The pulsing beat of reggaeton vibrated through the soles of Isabella’s stilettos, a rhythmic thrum that matched the frantic pace of her heart. The air in the sprawling Los Angeles penthouse was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, spilled tequila, and the heady perfume of desire. She clutched her glass of sparkling water, a prop to ward off the inevitable propositions, her eyes scanning the crowded living room. She was supposed to be networking, celebrating her cousin’s engagement, not hunting for a ghost.
But he was there.
Mateo.
He stood across the room, a tall silhouette against the panoramic night view of the city. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of bronze skin. He was laughing at something his brother said, that deep, smoky laugh that always made her stomach clench. He wasn’t her cousin, not by blood. He was her cousin’s future brother-in-law, a man she’d been warned about in hushed, judgmental tones. “El peligroso,” her tía had called him. The dangerous one. A man with wandering hands and a reputation that preceded him like a storm cloud.
And she was a good girl. A lawyer. A daughter who respected her family. She was here to celebrate, to smile, to pretend she didn’t feel this inferno every time his dark eyes met hers.
But tonight, something was different. The air between them crackled with unspoken electricity. She felt his gaze before she saw it. A slow, deliberate burn that traveled from her bare shoulders down the curve of her back, tracing the deep V of her emerald green dress. She turned, as if by instinct, and found him watching her. He wasn’t smiling. His jaw was tight, his pupils dilated even in the low, amber light. He raised his glass of whiskey in a silent toast, a gesture that felt less like a greeting and more like a challenge.
She should look away. She knew she should. But the music seemed to fade, the chatter of the party dissolving into a muffled roar. She held his gaze, a secret conversation happening in millimeters. She saw the hunger there, raw and unapologetic. It mirrored her own.
One of her cousins, Lucia, tugged at her arm. “Isa, come dance! They’re playing ‘Baila Conmigo’!”
Isabella forced a smile, her lips numb. “In a minute. I need some air.”
She didn’t go to the balcony. She moved through the crowd, a predator in heels, weaving past dancing bodies and clusters of gossiping aunts. She made her way down the hall, past the guest bathroom, to a door she knew led to a private study. It was a small, forgotten room lined with books and smelling of old leather and dust. A sanctuary.
She closed the door behind her, leaning against it. The silence was a physical relief, a buffer against the chaos of her own thoughts. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs.
The door didn’t bang open. It swung inward, silently, pushing against her back. She stumbled forward, turning. Mateo stood there, filling the doorway. He closed the door with a soft click and locked it.
“This room is off-limits,” she whispered, her voice breathless.
“So am I,” he said, his voice low and rough. He took a step toward her. “But that hasn’t stopped you from watching me all night.”
“I haven’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, princesa.” He was close now, close enough that she could smell the scotch on his breath, the clean, masculine scent of his skin. “I saw the way you looked at me when I walked in. I saw the way your thighs pressed together when I was talking to your cousin. I know a hungry look when I see one.”
Her breath hitched. He was too close. His chest was inches from hers, his heat radiating into her. She should push him away. She should scream. But her body betrayed her. Her nipples hardened into tight peaks beneath the thin silk of her dress. A rush of wet heat pooled between her thighs.
“You’re engaged,” she managed, her voice a thin thread.
“My brother is engaged,” he corrected, his hand coming up to trace a single finger along the chain of her gold necklace. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shockwave of sensation down her spine. “You and I are just… guests. Two adults at a party.”
“This is wrong.”
“The best things often are.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His breath was hot, his words a dark promise. “I’ve been thinking about this since the moment I saw you last year at the engagement party. I remember you were wearing a red dress. You were standing by the pool. You were talking to your mother, but you kept looking at me. I went home that night and I couldn’t get you out of my head. I fucked my hand raw thinking about your mouth.”
A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips. She was mortified. She was exhilarated. Her body was screaming yes.
He pulled back, his dark eyes searching hers. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave. I’ll walk back out that door, and I’ll pretend this never happened.”
She looked at him. At his full lips, the sharp line of his jaw, the raw, untamed hunger in his gaze. All the rules, all the family expectations, all the good-girl armor she had worn for years, melted away in the heat of that moment.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she whispered.
A flicker of triumph ignited in his eyes. He didn’t smile. He simply moved.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, pulling her into a kiss that was neither gentle nor tentative. It was a claim. His tongue pushed past her lips, tasting, demanding. He tasted of whiskey and sin. His other hand slid down her back, pressing her body hard against his. She felt his erection, thick and rigid, pressing against the soft fabric of her dress.
She gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound. His hand slid lower, cupping her ass, squeezing the firm flesh through the satin. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, biting gently at the sensitive skin where her pulse hammered.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her collarbone. “I want to taste every inch of you.”
His hands found the zipper of her dress. He pulled it down slowly, deliberately, the sound loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosened, and he pushed it off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but a black lace thong and heels.
He stepped back, his eyes roving over her body. He let out a low whistle. “Mierda,” he breathed. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”
She felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t cover herself. She wanted him to look. She wanted to be devoured.
He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of her thong. “Take this off.”
She hooked her thumbs into the lace and slid it down her legs, stepping out of it. She was completely naked now, and the vulnerability was intoxicating.
He unbuttoned his shirt with deliberate slowness, revealing a broad, muscular chest dusted with dark hair. He shrugged it off, then unbuckled his belt. His trousers fell, and he stepped out of them, still clad in a pair of tight black boxer briefs. The outline of his cock was unmistakable, a thick, curved shape straining against the cotton.
“On your knees,” he said, his voice a low command.
She should have felt shame. She was a lawyer, a respected professional, and here she was, kneeling on a dusty Persian rug in her cousin’s fiancé’s brother’s study. But the only thing she felt was a deep, throbbing anticipation. She knelt, looking up at him.
He took his cock in his hand, pulling down his briefs. It sprang free, long and thick, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Open your mouth.”
She did. She leaned forward, her tongue extended, and took him into her mouth. He was salty and warm, the taste of him overwhelming her senses. She closed her lips around him and began to move, taking him deeper inch by inch. He groaned, his head falling back, his hand tangling in her hair.
“That’s it,” he hissed. “Just like that.”
She worked him with her mouth, a rhythm born of instinct and need. She cupped his balls in her hand, feeling them tighten. He thrust gently into her throat, and she took him, her eyes watering, but she didn’t stop. She wanted to worship him. She wanted to be his.
He pulled her off him, his breathing ragged. “Not yet,” he said, his voice strained. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
He guided her to the large mahogany desk, bending her over it. The wood was cool against her heated skin. He stood behind her, his hands gripping her hips. She felt the tip of his cock nudge against her wetness, sliding through her slick folds.
“You’re so wet,” he said, his voice thick with wonder. “Is all this for me?”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Only for you.”
He pushed inside her in one fluid motion. She cried out, a sharp, guttural sound. He was big, filling her completely, stretching her in a way that bordered on pain and pure, blinding pleasure. He stilled for a moment, letting her adjust.
“Look at you,” he said, his hand smoothing over her back. “So tight. So perfect.”
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that built a fire in her core. Each thrust hit a spot inside her that made her see stars. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles.
“Come for me, princesa,” he commanded. “Now.”
The orgasm crashed over her like a wave, pulling her under. Her body convulsed, her inner walls clenching around him. She screamed into the leather-bound books, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the desk.
He didn’t stop. He kept fucking her through her climax, his own release building. He withdrew, flipping her over onto her back on the desk. He lifted her legs, placing her ankles on his shoulders, and drove into her again. The new angle was deeper, harder.
He slammed into her, his face contorted with pleasure. “I’m going to come,” he said, his voice a growl. “I’m going to fill you up.”
“Yes,” she begged, lost in the haze of lust. “Fill me.”
He drove into her one last time, his body shuddering as he poured his release into her. She felt the hot pulse of him deep inside, and a second orgasm rippled through her, weaker but still delicious.
He collapsed onto her, his weight a welcome anchor. They lay there for a long moment, breathing hard, tangled together on the cold wood.
“Well,” he said finally, his voice laced with a sardonic humor. “That was not nothing.”
She laughed, a breathless, giddy sound. “What have we done?”
“Something we shouldn’t have,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But I can’t regret it.”
He pulled out of her, and she felt a rush
