RAFAEL

I watch Frankie as she talks to Eleanor, our friend visiting from the U.S., looking as stunning as always in that tight evening dress. I'd told her not to wear it, but she did anyway—defiance in its purest form. That's why her panties were soaked with my cum, and a butt plug hummed quietly in her ass. She had a knack for testing my limits, my little rebel.

Even if she hadn't worn the dress, I'd still be fuming. Just this morning, she'd vomited at the mere smell of eggs, but instead of staying home to rest as I told her, she snuck out and went to work. Twice today, she defied me. Frankie thrives on disobedience, knowing full well I'll punish her. Punish her until she's trembling in fear and pleasure—the adrenaline rush she craves.

Now, she's doing her best to ignore me as she chats with Eleanor about God knows what. Even if she didn't love me yet, my presence was impossible for her to overlook. My aura alone was enough to command attention.

I pull my phone from the breast pocket of my tailored charcoal suit, my smirk deepening. I hadn't teased her with the plug yet, letting her think I'd forgotten. Knowing her, she'd likely shoved the thought to the back of her mind while chatting away about mundane things. That ends now. The app I'd synced with the plug is a small, discreet thing—nothing more than a touch of a button, and she'll remember exactly who's in charge.

One press of the button and her sharp yelp pierces the air. Bingo. She forgot. My eyes flick up, locking onto hers, and there it is—the fiery combination of irritation and excitement that always pulls me in like a magnet. Her glare is lethal, a silent demand to stop, but it fuels me instead. My lips twitch into a grin as I crank up the speed.

Her conversation ends abruptly as she stammers a quick goodbye to Eleanor. She's walking toward me now, thighs clenched tightly together, every step betraying her struggle. God, I'd kill to spread them open and take her right here.

"Stop! I was talking to Eleanor. We hardly see each other!" she hisses, her voice a mix of frustration and desperation as she grips my shoulder, her nails digging into me.

I increase the speed again.

"Rafael," she moans, her voice muffled against my chest as she buries her face there.

"Yes, little rebel?" I ask, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her closer, savoring every second of her surrender.

"I hate you," she mutters, pulling back to glare at me with those hooded, desperate eyes. She's close, teetering on the edge but fighting it with all her might.

"Te amo, mi rebelde," I whisper against her temple, feeling her shiver despite the warm evening air. When our lips meet, it's with the same electric intensity that's defined our relationship from the very beginning.

That's all it takes. Her moan shatters against my mouth as she falls apart in my arms. I'm not surprised she came so quickly. After denying her release earlier, she was already dangling on the edge.

I hold her trembling body close, a satisfied smirk spreading across my face. My little rebel may fight me, but she always breaks beautifully.

I turn off the plug with a quick tap on my phone, and she jerks, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel. I catch her wrist before she escapes completely, yanking her back, and she slams against my hardened dick. A low groan escapes my throat, primal and uncontrollable.

"Don't you dare touch me," she hisses under her breath, fury evident in every syllable. I can't help but smile - she's absolutely livid.

Gripping her waist, I guide her toward a corner, backing her against the cold, rough texture of the garden wall. The moonlight filters through the foliage above, casting a faint glow on her flushed face and that stunning dress—tight and teasing, just like her. She looks like a goddess, her fiery eyes locked on mine.

"Do I need to punish you for that tone?" I ask, my voice low and threatening as I place my hands on either side of her head, effectively caging her between my body and the wall.

She rolls her eyes—again.

My smirk widens. This woman loves testing my patience. But something about her expression stops me short. That usual playful defiance isn't there. Her eyes are swimming with something darker—anger.

Real anger.

"What's really wrong?" I press, keeping my voice softer this time.

She remains silent, crossing her arms over her chest, the emerald silk of her dress rustling with the movement.

"Amor," I growl, my patience wearing thin. Not because of her defiance - that's part of our dance - but because something's hurting her, and I can't fix it if she won't tell me what it is. Her happiness isn't just important to me - it's everything. I wonder if she'll bother to answer.

Then she slams her palms against my chest. "I told you to let me finish my conversation with Eleanor," she snaps. "We were talking about her new collection, and you just—" She stops, glaring at me like I'm the devil incarnate.

I close my eyes and sigh, relief flooding through me. That's all? I was expecting something worse.

"I fucking blame my love for you," I mutter under my breath before bending down and scooping her over my shoulders without warning.

"Rafael!" she yelps, the sound cutting off with a gasp as I land a firm smack on her ass.

"We're going home," I growl, striding toward the garden exit without a second thought. The gravel path crunches beneath my shoes as I carry her past the elaborate topiaries and hidden alcoves.

"But I didn't even get to say goodbye to Eleanor and Jason!" she protests, scowling as I set her down by our waiting car, the sleek black vehicle gleaming under the garden lights. I'd arranged for Fabio, my driver, to have it ready early, knowing how this night would end.

"Text her. Tell her an emergency came up," I say firmly, opening the door for her.

She huffs, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Fine."

"That's twice now, little rebel," I remark, chuckling as I close the door behind her before walking to my side.

By the time I slip into the driver's seat, she's staring at me with an incredulous look. I don't miss the little gasp she makes when I glance her way, and I can't help but grin. You'd think we just started dating with the way she's acting tonight.

The ride home is quiet, but the tension crackles in the air, thick and electric. It takes every ounce of self-control not to stop the car, rip that goddamn dress off her, and fuck her right here. She's addictive—more addictive than anything I've ever craved.

And the worst part? The more I taste her, the more I need her.

Fuck. I love her so much it hurts.

***

Inside our room, I waste no time. My hands move with purpose, stripping her out of that dress, layer by layer until she's bare before me. A deep groan rumbles from my chest as my eyes devour her naked form, my dick straining painfully against my zipper. The sight of her never fails to take my breath away.

"Get on the bed, ass in the air," I command, my voice husky with need as I shed my own clothes, letting them fall carelessly to the ground.

She obeys, kneeling on the sheets, positioning her perfect ass for me. I stride to the mahogany dresser, retrieving the metal cuffs. Approaching the bed, I cuff her hands behind her back with practiced ease, locking her in place.

My fingers trail down her ass, running my fingers across the plug before sliding two fingers inside her pussy. Her breath catches sharply, a soft moan slipping past her lips, her body reacting before she can even control it. She's soaking wet. Of course, she is. The thought of sex with me alone is enough to undo her.

"Always so ready for me," I murmur, dragging my fingers out to gather her slick. Her breathing quickens as I rub her wetness between my fingers before smearing it over my throbbing dick.

I reach for the butt plug, removing it in one smooth motion before positioning myself behind her, and with one swift, deliberate thrust, I enter her ass. There's no time for foreplay. I need to fuck her, and I need to now!

"Fuck, amor," I groan the heat of her enveloping me, driving me wild. I move slowly at first, savoring the way she fits around me, the sensation of her ass wrapping around my dick, tight and perfect. My fingers dig into her hips as I start to build a rhythm.

Her breath quickens, and I hear her soft moan, her voice trembling as she whispers my name. "Rafael..." It's barely a whisper, but it stirs something deep inside me. I set a punishing pace, thrusting in and out, again and again, feeling the way her body responds to me. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, her cries mixing with my groans, each one of them pulling me further into the storm of desire.

I feel the way she moves beneath me, her muscles tightening with each thrust, her breathing coming in shallow bursts. I can sense it—she's close. The tremors of her body, the way she tightens around me with each movement, tell me she's teetering on the edge of release.

But just as she's about to shatter, I pull out. Her body protests, her moan turning into a frustrated whimper.

I smile, running a hand over her heated skin. "Patience, little rebel."

I uncuff her wrists, and her wide eyes meet mine, a flicker of panic evident. But I press a soft kiss to her lips, reassuring her. I'm not leaving her high and dry. I just have something else in mind.

"Lay on your back," I instruct, moving to grab the candle and lighter I had prepared earlier.

Her gaze follows me, and realization dawns when she sees the items in my hands. Her lips part slightly, a mix of anticipation and intrigue. She obeys, stretching out on the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

The golden glow of the candlelight dances across her skin as I hover over her. Her eyes rake over me, filled with hunger and something deeper—admiration.

She looks at me like I'm a masterpiece, and it floors me every damn time.

"You're beautiful," I say, my voice thick with emotion. My hands skim her peaked nipples and the flush spreading across her skin. She's a vision, inside and out, and I don't think I deserve to have all this beauty to myself, but I don't fucking care. She's mine.

"Remember your safe word, amor," I remind her, my tone gentle. This was the one thing we never established at the start of our relationship, but now, it's different. I won't do anything she can't handle. I didn't give a fuck before, but now? It would rip me apart if I hurt her.

She nods, her chest heaving. "I remember, baby."

I tilt the candle, letting the first drop of wax fall onto her chest.

She gasps, her lips parting, calling me to fuck it. Her body arches, but she doesn't flinch away. Instead, she opens herself to the sensation. I reward her bravery by sliding a finger into her core, feeling her clench tightly around me.

Her moans are soft at first, but they build as I pour the wax in slow drips, each drop accompanied by a deliberate thrust of my finger. Her body responds so beautifully, growing wetter with every touch, every movement.

When she finally falls apart, screaming my name as her climax wracks her body, I can't help but smile.

I extinguish the candle, setting it aside, and position myself at her entrance.

"Are you okay, mi amor?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper as I slide into her pussy slowly, savoring the moment.

Her body welcomes me, her cunt gripping my dick like a vice, and I groan as she wraps her arms around my neck, the warmth of her touch sending a shiver down my spine.

"Yes, my love," she breathes, her voice soft but filled with an unmistakable certainty.

My body hums in response to her, an involuntary reaction I can't control. I've always hated the touch of a woman, the reminder of what happened to me. But with her... it's different. My body craves her—my little rebel—so much that I can't sleep unless I'm wrapped around her, feeling the rise and fall of her breath beneath my own.

"Te amo," I whisper as I move, going slower this time, wanting to savor every moment, every inch of her. My body trembles with the effort of holding back, but I can't rush this.

"Rafael," she gasps, her nails digging into my back as her eyes flutter closed, the pleasure overwhelming her. Her breath is ragged, and I can feel her body tense beneath mine, every movement heightening the intensity between us.

I slow my pace, focusing on every touch, every brush of skin against skin. I want to stretch this moment, savor it, feel the connection deepen with every inch of our bodies. Her breath quickens, and I can tell she's on the edge, the tension in her building mirroring my own.

I keep moving, drawing it out, feeling her pussy tighten around my dick with every thrust. Then she cums, and I lose control, my body following the rhythm of hers as I fill her with mine.

"Yo también te amo," she breathes, her voice raw with emotion as she gazes into my eyes. I kiss her deeply, not just her lips, but her fucking soul—everything that makes her her. I love this woman so much; it terrifies me. I fear I will never tire of her, never want anything but her.

I pull out slowly and lie down beside her, my chest rising and falling steadily. I don't miss the way her gaze lingers on my cum dripping down her legs, the faint sadness in her eyes as she looks at it, like something missing.

"Amor, I'm fine without kids," I tell her softly, pulling her into me cradling her against my chest.

"I know," she murmurs, a sigh escaping her lips. "I just wish I could have some of my own."

I kiss her forehead gently, my mind racing. There are new treatments, new possibilities, but I would never risk her health just for the chance of having children. I don't mind the idea of not having kids—honestly, the fear of becoming the kind of father mine was, is enough for me to feel it's better this way. Besides, I won't have to share her with anyone else if we don't have children.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I love you too," she says, her lips brushing mine in a gentle kiss before she lays back down and closes her eyes, her body still warm against mine.

FRANKIE

I stretch languidly in our king-sized bed, my hand instinctively reaching for Rafael's warmth beside me. Instead, my fingers meet cold silk sheets. Unusual. The morning sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting patterns across our grey-colored walls, but the room feels emptier without his presence.

Rising from the bed, I pad across the heated marble floors to our ensuite bathroom. Steam still clings to the mirrors, and his signature body wash lingers in the air - he's already showered and gone. My chest tightens with confusion. We always get ready together – it's our precious time, our intimate moments before the day pulls us in different directions.

Wrapped in my silk robe, I descend the spiral staircase to our kitchen, where Pedro is preparing what smells like his famous chilaquiles.

"Pedro, where's Rafael?" I ask, trying to keep the worry from my voice.

"He left early, Frankie," Pedro interrupts, barely looking up from the stove.

"That's impossible," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

Pedro glances up with a casual smile. "He's already left, dear. Maybe you should call him. See if he's coming back to take you to work."

I blink at him, trying to process what he's saying. "But that doesn't make sense," I murmur, feeling an unease twist in my stomach. Rafael and I—our communication is everything. He's always been open, always lets me know if he can't make it for something. He would have left a note or at least called me if he couldn't take me to work. This... this feels wrong. Not normal.

Pedro doesn't seem concerned, brushing me off with a simple smile as if I'm making a bigger deal out of nothing. I don't care. Something's off.

I turn and walk out of the kitchen, dialing Rafael's number with a mix of irritation and worry building in my chest. The phone rings once... twice... then goes silent. The line cuts off. I try again, but this time it goes straight to voicemail.

My breath hitches. The worry inside me spikes. What's going on? Why is he avoiding my calls? Did I do something wrong last night? My mind races through our conversation, trying to find a hint of anything I might have missed. But nothing stands out.

I shoot him a quick text, hoping for some kind of reassurance. But still, no response.

Time drags on as I wait, my mind tangled in a web of questions. I glance at the clock and realize with a jolt that I'll be late for work if I don't hurry. I teach English at a private school for preschoolers. Rafael had insisted I work with younger kids instead of teenagers—something about their age and awareness of a woman's body. I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous comment, but I actually love teaching the little ones. I'd taught younger kids back in Chicago, after all.

I rush upstairs, quickly changing into something simple but presentable—a blouse and slacks—before heading to the out. But when I reach the driveway, I realize—again, something is off. Nobody's here to drive me. Rafael always made sure someone he trusted was around to take me if he couldn't. But there's nothing. Just my car, parked in the driveway, waiting.

I push the worry aside, forcing my mind to focus as I drive to the school. It's only once I park that I'm able to take a deep breath, shaking off the anxiety swirling in my chest. I need to focus on my kids. They deserve my best, not the distracted, worried version of me. I can't let them see what's going on in my head. They need me present, and I can't afford to let anything—especially my partner's sudden weird behavior—get in the way.

***

The day drags like molasses, each minute feeling heavier than the last. My usually energetic preschoolers seem to have transformed into tiny tornados of chaos, their energy draining what little strength I have left. My head throbs and a strange exhaustion weighs on my limbs despite my peaceful sleep last night. I keep glancing at my phone, the silence from Rafael a constant ache in my chest. All I want is to go home, sink into his strong arms, and let the world fade away.

As I step out into the warm Mexican afternoon, the sun painting long shadows across the school's courtyard, I notice something odd. Staff members, parents, even the maintenance crew – they're all watching me with these knowing little smiles. Self-consciously, I pull out my phone to check my reflection when it suddenly buzzes: the principal's number flashing on the screen.

My stomach drops. Please don't let her know about my multiple bathroom breaks this morning.

"Hello, ma'am," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.

"My office now!" She hangs up abruptly, leaving me with a knot of anxiety.

I bite my lip, worried. Finding work hasn't been easy – Rafael's reputation in Mexico City tends to close doors before they even open. This school was different, though. What I initially thought was luck, I later discovered it was Rafael's doing. He'd quietly purchased the school, making sure I had a place where I could pursue my passion for teaching. The day I found out, through an accidentally misplaced document, my heart had nearly burst with love for my devil, who shows his care in such grand yet subtle ways. I pretend I don't know, though, because I feel it's best.

On my way to the principal's office, commotion from a nearby classroom catches my attention. My teacher's instincts kick in – thoughts of potential bullying spurring me forward despite my impending meeting.

"¿Qué está pasando?" I call out in my now fluent Spanish, pushing open the door.

The sight before me steals my breath away. The classroom has been transformed into something magical. Soft fairy lights twinkle from every corner, creating a warm golden glow. Rose petals carpet the floor in swirls of red and white, their sweet scent filling the air. But what brings tears to my eyes are my students, their small faces beaming with excitement as they hold up handmade cardboard signs spelling out "Will you marry me?" in wobbly, glitter-covered letters.

"Mi amor," that familiar deep voice calls from behind me. I spin around, my blouse catching the light, to find Rafael – the most feared man in Mexico City – down on one knee. He looks devastating in his tailored black suit, but it's the vulnerability in his green eyes that makes my heart stutter.

"I know I say it every day, but you are the best thing that ever happened to me," he begins, his voice rough with emotion. "You are the most amazing, loving, sweet soul I've ever known. And every day I wake up beside you, I know I don't deserve you, but I'm too fucking selfish to let you go. You've become my heart, my conscience, my everything.

Francesca David, mi amor eterno, would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Tears stream freely down my face, warm trails of mascara marking my cheeks, but I can't bring myself to care about ruined makeup – not when my heart feels like it might burst from all the love filling it. My throat constricts with emotions that seem too big for words, memories flooding through me: that terrifying night of mistaken identity when his men took me instead of my sister, the moment I offered myself to protect her, how what started as a hostage situation somehow transformed into something neither of us expected. Every dark moment, every fierce argument, every unexpected tender gesture that slowly broke down our walls – it all led us here.

Looking into his eyes – those green, expressive eyes that once made me tremble with fear but now fill me with such warmth – I'm overwhelmed by how far we've come. The same hands that once held me captive now cradle mine like they're holding something infinitely precious. His vulnerability in this moment, surrounded by my giggling students and twinkling lights, shows just how much we've both changed from those early days of threats and survival.

"My love," I begin softly, my voice trembling but growing stronger with each word, "You often say you're the one lucky to have me, but I believe it goes both ways. We're both blessed to have found each other."

Fighting through happy tears, I continue, "You make me happy every day, putting a smile on my face when I don't even think I can smile. You make me feel loved in a way I never thought I could.... so yes, mi vida, I will marry you. A thousand times, yes." My smile matches his brilliant one as he slides an elegant diamond ring onto my trembling finger.

"I love you," he whispers, strong arms wrapping around my waist as he claims my lips in a passionate kiss.

"I love you too," I reply, tears streaming down my face, pulling him closer to me.

Just then, someone yells from behind us, causing us to pull apart, our eyes wide in shock.

"So, when's the wedding? Before or after the baby's here?"

THE END.