With the loss of his touch, I whimper, but my displeasure is silenced when I hear him sucking at his fingertips. “If it’s possible, Izzy, you taste sweeter now than when I had you in the limo.” His words cause my knees to give, but I catch myself, not wanting him to hesitate for fear of something being wrong.
He’s back to rubbing circles, “No noise, Izzy, or I’ll stop,” he pauses. “Everything,” he whispers at my ear.
His repetitive ministrations on my backside continue on and with every loss of his touch, I steel myself for the slap that I know is coming. But it never does. I further relax into his soothing touch.
Smack.
His palm strikes the right side. The sting barely registering on the pain scale, instead it’s a jolt of energy and lust zipping straight to my core. It takes everything I can to keep from clinching and rubbing my thighs together.
“One,” he says into my ear. I stifle the groan knowing if I make so much as a peep, he’ll stop and I’ll be left here needing. “Those twinkling lights can’t hold a candle to you Izzy, but with you in front of it, it’s a site everyone should see but only I’m allowed to. Do you know how fucking hot you look up against that skyline? Waiting there, like you need this.” He delivers the next smack.
I bite my lip to resist the urge to move, to rub this need out, to keep from releasing the moan lodged in the back of my throat. He’s at my ear, repeating his previous question, “Do you know, Izzy?”
Opening my mouth to answer, I quickly snap it shut. I’m speechless as much from remembering Diego’s only rule as my ability to answer his question. My wordless answer a shake of my head. Body trembling from his heated words, pussy dripping from his punishing hand, my head falls to the cool glass in front of me.
“One more,” he says, delivering what would be the final smack. I stifle yet another groan. Biting into my cheek, my tongue is tinged with a coppery taste.
“Fuck, Izzy,” he kisses my shoulder where neck meets back. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He’s cocooning me with his large frame, his hands framing mine on the glass, my back to his front, I can feel his erection. Unable to control the urge, I push back and circle my hips into him, rubbing my ass against his rigid cock. “I need to bury myself in you, but there’s still one question unanswered.”
My mind starts racing. What question did he ask that I didn’t answer? The mix of want and need cloud my memories. He pulls up and back from me.
I feel him moving behind me, but I’m fixated on my barely perceptible reflection in the glass. Even through the darkness of the room and the night sky, I can see the lust-filled haze clouding my stare…and Diego not behind me?
I’m made aware that he’s positioned himself between my spread legs and underneath me, when his hot breath caresses my aching clit and pulsating pussy. In one long drawn out swipe from bottom to top, Diego runs his tongue the length of my seam, plunging his tongue into my core and stilling it as I ride out the orgasm the welcomed invasion causes. He’s lapping up the juices he’s spilled from me, humming his approval. I steal a glance at his face peering up at me from his spot between my thighs. The desire in his eyes is unmistakable. His name is a plea from my lips barely a whisper.
Diego positions himself back against the glass and pulls me down to him. Straddling his hips, I lower myself onto his jutting cock. It’s a slow process, a sweet torture for the both of us. When I feel him bottom out, I start with a slow grind and a swirl of my hips. The friction against my clit nearly unbearable, it elicits a groan from him.
I can feel my next orgasm building with each grind and swirl. My nails digging into Diego’s shoulders, I mentally ready myself for the impending climax. Diego’s hands are all over me. Laving my pebbled nipples with soft swipes of his tongue, he combines it with the tugging and pinching of his fingers, the contrasting attention a heady combination. When he bucks his hips, my rein on my release is severed and I dig my nails in riding out the mind-blowing orgasm. Whimpering when Diego shakes his hips, he draws out my climax with every shudder.
I collapse against Diego’s chiseled chest, panting. Diego nuzzles the space behind the lobe of my ear. “My turn,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. He fists his hand in my hair pulling me up to look at him and crushing my mouth with his determined lips. Plying my lips open with his tongue, I can taste myself on him.
Pushing up with his other hand against the glass, Diego lifts us from the floor. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the action causing me to clench my pussy around his buried cock and creating a hitch in his step.
Diego lowers us to the bed and effectively removes himself from me. I whimper at the loss, but I’m quickly assuaged when he sucks in a taut nipple between his lips and simultaneously plunges a finger into my still wanting pussy. He switches between each breast, kneading and massaging one while he orally fixates on the other.
I’m breathless when the bed dips and his body is no longer on mine. I look up to find the man grinning like a kid in a candy story, pleased with his spot at my apex. He quirks an eyebrow before diving in lapping up and drawing out my juices. His relentless tongue builds a resurged need for release.
On the precipice of what could be described as the mother of all climaxes, Diego is up and over me in a flash. His eyes are asking me for the permission he doesn’t need. My own eyes tell him to take me, all of me.
Without hesitation, Diego is buried deep, pumping in and out of me, chasing his finish. His pace is punishing. I can feel the throbbing in my pussy as he drives me towards another orgasm. Determined to make him come undone, I match the pump and swirl of his hips into me. The added action makes my pussy clench harder around his delirium inducing cock.
I keep Diego’s gaze as he closes in on his climax. Ready to make the man let go, I reach down between our sweat-slicked bodies for my clit. I begin to rub slowly, increasing the speed as he does his pace. I see the moment Diego is about to crack, I clinch harder. In the next, he’s shouting his release with my name.
We lay there, in the middle of the bed with him hovering over me and both of us thoroughly sated. I close my eyes to steady my pulse and catch my breath. He has a knack for robbing me of it. I relax into the bed.
Just as I’m slipping into dreamland, Diego slips out and off of me. “Let’s go, bella.” He’s lifting me, cradling me as he did before. This time I’m too spent to argue. He places me on the counter in the bathroom, so he can turn on the water for a bath. Satisfied with the temperature of the flowing water, he adds an obscene amount of bubble bath soap.
Returning to the counter, he lifts me up and carries me to the tub, careful to let me adjust to the water with my feet first. I lower myself the rest of the way in and wait for Diego before I settle back into the steaming water.
With Diego at my back, I shift to lie on my side against his chest, snuggling into the place beneath his chin.
“Hey, D,” I say through my post-sex haze.
“Yeah, Iz?”
“You know I love you, right?”
“Not as much as I love you, mi bella preciosa.”
Chapter Four:
I Like It, I Love It
September 1998
That should do it. I finish combing out the chunks of mascara in my lashes. I’m dressing for a soccer game not a night on the town. Can’t say I’ve been to a game before, so I’m not sure what the proper attire and makeup is for such an event. Diego was no help. “You could where nothing and you’d be dressed perfectly,” he’d say with that glimmer in his eyes that says he’s all kinds of serious with a whole lot of ‘come fuck me.’
Since wearing nothing wasn’t an actual option, I decided on some khaki capris with a pair of layered spaghetti strapped tank tops in navy blue and gold underneath one of my many attempts to make rock apparel work for me. This time it’s a yellow (gold if you will) cropped, over-sized Beatles t-shirt with the neck cut out so that it hangs off my shoulder. There’s a little bit of the eighties in all my ensembles, just like my
everyday fashion includes band t-shirts, especially the ones of the re-imagined vintage variety where scissors, appliques, and creativity turn the often drab into fab.
I went the less is more route on the makeup with light eyeliner and a swipe of mascara on the top lashes. The benefit of having short hair is that it’s usually the easiest part of getting ready. I used my favorite hair-sculpting product to muss my tiny tresses into spiky peaks.
Diego and I have been dating for about three weeks now. I’ve yet to go to any of Diego’s games. His game schedule always conflicts with my time in the recording studio or some school project. It’s not as if I planned for this, for us. So, our busy schedules have us squeezing time in when we can. Most of the time that equals late evenings turned mornings. I’m not complaining. I can’t get enough of him.
“Ground control to Major Izzy.”
I’m laughing my ass off as the words break through my Diego induced trance. “Okay, Ground Control,” I chuckle out, “how long have you been standing there and what do you need?” Turning to face a very naked Mazzy standing in my doorway, I can feel the flush of embarrassment heating my cheeks. Because we’re practically sisters separated at birth and we’ve been the best of friends since the first week of freshman year, her toplessness isn’t the cause of my embarrassment. She’s caught me, yet again, in another love struck daydream.
“Wow,” she deadpans, “I never thought I’d see the day that my Iz daydreamed.”
“Oh, whatever,” I roll my eyes and return my attention to my reflection in the full-length mirror.
“And to think, if you hadn’t said yes to Sebastian, you would never have met Diego,” she clicks her tongue inside her mouth stepping further into my room. “I’d say you owe the man a gift basket.”
“Yessss, I can see it now,” I retort. “’Dear Sebastian, please accept this gift basket as a token of my appreciation for making it so that I may cross paths with someone I could bone. Sincerely and forever grateful, your date from a few weeks ago, Izzy.”
“Perfect. Now, can I wear your rhinestone Rolling Stones t-shirt?” That’s my Mazzy. Who am I kidding? That would be me, too, but today, I’ve got this inexplicable desire to blend with the masses, Izzy-style. The barely-there t-shirt she wants is hanging on the outside of my closet. I point in its general direction with my free hand as I apply the tinted lip gloss to my lips.
“You really going braless to the game?” I quirk up an eyebrow at her in the mirror with my question. She shrugs her answer.
“With the back cut up all pretty-like, I hate to ruin the vision with an unsightly bra.” Her choice of adjective is laughable. Her lingerie drawers look like she bought one of everything from Victoria’s Secret and Frederick’s of Hollywood.
I open the top drawer and grab what looks to be a red bandage wrap. “Here,” I toss it to her.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”
“Wrap up your junk,” I laugh out. “It matches the shirt. You can wrap it under the girls or across them. Just depends on how you want the ladies to look.
She’s struggling with the band right in the middle of my room. “Let me help,” taking the band from her. “Under or across?”
“Across? I don’t see how this doesn’t ruin the vision,” she pouts out.
“Hush. Now turn.” I’m wrapping the band around her and into place. “Grab the shirt and I’ll show you how this ‘doesn’t ruin the vision.’ ”
With the shirt in place, I adjust the band by separating the layers and rolling them to imitate the cutouts in the shirt in a crisscross pattern, effectively creating an almost woven look.
“Holy shit, Iz! That’s hot!” Mazzy’s checking herself out in my full-length mirror.
I give her a nod, slipping on my white low cut Chucks. They’re as close to athletic as I’ve got. With all the things, I don’t know about game attire etiquette, I do know that my preference for heels is highly frowned upon.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I declare, giving myself one last inspection in the mirror as Mazzy leaves the room.
“Let me put on my Chucks and we can go.” Our shoe game is the same. Between the two of us, we have fifteen to twenty pairs of Chucks in different colors and styles. Tragically, she wears a size eight and I’m a tiny size six. We can borrow and share our clothes, but the shoes are a no go. I remember our dorm freshman year, we looked like we bought an entire shoe department with walls of shoes because the tiny closet wasn’t enough to contain our shoe obsession. Fate really does work in mysterious ways. Mazzy would not have been someone I picked out of the crowd to be friends with, but the fates knew better.
“Again, Izzy?”
“Be quiet, you. I was actually thinking about how much I love you.”
She’s traded her white short shorts for some skintight blood red denim capris. I quirk up my eyebrow at her in question. As part of her typical answer, she shrugs, “I wasn’t feeling the shorts. And you were thinking about how much you loved me?”
I nod, giving her a smile.
"How much do you love me, Izzy?"
"More than my shoes!"
The confession has us throwing our heads back and laughing. "Well, seems like Diego's fate is already decided if you love me more than your shoes. Can't imagine you loving him more than me."
"Sheesh. What's with the talk about love and fate? That's a bit premature, Mazz."
Okay, that shrug is getting old right now. She's clearly trying to push some buttons. Probably thinks she's holding a mirror to something I'm not ready to admit to myself. "I see those wheels turning, Izzy."
"For fuck's sake, Mazzy," shaking my head as if it can remove me from the path my thoughts are travelling down. "I wasn't thinking about love. It's been a few weeks..."
"Izabella, I know you. And while I've never seen you in love, it's practically written all over you face. You're lost in daydreams. You go gooey," she says the word like it's 'icky,’ "when you see his number pop up on the caller id. Hell," she gestures to my outfit, "you're even wearing school colors? Babe, you've got it bad."
"Whatever. Can we go now?"
She chuckles at me. I know there's some validity to what she's saying, but I'm not ready to go there. Since, Mom and Dad died, love is the furthest thing from my mind. They loved each other with every ounce of their beings and that didn't save them from fate ripping both of them from me just days after Dad was declared cancer free. I'm not jaded, but I can no longer subscribe to the notion that everything happens for a reason. I can't see the reason behind me losing one parent. Losing both has me wondering if love is worth losing everything. Okay. So I'm a little jaded. Who wouldn't be?
"Izzy," I can hear the sternness in Mazzy's voice, "snap out of it, babe. We've got some hot soccer players to ogle." The look on her face says she knows I've gone to the dark side and she's not having it. She's been down all these roads with me. She was there when I got the news of their death. She nursed me when my normal routine of immersion broke and all I could do was wallow. She knows me better than anyone does. She's ready to bust out the tough love. Her sternness and distraction techniques say she's giving me a chance with an easy way out.
"All right, all right. You're driving," I toss her my keys. "Diego is taking me somewhere after the game."
"Yeah, he is. Poundtown."
"He said somewhere new. We've already been there," I deadpan.
"Oh, yes. I've heard," she quips. She's giving me that look. She knows how embarrassed I was to discover she was home during one of Diego's and my 'naked wrestling matches' as she not so eloquently put it.
The drive to the school stadium wasn't bad. Traffic is light for Southern California on the weekends. The surrounding area is a different story and parking would have been a bitch, but Diego scored us a parking pass to the players and staff lot. You'd figure the game was about to start with the crowd and not the whole hour until game time there actually is.
As Diego instructed, we drove to the part of
the lot closest to the small building off to the side of the stadium. Once Mazzy had us parked, I could feel my nerves racing with my pulse. I wish I could pinpoint the reason for my nervousness. "Izabella, stop chewing on your nail and look over there," she points off to the passenger side of the car in the direction of the small standalone building.
Following her finger, I discover what could be the source of my shot nerves. There leaning on the side of the building like a Latin James Dean in a soccer uniform is Diego. Looking all sex on a stick, the mischievous smirk on his face makes a mess of my hormones. I fumble with the door handle as Mazzy grabs her bag from the back. "You okay there, Izzy?" she's laughing at my frazzled state of being. "The struggle is real. I get it. That man makes my knees weak."
Either I’m taking too long to get out of the car or he's just as anxious to see me as I am him, but he's pushed himself off the side of the building and headed in my direction. Before I could successfully remove myself from the car, Diego is opening my door. My attempt to get out is impeded by the fact that I'm still strapped in by the seat belt. I can hear Mazzy chuckling at my absent-minded action as she closes the driver side door, but I can't remove my stare from Diego. He reaches across me, grazing my chest and unstraps the seat belt. "Hey pretty girl," he greets me. "What's got you so distracted?" he asks, giving me a knowing look.
Normally, I'd have a witty comeback, but the man has stolen my breath and robbed me of my vocabulary. I couldn't string two words together right now if my life depended on it. So my only answer is a nervous giggle and a squeaky hi.
"I got you and Mazzy seats as close to the bench as possible. It's actually the section set aside for family." He gives me a sheepish look, "So, you'll be meeting Lito."
Love Turns With Twisted Fates (Truth About Love Book 2) Page 5
