Birdy (Upper Echelon Duet Book 1)

regardless.
“Until it wasn’t anymore. I made those rules. I can make them go away, too. Just say the words y soy tuyo.” And I’m yours.
From one side to the other, he peppers kisses along my neck, licking smaller trails and gently nipping at my skin in between.
“Why do you want me, Ángel?” I breathe. ”Answer me that. You don’t trust me enough to share yourself with me, so why want me?”
It pains me to even have to ask that, but I have to know. I’d felt the shift in myself weeks ago, knew my armor wasn’t as strong as it used to be. Feelings had begun bleeding through any and all rationality, and I was losing the battle quickly.
But him? I hadn’t seen a single hitch in his resolve—until last night. The motherfucker tilted my entire world on its axis in seconds, leaving me in a state of utter confusion all day long after we parted ways. Suspicion, too…I won’t lie.
Everything comes back to why? Why now? Why so suddenly?
“Once you’re mine, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” A vow, at least that’s how it sounded vibrating from his chest to mine as he traps my throat in his grip and reclaims my mouth.
“What exactly”…kiss…“does anything entail?”
“Everything,” he whispers.
My eyes clench anew in what I can only describe as the beginnings of agony. I want so desperately to believe him, to think that this thing between us is real, but much like he doesn’t trust me, I don’t trust him, either.
Not with my heart.
He has a piece of it already, and I didn’t even give it to him willingly. He took it like he takes everything else.
Breaking free from his lips, I find myself gulping at the intensity brimming in his stare. He’s analyzing everything, drilling so deeply into me, it’s like he’s trying to catch a glimpse of my soul.
I can’t handle it.
“I thought you said we were going out?” I try averting, quirking his lips knowingly with a slight grin.
“That was before I spent the whole day with you on replay. I sat there mindless as fuck in both meetings. Your eyes, these pouty lips,” he runs his thumb along them, “esa sonrisa, este cuerpecito.” That smile, this tight little body. “All day, mami. All day long you were there with me. The only thing I wanna do right now is get you out of these clothes and get lost in you.”
Same.
I should deny him, should put my foot down and demand we do something other than fuck—because that’s all we ever do—but I want him, too. 
I always want him.
Ángel isn’t comparable to any specific drug; he’s all of them combined, the most lethal concoction with the highest risk of overdose scripted in bright red across his toxic, dangerous warning label. And like the masochistic comemierda that I am, I can’t seem to get enough—despite knowing the consequences every time I take another hit.
So deep, I’ve fallen so damn deep, and I hate myself for it because I knew better. I fucking knew better. The minute I felt anything other than just pleasure, I should’ve walked away.
You still can…
It’s the softest whisper in my mind, but the verity of that thought slams into me no less—like I ran face-first into a brick wall.
I can walk away.
Not that it would be remotely easy, but it’s not like the situation itself is any easier. And if he’s going to be gone for two months, that’s more than enough time—and the perfect time—for me to somehow shed this man from my soul and rebuild my armor.
I guess the question is: could I really do it?
“Do it,” I dare him instead, barely subduing the emotional tremor threatening to rack through me. “Fuck me like it’s the last time, Ángel. Fuck me so good I’ll still feel you long after you’ve left me.”
One of his dark brows arches in confusion until he finally puts two and two together, and his puzzled expression morphs into something I’ve never seen emit from his person before.
Fear. 
I can see it clearly, melding with uncertainty and desperation, a powerful implosion that results in pure, unadulterated rage once all the frayed pieces of reality hit the ground.
He knows what I’m getting at—and he doesn’t like it.
“Do you listen?” he growls viciously, barreling us through my small apartment like a hell-bent demon to my room. My bed squeaks as he tosses me atop the crimson duvet and reaches over his head to pull off his shirt. I get all of two seconds to appreciate his body before he’s on me, his weight supported on one arm. “No, seriously, Benita, do you fucking listen?”
He’s furious, bordering on manic, the gray of his eyes darker than the most thunderous clouds.
“What are you talking about?” I swallow, chest rising and falling beneath his weight. A stupid question, obviously, but he’s not giving me much to work with.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to leave you. I want you for me.”

♫ En La Intimidad - Ozuna
How many times do I have to ask him the same question? 
How is it fair that I’m expected to answer, but he won’t give me the same courtesy in return?
Again, he’s not giving me much to work with other than heated words with no backing.
“Ángel, just…” I try pushing him off to give us both some much-needed distance, but I’m no match beneath his weight.
Beneath his strength.
“Just what?” he grits, clearly tired of my shit, but fuck, so am I. “Why won’t you answer me? Got me out here feeling like an idiot every time I open my mouth.”
And you got me out here feeling like an idiot, period.
I turn away from him, not wanting to dive into this conversation after the one I just had with my mom. Her words hit home in this very moment—he’s not the man for you—and I don’t want to accept them. I don’t want to accept that she’s right, regardless of