by Mara White
His eyes are on mine as he ducks his head and places his mouth against mine. I groan deeply inside but the sound that leaves my body is pleading and needy. His lips feel like a soft salve that cuts the sharp burn of desire. He barely uses his tongue, his mouth works so gently against mine. He’s coaxing me, he’s guiding me and I’m more than eager to learn. Then his tongue darts out to taste me and it plays hesitantly along my lips. I open my mouth to him and he slips his tongue inside and finally, I taste him.
My whole body is on fire. Heat runs through me, igniting every single inch of me. The surface of my skin is electrified, alive in a way that it’s never been. Red-hot handprints must be left behind on every place he’s touching me. The ache in my heart is replaced slowly but surely with an unbearable ache between my legs. I squeeze them together around his leg and push my hips further into his. The friction makes me whimper into our kiss.
Then I feel it. His erection pressing into my thigh. I’m barely able to wrap my head around what’s happening or what the hardness means. I instinctually move my center, seeking out his erection with my core. I push into him further and this time it’s him who breaks our kiss with a noise of his own.
He releases his hand that had mine pinned at my side and he seeks out my butt cheeks, his free hand squeezing and kneading, all the while pulling me closer to him. He’s cradling my whole body.
“Fuck,” he whispers all throaty right into my mouth. Then “Fuck,” again as he lifts me off the ground so that his hard penis is right between my legs. I have no idea what I’m doing but I open my mouth wider and allow his tongue to do whatever it wants.
“Oh fuck,” he says again as he rubs himself against me. I know that he usually says it when something is wrong, but the breathy tone and delivery he uses now make it sound like a prayer instead of a cussword. He thrusts forward again and pushes another pleading moan out of me and right into his mouth.
That’s when the front door slams and Titi walks into the apartment.
Luciano shoves me aside with so much force that I jam my elbows catching myself on the sink to keep from slamming into the floor. He opens the refrigerator and yanks out some leftovers, setting them with a loud thud onto the counter.
“Oh, hi, Belén,” Titi says as she comes around the corner.
She then looks to Luciano and back at me and back at Luciano again.
“What’s going on?”
“Luciano had a girl over last night and I caught her leaving,” I say to take the spotlight off of us—anything to distract my aunt from what just happened between us.
“Cochino,” Titi shouts. “You’re just like your father! Not even fifteen and having girls spend the night already? What the hell are you thinking?”
I grab the screwdriver and lift it in the air. “See you guys at dinner,” I shout and run the hell out the kitchen. I race around the corner and when I reach the landing I stop and lean my back against the wall to slow down my whole system. My heart is racing, my breath coming short, my pulse beating so hard it feels like it might leap out of my skin. I didn’t know kissing could be like that. No, I didn’t know kissing him could be like jumping off into outer space and discovering a whole new universe. Like the first time I went scuba diving in Puerto Rico last spring. Sticking my head into the blue ocean and suddenly realizing how much I didn’t know. Another world, a simultaneous existence. Kissing Luc showed me the possibility of another kind of endless discovery.
I want more. I want to do more for him than that other girl ever could. I want to show Luciano that I’m all he needs. He can rub it on me, stick it in me. I’ll even put it in my mouth. I’ll let him do whatever he wants to my body as long as he keeps kissing me.
Dinner is ridiculous. Mami and Titi chat on and on about shopping, about cooking, about their boyfriends and about our vacation plans. Luciano eats without ever taking his eyes off me. I grow heated and shy under his gaze and jump a little every time he says something to me.
“Pass the salad, Belén,” he says, and our fingers graze as we hand off the bowl.
“Are you going to eat your meat?”
Why does everything sound sexual?
“Are you?” He stares me down, looking devious. Obviously enjoying the torment he’s causing me.
“I’m not hungry,” I whisper.
I push my rice around and around with my fork. The future is looming, dark and loud and bursting with unknowns. Will he kiss me again? Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? I look up at him and he’s looking at his cell phone. His dad bought him one when he came to visit from Puerto Rico. Titi says he’s too young, but good luck getting Luc to give it up. He already loves that thing. I hope that it’s not Yari or the girl from last night. I want Luciano to only think of me that way and nobody else. Then Mami notices how I’m staring and she stops talking. She’s got a sixth sense for these things—I can’t hide anything from her.
“Who’s calling? Your girlfriend?” I ask Luciano, trying to break or at least cover the tension.
“Yari,” he says, smiling devilishly at me. All of the blood in my body rushes straight to my stomach. I feel like I might be sick. Luciano doesn’t want me. He’s just a monster who eats girls for breakfast.
“What’s wrong, Belén? You lost all of your color,” Mami says, smoothing my hair from my face.
“I’m out!” Luciano says, pushing away his plate and shoving back his chair.
I burst into tears and run into the bedroom.
Chapter 6
That boy with the golden eyes is playing basketball with his friends. I always notice him whenever he’s around. His dark skin and light eyes make him look like a panther—a slinky big cat that’s on the prowl; he owns this whole playground. When I make eye contact with him I feel like he’s made out of energy. I don’t know how to describe it, but he’s buzzing and humming even when he’s still. I think that’s why everybody likes him. Me, I’m just a girl with skinny legs and good hair and even better grades—maybe the best in school. All the boys go toward him like magnets because he always has the drugs and the girls and the pull-up muscles to boot.
I watch Luciano go over to him and start acting cool. His gestures and body language change when it’s me and him alone—at home, on the way to school, he’s just Luciano. But when he’s with other boys, especially the ones from the neighborhood, he stands with his legs farther apart, his voice gets louder, everything is over the top. Suddenly his pants hang lower, he speaks more Spanish and swears between every few words. I probably shouldn’t like it when he’s acting all street, but I do. I actually like it a lot. I know what Titi and Mami would say. They wouldn’t tolerate it.
I reach inside my pocket and pull out a square of pink bubble gum. It’s covered in lint but I pick it off and pop it in my mouth anyway. It’s so juicy and big that my eyes water and my spit runs. I flatten it out with my tongue and try to make a bubble. I hear Luciano say my name and when I look up the boy with the golden eyes is heading right to the monkey bars that I’m sitting under. He takes big steps like he’s on a mission and I automatically pull my legs in tighter underneath me.
When he reaches me he pops my bubble with his finger. I blush and lower my eyes. I watch his feet jump up off the ground to grab the bar.
Expensive kicks, nice muscles, sexy smile, eyes the same color as honey. His panther eyes make him look like he comes from some other planet—the planet of men.
“Lucky’s kid cousin?” he asks me, starting his pull-ups and not even grunting.
“Lucky?” I ask. “Luc? You mean, Luciano Cabrera?”
“I call him Lucky,” he says and hops down, landing on two feet just like a gymnast. He jumps again and grabs the tallest bar. He pulls himself all the way up and turns his hands around. Then he starts doing push-ups with his whole body suspended, the bar at his waist.
“Count wi
th me,” he says and then winks right at me. His face is lit up with a smile and I can feel the smile tickle me all the way to my toes. I blush again and look down but I count out loud with him.
When I look up again I have to squint through the sun. He’s so fine and his eyes are glowing. His smile is mischievous and makes me feel kind of dizzy. We count to forty-two and he never loses momentum.
He hops down again and leans over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He uses the back of his wrapped hands to wipe sweat from his face. I’m just staring. I even stopped chewing my gum.
“Why do you call him Lucky?”
“’Cause he’s got you for a cousin.” He smiles and wipes the sweat out of his eyes.
I feel fluttering in my stomach. “No, really. Why?”
“Lucky Luciano, an OG New York Gangster. Mafia. Ever heard of him?”
I shake my head and remember to chew my gum again.
“Want to try?” he asks.
“What, the bars? I’m not strong enough.”
“Sure you are, I’ll help you jump up.”
I stand and he puts his hands on my waist. It’s easy to jump up with the help from his lift. I grab the bar and manage to hold on for about five seconds before I drop.
“Try again, I’ll spot you this time.”
I jump again and hang for a few seconds. I shake my head at Yellow-eyes and he grabs me around the midriff. I let go and my body weight falls into his arms. I’m very aware that Luciano is watching us. My chest is against his chest and he slides my body down his slowly, making my shirt ride up over my belly.
“Bey!” I hear Luciano call. He must not have liked seeing the handsome guy touching me.
My cousin comes waking over. He struts on the playground—wide steps, long arm swings, head cocked a little to the side.
“Yo, Jay, lay the fuck off my baby cousin!”
“I’m not a baby,” I say, locking eyes with Jay. He is so beautiful. More beautiful than me.
“He’s just jealous ‘cause he wants you,” he says and winks at me again.
Luciano reaches up and throws out his arm. They clap hands, shake and bump fists. They even pull each other into a quick hug amidst murmured insults in Spanish.
“Bey, you know Jaylee from 159th St?”
I just shrug and stare at them both. They are unruly boys and both handsome; I like how they look together. I think they’re probably up to no good.
“How come I never heard anyone call you Lucky?” I ask my cousin. Jaylee has fallen to the ground and is doing more push-ups.
“Just like you don’t like it when I call you Lenny,” he says and pulls out a cigarette.
“I’m telling Titi you were smoking.”
“No you won’t, ‘cause you love me,” Luciano says, hitting my arm.
“I’m gonna go. It’s gonna get dark and I’m hungry,” I say, standing and dusting my butt with my hands.
Lucky jumps up and tosses the cigarette.
“I’ll walk you home,” he says and throws out his arm to Jaylee again. They do the same handshake but this time when they go in for the hug, Jaylee flexes his bicep and ducks his head. I can plainly hear him say to Luciano, “Mano, you are so fucking gone.”
Maybe they’re talking about drugs. Maybe they’re talking about me but I don’t know what it means or if it’s even a good thing.
We walk back down Riverside Drive as the sun sets. It’s all pinks and oranges over the Hudson, bright colors competing against a darkening sky. Luciano grabs my hand and I hold his tightly. Sometimes he does this on the way to school when no one is looking. It produces a warm rush in my stomach when it happens, but when it doesn’t it produces just the opposite and I almost feel nauseous.
We stop on almost every corner to say hi to friends. Tonight he doesn’t drop my hand and I feel like it might be because his friend, the boy from the playground, paid attention to me. I like how he talks to people, how they tease one another. I also like how even though they’re bad boys they are polite to me for the most part.
When we say goodbye on his landing, Luciano pulls me into a hug. He doesn’t usually hug me unless there’s a good reason. I pull him in tightly and squeeze as hard as I can. He smells like Titi’s house and fabric softener and cigarette smoke, all with a strong undertone of boy smell. I thought I didn’t like boy smell, but with Luciano, I love it. I hug him hard and when we say goodbye I run up the stairs to my room, lock the door and cry.
Now that Luciano lives in the same building, he comes over all the time. Both he and Titi have a key, and I have one to their apartment that I keep on my key chain.
Our front door opens while I’m sitting at the dining room table doing homework. I look up, expecting to see Mami coming in with the groceries, but instead it’s Luciano and he doesn’t look good.
His lip is swollen and bleeding—his eye took a punch too, and it’s almost closed from the pressure. He’s hurt and it startles me. I stand up and my pen rolls to the floor, but I stay silent, waiting for him to say something first.
“I didn’t think you’d be home,” he says. His face is totally straight, lacking any emotion.
“The library was closed for a special event. Was there a fight? Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”
He nods and says nothing.
“Let me get you some ice,” I say, running to the kitchen.
I put ice in a bowl and run a clean towel under water, then grab some gauze and peroxide from the bathroom and take it all to the living room where he’s sitting.
Kneeling down beside him, I put ice cubes in the wet towel and lift it to his face. I ask permission with my eyes and Luciano gives me a quick nod. He winces from either the cold or the pressure and I put my hand on his chest to calm him. It’s an automatic gesture.
“Does it hurt?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
His chest feels solid under his T-shirt and touching it does strange things to my body. I try to focus on the task in front of me.
“Titi will kill you,” I say, pulling my mind away from his hard chest. “You should try to stay out of fights,” I add, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him or crawl into his lap. Luciano is, and has always been, the only man in my life. I look to him for reassurance all the time, even though we’re almost the same age.
I dab at the gash under his eye that is bleeding the most.
“Easier said than done,” he says, and then grabs my wrist hard. I stare at the juncture where his hand meets my arm. His knuckles are white and my skin under his grip is turning bright pink.
My lips immediately part and my stomach fills with unease. I can always read Luciano, but right now I can’t tell what’s happening. He has sweat on his brow and there’s dirt smudged on his face and his arm. He doesn’t release my hand.
“Luciano, you’re scaring me.”
He drops my wrist disdainfully and his eyes graze slowly down my body. I glance down at my own chest and suddenly remember that I took my bra off when I got in. I’m wearing a white button-down shirt, unbuttoned a little bit. My nipples are hard from the cold ice in the tea cloth. The shirt brushes over my breasts just enough to make shivers skirt up my back.
Luciano pushes me off of him and stands up abruptly. He adjusts his shorts in the front without turning to look at me.
“Belén, put some fucking clothes on,” he states coldly.
I blush a deep red and feel the urge to holler that it’s not my fault, but instead I look at the floor and wish I could comfort him. I don’t know what happened. I want to be the person who can help him.
“I’m sorry, Luc. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Chapter 7
Lucky
I try to avoid her as much as possible now. I know it’s not her faul
t, but I can’t stand to be around her. It makes me feel like I’m fighting myself—all this stress and tension and then getting turned on by her tight little body. I know I can’t go there, I can’t be that fucked up. I just keep telling myself that I’m young and horny—that one time was because I was already lit on that other chick being over.
But if I’m being honest, Belén does strange shit to my mind. It’s like I want to protect her and eat her up all at the same time. All I know is that I feel fucking nuts when I’m around her, so I try to lie low and fill my time up with enough shit that I can avoid running into her.
I promised Tía Betty that I’d teach Belén how to defend herself. It’s not like I’m giving her a lesson behind closed doors—my ma is home and Betty is bringing Belén over. But they don’t know I kissed Belén or how fucked up I feel about it.
I smoked a joint on the fire escape to try to tame my nerves down a notch. I’m high as a kite and I can barely remember the shit they taught me in my martial arts classes. I open the door when they knock and Belén looks as nervous as I feel. I gotta smile though, ‘cause she’s wearing sweats like she’s coming over for a workout.
“What up, Bey? Ready to kick my ass?”
Bey’s color drops like she wants to die on the spot.
“Don’t worry, I promise to take it easy on you,” I say to Tía Betty as much as Belén.
“Gracias, mi hijo,” Betty says, ushering Belén in and brushing past me.
The dining room is empty ‘cause we didn’t get a table yet; I walk in there and Bey follows me. Our moms are in the room right next to us, chatting and watching TV.
“This is so stupid. I can’t believe she’s making me do it.”
“It ain’t that bad. This neighborhood is fucked up, you might need to use it. Nice sweat suit,” I say, unable to hide my amusement.
