Claiming Carlos

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Come to my apartment and show me.” He kisses me lightly on the forehead and pulls me gently from the lounge chair.

  My heart is thundering. I’m going to his apartment, alone. Are we going to eat dinner and talk? Or will he try to kiss me again?

  Like an obedient zombie, I follow him into his lair. The hairs stand on the back of my neck, and I get the eerie feeling Tita Gloria will jump out at any minute and condemn me to hell.

  He shuts the door behind us and gives me the once over, his sexy eyes lingering between my breasts and my thighs. The aroma of coffee mixes with the peanut scent of kare kare or beef oxtail stew, my favorite dish.

  “I kept the food warm for you,” he says. “Ready to eat?”

  My mouth waters, and the tension dissipates. He’s trying to be friends again. He’s not into Julia either, but he’s doing her a favor, just like he did Evie a favor by making her feel pretty. Now I wonder if all the nice things he does for me is because he feels sorry for me.

  What the heck. I’m hungry right now and I don’t care. I smile at him, warmly. “Yes, I’m starving.”

  A half hour later, I’m still sitting across the table from Carlos, my tummy full and happy. I’ve never tasted better kare kare, especially with Carlos’s homemade bagoong. It was the most perfect creamy blend of range-fed beef with toasted rice, garlic, salty shrimp, peanuts, crunchy Chinese long beans, and spongy eggplant, ever.

  I make so many “mmm” sounds I sound like a sonic toothbrush, but the food is hecka awesome, and the man sitting across from me is beyond delectable.

  “That was so delicious. Thanks.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin and pat my belly.

  “You know where to come to get good grub.” He chuckles, his grin widening. “Can I get you some coffee? I made champorado with dark chocolate, the way you like it.”

  My mouth waters, and it’s not only for the chocolate, but for the lusciously hot man raking my body with his eyes like he wants to devour me.

  I wait at the table as he pours me a cup of coffee. The champorado, a Filipino chocolate rice pudding, is set in two crystal dessert cups with a silver filigreed spoon in each one. He places one in front of me and pours himself a cup of coffee.

  “Mmm …” I twirl a spoonful of champorado into my mouth. The creamy texture of the pudding with the soft, sweet rice and the dark fragrance of the bittersweet chocolate has me in the clouds. Carlos knows how to spoil a woman.

  I look up and notice he’s not eating, just kind of gazing at me, his knee jittering beside me. “You like it?”

  “Oh, gosh, yes. How did you know champorado’s my go-to comfort food?”

  “I’ve been observing you for a long time.”

  Somehow that confession doesn’t creep me out. It actually feels safe and comforting. He’s always paid attention to not just me, but my family and friends.

  He’s still looking at me expectantly, and I know he has something he needs to get off his chest, but I’m feeling so good right now, I don’t want to disturb the mood.

  “Do we still need to talk?” I spoon a dollop of pudding in his mouth.

  “Not unless you want to.”

  I shake my head. “I’m all talked out with what we said earlier. I’m happy and satisfied because we’re friends again.”

  He licks his chocolatey lips clean. “Is that all you want? Friends?”

  “That’s all we can ever be.” It’s not just that he’s still technically engaged to Julia and his mother’s in the Philippines looking for a church, it’s the fact he doesn’t know about Livy. The stab of disappointment and disapproval in his eyes would kill me. Better to claim victory with a friendship which can last a lifetime.

  “Why’s that? Is that what you truly want?”

  “Yes, best friends, like we used to be.”

  Many times in life, you don’t get what you truly want. Right now, I’m not going to worry except take another lick of this luscious dessert. Yum.

  “That’s not good enough for me.” Carlos snaps me out of my chocolate heaven. He takes the spoon from my hand and jabs it into the pudding. “Look at me.”

  The look in his eye isn’t that of a loyal friend or faithful companion. It’s heated, fiery, intense, the kind you see on the giant movie screen right before the ending credits and the happily ever after. My chest flutters and my hair singes as my mouth opens in bated anticipation.

  Before I can take another breath, he grabs my wrist and pulls me to stand in front of him. “Are you saying you want to be friends because of Johnny? I thought you were over him.”

  I twist to loosen his hold, but he squeezes harder and captures my other wrist. I hold my hands in fists in front of my chest. Why the sudden change in mood? I thought it was all settled by the meal we just ate.

  Without warning, he plunges his lips against mine, sucking ferociously, breathlessly. The stubble on his face grazes me, stinging and rough, bitter and sweet. A driving, forceful need rushes from inside of me, and I grab his shirt pulling him closer.

  Our lips fitting perfectly, I turn and lock onto his mouth, drinking and breathing him in. My tongue presses into his, wrapping in a tango, not lightly flickering, not lame like Johnny says, definitely not C+.

  This man wants me, is craving to have me, to devour me and make me his. He’s wild, driven, frightening. The potency of his maleness spikes my pulse to thundering. I want him too. From this moment, forever.

  I kiss him ferociously, hungry now. I don’t care what his mother thinks about me. I’m wild, untamed, not prim and proper enough for him, but I want him, the altar boy, the loyal son, the one who won’t and can’t do wrong. Except everything we’re doing is wrong.

  His soft, fleshy lips massage and grab, and his scent is all man, earthy, musk, coffee, and chili oil. I can’t get enough of him. My hands muss up his hair, I tangle my fingers around the loose ends and squeeze the back of his neck, latching onto him, not letting go.

  He roughens his assault on my mouth, his tongue plunging in and out, as if he’ll eat me alive. A menacing growl rumbles in the back of his throat. He maneuvers me from the kitchenette, his legs pushing mine backward. We knock over a chair and bump around a corner.

  Neither of us makes a sound, as if afraid to break the spell. His swirling dark espresso eyes are locked onto mine, serious, intense, like a leopard staring down its prey. He kicks open his bedroom door. The room is sensually dark, musky with burnt incense sticks: sandalwood, lemon grass, mossy. Lava lamps glow blue, red, lumpy on the bed stand under a colorful, abstract Carlos Santana poster.

  He flicks on the stereo while pressing me onto a dark maroon velvety bedspread. Psychedelic guitar licks permeate the room. He holds my gaze, while my hand sweeps back his hair and I palm his cheek, scratchy with a day’s growth of beard. His brows crinkle in the middle, drawing into a scowl, nothing friendly, nothing Carlos about him. The electric guitar screams and riffs, sliding up and down, twirling and growly, darker and tortured, like the man stalking over me.

  Slowly he draws closer, his expression unchanged, not a question mark, but sure, fierce. I lift my head, exposing my neck, daring him. My body arches into his crouch, sensitive to his every move. He sinks his teeth into the crock of my neck, nipping and sucking, his weight pressing me into the bed, his groin rubbing between my legs.

  My eyes barely open, I draw deep breaths while he grabs my hands, our fingers intertwined. Throwing my thoughts away, I submit. He’s over me, around me, spreading my arms to the side, like the arms of a crucifix.

  I jerk myself against him, impatient, but it’s his moment—his move to make. I wait, chest heaving, breasts erect, every nerve hungry, needing to be conquered and set on fire—the space between my legs crying to be filled.

  No words are necessary. A torrent of desire lights me from head to toe. Panting, eager, I writhe under his controlling lips, tongue, teeth. Now, please, now, I scream in my head. Take it off. All of it.

  He kisses and nips down my neck and over both sides of my
collarbone, his hands rough over my breasts, stimulating me. I want those lips on me. All over. I moan and wiggle, and he obliges by ripping my blouse, popping the buttons.

  Spreading my clothes aside, he unsnaps my bra and wraps his hot tongue around one nipple while caressing my other breast. I jolt off the bed, the mixed pain and pleasure intense. Moisture soaks between my legs, and I’m a throbbing piece of flesh begging that rough man to ravage me. The guitar and drums thrum urgently, the vocals gruff and sexy, and I’m shaking my hips to rub against his muscular thigh.

  Barrio rhythms, sultry Latin nights, the singing, screaming electric guitar, the ocean, the moon and emotions, loving smooth, hard and deep. His shirt’s off and then his pants. His engorged, fully loaded cock springs up, dark and juicy. I want to touch, but obey his silent command to stay still.

  He sheathes himself and pulls down my jeans and panties. I help kick them off and spread my legs wide, heartened by the wicked gleam of lust in his face, the lick of his lips, the desperate desire reflected in his eyes.

  This is it, the moment I want etched in my mind, never to forget. He pushes and I gasp and he slides in, every long glorious inch, until he’s buried right where I want him to be.

  His eyes are on mine, connected, and full of love. Neither of us moves, despite the throbbing pleasure down below. It’s hard to believe we’re actually together, making love. I caress his face, stroke the back of his neck, and he begins to move, slowly, rolling, and oh, I’m dying and going to heaven.

  The rush builds and ebbs with the music, like adrenaline, intense and zinging with energy. I’ve never ever imagined it could be like this. Carlos and I, perfectly matched, as he draws himself back and pumps in again and again, filling me, loving me, completing me.

  Our gazes are locked to each other. The wonderment of desire etched in his dark brown eyes mesmerizes me. I never want this blessed moment to end, but the pleasure is too incredible.

  The music roars like a motorcycle, reverberating through the swish and the pulse in my ear, my head, my arteries. Heated pressure swells between my legs, so delicious and exciting. My entire body’s on fire, every nerve tingling, wanting to be touched and caressed. My fingers dig into Carlos, pulling him tighter, harder, faster.

  Excitement mounts as his movements roughen. The reality is much more vivid than my dreams, more satisfying, more present. A firestorm of sparks dance over me, engulfing me from head to curling toe.

  Carlos groans, his body tightening, his eyes still locked onto mine, dilated, half-closed. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me, bringing me down, floating like a feather in the wind, drifting and fulfilled.

  I don’t want to move, just laze in the afterglow, and tangle in the sheets, stay like this, but Carlos rouses me by dragging a sheet over me and kissing me. He holds me securely, pampering me, and I close my eyes, tucked in his arms, knowing that everything’s changed.

  No more friends. Only lovers.

  Chapter 31

  I’m in that state between sleepiness and waking up—dreamland still lapping at my feet like sea foam on the sand. I stretch and yawn, my body lazy, fulfilled, loved.

  The man next to me snores lightly, his muscles relaxed. A big hand holds me, and his arm is wrapped over me like a cloak of protection. This is my waking fantasy, to lie in bed and greet every morning with him by my side. I snuggle closer to him and wiggle my butt against the evident erection he sports.

  Then it dawns on me. I slept with Carlos. I’ve definitely cross the line this time. As far as all our relatives are concerned, he’s engaged to Julia. It’ll be hell to pay if Gloria finds out.

  Gingerly, so as not to wake him, I slide off the bed. This is the dreaded morning after. I have to avoid the awkwardness, the false assumptions, and escape back to my hole in the wall to lick my wounds and scold myself for my shamelessness.

  Carlos’s snore stutters. He opens his eyes and reaches for me. “Where are you going?”

  “I, uh, have to …” There’s no excuse about opening the restaurant. And my parents aren’t exactly waiting for me for breakfast. Oh, that’s right, Livy.

  “I have to take Livy to Bombers.” I make this up on the spot. I’m sure Livy will be happy to go, especially if we go shoe shopping afterward with no budget.

  “That’s great. But Bombers doesn’t open until noon. We have plenty of time. Come back to bed.”

  Oh no. If I go back to bed, I’ll never escape.

  I cover my breasts and gather my underwear from the floor, stepping over several used condoms, my face heating at the multiple rounds we went last night.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me good morning?” He reaches out and grabs me.

  I avert my face. “Morning breath. We’re not in a relationship. I have to run.”

  “Says who?” He scowls. “I don’t get you. Last night you wanted me. You couldn’t get enough.”

  “You can’t let your mother know about this. Swear it.” I hastily tug on my panties, aware of his steely gaze burning through me.

  “It’s not like I’m texting her right now. What’s going on?”

  I shrug my bra over my breasts and hook it. “She hates me.”

  “She won’t if I tell her you’re my girlfriend.”

  “What, now I’m your girlfriend because we did this?” I wave my hand over the rumpled bed. “You can’t tell your mom, please.”

  “Fine.” He gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of boxers. “You’ve been using my mother as an excuse since the first time we kissed. What’s the deal?”

  “Nothing.” Scouting the room, I spot the rest of my clothes. “I need a shower, and I’m late for breakfast with my family.”

  “Look, if it’s Julia, I’ll break off the fake engagement today.” He grabs a towel and frowns, his eyebrows knit. “I know you have a lot of thinking to do, so I won’t bother you.”

  What can I say? I want him to bother me, to care about me and even now, the aftershocks of last night make me shiver with sweet delight, my body warm and fully loved. But I can’t indulge. I have to leave before my heart’s trapped too deep.

  I pick up my ripped blouse from the floor. “I need to borrow a shirt.”

  “Here.” He tosses me a white T-shirt. “I need a shower. You can let yourself out.”

  A part of me screams, no, don’t treat me like a tramp. But the other side says, he’s still Julia’s fiancé, you brought this on yourself.

  I plotted with Tita Gloria to set them up, and I did all I could to sell Julia on the idea. I should be thankful they’re only faking this.

  But letting myself out?

  This is the pinnacle of shame, red hot hellfire shame.

  Carlos turns toward his bathroom, not meeting my gaze. Is he ashamed? Regretful? Disgusted?

  “Carlos?”

  “Yeah, what?” He cocks his hand on his hip. “You want me to walk you to the door?”

  “No, I’ll go. Sorry.” I pull the shirt over my head and put on my shorts, patting myself for my keys. Did I even have them when I emptied the trash?

  Where are they? I don’t have my cell. Panic sets in. I flip over the cushions on the sofa and check behind the plates stacked on the kitchen counter.

  Carlos watches me, the towel draped over his shoulders, not helping me, not even asking what I’m looking for. Why’s he being so mean?

  Dammit. I’m going to have to knock on the supervisor’s door and say I locked myself out. Everyone’s going to know where I spent the night. What if my mother called and didn’t get an answer? What if they’re outside looking for me?

  I don’t know why Carlos is still standing there staring at me. I can’t take it anymore. Opening the door, I check that the coast is clear. I can almost hear Tita Gloria and her heavy orthopedic shoes clomping down the hallway.

  The gods must be looking out for me because the corridor is empty. I dash down the hall and hit the elevator button to take me to the supervisor’s office. I’ll say I stepped out this morning to put out the
trash and I locked myself out. Easy peasy.

  The supervisor answers his door and peers at my disheveled appearance. Gah. I’m wearing a man’s oversized T-shirt reeking of hormones and cologne. I explain my predicament.

  His lips curl into a smirk, and he points to my keys on his desk. “You took out the trash this morning and left your keys on the balcony last night?”

  Fail. Total fail. Behind me Carlos chuckles.

  I turn just in time to see him shaking his head and walking away.

  # # #

  As soon as I’m showered and dressed, I rush to Julia’s apartment. I didn’t bother to call or text because I don’t want to warn her and give her a chance to get her story straight with Carlos.

  “Choco!” she exclaims, opening the door. “You didn’t answer your phone last night. Everyone’s worried, wondering where you were.”

  “I left it in my car, ha, ha.” Okay, so the laugh sounds lame. I’m not in the mood for theatrics. “How’ve you been? Have you heard from Steve yet?”

  “Not yet. But he’s in the military so he might be in a remote location. Let me show you my Instagram feed.” She has a gleam of sweat over her forehead and her eyes shine a little too brightly. She swipes through her phone menus and hands it to me.

  Pictures of Julia and Carlos singing karaoke clog her feed along with comments and likes from her followers.

  Hot, hot, where’d you find him?

  Ow, girl, I’m jealous. Congrats!

  So glad you bounced back.

  Stick it to Thumpy, ha, ha, LOL.

  “Oh, that last one’s for Steve.” She takes the phone from me. “His screen name is ThumpGunner.”

  “How about Facebook? Doesn’t Steve usually go there first?”

  She smirks. “How would you know, been stalking him?”

  “No, uh, not at all.”

  She opens her Facebook app. I look over her shoulder. Lots and lots of congratulations from both Julia and Carlos’s friends on their engagement. Some surprise. Julia’s breathing gets faster and shallower as she jumps to Steve’s Facebook page.