My Sinful Valentine (A Beautiful Sinners Collection) Elena Reyes (good story books to read .TXT) 📖

bottom of a sewer near a local eatery we frequent three doors down from her favorite cafe and where I’ve taught the head baker personally how to make pan de bono for my morning coffees. The older woman in charge of the kitchen amuses me, spoils me, and lucky for me, she makes them almost as good as my mother once did.

There’s a ping before the text message appears on the screen.

PLEASE. ~Muñeca

“Good girl.” My foot presses down on the accelerator, pushing my truck past ninety within seconds. I’m not that far from our office and it doesn’t take me long to arrive, finding Mariah Lucas standing outside the entrance to the garage with a purse in hand and what looks to be a sleep mask. Before I put the car in park, she’s making a motion with her hand for me to lower my window, which I do with a grin. “Yes?”

“You’re late.”

“Am I? Wasn’t aware we were going anywhere.” This only serves to rile her up, and I get down before she throws her phone at my window. Instead, within seconds, I have my arms around the woman who owns me and my lips on hers. And fuck me, Mariah kisses me back with the same intensity. She’s nipping, fingers embedded in my hair, pulling the longer strands to hold me against her.

This kiss is passionate: beautiful brutality of lust combined with a debilitating love that makes the world fade away. Everyone could drop dead, and I’d give zero fucks as long as she stays as she is.

In my arms. Loving me with the same insanity. Being mine.

Mariah is the first to slow the kiss down to a few pecks; two to my lips and one on my chin and then Adam’s Apple as she lowers her stance. She’s smiling. That mischievous twinkle in her eye makes me want to chuckle, but I keep my expression neutral.

“This year, it’s my turn,” is all she says, and my eyes narrow. “Don’t give me that look, Papi. I called it first.”

“Liar.”

“I’m hurt—”

“Fine.” She’s quick to smirk, thinking she won easily, but my girl seems to forget I’m not a gracious loser. “But there are two conditions.”

Her eyes squint, lips pursing. “Name your demands, and then we can negotiate.”

“The next three holidays are mine.”

“Two.”

“Five.”

“Two.”

“Six.”

Mariah’s phone pings, and this time I do laugh. “How much do you know?”

“Know what?” I’m the picture of innocence, looking between the object in her hand and her eyes. “And make your counteroffer before I raise mine.”

“Fine,” she grits out, pushing her manicured finger into my chest. The same pointer has the eye mask hanging from it. “Three, and I’ll toss in total submission for one night.”

“Deal.” Leaning forward, I nip her bottom lip before taking the offered covering and then picking her up. Since this is her surprise, I’ll let her drive and I carry her to the driver’s side, placing her perky ass behind the wheel. And after she’s buckled in, I get in and cover my eyes.

I’ll let her have today. She won this battle but has no idea I have won this war.

My wife didn’t pay attention to the fine print in my contract. She should always know my terms come with a catch.

Tomorrow it’s my turn.

Specifics are what matter, and Valentine’s Day constitutes the next technical holiday. She didn’t state the next after lovers’ days, and her negligence is my gain.

“Watch your step,” Mariah says, hand on mine while guiding us down the small staircase off the private plane she chartered—her first mistake when it comes to this surprise. I’d almost venture to say it’s a rookie move since I’m Malcolm’s right hand—since I’m aware of the smallest moves being made by other employees, specifically my wife. Her call to the pilot and staff was reported a minute after their call disconnected, and her request was denied since Malcolm is taking London away using his plane. “Just one more.”

“Can I take my blindfold off now?” I already know she’ll say no.

“No can do.” Muñeca laughs at something, and I know it has to do with me and this ridiculous sleep mask covering my eyes. Moreover, I wouldn’t put it past her for this thing to have some kind of “bling” on it. The things I do for love. “Not until we reach our destination.”

“Which is?” My feet touch the ground, and we walk a few steps hand in hand before she pulls away. Not far, but just out of reach as the engine of a larger vehicle gets near. Doors open and my Muñeca begins to direct someone to get our bags, and then the sound of hushed talking begins with the occasional low giggle. Both newcomers are female, and I know them; Alejandro’s mom and sister, who aren’t as quiet as they think. They’re also known as my wife’s sneaky helpers.

“It’s all ready.” That would be Lourdes.

“Are you sure you don’t want a driver?” And that, my aunt. “I’m sure Alejandro wouldn’t mind me borrowing someone. Besides, he doesn’t question me when he thinks it’s for my safety.”

For shame. For shame.

“Are we far, beautiful?” I interrupt then, pretending to not hear their traitorous planning. “Can I have a clue?”

The voices stop, and I sense my wife close once again. “In a few.” Soft fingers push my hair back from my forehead, her soft scent infiltrating my senses. “Just waiting on the baggage to be put in the car.”

I take my own steps forward, pressing my chest to hers as I wrap my arm around her back. Eyes aren’t needed to feel her. Eyes aren’t needed to kiss either, and I find them easily, nipping the bottom one before pulling back. “And then?”

“Then, we go for a ride.” My groan makes her