here. We haven't even used our private plunge pool! I throw on a black cheeky bikini set and scuttle right back out.

Adam's in the bathroom. Maybe he needed the privacy to poop? Who knows. You do you, boo. 

I slide the balcony glass door open and slip out, tip-toeing on the cold marble stone. The crescent moon is suspended in the starless sky, painting the mountains in jet-black shadows.

I test the pool water with my big toe, relieved it's lukewarm and sink in. My own private pool. This is so cool! I splash around. I float on my back. I'm having a blast, pretending to be a mermaid.

The heavy door drifts open and grouchy Adam moseys in. Towering above me in the dark, with the suite lights diffused behind him, he reminds me of a serial killer.

"What are you doing?"

"Enjoying the pool. Wanna join?" I swim around like a persuasive salesman. "Get in, the water feels amaaazing. I promise."

"No." His voice isn't as stern as before. It's sullen. Aw. He wants to join, doesn't he?

"Come on, Adam. You know you want to." I bite down on a cheeky grin. "Pleeease? Join me?"

He scoffs, shakes his head, and lean over to inspect the line of vacant balconies along the rest of the building. No one's out. Some of the lights are on, but it's dead quiet and peaceful here.

"I'll give you a massage." I wiggle my eyebrows. "I bet your shoulders are in pain as always."

"Tsk. You're so dumb." He releases an annoyed sigh and pulls his shirt over his head, then unzips his pants. Standing before me in a snug pair of black briefs. His roasted chestnut hair as messy as the butterflies stirring in my stomach.

I deepen my voice and sing while he steps in. "I like them big, I like them chunky. I like big, I like them plumpy—"

"Shut the fuck up." He gives an exasperated laugh.

"You didn't bring any swimming shorts with you?"

"Of course, not. I'm not here to swim."

"Hm, I can tell."

"I think we're being watched." He trains his serious gaze at the empty balconies again. 

Cold drops of dread run down my spine. "Really?" 

He moves toward an underwater bench and sets his gun on the edge of the pool. 

"Come here."

"Me?" I raise my eyebrows. "Why?"

"Sit behind me." 

"Um..." I'm confused, but I do it anyway. I squeeze on the bench behind him and face his never-ending shoulders. "Oh! For the massage?" I chuckle softly. "Why didn't you just say so?"

I wedge my fingers into his tight knots and slowly rub them back and forth, applying firm pressure.

A low groan grates the back of his throat. "Fuck..."

"You like that?" I knead and stroke his neck muscles, then scrape my fingernails over his scalp.

"Feels fucking good..." He tilts his head back with his eyes closed.

After the pool, we take turns in the shower and change into our sleeping clothes. Both of us in sweats and loose t-shirts.

"Goodnight." He flips the lights and slumps on his back. 

I squeeze my arms and legs together, bright awake. My heart is racing. I'm itchy all over, but most of all, I'm in desperate need to touch myself. 

"Why are you squirming so much?" Adam's dry voice breaks the silence.

"Sorry." 

After five minutes, his breathing slows down and becomes heavy. I wet my fingers and sneak them inside my panties, stroking my needy clit in practiced circles.

Satisfaction pours through me, arching my back off the bed. Mmm, that feels perfect.

Right before I'm about to come, Adam stirs, making me freeze. 

False alarm. Phew! 

Again, I drive myself to desperate release. I've never ruined my orgasm before, now the second one that's building is even more promising. The doubling sensation has me hooked.

Stupid Adam sighs. Fuck! I swear, he's doing it on purpose.

We're not stopping, no way. The pressure is now tripled. I'm worried I won't be able to stay quiet. It's too...too—

"Look at you, sweetheart. You made such a mess, didn't you? Yeah? Is my good girl going to come? Is she going to come for me?" 

My head lifts off the pillow and I mouth 'Oh my God,' clenching and floating with spaced-out euphoria. My skin prickles with goosebumps. I sink into the mattress, melting away. 

Wow. Strongest masturbation orgasm of my life and all because Adam was unconscious next to me. Imagine if he was awake...

A/N
Chapter 20 and they haven't even kissed yet, oh my God...What are we going to do about it?

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