by Tamara Lush
With a proud smile, he sits and carves off a spoonful of the creamy, milky dessert. Seriously, this man might be the death of me.
“Abre tu boca, muñeca.”
I open my mouth obediently. He slides the cool, sweet substance in, and I hum, chew, and swallow. “You are so good.”
“I’m hoping you’ll be saying that all night long for all sorts of reasons.”
I join him in laughing. “You are also so arrogant.”
“I thought you said I was good?”
I take the spoon from his hand. Scooping flan from the plate, I offer it to him, pausing a few inches from his waiting, open mouth. He grins as we lock eyes. Slowly, Rafa licks the side of his mouth, the tip of his tongue curling upward.
My breath catches in my throat.
I slide the flan into his mouth. A drop of sugar-brown caramel remains on his bottom lip, and I brush it off with my index finger as he swallows.
He takes my finger in, swirling his tongue around the tip. The sensation sends an ache between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together and stare at his beautiful mouth. In a few hours, or hopefully a few moments, he’ll use that tongue on many other parts of my body. The thought makes me want to rub myself on him like a cat.
I extract my finger from his mouth and sit up straight. “Good at too many things.”
He smirks. “Too bad you didn’t care about all of those good things back when we were together.”
I sigh. Way to kill the mood. “If I remember, you didn’t give me a second thought after I stepped on that plane to Managua.”
Rafa sneers, and I realize that his anger over how we ended still simmers below the surface. His voice explodes as he takes his hand away from my leg.
“That’s bullshit. I read every article you wrote and couldn’t sleep, thinking about you covering earthquakes and hurricanes and God knows what else. If only you had stayed where you belonged…”
“Stop. Right there. Right now,” I hiss. “I went to Central America because I wanted to write important stories and you didn’t seem to care about me at the worst time of my life. I also don’t recall you trying to stop me.”
He looks at me pointedly. “I didn’t care about you? I didn’t try to stop you? Well, that’s news to me.”
I hold up my hand. “Whatever. Usually people liberally use the L-word if they’ve been with someone for four years. I don’t recall hearing that from you in the final months of our relationship when I really needed it. Do I need to remind you what happened back then? Have you forgotten?”
“I have a perfect memory for painful events. And funny, the only L-word I recall was…leave. And it came from you, when you wanted to further your journalism career. That worked out well, didn’t it?”
We glare at each other.
“I’m going to ignore that jab.” I take a deep inhale. “And if this crazy-assed idea of ours is going to work, you’re not going to order me around. Not like you used to.”
Rafa chuckles and runs his hand over my bare thigh, his finger exploring my skin underneath my dress. “I can’t order you around in bed like I used to? That’s one of the reasons I want to do this. I’ve never trusted any other woman with that side of me.”
Waves of shivers go through me. “You know what I mean. Outside of bed.”
“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in a mock surrender. “Oh, and I have one request of you.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Mark, the café guy, wants to take you to dinner. I’m asking politely for you to decline, at least until I’ve left town.”
“Fine.” When had he had the time to find all that out from Mark? And I can only imagine what Caroline told him about me. And Diana. He probably knows everything, including that my sex life with Jared had been tame and safe, like warm milk. Jesus.
“Also, are you on birth control? I can provide you a copy of my recent health tests. I’m completely clean. Was just tested before I came here.”
“Oh, so you did anticipate sleeping with me before you came here.”
“I wanted to be prepared, yes.”
I shift my legs away from him, uncomfortable in my dress and burning from the heat of the fire. Or maybe I’m aflame from his proximity. He dips his finger into the caramel of the flan and offers it to me.
I open my mouth, and he touches my tongue lightly with his fingertip. The custard is cool, his fingers hot. Just like our conversation.
Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I slide his finger from my mouth. “I went to the doctor two months ago for my annual check-up. I’ll give you the records from that.”
He straightens his back, addressing me as if we’re discussing contracts in a boardroom. I half-expect him to send me an email summarizing our conversation.
“I don’t want to talk about who you’ve been with in the past decade and a half. I’m going to trust that you’re clean, but if you’re not, now’s the time to tell me. I don’t want to be exposed to anything. I’m not trying to be crass, but I don’t know where you’ve been over the years.”
I flash him a black glare as he skims another dollop of caramel off the flan and licks his own finger.
“Do you want to know where I’ve been and who I’ve been with, Rafa?”
“I don’t need to know about your past. I don’t want to know. I know enough, anyway. That you dated some anchorman.” He sounds offended.
“Ask me. Ask me when I last had sex.”
“Stop it.” His voice has an edge.
I know I’m pushing, but don’t care.
“I think you’ll be interested in the answer.”
He lets out a harsh Spanish expletive and shakes his head.
I whisper-shout my answer. “Rafa, I haven’t had sex in more than a year. Since Jared moved to LA. Since before that, actually.”
The words hang in the air, and my eyes bore into his. My arms cross reflexively over my breasts.
Rafael extends his hand, and his fingers touch the underside of my chin and tilt my face upward.
He moves toward me, threading his hand through my hair and pressing his lips to my cheek. “Want to hear about my sex life, Justine?”
I don’t, and my throat feels unusually thick. “Lay it on me. It can’t be any more shocking than anything else that’s happened so far with us.”
He chuckles. “I also haven’t been with anyone. For two years.”
I make a pfft sound. “What? You haven’t sex in two years? Come on. I don’t believe that. Are we having some sort of celibacy contest that I wasn’t aware of?”
“It’s true. I haven’t had sex in a long time,” he says quickly, then chuckles.
“Why? Why haven’t you been with anyone? That’s strange. And trust me, the bar for strange is pretty high this week.”
“It’s not important, and I don’t feel like talking about it.” Rafa sits back and takes his hands out of my hair. “Tell me about your ex.”
I shake my head. “Jared was a mistake, an honest one. We should have just stayed friends. He was smart and funny, and yet we didn’t have that…”
“Connection?” Rafa tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I nod once.
Somehow, by having mediocre sex with only a scant couple of boyfriends since Rafael, I’d remained, in my own way, true to him.
Stupid, illogical reasoning, I knew.
I sniffle a little as Rafael stands and carefully picks up the little table with his strong arms, moving it to the side of the room with everything still on it. He flicks off the floor lamp so that the only illumination comes from the fire.
He fiddles with his phone and Cuban jazz wafts softly out of a speaker on a nearby bookshelf.
My stomach tightens. This is what I’d wished for during a thousand lonely nights. So why am I wondering if this is a huge mistake? Rafa’s eyes are full of intensity as he steps toward me.
There’s no chance of backing out now. My body won’t let me.
19
Never Enough
/> He extends his hand, and I rise, staring up with big eyes.
“You look like you’re afraid of me,” he says.
I allow him to pull me up and into his arms. “Maybe I am.”
“Well, don’t be. You were never afraid of me before.”
We sway to the sultry Cuban music. For several moments, he holds me close as we slow-dance. The rhythm we quickly fall into is as intoxicating as his scent and my eyes flutter closed.
“Did you do everything today that I asked?” he whispers in my ear.
A devilish smile plays on my lips, and I entwine my arms coyly around his neck and look into his eyes because I want him to think that he’s calling the shots. I push out my bottom lip. “I went to the spa and endured the waxing. It hurt. I’m totally bare.”
He runs the tips of his fingers over my arms. “I can’t wait to see. And touch. And taste.”
I go from being damp to a veritable waterfall between my legs, and I move a few inches closer to him and grin.
“And did you go shopping?”
I kiss his neck and focus on the strength of his arms. “I did. I bought some things. I have them in the suitcases.”
“Some things? Did you spend all of the money?”
I nibble on his skin. “I did, but not on myself.”
Rafa strokes the bare skin of my upper back with his fingertips. “So what did you buy with the money instead? Did you donate it to nuns or animals?”
I giggle and snuggle a bit closer. I’m growing more comfortable in his arms by the second. “Pizza and snacks for the newsroom. They worked so hard today, covering breaking news.”
Rafa sighs. “Justine, for our arrangement to work this month, you need to abide by one rule.”
He draws me near and kisses my cheek, then my jaw. His hot breath hits the skin of my neck, and I shiver.
“What rule is that?” I’m barely able to form words because his hands are gripping my upper arms so possessively.
“You must always put my pleasure and my needs first. Before anyone else’s. Always.”
“Even the paper’s? Even my own?”
“Yes. And definitely yes.”
I inhale sharply as he bites my earlobe, then smooths the sting away with a brush of his thumb.
“Don’t you remember that I get so much pleasure from seeing you excited? So this will be a mutually pleasurable arrangement if you always put me first.”
He stops swaying to the music. Cupping my head in his hands, he kisses my lips softly.
“Are you angry?” I’m still trying to muster a cute pout, but I’m breathing hard.
He trails a line of kisses down my skin, soft, teasing motions that are driving me insane. Where my jaw meets my ear. The curve of my neck. My collarbone. I look down and notice the bulge in his jeans. A tiny moan escapes my throat.
“Very angry,” he whispers. “Can’t you tell?”
He embraces me again, and we move together to the music. I become lost in fantasies of things we could do together. Like go to the beach. Snorkel in the clear springs east of here. Read books in bed and drink coffee. God, I love to read in bed on Sundays and haven’t in so long.
Goosebumps spread over my arms when he sings a few lines in Spanish of a romantic bolero from the thirties in my ear.
Two gardenias for you
They will have the warmth of a kiss
Of one of those kisses I gave you
And that you’ll never find
In the warmth of another lover
He seizes my mouth, long and hard. I’m hungry for him, and I kiss him back with tongue and bites. I feel fierce and then whimper when he breaks away.
“Want to show me your new lingerie?”
“Yes, Rafecito, I do. Unzip me.” I grin and turn so my back faces him. My legs tremble, and I’m a little weak.
He lowers the long zipper and murmurs a growl of approval. There’s only bare skin all the way to the bottom of my tailbone. No bra and no panties. Impatient, I wriggle out of my dress, the black fabric pooling around my feet. I step out of the dress and kick it off, standing an arm’s length from him, so he can get a full view of my ass.
I’m naked, save for the tall black heels. I shimmy for effect and sweep my hair off my neck and hold it in a messy bun on my head.
“You’re not wearing anything underneath. You’re not wearing anything you bought today.”
I stick my ass out a little and wiggle. “Nope. Are you angry?” I turn to face him and extend my arms. I’m toying with him. The real dance is only just beginning.
He ignores my question.
“Why do you have to still be so gorgeous?” The light of the fireplace flickers off my body and his glittering eyes. His gaze wanders to my breasts and down to the smooth skin between my legs. He licks his lips.
Yes, two can play at this game. With my rubbery limbs, I take his hand and slowly lead him to the low-slung modern sofa a few paces away.
I sit on the edge of the sofa, my legs pressed together. When a lock of hair falls across my face, I grin lustily. I gaze up as he goes to unbuckle his belt.
I shake my head and touch his hands gently with my fingers.
“Down. On your knees,” I command. He sinks onto the rug and looks up at me.
“I thought I said you were supposed to put my pleasure first. And I’m the one supposed to give commands.” He bites my knee softly.
My knees squeeze together. His hands roam my bare calves, and he stares as if hypnotized at my full, bare breasts, punctuated with hard nipples. I cup them, plucking at the hard peaks.
A smile dances on my lips. “I am putting your pleasure first, Rafael.” I open my legs wide, and my clit throbs in anticipation. All I want right now is to dominate his desire.
He groans. “Dios mio, Justine, you do know exactly what I want.”
His teeth mark my inner thigh. I feel his warm breath on the sensitive skin. His long eyelashes there, too. And his tongue, his exquisite, talented tongue, which zooms in exactly where I need, warm and wet and demanding. My hands bring his head even closer because I deserve this, dammit. I’ve waited too long.
“Rafa, yesss,” I whisper.
He raises his head. “I don’t know what’s better. Hearing you say my name or licking your pussy.”
“Shhh. Don’t talk.” I guide his face back toward my clit.
He raises his head again and opens his mouth into a smile. Why can’t he be quiet and focus?
“You used to like it when I talked dirty.”
I run my fingers over his lips, which are wet with my juices. I slip my thumb into his mouth. He bites the pad lightly, and I smile through my need.
“Stop talking and stop biting and start licking.”
He grins and cocks an eyebrow. “Still a bossy little slut, aren’t you?”
I never used to mind when he called me filthy names during sex, and now I’m sopping wet when he does. He calls me something nasty in Spanish, and I shift closer to him. I laugh and tug on his short hair, guiding his head back in between my legs.
“I liked you better with longer hair. I could pull on it and move you around easier.”
“Noted,” he mumbles in between licks of my clit.
Tonight, he isn’t as worshipful as he was when we were in school. He’s hungry for me. I can tell by the way he plucks and sucks at my inner lips and how his tongue senses exactly what pressure I need and where. He’s remembered exactly the spot near my clit that makes me come and allows his tongue to dance, tease, and torment.
His fingers spread me apart wider, and I breathe his name, nearly overcome with sensation. I throw my head back and close my eyes, but it’s not long before I have to look at him. The sight of him devouring me is too erotic to pass up.
He pauses, kneeling and staring up at me. What is he doing? I feel swollen, heavy, and needy.
I frown. “Rafa? Please. I’m really close.”
“I know, Justi. But I don’t want you to come yet.”
; He trails his hands up and down my inner thighs, shifting his eyes from my face to my slick opening. He slides a finger inside of me, and my hips buck, asking for more.
“You know what you have to do if you want to come,” he whispers wickedly.
I reach down and place my palm flat on his cheek. My thumb strokes his lips, which are turned upward in a smile. “Beg. You want me to beg.”
He nods, taking my hand off his face, and presses his mouth to my inner thigh. He traces my labia with a light touch while alternating kisses and bites of my thigh.
It’s too much. I throb with each stroke, each touch of his lips. I try to guide his head between my legs, but he grips my wrist hard and laughs. He bites my thigh, and I gasp from the pain. “Fuck, that feels amazing,” I groan.
With my free hand, I go to touch my clit, but he grabs that arm as well.
His grip is tight and possessive. “Rafa, please make me come. Now. I’m begging you.” It comes out as a half-whine, half-whisper.
He releases my hands and grins as he moves toward my pussy. I’m out of breath by the time his tongue laps me, and I cry out when he circles the flesh slowly. Rafa flicks and licks, and I’m begging. Pleading, even.
“Rafael…” Saying his name out loud makes me wetter, brings me closer to a tall cliff, one I haven’t been atop in years. I clench and quiver.
When I’m on the verge of detonating, I spy his free hand on the top of my thigh. Instinctively, my hand finds his and my slim fingers intertwine with his big ones. I press my palm against his as my orgasm approaches. The sight of our fingers tangled together, gripping one another in the firelight, strikes something tender inside of me, causing a flood of emotion along with intense, pulsating pleasure as I come. I frown and scrunch my eyes shut, feeling an exquisite agony as pleasurable waves crash around my body.
I let out a little strangled scream, and he sits back and watches me pant, my legs still splayed so he’s eye-level with my pussy. My insides feel like they’re made of liquid gold.
“How can you still do that, Rafael? How do you still know exactly where to touch me?”
I slip off the sofa, onto the rug, and into his lap. My muscles feel rubbery from the release, and yet my desire is heightened. I’m not done, nowhere near.
