Forbidden desires

ROSALIA I let out a groan, tossing my pen down in frustration before pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. The numbers on my screen blur together, refusing to make any sense no matter how many times I try. Why didn't anyone warn me business school would involve this much math? I knew this major wouldn't be easy. Growing up with my dad and Adrian, I've spent years soaking up business lingo, tagging along to meetings, and pretending I wasn't eavesdropping when they discussed deals over dinner. I love it all: contracts, negotiations, marketing strategies. But math? Math is a cruel joke. I groan again, dropping my head onto the desk. My laptop beeps faintly, mocking me with its blank spreadsheet. "Why the hell did I pick business?" I mutter. "Muñeca," My head snaps up at the sound of Adrian's voice and I blink at the phone propped up against a stack of textbooks. His dark eyes glance up from his laptop, peering at me over his glasses. God, the f*****g glasses. They're new—he started wearing them a few months ago—and they do things to me I'm not ready to unpack. They give him this sharp, intellectual edge, which he absolutely knows and shamelessly uses against me. "¿Qué te pasa?" He asks, tilting his head slightly. (What's wrong?) "What's wrong?" I repeat, gesturing helplessly at my screen, "Math is wrong. This assignment is wrong. My life choices are wrong." Adrian's lips twitch, trying not to laugh, and that tiny hint of amusement makes me want to both strangle him and melt. "Ah, ya veo. El drama de siempre." "It's not drama," I protest, pointing accusingly at the screen. "This spreadsheet is out to ruin my life. It knows I was better at chemistry and physics in high school and decided to punish me." Adrian chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. His necklaces shift with the motion, and my eyes flick to the silver one I adore, then to the gold one I gave him three years ago. He hasn't taken it off since, and seeing it resting near his heart does things to me I can't explain. It feels like a piece of me is always with him. "Let me guess," he says, dragging my attention back to his face. "You've checked your formulas, but you're still getting the wrong answer?" "Yes!" I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. "It's like the numbers are conspiring against me." He shakes his head, still amused, and leans closer to the camera, adjusting his glasses. His broad shoulders fill the screen, and his necklaces shift against his bare chest—because of course he's shirtless—and it's far too distracting for my sanity. I tilt my phone slightly, angling it toward my laptop screen. "There. That. Tell me that's not the most evil-looking financial analysis you've ever seen." Adrian squints at it, his thick brows furrowing. He leans forward, elbows on the desk, chin in his hand as he studies the screen. His wedding band—the one he insists on wearing even though we're not married yet—catches the light, and I have to remind myself to breathe and close my legs. "You're missing something," he says finally, his voice calm and certain. "Double-check your variables. One of them is probably off." I groan again, burying my face in my hands. "I hate this. Why the heck did I choose business? I should've just stuck to chemistry. Or physics. Numbers never made me feel this dumb back then," I pause, a wry smile forming. "Or hell, art history would've been perfect. No goddamn numbers to deal with there." "Para," Adrian says, his voice harder now. "Siéntate derecha." My heart skips at the sudden shift in his tone and I straighten in my chair, my body reacting before my mind catches up. "Buena chica," he murmurs. "Ahora, concéntrate. Te estás dejando llevar por el pánico, y eso no va a ayudar." "I'm trying." I mumble, heat crawling up my neck at the praise. "No lo suficiente," he counters. "Eres más fuerte que una hoja de cálculo. Lo sé. Así que deja de quejarte, respira profundo y hazlo de nuevo." I bite my lip and nod quickly. "Sí, papá." He smirks, his left cheek dimple making an appearance, and my stomach flips again. "Bien." I turn back to my work, but my gaze keeps drifting to him through the screen. I bite my lip again, debating for a moment before I speak. "Adrian?" He hums in acknowledgment while typing something but doesn't look up. "Do you think you could come see me this weekend?" I ask. His fingers pause on the keyboard and he glances up at me, his eyes sharp. "I know what you're thinking about, pequeña," he says flatly, his expression unreadable. "No." I pout instantly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Please? Finals are coming up, and I'm so stressed right now. I need to relax. I need you to help me relax." Adrian arches a brow, his gaze returning to his screen. "You need me to help you relax," he repeats, his tone sceptical. "Or you need me to f**k you?" My cheeks warm up and my p***y tingles. "Both." I smile sheepishly, my voice teasingly innocent. That gets his attention. He looks up, eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my c**t pulsate. His jaw tightens slightly before he exhales heavily. "I can't." I frown, sulking as I rest my chin on my hand. "Why not?" He gives me a pointed look. "You know why." "No, I don't," I argue, though I know exactly what he's about to say. He leans back in his chair, looking at me with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Last time you said you were 'stressed' and needed to 'relax,' I came to see you, and all we did was f**k. You ended up missing an entire week of classes because you couldn't walk and sit properly." My face heats again, but I don't deny it. It's true. Ever since Adrian introduced me to s*x—really introduced me—everything changed. It's not just that it's good; it's f*****g addictive. And now, being apart, it's even worse. Long distance has turned me into a horny mess, Adrian's made me a total s*x addict, and honestly? I'm not ashamed of it one bit. "Well, maybe that's because s*x with you is amazing," I say, giving him my best begging look. Adrian shakes his head, clearly unimpressed by my flattery. "Rosalia." "Adrian," I mimic, my tone just as firm. "Come on, Daddy, please? I'll behave this time." His lips twitch like he's fighting a smile, but his expression remains serious. "You said that last time, too. And then you ended up in my lap within five minutes, riding my d**k like you hadn't been f****d in years." I try to suppress my grin at the memory, but it slips through. "I couldn't help it," I justify. "You make it impossible to think about anything else when you're around." He sighs again, rubbing the bridge of his nose like I'm exhausting him. "You're insatiable." He mutters. "And you love every second of it." I tease, daring him to disagree. His gaze softens for a brief moment, and I think I might've convinced him, but then he shakes his head again. "You need to focus on your finals, *vida mía*. And I need to focus on my work." I groan, flopping back in my chair dramatically. "You're no fun." "I'm plenty of fun," he counters. "You just have to wait." I groan again and longingly stare at him. I bite my lip, the memory of us flooding my mind — him f*****g me senseless from behind in the dim parking lot of his hotel the last time he visited. I was so turned on and desperate that we never even made it to his room. I can still feel the cool metal of the car's hood against my flushed cheek as he shoved me down, his strong hand pinning my wrists above my head while he savagely and relentlessly pounded into my drenched p***y. The way he growled my name, his body dominated mine, the pure intensity of it all... Fuck. I'm already soaking. Before I even realise it, my hand slips between my thighs, fingers sliding under my thong. With just a baggy t-shirt and that thong on, it's easy, too easy, to get lost in the heat building in my p***y. My fingers move slowly at first, teasing my c**t. I glance at Adrian who's still working