Punished (Calavera Hotels #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven Mireya

When I wake up, my arms are sore. I had drank more than I normally do, but not to the point that I could forget the events that took place. The shit I said to Thalia. Adrian freed my hands last night after I passed out. I was pissed and horny all night. I tried to grind my pussy on a pillow to see if I could get some relief, but my body was too exhausted. I look down at my body and sigh. I need to get up to change these sheets and wash his cum off my face.

I make my way into the bathroom and take in the smell of him. I open his body wash and breathe it in. I could orgasm just at the smell. I turn on the water and scrub my body with the soap. I watch as my sweat, mixed with his cum, swirls down the drain. “Bye bye, babies,” I say and laugh to myself. Babies. “Shit.” It’s then that I realize these little stay overs with Adrian have meant constantly forgetting to take my birth control pills every night. I’ve missed more than a few days. I should tell him to start wearing condoms until I can get back to a consistent schedule. He didn’t cum in me last night, so I could just start today.

I step out of the shower and grab a towel. It smells like him, too. Fuck. I can’t have a baby right now. A baby. Fuck . Memories of the shit I said to Thalia taunt me. I don’t know why I even said that. Subconsciously, when Alma told me, I was worried about Thalia. I took that worry and turned it on her without even knowing the validity of the situation. She looked hurt, though, so I know there’s something to this, and I need to get my mind together before I talk to her about it. I can’t avoid conflict. Adrian has taught me that.

I reach into his closet and grab one of the black and white flannels off the hanger and put it on. I throw my wet scrubs in the washer, so I have something to wear when I leave. I listen for Adrian, but I don’t hear anything in the penthouse. When I step out onto the patio, he is there, working out. He’s shirtless. The sweat glistens off his back. I watch as he completes each rep, pushing his chest up and down off the concrete, unable to pull my focus away from him.

He notices me drooling over him and stands up. He smiles at me as he uses his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. I’m leaning, with my arms crossed, on the sliding door. He makes his way toward me and pulls at the fabric of the borrowed shirt, kissing me briefly. “You look good in this.” My cheeks flush at the compliment, and my stomach makes its needs apparent with a growl.

“Always hungry.” He flashes me one of his rare smiles that I love so much. He grabs my hand and leads me to the kitchen. I could do more mornings like this, I think as I watch a shirtless Adrian make us breakfast. I scroll through my phone, and my chest tightens as I see the newest post on Alma’s Instagram.

“This bitch knows how to cure a hangover,” the caption underneath a picture of Thalia in a black-and-white striped shirt, a black beret, and batwing sunglasses reads. She holds a mimosa out, that lightly touches the glass at the end of Alma’s hand. I frown and can’t help but feel jealous I’m not there with them. Adrian serves me a plate, glancing at my phone briefly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His eyes search mine.

“Is this how you get information out of me?” My brow arches. “Fuck me, feed me, and then I spill my guts?” He smirks, but I know he won’t let me off easy. Adrian will push me to own my shit.

“I’m going to give her some space right now. I feel like shit, and I don’t even remember everything I said, but I remember the basis of it. I know I hurt her.”

“What happened yesterday?” He arches his eyebrow, and I watch as he eats a slice of bacon. Anything this man does is a kink of mine. Working out, licking mayo, eating bacon, I was turned on by all of it. He could get stuck in an inner-tube wearing flippers, like I did last summer at the water park, and I would still find it sexy as hell. I laugh at the thought and he looks up at me. Right, we were being serious. I push the images away for another day.

“I had a bad day yesterday,” I tell him everything, from the two different shoes to the failed Sancho stake out. When I get to the part about Diana, he doesn’t look nearly as surprised as I would expect him to be.

“Why are you not surprised?” He takes a drink of his coffee and sets his fork down.

“Yesterday, Patricio showed me some footage of one of my mom’s hypnotherapy sessions. My mother was trying to confront her first association with the drug, and she mentioned your mother.” He reads my scrunched up facial expression. My mother was a lot of things, but never an addict.

“I know your mother wasn’t an addict, but something is off. Just a few weeks ago, Enrique showed me a video of her talking to someone outside the hotel, letting them know I had been released. ”

“Do you think she was talking to Diana?” I worry about what the two of them could have in common, feeling panic rising from my core. I wasn’t sure if my mother had a part in Soledad’s kidnapping, and I knew she was cold-hearted, but could she really be capable of this? What would her motive be?

“I don’t know, but your mother has always hated me. At one point, while we were dating, she came over just to tell me I was a piece of shit who was holding you back.”

“Is that why you broke up with me?”

“It was more than that. We were getting closer, and I knew I would eventually have to tell you about my mom. Then Constance planted her seeds in my head… Which is why I need to know if she was planting seeds in my mom’s head, as well. Then figure out why.” My throat feels tight. I didn’t know she had said that to him.

“You can’t tell her about this, Mireya. I’m trusting you to let me figure this out first.”

“I would never do something to hurt you, Adrian. She is still my mother, though, and I want to be a part of any plans you have with her before you execute them.” A part of me wants to believe she had no choice in this. Wants to place the blame on someone else and hopes there is a sliver of humanity left in her. Adrian is looking at me, and I know he can see through every worry and every wound surfacing. I get up and make my way to the couch. I push down the lump in my throat. You look so ugly when you cry.

Her words echo, and I continue to hold back the tears. After all these years, all these attempts to heal, I still have a hard time crying. It is a self-imposed punishment.

Adrian sits next to me and pulls me onto his lap. I hug him, needing an outlet. My heart is anchored to his, and when the toxic thoughts try to drown me, he pulls me out. I pull away and trace the outlines of his face.

“You don’t believe her now, do you? That you don’t deserve me,” I whisper.

“Maybe she was right, maybe not. The difference between then and now is even if she is right, even if I’m not good enough for you, I don’t care. You are mine.” His eyes darken, and I wrap my legs so I’m straddling him and lean down to whisper in his ear.

“I’ve always been yours.”