Thirty-Five

The next morning, Lander is still in bed with me, sleeping in for once. Gently, I punch the pillow to fluff it before I nestle in, relaxing and enjoying Lander's proximity. I could get used to this.

Behind me, he props himself up on an elbow. The covers slide down, exposing our bodies to the bedroom, and he begins tracing shapes on my bare back. I let him touch me for a few minutes before I snuggle closer to him. He's naked too, cords of muscles covering him and flexing as he breathes. His palm rests on my bare waist, delivering a touch that's possessive but comfortable. His hand drifts upwards, caressing the bottom of my breast before he lowers it once more, journeying to my stomach.

Then that devilish hand glides even lower, down to my mound. When he slides his middle finger between my pussy lips and finds me wet, a growl escapes his mouth and it's unmistakably ravenous. He nips my neck before saying, "God, I'm ready to be inside you again. Could you go another time?"

"I'm enjoying this for now."

He doesn't protest, but I note his frustration when his mouth tightens into a pout. Luckily, he doesn't pout for long. He pulls me against his body, and his hand goes back to my stomach, caressing it in that taboo way he loves.

I love it too.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," I mention.

He momentarily pauses his quest to layer kisses on every inch of my neck. "Shoot," he encourages before his tongue pokes out and drags teasingly along my collarbone.

"When did you realize you had a breeding kink?"

Immediately, Lander's body stiffens. Even his tongue grows rigid for a beat. "What?"

"You have a breeding kink," I say evenly. "You're obsessed with coming inside me, and I don't think you've gone a day without touching my stomach since we got together."

He still hasn't moved a muscle. He's barely breathing and remains frozen until I reach up and stroke his messy hair.

"I didn't know that was a thing," he finally replies before he flops onto his back. He drums his fingertips on his abdomen, pensive. "Let's say I do have a…breeding kink. Does it bother you?"

My hand drifts to cup his cheek. "I'm a sex worker, Lander. I'm beyond comfortable with kinks."

"Well, good," he continues before he pries his eyes from the ceiling and fixes them back on me. His expression is solemn with his mouth collapsed into a line and the tension in his jaw squaring his face. "But…do you have this kink too?"

"I do," I admit, nodding. "I'd never considered it before you, but when you touch me here—" I put his hand back on my stomach. "When you act like coming inside of me is a matter of life or death, I go wild."

Lander exhales fully and his shoulders relax while I take his phone from the nightstand and pass it to him. For the next twenty minutes, he scrolls away, eyebrows raised and eyes locked on the screen.

"Well?" I ask once he finally switches his attention from his phone back to me.

Lander tosses his phone aside. "Apparently, I have a breeding kink," he announces before he breathes out, exhaling the admission like he just took a hit off a joint. "Fucking hell."

I slide my arm around him and snuggle against his chest. "Kinks are beautiful, particularly when two people's kinks match," I assure him, but he doesn't respond. "Take your time. If I've learned anything from camming, it's that nobody should take their kinks at face value. Going headfirst into the first thing that feels sexy is how a woman ends up dressing like an angel and pretending to be a virgin for three fucking years now."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I'll get there. Just, like…processing, I guess." He kisses me.

I don't respond at first. Lander's kisses usually blossom into heat, but this one leaves me uneasy. For once, I don't know what's on his mind. He never hides his wants, his motivations, or his intentions from me, and it makes me feel so fucking special. I keep so much from him, and I wonder if this is how he feels when I leave him in the dark.

He deserves to feel special—the way he makes me feel—especially after the absolute fucktangle he witnessed last night.

"Lander, I didn't drop out of Georgetown," I blurt out. "My father got me expelled."

A silence has never lasted so long between us.

And while the silence floats in the insignificant space where our noses don't touch, those cruel memories hover in my periphery. They're always there, cloying and noxious like the scent of cigarette smoke in my hair after a night at the bar.

"Tell me everything," he finally murmurs. Under the sheets, his hand finds mine and grips it. "I want to know everything."

Grief is water behind a cracked dam. It demands to be let out, and when it slips through, the trickle grows into a deluge and nothing can contain it.

I tell him everything.

I tell Lander about the end of my junior year when Sebastian discovered my camming account and screamed at me, demanding to know why I hadn't fucked him after all these years, but was willing to do anything and everything for strangers. I tell Lander about the screenshots Sebastian sent my father, and my father's vicious reaction. I repeat the words that finally broke me: Men on the partner track don't date whores. Being with you would be career suicide. A man with that kind of money and power isn't going to give up everything for a woman who acts like a slut online.

A slut.

I tell him how I refused to delete my account when my father commanded it. I tell him how I finally stood my ground after a lifetime of suffocation.

I tell him how my father sent the pictures to the Dean of Students at Georgetown in retaliation. I tell him about the closed-door meetings before they expelled me for creating pornographic content on campus.

And when I know he's using every skill he's expertly honed over the years to wait and listen, I tell him how I had already taken the LSAT, the law school entrance exam, in anticipation of applying the following year and embarking on my lifelong dream of becoming a lawyer.

"What the fuck," Lander finally interjects when he can't hold back anymore. "What the actual fuck, Valeria. How are you even in my bed right now? How can you stand me?" His face is painted with horror—near revulsion.

"It's unbearable," I reply, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "If only you were six foot three, distressingly pretty, and had enough abs for ants to get lost in like a labyrinth."

"I mean it," he asserts, brow knotted. "The two men closest to you were lawyers and they betrayed and abandoned you because of it. And if that's not enough, you actually wanted to be a lawyer, and I, a lawyer, harassed you for weeks." He shakes his head and doesn't stop. "I don't get his angle. Why would your father get you expelled? If he didn't want you to cam, wouldn't he want you to graduate and eventually go to law school?"

"My career never mattered to him. When I told him I wanted to be a lawyer, he laughed. He paid for Georgetown so he could brag, but he never cared about my degree." I sigh. "It's hard to explain, but it's cultural. My father is traditional and Mexican families are complicated. We don't always know what to do with our daughters."

Lander is quiet for a beat before he rubs his finger along the back of my hand and asks, "His perfect daughter, the one he wanted you to be—what's she like?"

"She's obedient. Demure. A virgin. She never has her own money. She's content to keep her head down and cook and clean. Her mission in life is to marry a man like her father: a breadwinner who intimidates her and everyone around him. It's called machismo." I let out an exhale. "I'm not shocked my mother left him for my English tutor when I was five, even if she made things more complicated for me. If you thought my father was traditional about women before…" I whistle. "Anyway. When he got me expelled, it meant nothing to him, but it was everything to me."

"Because it was supposed to be your way out?"

"Partially," I acknowledge. "But the bigger reason, the more important reason, was to keep me indebted. Because I'm not a US citizen, I was attending Georgetown on an F-1 student visa. The minute I got expelled, my visa was terminated."

Lander blinks, silent. His face has gone pale like he knows what's coming.

"The only reason I'm here and not back in Mexico is because my father is an ambassador and pulled strings to get me the visa offered to diplomats and their families. For the last two years, he forced me to go to dinners at his home and help him save face in DC society. If I didn't, he swore he would get my A-1 visa revoked." I swallow. "After last night—"

"Fuck that," Lander snaps, slamming his hand on the mattress. "Valeria, fuck that. I'm a goddamn American, descended from someone who came here on the motherfucking Mayflower. I'll marry you. I'll marry you today."

I place a hand on his cheek. "I know you would, but you don't have to."

His brow tightens, confused. "If you don't think I want to marry you, Valeria Fuentes, you haven't been paying attention." He throws off the covers and moves to his knees. "Marry me. I'm serious. Marry the shit out of me, Valeria."

I kneel on the bed too. "Lander, if you think I'm going to let you swoop in and save me, you haven't been paying attention either."

Already, he's shaking his head. "I'm not going to let him control you anymore."

"And neither am I," I assure him, placing my hands on his shoulders. "I'll come up with a plan. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm not going back to Mexico."

"You promise?"

"I promise. But honestly, it's not the end of the world if I do. I loved it there, truly, but I'd rather be here with my friends."

"It would be the end of my world. If you're going to Mexico, I'm going to Mexico too. I know my Spanish sucks, but I'll hire a tutor. Two tutors. One to talk to me during the day and another to whisper Spanish in my ear while I sleep."

He's ridiculous—and I adore him. I press my lips against his before I murmur, "Why waste your money when I could whisper Spanish in your ear all night long?"

"Shit, baby," he groans before lying back and motioning for me to snuggle with him again. "But heads up: The minute your father retires, I'm going to punch him in the face."

I join him, laying myself over his unclothed body, touching my skin to his. "Lander, we talked about this. Punching isn't your strong suit. Please stick to nefarious, underhanded schemes."

"If you insist," he responds, smiling. "But in all seriousness, thank you for telling me. I know you keep this one close to the chest."

"I do, but you deserved to know."

He kisses me again, another unspoken thank you, before he says, "Come on. We better get packed."

"For…"

"You're joining us in St. Michaels for the week," he says before he stretches indulgently, nearly distracting me from his unexpected announcement with those impressive, flexing abs. "Bring layers. The weather can be unpredictable."

"Hold on—I can't just show up," I protest. "This is your thing with your friends and the Cavendishes."

"It was their idea. Dalton texted me this morning and literally asked, ‘When are you and Valeria getting here?' and then Alyssa texted and asked what kind of cookies you like."

I eye him. "But Lander, they're—"

"They're my family," he interjects, holding out his hand and motioning for me to take it so he can pull me to my feet. The kiss he plants on my forehead is the most doting, sincere kiss of my life. "Now, they're yours too."