Chapter 5: The First Lesson

Ramón waved a hand, as if to dismiss the irritation of Matías cheap scent and lingering irritation.

‘Idiota, thinking a million dollars could buy my friendship,’ he scoffed. ‘He’s only bought the traitor’s tag.’

He sank into the Italian leather of his chair behind the mahogany desk, intending to lose himself in the logistics reports blinking nonstop from the monitor. Shipments, routes, rival movements – the cartel’s lifeblood demanded focus. But his mind was far away.

Lola Volcan.

The name itself sparked something inside him. Her entrance at dinner… elegance, poise, undeniable sex appeal. Not broken, not terrified, but defiant. And that dress. A lazy smile touched his lips. Eliza… was undoubtedly behind that audacious move.

It was a gamble, dressing his purchased prize in his revered mother’s gown. But Eliza’s intuition was unmatched. She must have seen something in her and gambled right. If it had been anyone else’s idea, they would have been swiftly punished.

But Lola in it… the black silk against her skin, emphasizing her tiny waist and curves… it had stolen his breath away. Her sharp blue eyes held not only innocence but a wild, untamed beauty.

He remembered the hidden passage from her room. Pushing back his chair, he strode to his less-used study. As expected, the wallpaper panel was askew with scuff marks confirming his suspicion. The passage led directly here.

“Clever girl, aren’t you full of surprises?”

Returning to his command center, he pulled up surveillance. Her room was empty. Exterior cameras showed a fleeting shadow slipping back into her wing moments ago. ‘Hmmm… fast and resourceful.’

His gaze landed on his keys. The heavy ring held the safe house, armory, main house keys… but the Jeep Wrangler key was gone. A slow smirk spread across his face. 

‘Perfecta. She learns quickly, but not quick enough. Stealing from me? Attempting escape? Oh, princesa, you’ve volunteered for your first lesson.’ He anticipated this more than he should.

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The morning cold bit hard as Ramón set out for his run, the mountain air clear and sharp. Before leaving, he’d quietly ordered the inner guards to avoid the main gate and garage, to observe but stay out of sight. Let her think the path was clear.

An hour later, sweating, he stopped by the courtyard fountain to take a long drink from his water bottle.

The Wrangler’s engine roared to life. Just as predicted, the Jeep shot out from the garage speeding towards the main gates. Inside, her small frame was obvious, dark hair flying. ‘Foolish girl, ‘ Ramón scoffed.

“ROOOOARRRR!”

Moira lunged against her cage near the gate. Proximity sensors, a failsafe, triggered the lockdown. Heavy steel bars slammed down, sealing the gate with an echoing clang.

Lola fought the wheel, braking hard just inches from the barrier. Ramón walked towards the Jeep, boots crunching on gravel. Guards emerged, guns ready but lowered.

He wrenched the door open, dragging her out. Her gasp was obvious. She stumbled but caught herself, blue eyes wide with infuriating self-righteousness.

“Going somewhere, princesa?” he asked, voice dangerously soft.

“I was having a lovely drive, actually,” she retorted, trying to hide her fear with sarcasm. “Just admiring the scenery.”

“Run again, and you will regret it.”

She glared at him, unfazed. “Think you can scare me Ramón? You just hit a wall,” she scoffed.

“I know I can,” he replied, coming closer with his breath hot on her neck. “And I will, “ a devilish grin curving his lips.

Dragging her roughly, he ignored her struggles and marched her to his private office, the inner sanctum. He shoved her towards the center.

“You’ll learn obedience. You’ll learn silence. You’ll learn your place here. Rule One,” he stated, fingers brushing his glove’s talon clasps, “You do not speak my name. El Halcón or Señor Cali. Nothing else.”

Her mouth opened. ‘Wrong move, princesa.’ He closed the distance, seizing her jaw, thumb pressing against her frantic pulse. His silver rosary pressed cold against her collarbone.

“Rule Two,” he continued, voice low. “My private rooms, weapons, keys… forbidden. Do not touch what’s mine without permission. If you do, I will take something precious of yours.”

“Like what?” she choked out, trying to pull away.

His gaze deliberately dropped to the agave pendant nestled between her breasts. Her father’s last gift, Matías had mentioned. The threat settled. She quickly lowered her gaze.

“Rule Three.” He leaned in, close enough to feel her heat. “Do not look me in the eye without permission.”

“Why?” she shot back. “Afraid I’ll see the coward hiding?”

He stilled, a dangerous coldness washing over him. With lethal calm, he unbuckled his belt. Letting it fall slightly, revealing the stylish falcón tattoo, wings spread across his hip. A permanent claim.

“Rule Four,” he said softly. “Every act of rebellion earns a chain. Every escape attempt, every defiance. Fight me, princesa, and I will brand my sigil here.”

His knuckles grazed the sensitive dip of her waist, feeling her involuntary flinch. “…or maybe, here.” His hand drifted higher, towards the swell of her breast. Her hand shot out, to slap his away. But he caught it mid air, forcing it down.

“Ah, Lolita. You learn too slowly.” His eyes lingered on her waist. “You’ll beg for that mark sooner than you think.” Humiliation flashed in her eyes, but her chin remained high.

He stepped back, fastening his belt. “This is your first lesson, earned by your little joyride. Consider it a warning. Next time, I might take that pretty necklace. Or deliver on Rule Four.” he said flatly.

“Now turn around.” When she hesitated, he gripped her shoulder, forcing her. Her skin was warm beneath the thin fabric of the pyjamas shirt she’d slept in.

“You wanted my attention? Now you have it.”

He ran calloused fingers up her spine, feeling her shiver. His hands settled on her waist, then cupped her breasts through her thin shirt. He swallowed as the weight and fullness surprised him while she gasped, stilling as stone.

“I bought you, Lola Volcan,” he murmured, lips close to her ear. “Every inch of you belongs to me now.” He squeezed gently, pinching her nipples lightly, feeling them pebble instantly. Her breath hitched.

“Your body,” his hands slid down her stomach, lingering, “your defiance,” he cupped her ass, pulling her back against the hard ridge of his arousal, “even your hatred… it’s all mine.”

He retrieved a new fluffy duster. ‘It will definitely show her who is boss without causing real pain.’ “Acceptance will make your life easier,” he whispered, then brought the duster down lightly across her backside. Once. Twice.

The strands whispered against the fabric. Then again, tracing the curve of her breasts. Not painful, merely… marking. Humiliating. He saw the goosebumps rise on her skin. An unwilling ache, he guessed, was starting deep within her. 'Perfecta.'

With his free hand, he reached between her legs, pressing the heel of his palm firmly against the juncture of her thighs. Right over her mound through her pants.

Then a single, deliberate smack. Not hard, but intimate.

She cried out, a small, muffled sound of outrage and something else… something darker.

He stepped back, tossing the duster. She swayed, arms wrapped around herself, tears on her cheers. But she didn’t beg.

‘I want her surrender, yes, but I want it given, torn from her by a desire she couldn’t deny. Not forced by pain.’

The tension in his own body was rising, his cock thick and hard against his joggers. Leaving her standing there trembling, was its own form of torment for both of them.

He turned and walked out, locking the door behind. Back in his own suite, he stripped and stepped under the icy spray of the shower, letting the cold water shock his system, willing the hardness away. It barely worked.

He leaned against the cool tiles, water sluicing over him. Closing his eyes, her image burning behind his eyelids. Her stubborn stance, those pecky tits and ouh, what it would be like to suckle… He soon finished the job himself.

Damn… Lola was dangerously close to awakening something neither of them was ready for.

Minutes later, now composed and dressed, he came back. She hadn’t moved, though tears had stopped. She looked small and lost but the rigidity was still there in her spine.

He grabbed a soft alpaca throw from the couch and draped it over her shoulders. “Eliza will be here soon,” he said flatly.

“She will make sure you shower and eat. Meet me later in the courtyard.” He paused at the door. “Moira needs feeding.”

He didn’t wait for her reaction, just closed the door. The unasked question and the unspoken threat of the jaguar hanging in the air.

The lessons had just begun.