Guilty by Blood (Santiago Family) Read online

  “Fuck!” Cruz shoved his head to the oak paneling, arms straining as he pushed his palms firm against the hard surface and rocked his ass urgently on Sanchez’s stiff rod. “Fuck me, baby—harder.”

  “Shit!” Sanchez gasped brokenly and complied, pounding him deeper and harder. His fingers hooked Cruz’s hips and he pulled the man back onto his cock over and over, fucking him furiously. “Uuh! Fuck!”

  Sanchez abruptly pulled out and flipped Cruz onto his back and took him again, staring down into his flushed, damp face and fiery eyes as he pumped the man full of his thick, hard dick. Cruz rocked and writhed beneath him, strangled wails wrenching out of him. Hot, labored breath surged in and out of Sanchez’s lungs, rushing up his throat, out his nostrils as he gave Cruz the best of his best, nailing his lover to the bed, grinding him into the mattress.

  “Uuhh—fuuuck! Yes…oh fuck yeah—fuck me just like that!” Cruz could hardly get the words out around his gasping, grunting and panting. He clawed Sanchez’s back, clutching his ass, pulling him in deeper.

  Sanchez knew what he wanted and never denied. He shoved in balls-deep and gyrated his hips, grinding the man’s sweet spot, then administered a series of furious “rabbit-punch” thrusts, then grinding again.

  “Holy fuuuck!” Cruz yelled and his body jerked hard—and cum shot from his cock, squirting up his chest in creamy ropes. “Uuuh! God!” he choked and grabbed his dick and stroked himself urgently as he continued to empty his balls.

  The sight and feel of Cruz cumming shoved Sanchez over the edge. He shouted out a strangled cry and drilled his lover’s ass wildly, bursting inside him. “Guuaawwdd! Fuuck!” He pounded him a few more times, riding out the orgasm, then dropped onto the bed beside Cruz, gasping erratically. “Fuck!” His chest heaved and he dragged his hand down his hot, sweaty face. “Shit,” he panted. “Every time we fuck, it tests the fucking strength of my heart.” He laughed, breathless. “Good thing I’m in tip top shape.” Cruz didn’t answer and he turned his head on the pillow.

  Cruz stared back at him, his gorgeous face glistening, cheeks and neck deeply flushed. The look in the man’s eyes was a look Sanchez saw often these days—especially right after sex. A look that struck Sanchez square in the heart.

  Every time he looks at you that way—he’s telling you he loves you.

  The words had yet to reach the lips of either man. Sanchez didn’t need to hear it out loud to know it was there, that it was as real as love could get.

  But something in the looks Cruz gave him let him know that Cruz did need to hear it.

  Needed it more and more with each passing day.

  Why was it so difficult to speak those three little words, when he knew what he felt for the man?

  Sanchez leaned over and kissed Cruz deeply, wrapped him in his arms and held him close.

  Soon, baby, I’ll find a way to tell you everything you need to hear from me.

  •

  Caterina opened her eyes to a dark room—and fingertips trailing gently along her spine. Her back was to Flynn and she lay still, giving no indication that she was awake. His touch was soothing, entrancing. She closed her eyes again as his fingers began to caress her shoulders, down along her ribs, tracing a path over the curve of her hips then through the light depression of her lower back and up her spine again. Lips touched her shoulder and she trembled, startled by Flynn’s tenderness.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, barely audible. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He pressed kisses to her warm skin and scooted closer until his body touched hers. He had a prominent erection but didn’t seem in a hurry to wake her up and go at it again. He seemed content to simply caress her body, admire her beauty while she slept peacefully beside him. “Caterina,” he breathed softly against the nape of her neck. “If there was woman who could make me fall…” he kissed along the curve of her shoulder. “…it would be you.”

  The depth of emotion in his voice wrapped her heart, made her think about things she’d tried not to think about while they were having sex. These startling emotions were bubbling up way too soon. Flynn might fuck beautifully, but it didn’t change the fact that he was a stranger. She couldn’t let the sexual passion cloud her perception, cause her to grab hold of something that wasn’t real. Yet it scared her how much she wanted this to last, how badly she wanted to see Flynn again…beyond this night. His words filled her with hope that he wanted the same thing, but he was saying these things while he thought she was asleep and couldn’t hear him. Some men could never say the words when they knew they would be heard. Chasing a man like that was like chasing a rainbow to find the elusive pot of gold at the end; futile and disappointing.

  Somewhere in the apartment, she heard a cell phone ringtone abruptly go off. Flynn went still, his lips against her skin. A few seconds later, the ringtone sounded again. It dawned on her that it was her phone notifying her of a text message. They’d discarded their clothes all along the hallway on their rush to the bedroom. Her cell was in the inside pocket of her jacket—the first article of clothing she had shed.

  When the phone went off a third time, she took note of the specialized ringtone that played. She’d given each of her main contacts a specific ringtone so she’d know who was calling or texting even before she checked the message. This one playing now? Armand.

  Should she “wake up” and check it? She didn’t want to hear from Armand. Didn’t want his presence to ruin this night with Flynn. While she was still in contemplation, Flynn crawled off the bed and left the room.

  The cell went silent and didn’t make another sound.

  Had he looked at the message? Would he do that? Flynn didn’t strike her as someone who would think too much about invading another person’s privacy. It wasn’t hard to imagine him opening the message without hesitating. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

  Caterina let her head sink into the pillow and waited for Flynn to return. She would worry about the phone thing later…in the morning, maybe…what was the big deal…really?

  She closed her eyes, her body still feeling the effects of hers and Flynn’s vigorous sex. Sleep wrapped tendrils around her mind and began to drag her under once more.

  •

  Flynn stood stark naked at the end of the hall, cell phone in hand. He stared at the display—and the photo that identified the sender. The ex-boyfriend. He was startled by the sudden heat that spread through his chest and the abrupt rapid hike in heart rate. He glanced back down the hall toward the bedroom where Caterina lay sleeping in his bed—and his mind exploded with images of her in bed with her ex, the two of them fucking as she and Flynn had fucked just a few short hours ago.

  His jaw tightened. Eyes narrowed. The bastard had had his chance and blew it. He’d cheated on her; a woman he should have cherished. Flynn wasn’t sure if it was a sense of protectiveness or possessiveness that surged through him. Whatever it was, it insisted that this man would attempt to walk back in, take control, convince her she could trust him—then abuse that trust all over again. He’d detected the pain in her eyes and something deep inside him refused to allow this fucker to deepen that pain.

  Flynn opened the first of two messages: ‘Cat, I swear to God you better not be with that piece of shit from the pub! I can’t stand the thought of another man fucking you. God dammit, you better not be spreading your legs for him like some cheap whore!’

  Flynn re-read it a couple times then pulled up the second message: ‘I’m sorry. I just kind of lost it. It just drives me crazy to think of you with another man. You belong with me and you know it. You’ve always known it. Come to my place in the morning when you get this so we can talk. Even if you don’t think so right now…I love you. I just want to work this shit out and put it behind us. Please just come and talk to me.’

  His pulse thumping in his ears, Flynn went into her contacts folder and located the man’s full name; Armand Sorenson.

  “Until tomorrow,” Flynn whispered as he stared
at the man’s photo…then went back and deleted both messages.

  CHAPTER 7

  “One More Night”

  ______________________________________________

  It was morning when Caterina awoke this time. Early morning; 6:45, according to the small digital clock on the nightstand. Flynn lay sound asleep beside her, face down in his pillow. The sheet draped over one-half of his firm butt, leaving the other cheek and his torso exposed. Caterina stared at him and thought about his soft caresses and tender words last night. If there was woman who could make me fall…it would be you. His confession filled her with emotions she hadn’t been prepared for when she’d left the pub with him the previous night. She hadn’t expected to feel anything except pure physical, sexual pleasure.

  We went to bed as strangers—but we woke up in love. Song lyrics from a random country song she’d heard long ago. She couldn’t even remember the music artist. Hadn’t thought of the song in ages. Yet here it was, coming back to her now…as if it somehow applied to this situation.

  We’re not in love, she chided herself. We don’t even know each other. Nevertheless, here in the light of day, she still sensed that ‘connection’ they’d made last night…enhanced by Flynn’s unexpected tenderness there in the midnight hours when he thought no one was listening.

  Caterina touched his back, trailed her fingertips down the furrow of muscle along his spine. Flynn shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake. She kissed his warm skin, down his body to the upper swell of his butt cheeks. “You’re beautiful, too,” she whispered. Caterina slipped out of bed, started to look for her clothes, then remembered they were scattered down the hall. She hesitated then went to the bureau and found one of Flynn’s clean t-shirts and pulled it on. The hem struck her mid-thigh and a pleasant freshly-washed scent filled her senses. The shirt felt good against her naked skin; her nipples hardened and inner muscles flexed, causing an ache to creep between her thighs and up into her lower stomach. She looked at the sleeping man and considered crawling back into bed, waking him up, and begging him for one last shot of ecstasy.

  She left him sleeping and exited the room, scooping up her clothes as she walked down the hall. When she picked up her leather jacket, the slight weight of her phone weighed the inside pocket. She took the clothes into the kitchen and laid them over the back of a chair then dug out her cell and checked the messages, her stomach knotting as she expected to find a text from Armand.

  There was none.

  No new messages at all.

  Caterina frowned and walked over to the counter. She stared at the phone. Had she been dreaming last night when she heard the messages come in? If that was a dream, then…was the other as well? Flynn’s caress, his soft words? Had it all been just a figment of her imagination?

  She sat the phone on the counter as a powerful rush of disappointment crashed over her. Maybe there had been no connection beyond sex. Maybe, in the long run, it was best if that were the case.

  Her stomach knotting regardless the reasoning, Caterina walked over to the coffee maker. An inch of cold coffee lingered in the bottom of the carafe and she dumped it down the sink, rinsed the container, rummaged through the cupboard for coffee and filters, then brewed a fresh pot.

  Flynn hadn’t yet made an appearance by the time the coffee was done. Caterina fixed herself a cup then wandered into the living room, inspecting the man’s domicile. It was a simple setup that appeared suitable for Flynn—at least her impression of him. In fact, the simplicity of the décor was what she would expect in the apartment of just about any average, everyday single man; sofa, easy chair, big-screen TV, a couple end tables, a random picture here and there on the wall. The place was clean, though not spotless. She would have been surprised if Flynn had turned out to be an obsessive clean freak, he just didn’t seem the type. But then again, she’d only fucked the guy; she hadn’t taken the time to get to know him. So, who’s to say what he was?

  She returned to the kitchen and refilled her half-empty cup. Her disappointment about the apparent dream lingered in her gut. Why did it matter if he hadn’t really said those things? Could she honestly see herself in a long-term relationship with Flynn? The quickness with which he’d moved in on her at the pub warned that this was common behavior for him. She doubted that there was anything about her specifically that had drawn him in, but rather the fact that she clearly wanted to fuck. A man like him would pick up on that real quick. She could have been any woman with a sexy body and eagerness to get nailed, and he would have made the same moves.

  What did you expect—for him to be drawn to your ‘intellect’? You were waving your ass like a red flag to a bull. Can you fault him for ‘charging’?

  No, she couldn’t. And she wasn’t looking for a new boyfriend anyway. She still hadn’t gotten rid of Armand, not really. And until he decided to leave her alone, she would never truly be free of him. It seemed unlikely that he would be keeping his distance any time soon; he wanted her back and he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Even now—after his behavior at the pub last night—she still feared that he might manage to coax her back to him. If humiliated her to admit that, even to herself, but she couldn’t deny that a very small part of her missed the good things that had been at the beginning of their relationship. Rationally, she understood that it had never been a good relationship, but that wasn’t how it had felt at the start.

  What’re you holding onto, really? What is it that you truly miss about him?

  No immediate answer came forward. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something that she was reluctant to let go of. And because of it, Armand maintained a measure of control. Armand Sorenson was not a man who should be in control of a woman, and that cold hard truth scared her.

  Caterina sensed she wasn’t alone and turned around. Flynn stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her. She suddenly felt exposed in just his t-shirt—and nothing else. The way his eyes rolled up and down her body pebbled her nipples and reignited the ache within. He was barefoot and wore his jeans—the front unfastened and only partially zipped, hanging low on his hips—and no shirt. A wisp of dark hair sprouted between his pec muscles, disappeared then resurfaced at his navel, trickling a happy trail down into his Levi’s.

  Grasping the coffee cup between her palms, Caterina licked her lips nervously, noting how Flynn’s eyes followed it’s course with a heated gaze. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said low, voice unsteady. “I borrowed one of your shirts.”

  Flynn entered the room slowly, surveying her body once again. “Looks better on you than it ever will on me.”

  Caterina laughed softly and swallowed hard. There was no mistaking the bulge forming in the crotch of his jeans as he came closer. She half expected him to grab her and ravage her right there—and shivered in anticipation. He moved past her and took a cup from the shelf and filled it with coffee, then turned around and leaned against the sink.

  Shifting nervously, Caterina admitted, “Last night…I don’t…I don’t make a habit of doing things like that.”

  “Like what?” Flynn murmured and sipped from his cup. “Fuck like an angel?”

  Caterina smiled, her cheeks warming. “Uh…no,” she mumbled with a quiet laugh and dropped her gaze. “I meant…picking up a strange man and sleeping with him.”

  “You think I’m strange?”

  Caterina looked up. “No…” she started then rolled her eyes when Flynn smiled. “You know what I mean. You’re…” she pursed her lips. “…my first one-night stand.”

  Flynn stared at her, stunned. “Seriously?” he chuckled. “Shit, all I do are one-nighters.” He took another drink of coffee. “Guess that makes me a slut, huh?”

  “I thought only girls were called sluts,” Caterina smiled.

  “Man-whore, then,” Flynn corrected with amusement. He tapped his index finger against the cup and gazed at her intently. “Does that make you wish you hadn’t come home with me last night?”

  Caterina shrugged an
d looked down at her coffee, and tried to deny the unwarranted knot pinching her chest. “No. I’m not so naïve as to think I’m special because you brought me home.” She raised her eyes. “I figured you’d had plenty of women in your bed.”

  Flynn cocked an eyebrow and took another sip. “You figured wrong.”

  “Huh? But you just called yourself a man-whore. Can’t hardly be such without going to bed with a lot of women.”

  “No, you’re right about that,” Flynn agreed. “And I have taken many women to bed. But not to my bed. Not here. I don’t make a habit of bringing my one-nighters into my personal space.”

  Caterina stared at him; what was he saying? “So…why did you bring me here?”

  •

  Flynn thought about her question. Had been thinking about it since he made the decision to bring her home. No viable answer presented itself. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know,” he replied honestly. She just looked at him, something in her eyes that made him quiver all over. “So, you were serious?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’m your first one-nighter? Why is that?”

  The woman fidgeted and shrugged. “I guess…because until now, I had a boyfriend.”

  “The asshole from the pub?”

  She nodded.

  “He been your boyfriend since you started dating?” Flynn asked doubtfully.

  Caterina smiled. “No. I’ve dated others. Briefly. He was my first long-term boyfriend.”

  “Why?” Flynn scowled.

  “Why what?”

  “Why the hell did you stay with him? Were the others really worse than that prick?”

  She laughed lightly. He liked her laugh. It made his cock do a jig in his pants. “Not worse. And there were only one or two. But they didn’t go beyond the first date. Armand, he was…” she paused, that something in her eyes that resurrected the unpleasant sensations Flynn had experienced the previous night when imagining her and the bastard fucking. “…he was different. He knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was me. I’d never had a man desire me so much.”