Chapter Thirteen

He woke up blanketed in warmth. Not just metaphoric, but literal warmth, a slight, welcome weight on his chest, a tiny hand splayed out on his stomach, a slender leg wedged between his.

It was like the world had stopped spinning at that moment, time had halted, it was just her, soft and warm, supple pink lips parted, thick eyelashes resting on the flushed apples of her cheeks, dark hair spread out across his chest, surrounding her head like an aureole as the sun that peeked in from the curtains bathed her in a glow that painted her form like an angel, some holy figure sent here just to test him, console him, shackle him to her with something stronger than steel.

She was going to leave him today. Because he couldn't do it. He needed to, but he couldn't. That had been wildly apparent even before he realized that he loved her.

His sweet, sweet chiquita.

Not his, not for much longer.

He committed her to memory, reaching down to tuck her hair behind her ear so he had an unobstructed view of her profile. He knew he would be summoning her face in his mind for years to come-- whenever those images of Columbia became too overwhelming, whenever he lied in bed for hours, sleep alluding him, each and every time he took his cock in his hand.

She whined in her sleep, those little worry lines etching themselves between her eyebrows as she turned and pressed her face into his chest.

His stomach plummeted. He didn't want her to wake up yet, he just needed a bit more time, a few more hours or days or months to bask in her presence, absorb each inch of her soft, milky skin, memorize every one of her Aphrodite-esque features. A femme fatale in the flesh, though it was him that was going to cause destruction, his own demise.

"Shh." He hushed as she stirred again, running his hand up and down the soft skin of her back, his fingers knocking over the knobs of her spine. "Keep sleeping, chiquita." He whispered, begging her unconscious form to stay that way so he could continue to postpone his confession.

How the fuck was he even going to start? He'd never planned on telling her, telling anyone here about his past. But things had gone too far, too deep, now he was left without a choice, and he didn't even know where to begin, what to say, what to leave out. He supposed it didn't matter much, she was going to leave him regardless so he might as well just spit it all out and wait for the detonation.

"I'm sorry, bonita." He whispered as he traced her brow, the line of her jaw, the bridge of her perfect, little nose. "I should've never touched you."

The thought made his chest ache, his throat growing tight and thick. When was the last time he'd cried? 1980? When his mother died?

Emma couldn't seem to wake up. Every time she became slightly conscious of her physical form, something would soothe her back into sleep, a heavy weight on her back, a soft brush against her cheek, a low baritone humming softly somewhere above her.

When she finally did reach a murky state of consciousness, the first thing she became aware of was that she was not lying on her pillow, her face was pressed against soft, warm skin.

There was a moment of confusion, then she heard him.

"Sleep chiquita." His brassy voice hummed.

She groaned, barely picking her head up from his chest, "Javier?"

He flashed her a rare smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good morning, bonita."

She let her head collapse back onto his chest, "What are you doing here?" Her harsh inquiry directly opposed her actions as she curled up more securely against his side, burying her face in his chest and breathing in deeply, the woody scent of his skin making her stomach flutter lightly.

She felt his body tense, his heart thudding a beat faster against her cheek.

"I um-- I've got to talk to you about something, Emma." He exhaled, his voice pinched and pained.

That immediately woke her up.

She sat up, the duvet pooling on her lap as she did, Javier's eyes immediately flickering down to her bare chest as he let out an involuntary groan.

Maybe I can just fuck her one more time, one last time.

No, no. That wasn't fair, that was blasphemous and exploitative. He had to tell her now, there was no other option. If he waited, he would just make up more excuses.

"Here." He grunted, leaning over, and swiping up his abandoned shirt from the ground. "Put this on, please." He urged as he held it out to her.

Her eyes flickered from his face to the shirt and back.

"This is certainly the first time you've ever asked me to put clothes on." She muttered as she grabbed it from him, sliding her arms into the sleeves, fastening a few of the middle buttons, just enough so that her breasts were covered.

Despite her jesting tone, her eyebrows were pinched together in concern, her dark, blue eyes frantically searching his face, trying to decipher if she could figure out what it was he wanted to talk about solely through the pained expression plaguing those pretty, brown eyes.

In just a few minutes she's going to look at me like I'm a monster.

Javier swallowed hard, his heart pounding away in the confines of his chest.

"What is it?" She asked, impatience and anxiety pushing the words out into the silent space between them.

He wanted to pull her back into his arms, tell her to forget the whole thing, bask in her light presence for just a little while longer.

But he loved her.

He had to tell her.

He exhaled one more time, pushing his fingers through the front of his hair.

"My name is Javier Peña, I was-- erm-- am-- a DEA agent. I was stationed in Columbia for the past ten years to help take down Pablo Escobar, and then after that, the Cali Cartel." He stated this clinically, like it was a death sentence that had been written down on a piece of paper and then handed to him without any prior knowledge of its content.

Emma felt her mouth pop open in surprise, but quickly snapped it closed, her teeth clattering together at the movement. Everything suddenly made sense-- the invisible gun that lived in the back of his pants, the scars on his chest, the secretive nature of his past. She'd seen the occasional news clip, the bloodied images painted over the front page of the Times. But why was he telling her this now?

"I-- I didn't know, had no idea what I was getting myself into when I joined the DEA. I thought I could make a difference, end the drug war that was killing people here and down there." He shook his head, his jaw twitching as he stared off somewhere across the room. "I didn't make a difference, I made things worse. I got people killed, innocent people. I watched a chief down in Bogotá shoot a kid in the head and I did nothing to stop him, just went and fucked one of my whore informants afterward." He spoke with an air of disgust in his voice, self-hatred, one of his hands curled into a fist that trembled against his lap. "I worked directly with members of one cartel-- a fucking terrorist organization if I'm being honest-- to take down another. Then I-- fuck-- I broke protocol and spoke with a reporter, got them to reveal that the Columbian government was in on the whole thing, that the US knew but didn't give a shit. People are still dying down there because of that, it broke the whole fucking country down, I'm-- I'm sure you already know about that..." His voice trailed off; he hadn't looked at her since he'd spoken his full name aloud for the first time in over six months. His eyes were trained on his shaky fist, waiting for her to tell him to get out.

But she just sat there, silently digesting his words, unsure what to say in response. Why was he telling her all this now? What happened to their deal? Why was the illusive Javier now, suddenly Javier Peña... the DEA agent?

"I'll-- I'll be right back." She whispered, scooting off the bed and exiting the room.

Javier looked up then, watched her walk out of the room, her naked body still only covered by his shirt, which was laughably oversized on her, the image of it making his heart clench painfully in his chest as the nerves in his gut flopped around heavily.

She's probably going to get her pepper spray. Force me out of her apartment.

Her voice interrupted his spiral, soft and muffled from the distance.

"Hey Martin, yeah, I um-- something came up and I can't make it in today. I know-- I'm sorry, I can make up for it on Thursday. Okay, thanks-- thank you."

His mouth felt arid, his throat thick as she walked back into the room.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, close to him, far closer than he thought she should've been after his confession.

"Why are you telling me all this now, Javier?" She asked, her voice warm like honey, her eyes not filled with hatred, or fear, or disgust, just curiosity... care even?

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

She was supposed to be yelling at him to get out. She was supposed to be scowling at him like the repugnant, vile creature he was.

"I-- I" He started, choking on words before a sharp exhale exited his throat as she reached over and placed her tiny, little hand over the top of his fist.

His eyes shot up to hers.

"Why are you telling me this now?" She asked again, softer even.

Because I love you.

Because you need to leave me.

The muscles in his chest twitched.

"I-- because you should know. I'm-- I'm not good, I'm not a good person, and you should, you should know that. You shouldn't be involved with me, chiquita... but I-- I'm too--"

His voice broke off... too in love with you... that's what he wanted to say, what he should've said.

"I'm too weak to leave." He settled on instead, his chest heaving, his hand still a shaky fist underneath her tiny palm.

He watched her eyes gloss over. She still hadn't moved; she still hadn't told him to leave.

She wasn't going to. She didn't want him to leave. And she did not think that he was a bad person. The sole fact that he thought he was that proved he wasn't. Surely, he'd made some mistakes, grand mistakes, ones that existed on a level she couldn't entirely understand. But she knew, deep in her gut, that he had never meant to hurt anyone who hadn't deserved it. Javier Peña was not a bad man. He was a lost man. A man who thought he was to blame for something no one person could control. He was a man who was sitting in front of her, trembling, confessing his sins like she was his priest.

He was a man that she cared for, far more than she ever thought she would.

"You are good." She whispered, rising onto her knees, and crawling toward him.

"No, chiquita, I--" He started, his words cutting off with a gasp as she straddled his lap, her hands trailing over his shoulders, to the back of his neck.

He kept his hands in shaky fists at his sides. He wanted to touch her, oh God he wanted to touch her, but he couldn't. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

"Emma, I-- you don't care that I got people killed? Killed people myself?"

"Did you kill anyone who didn't deserve it, Javier? Did you kill anyone who didn't try to kill you first?"

He stuttered, then shook his head.

"But-- chiquita... I-- the people that got killed because of what I did--"

She interrupted him by parting her lips over the warm skin at the side of his thick neck.

He groaned, shaking underneath her, his hands inches from giving in and grabbing her waist.

"You're not bad, Javi." She whispered against his skin, her tongue giving his neck little kitten licks that were making him fucking dizzy. "I'm not scared of you."

"Emma..." He groaned, trying to keep his restraint intact even as his cock sprung to life as she nipped at the skin just below his ear. "You should stay away from me."

"I don't want to." She cooed softly, "Would you ever hurt me?" She asked, suddenly, lifting her head and locking her eyes with his, her pupils blown out, her pink lips wet from licking at his neck.

He shook his head, once, firm, "Never." He said it without any hesitation, like the thought was so vile to him he wished he had never heard it spoken aloud.

"Then there's no reason for me to stay away from you."

She said it so simply, with so much conviction that he felt himself break, for a second time in the past twenty-four hours. He was too weak, too deep to give this up. And she didn't want him to, wasn't scared or repulsed by him. Thought he was good. The woman must surely be insane, but so was he, so what did it matter?

"You're stupid for doing this, chiquita." He whispered, his hands finally, finally bracing her waist.

"I know." She nodded, "But it has nothing to do with your character."

She was stupid because she was falling in love with him.

She was stupid because the fact that he'd opened up to her, finally, after months of secrecy, had only cemented her gravitation to him.

She was stupid because she knew they'd both wildly disregarded their deal.

She was stupid because she didn't care.

When his lips crashed into hers, she whimpered, her fingers digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders.

He groaned at the sound, tugging her closer to him by her waist, possessively pushing his tongue into her mouth and licking a claim over her palette.

Javier Peña, Javier Peña, Javier Peña.

Her brain sang his name over and over again as he devoured her mouth.

She knew him.

She understood him.

She wanted him so badly it was an insatiable ache deep in her core.

He tried to move her back onto the bed and she whined, her hand reaching between them and grabbing the thick, quivering length of his cock. He moaned, deep and rattling as he tried to pry her hand off of him.

"No, I want it." She whimpered, "Let me suck your dick, please Papi."

Oh, he was going to die. He was going to die in absolute bliss when he deserved to be shot down like all the people he got killed.

"Baby..." He warned, large hand gripping her forearm, his eyes fluttering as she tugged her tiny fist up and down his length.

"Please." She begged, pupils blown out as she licked her bottom lip, her eyes darting from his cock to his face and back.

How the fuck could he say no to that?

"Going to be the death of me, I swear--" He muttered, standing up, taking his aching cock in one hand and her delicate jaw in the other. He tilted her pretty face up, letting out a low groan at the image of her, on her knees, in his shirt, her perky little tits pressing defiantly at the fabric, her mouth popped open, her eyes continuously darting from his face to his dick.

"Cock hungry little girl." He grunted, releasing her jaw as she took his length in her hand, and just licked at the tip, her eyes fluttering closed as the salty taste of precum coated her tongue. That blunt, red-hot head was so soft, silky, and smooth in her mouth. She let her saliva pool to the tip of her tongue, circling it over the tip, then took as much of him into her throat as she could, covering the portion she couldn't with her fist.

"F-fuck chiquita." He spat out, reaching down, and grabbing a handful of her hair to cope. Her mouth was so warm, wet, her tongue doing something absolutely wicked as she swallowed, her throat constricting around him as her lips stretched obscenely over his thickness. "You're so good at that, baby."

His praises made her hum contently around him, her pussy quivering at the sounds he was making, the feeling of him hitting the back of her throat.

"That's so fu-cking good." He groaned, his head tilting back as she bobbed her head, gagging around him, saliva pooling at the corners of her mouth, tears starting to track down her cheeks.

He was going to cum. It was too much, she was too much, he felt his cock swelling, quivering in her mouth, his balls tight and achy.

"No." He spat out, tugging her away by the grip he had on her hair. His dick exited her lips with a pop. "Want to cum inside you, querida."

She felt her pussy clench at his words, his pupils were so blown out they were nearly black as he stared down at her.

"Take this shit off." He muttered, ripping his shirt she was wearing open, one of the buttons popping off and skittering across the floor.

She let out a sharp giggle and watched his eyes lighten at the sound, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Something funny, chiquita?" He asked as he moved her further back onto the bed, taking the position of kneeling over her.

"Not one of your precious button-ups." She smirked, beginning to gnaw at her bottom lip.

"No tan preciosa como tú, mi preciosa." He hummed, his calloused thumb caressing the underside of one of her breasts, his other hand gently tucking her hair behind her ear.

She felt her cheeks pool with blood, and he grinned, leaning down and engulfing her lips with his.

"Why did you call out?" He asked, the inquiry muttered against her mouth as his thumb began to toy with her nipple, the sensation sending shock waves down through her core.

"Be-cause," she said through a gasp, "I wanted to spend the day with you."

"Mmph." He groaned, trailing his lips down her neck, biting at that spot that he continuously left a mark at. "Wanted to spend the day with me, or wanted me to spend the day between your legs?"

"Both." She spat out, hands shooting out to grasp his biceps.

"Good answer." He praised, lapping at her right nipple before tugging it between his blunt front teeth. She screamed, back arching as he pressed her down with one large hand anchored to her hip. "Hate sharing you with those cabróns at the bar." He muttered between kissing down her tummy.

"Y-you don't--" She stopped speaking as it turned into a moan as he nipped at her inner thighs. "You don't share me." She said, almost sounding insulted.

"That's true, baby. No one gets to have this pretty, little pussy except for me." He growled, kneeling between her legs, pushing her knees up and gently, a feather of a touch, letting his hot, wide tongue drag over her swollen clit.

She mewled, writhing underneath him as she craned her neck down so she could watch.

"Say it out loud chiquita, tell me this pussy belongs to me." He ordered, pausing his ministrations to stare up at her, his thick fingers digging into the supple skin of her thighs.

"Please touch m--" She started, her voice high and tight, her cunt clenching around nothing as it obscenely leaked onto her inner thighs.

"Say it!" He barked, needing to hear it, needing to hear it over and over and over again until it was ingrained in his mind deep enough that he could summon the sound of her voice saying it whenever he pleased.

"My-- my pussy is yours Javi. P-please just--" She mewled, the sound morphing into a gasping moan as he pressed his prominent nose into her center, pushing it up so it put a devastating pressure on her clit.

"Pretty girl, pretty pussy, all mine." He mused against her between gentle laps from her hole to her clit. "Taste so fucking good, cariño."

The pressure in her pelvis was thick and unrelenting, his tongue and his words pushing her closer and closer to the edge of the cliff as she whimpered and whined above him.

"Tell me when you're close, baby, want you to cum on my cock." He grunted, sucking her clit into his mouth, causing her to wail, a wicked buzzing beginning to occupy her lower belly, shooting down and wrapping around her knees.

"C-close Papi." She blurted out, reaching down and tugging fruitlessly at his arms.

"Mmm." He hummed, crawling back over her, "Come here, sweetheart." He took her waist in his big hands, tugging her up and onto his lap. "Want you to ride me like this."

She whined, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she got on her knees, desperate to get him inside of her while her encroaching orgasm ached for a release.

"Help." She trembled, trying to direct him inside of her while desperately clinging to his shoulders.

His heart clenched with a heavy bout of affection at the innocent way she was looking at him.

"I've got you, honey." He assured her, his hearty baritone vibrating through her chest as he wrapped one of his vast arms around her waist, using the other hand to direct his cock into her entrance.

At just that first inch, the hot tip of his dick stretching her open, a married moan rang out between them, his several octaves lower than hers, a harmony of pleasure as he moved his hands to her waist, his face falling forward onto the pillowy skin of her tits.

"S-so big, Javi." She gasped, her pretty eyes growing wide as she started to sink down onto him, feeling his thickness break her open. Her orgasm was still right there, so close, buzzing, and thick, and as he hammered his hips up, meeting her motion, her walls clenched around him, fluttering as she wailed, collapsing forward onto his shoulder.

"Shit-- fuck-- are you-- you're cumming." His voice lilted with awe as his eyes rolled back at the sensation of her tight, hot walls clenching around him. "Already cumming for Papi, such a good girl, bonita."

The angle of his trusts was devastating, slamming into the end of her, unable to be pushed out as she leaked around him, her arousal obscenely pooling up at the base of his cock.

"So pretty, s'pretty." He slurred, dark eyes locked on her as she bounced on his cock, her head thrown back, the thin column of her neck exposed, her perky tits bouncing. He glanced down between them, to watch her cunt stretch to accommodate him, the image of his glistening length slamming up into her was all it took.

"F-fuuuuck." He spat out, teeth bared, clutching her to his chest as he pushed his spend up into her. "Feel so good, baby. Fuck-fucking made for me."

She was fluttering around him a second time, milking his cum up into her, a whimpering moan choked out against his slick chest.

Oh, I love her, I love her, I love her.

What was he going to do? She didn't want to leave him, he couldn't leave her, and their deal was all but nullified.

And you love her.

He had feared tainting her, his precious girl, with the knowledge of what happened in Columbia. He didn't want those bloody, vile images anywhere near her. But it was too late now, she knew, and she had taken it all in stride. And he, fuck, he felt like the crushing weight that had been heavy on his chest had evaporated, dissolved into thin air.

Perhaps it's not the worst thing in the world that she knows.

He held her as she trembled against him, still reeling from her orgasm, his dick growing soft inside of her.

You're still not good for her. Not good at all despite whatever distorted image she's constructed of you in her head.

"Javi." She whimpered his name and his chest ached.

"Yeah baby." He answered through a whisper, pressing a deep kiss onto the top of her head.

"Thank you... for-- for telling me." She lifted her head from his chest, gazing up at him with a deep look of trust he hadn't seen from her before.

Oh, he could have perished.

"I'm still not good, bonita." He uttered solemnly, swallowing the thick lump in his throat as she continued to peer up at him like he was her favorite person in the world.

She needed to tell him now. Tell him about her parents, about her past, reciprocate the brutal carving he'd just done of his chest by telling her about his life. But she couldn't get the words out, didn't know how to start without sounding like she was looking for sympathy. So, she just shook her head, reaching up to lightly trace the sharp line of his jaw with her pointer finger.

"You don't see yourself clearly." She whispered, her chest clenching at the gentle way he was holding her to him, his hand lightly trailing up and down her spine.

"Maybe it's you who doesn't see me clearly, chiquita..." It didn't come out as an insult, it sounded somber and dejected as it left his mouth, and it made her want to cry.

"I can see you just fine, Javier." She said sternly, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"Chica equivocada." He muttered, shaking his head at her as he collapsed back onto the bed, his soft cock falling out of her as she curled up against his side.

Her eyes, for the hundredth time, traced those scars on his chest, the large, jagged one on his side.

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she traced it, feeling him tense slightly before he leaned up a bit, easing as he peered down to watch her.

"It was one of the Cali men." He began, unprompted as Emma's eyes snapped up to his face. "I'd worked with him to help catch Escobar, and he thought that would grant him immunity once we turned our focus to his cartel." He swallowed hard, his jaw twitching as he was transported back to that raid. "We found one of their hideouts-- this shit hole right outside of Bogotá. He cornered me after I broke off from the group, popped out of this hidden room behind one of the bookshelves."

Emma watched his eyes darken as he spoke, his focus once again somewhere across the room.

"He told me he wanted to stab me in the back the same way I'd done him, but that he also wanted to watch me die." He paused for a moment, letting his gaze drift back to her, her eyebrows pinched together in concern, her eyes glossy, like she was a minute away from crying. "I shot him while he still had his knife jammed in my side."

Emma tried to swallow the lump that was rising in her throat, but choked, sputtering out tears as she did. The image his words had constructed in her mind made her feel sick, physically ill. Javier had lived and breathed violence, for ten years before he ended up lost and jaded in her bar. It was nothing short of a miracle... that he chose her city, her bar, that he survived long enough to make it to her.

The sound of her crying was abhorrent to him, fucking heartbreaking.

He sat up, tugging her into his lap and cradling her tiny, quivering form against him.

She shouldn't have been crying over what happened to him. He deserved so much worse. But there she was, sobbing against him, clinging onto his arms like she was scared he was going to disappear back into that nightmare.

"They're-- they're not going to-- going to come here, right?" She asked for the second time, lifting her head, her red, glassy eyes making his chest clench painfully.

"No, baby." He shook his head adamantly, reaching forward and wiping the tears from her porcelain cheeks with one calloused thumb. "They're not. I promise. We're safe."

She gnawed on her bottom lip, nodding slowly before letting her head rest on his shoulder.

She owed him her own explanation. But not today.

Javier kept her locked to his chest until she stopped crying, the thousand thoughts tumbling around in his head evaporating when he laid her back down and began placing kisses down the soft skin of her neck.

Outside of her apartment building, where the fog was billowing down the avenues, a beat-up Pinto with stolen plates slowly crept up the street.