Birdy (Upper Echelon Duet Book 1)

know why I thought any differently. The man is elusive for a reason, and aside from knowing what he looks like—and what his fat cock feels like inside me—I’m no more special than any of his other employees.
So why does he want to stay with me all of a sudden?
“You never stay the night, though. Why now?” It’s not that I don’t want him to, I’m truly just...stunned.
Ángel grins, that signature devious smirk of his playing on his lips as he pins me with that overcast stare. “I told you, I can’t get enough of you. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, pero te lo juro que últimamente I leave here, and you’re all I think about.
He swears you’re all he thinks about.
Doubtful.
“You sure you don’t mean my pussy?”
“Both.” His grin spreads, a greedy stare dropping to where we’re connected. “If I could have you every day, I would, and that’s exactly what I want.” Palm ghosting up my side, he squeezes my tit and gives it a little slap, then continues up to my jaw, his grip gentle yet still commanding.
“You wouldn’t be able to handle me on the daily. I’m a lot to handle,” I counter—as if he weren’t handling me right now with absolutely no problems.
The challenge behind it gets him regardless. Ángel doesn’t like to be told he can’t do something.
Two seconds later, I find my face inches from his. “Why are you underestimating me? You should know better than that.”
“Should I, though? Because I don’t really know much about you.”
A brief silence follows the truth, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. All he offers is that deliciously husky laugh as he drags his lips across my cheek to my ear.
“Are you going to let me spend the night or not?”
I’m not even surprised by his averting ways. At this point, all I want to know is why. “Tell me, why do you want to?”
“Because I need you, Benni. What part of that don’t you understand? Quiero mas,” he whispers. I want more.
“I told you no more tonight…”
“That’s too bad, bebé, ‘cause I’m nowhere near done with you. Te voy a comer completita. Every inch of you.”
I whimper like a total bitch. He wants to eat me alive, and he’ll one-hundred percent follow through if I let him. Which I will because, let’s face it, he’s right. I’m tough, but I’m so in over my head with this man, it’s not even funny.
“Do you even have anything left to come?” I quip, moaning softly when the head of his cock rubs against my clit.
“For you…always, and that’s the problem. It’s becoming clearer that I may never have my fill, but I have to try.” His fingers gently brush my damp hair behind my ear. “I’m going to be gone longer this time, mami.”
Everything slams to a halt. I go so still I can hear the nervous and stupidly devastated beat of my heart thrashing in my ears.
Longer?
“How long?” I breathe.
“Almost three months.”
“Ouch, that’s gonna hurt.” My pussy’s practically crying at the thought of not seeing him for that long.
Amongst other things...
“It doesn’t have to.” Feather-light kisses tickle my jaw, stopping and pressing into the corner of my mouth. “When are you going to let me scoop you up and just take you with me, huh?”
He wants to take me with him? Since...when? I’m struck stupid for the second time in minutes. That’s such a loaded question, one whose answer has so many moving parts, feelings. The biggest one?
“When you tell me your last name.”
I couldn’t stop myself from saying it. I had to know. But that, friends, is an answer he’d never give up, and unfortunately for me, one I would desperately need in the years to come. Not that I ever would have known that at that moment because right then, I was ridiculously blinded—by the job, the money, the power, and most importantly—him.

♫ Bitch Better Have My Money - Rihanna
Rule number one: don’t fuck with la Jefa.
It’s a simple concept, all I expect from anyone I do business with. Need an advance? I got you—just don’t fuck with me. Get me my money when it’s due, and we’re straight.
But sometimes these pendejos think they can pull a fast one on me because I’m a female, almost like they forget who I am when they devise their little plans to screw me over.
Sucks balls to be them because la Jefa always comes to collect.
And that’s the exact lesson Enrique Martinez is, unfortunately, going to learn today. Damn shame, really. I never thought I’d have to roll up on him in this fashion. The man has always been a loyal, reliable client—mostly green with random sprinklings of white—so when he got laid off and his bills were piling up, I gave him five grand with the understanding I expected the sum returned within ninety days.
He agreed, took the check, and went on his way.
Well, his ninety-days was up a week ago.
He may be loyal and reliable, but that doesn’t excuse him from paying his dues. Not to mention, I gave him seven additional days, and I’ve not heard from him once.
“What time is it?” Ángel’s raspy voice husks out suddenly from my bedroom.
My stomach coils at the sound of it, hand freezing mid-air around the mascara wand. Not only did he stay the night—sucking what remained of my soul from my body with that wicked tongue—but I woke up to him still in my bed.
I expected him to be long gone by now, only the ghost of his scent lingering on my skin.
“Nine-thirty,” I answer, applying a second coat to my lashes.
“Fuck,” he hisses, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I’m gonna be late.”
Late for?
I don’t get to ask. I’m too caught up watching him through the bathroom mirror, my mouth drying at the sight of him lazily sitting up, butt-ass naked. Broad shoulders and a wide back that tapers in, every muscle ripples beneath his ink as he stretches.