The Cuban

by Kim Rodriguez

I opened my eyes to find Rafa studying me. It took a moment, but my brain switched gears and I was able to go back into Spanish. I squeezed the hand that was still between my legs and smiled, quite curious to know what he thought.

  “Andrew Marvell. To His Coy Mistress. 1681. It’s my favorite poem.” I smiled and waited, hoping he would share his thoughts with me. He intertwined his fingers with mine, then did the same with the other hand.

  “Lie down,” he said, pulling me toward the foot of the bed. Acuéstate. Now beneath him, he kissed me with a gentle pressure that fully awakened my body, then, still clasping my hands, he nuzzled my jaw and my neck, gradually using more of his mouth until he was sucking and licking as if he would eat me alive. He wasn’t shy about letting me know how much he was enjoying himself, and as he crushed his hips into mine, this time I did feel the smooth skin of his penis against my inner thigh, but he stilled just before reaching my sex.

  “Amada,” he panted, “I want you again. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I swear to you it’s safe.”

  “I do believe you, but how do you know I won’t get pregnant?” I asked, curious to see what he would say. His expression changed into one I had difficulty reading, but the question did seem to sober him up a little.

  “Is your IUD out of date yet?” He asked so matter of fact, it took me off guard. As far as I knew, no one was supposed to be able to feel it. Had he actually been looking for the string?

  “No. How—”

  “I felt it, sweetheart.” As he waited for my permission, his breath hitched as he briefly closed his eyes and rubbed himself against my skin. “It’s alright either way. Even this feels so good.”

  “Yes, please.” I said, and wrapped my legs around his waist. I wanted him just as much as he wanted me, maybe more.

  “Please what?” he teased, looking down.

  Momentarily popping out of my sex trance, I found his blue eyes and said, “If you know I’m a nice girl, then why do I have to say it?” He pushed all the way in, then withdrew until he was about an inch inside me and remained completely still.

  “It feels like Heaven inside you,” he said, looking down at me, his eyes soft.

  “No,” I moaned. “Please, no.” I couldn’t withstand the agony of having him right there when I craved him so badly. Fully aware of what he was doing, he put his weight on his elbows, leaving a considerable amount of space between us.

  “I love it when you tell me exactly what you want,” he said. “It turns me on more than you’ll ever know.” He leaned into the crook of my neck and took a deep, satisfied whiff of what I presume was my own natural scent.

  “I don’t usually talk like that,” I said, trying to get closer. I squeezed my thighs together and attempted to pull him further into me, but he was as immovable as a brick wall.

  “That’s not going to work,” he laughed, then dropped his voice. “I like knowing my elegant lady turns into a provocative seductress in bed, just for me. Where did you learn that poem?”

  “Rafa, please move. I can’t take it another second,” I pleaded.

  “I’ll just stop if you don’t answer my question. Three … two …”

  “No, no, don’t!” I begged, clenching my thighs around him. “I used to be an English professor, alright?”

  “Well done,” he said, thrusting in, then pulling out almost the whole way again. The friction between our bodies was wonderful, but when I noticed he was looking away from me toward the wall, I realized it was because he was laughing.

  “You’re so evil!” I yelled, infuriated. I tried to squirm away from him, but his powerful arms might as well have been an iron cage. I wasn’t going anywhere, and we both knew I really didn’t want to. He fully released the fit of laugher he had been holding in, and then I think he felt sympathy for me, because he shifted so that he was about halfway inside me.

  “Sh, sweetheart,” he said, moving a little now. I was grateful he decided to have a little mercy on us both. He kissed and nuzzled my forehead as I relished the sensation of skin on skin, his torturously slow movements as bad as they were good. I relaxed my hips and settled in, mistakenly assuming full, deep penetration was forthcoming. Wrong. He felt me open for him and made a sound that reminded me of someone enjoying the taste of good wine, yet he still remained in total control.

  “Why don’t you teach anymore? How many languages do you speak?”

  “More, Rafa.” I moaned and dug my nails into his ass, hoping he felt even a fraction of my agony.

  “Like this?” he asked, all the way inside me again. We made crude sounds of satisfaction as he skillfully aroused us both with a few short but rhythmic pelvic thrusts and a firm love bite to my neck. Satisfied for the moment, he paused.

  “There,” I panted. “Don’t stop.” I squirmed beneath him, silently cursing his incredible self-control.

  “French?” he asked, completely ignoring my pleas. I nodded, weak.

  “So what did you do in Cuba? You never answered,” I asked, clawing his lean, muscular back. My efforts fruitless, I continued to probe. “Well, we’ve established you weren’t a prostitute—”

  “Although I would have been a damn good one.” He pressed into me once more, the feeling of relief immense, and out of sheer gratitude I found myself kissing his face, his chin, his broad chest, worshipping him as if he had just bestowed upon me the last drops of sustenance in the entire world. My body broke out in a cold sweat, so hot for him that I would have done absolutely anything to have more.

  “So?” I demanded, underestimating how ruthless he could be with his body and mine.

  “Questions will cost you,” he murmured, retreating again. “And look, it’s already five. I’ve got to go.” He shook his head and made a little tsk tsk sound, as if to say I had only brought it upon myself.

  “No!” I screamed. Feeling as if I might cry, the unexpected sense of loss alarmed me.

  I should have listened when he warned I would feel empty inside after he left. My freedom, my liberty was slowly slipping away as this man pierced my being. His eyes went to the other parts of the room, a playful performance meant to suggest that my questions might cause him to become bored and leave at any second. Immune to my pleas, he remained deadpan and unsympathetic until I broke down and gave him the extreme reaction he so fancied.

  “Goddamn it,” I said, grabbing his expressionless face firmly between my hands. “Stop teasing me.” I’d gone positively mad and didn’t care how much I was forced to humiliate myself.

  “Or what?” A wolfish smile crept across his beautiful face. “You can’t even say it. Beg for my—”

  “How about I just kick you out and you go finish in your own bed?”

  “You won’t do that,” he said, still smiling. “I just gave you your first vaginal orgasm. I have you now.”

  “What?” I panted, searching his eyes. How could he possibly know?

  “You heard me,” he smirked. I thought of how he’d made my body feel and swallowed hard. It had been beyond imagination, but I was certain there was no way he could do it again.

  As if reading my thoughts, his light blue eyes opened up into storms and anguish, probably from punishing us both for way too long. He reached behind his back and forcefully disentangled my legs from around himself, and just as I was about to cry with frustration, he threw my legs over his shoulders and thrust inside me farther than anyone had ever gone before, using his power to show me he was there, deep inside me where I needed him. Something ignited deep in my core near my cervix causing every nerve ending to resonate, and wanting more, he rocked forward and pressed his tongue into my mouth so that I was bent in half, completely open and vulnerable to him.

  “Will this do?” Rafa demanded, disengaging roughly as his angelic face twisted in pain or ecstasy, or both. “I would never dream of leaving you dissatisfied, Amada. I will always give you what you need. Do you have enough of me now?”

  He kept us just like that for a moment then went wild, and as the bed s
tarted to bang against the wall I gasped, wondering if the passengers next door would report us to the concierge. His savage, relentless thrusting went on for so long I thought I might break into pieces, but when he reached between us and pressed the palm of his hand deep into my belly, I erupted. The same sense of angst washed over me as it had earlier, but instead of trying to escape, this time I correctly recognized it as nothing but a concentrated affirmation of life itself. I allowed to myself to engage without fear, and the light inside my closed eyes came again, just as it had before. I sobbed and contracted around him in a state of pure bliss, and as soon as he felt my internal muscles spasm, he surrendered all control and made a low, indecent sound as his entire body stiffened and emptied into me.

  Rafa let me bring my legs down but remained nestled inside me until he was completely soft again, holding me as I dabbed at the corner of my eyes. For the first time in my life, I had literally cried in ecstasy.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong,” I said, hiding my face.

  “Hormones. Perfectly normal,” he whispered. He kissed the top of my head and positioned himself so that we were both comfortable but still intertwined. We lay together in blissful silence, and just when I thought I might fall asleep, I realized he was already off the bed and dressing. I wanted us to hold each other longer, but to my dismay, he already had his shirt and pants on.

  “Rafa, no,” I said reaching out, desperately missing him already. He looked so adorable rushing around trying to find all his clothes, while I lay in the bed absolutely spent and satisfied beyond all imagination. If I didn’t know any better, I would think this man possessed some sort of magical power that enabled him to astrally project us to other planes. His body transported me, and I couldn’t imagine how he could recover so quickly when I would surely be worthless for hours.

  “Mi amor,” he said, “look at the clock. It’s almost six. I’ll be fired.” He squeezed my foot through the blanket and continued the hunt for his belongings. He was back to his sweet, tender self, obviously regretful of leaving me alone so soon after our mind-blowing sex. I suddenly remembered that it was the last day of the cruise and went into a tailspin.

  “Wait, when will I see you again?” I asked sitting up anxiously. “We disembark tomorrow. Will you be at dinner tonight?”

  He shoved his feet into his shoes and looked around for his jacket and tie with visible impatience. He furrowed his brow and scowled a little as he dropped to his knees when he spied the tie under the bed. Even as he crawled around the floor, Rafa managed to look distinguished and graceful. He wasn’t a common man, and nothing about his circumstances would ever change that. It was his birthright to be extraordinary in body and mind.

  “No, baby. I’ll be cooking in the kitchen. I was only in the dining room because someone else was out sick.” Now fully dressed, he smiled at me but glanced furtively at the door. I hated to delay him but couldn’t help but panic.

  “So … when?”

  “I’ll come back tonight around two, alright?” He leaned over and gave me a peck on the lips, then held up my room key so that I would see him slip it in his pocket.

  He went to the door and glanced down the hallway before stepping outside, presumably to make sure he wasn’t seen by any of the crew. Before he shut the door, he leaned back into the room and whispered something I couldn’t quite make out.

  “What did you say?” I asked, still in bed, feeling terrible about the long day he had ahead.

  “A doctor,” he said, just a little louder. “In Cuba, I was a doctor.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I awoke around three in the afternoon, more refreshed and alert than I had been in a long time. It was a marked contrast to my mood yesterday, so tired and ill from the heat, unsure of how or why I still managed to be. Tomorrow might be different, but today I was alive, and the reasons for it didn’t matter. I stood in front of the full-length mirror, still naked the way he left me, to see if I looked any different. Physically, no, but yesterday I would not have dared look at myself at all, preferring to ignore my own existence as much as possible. For the time being, as long as this lasted, I would not be haunted.

  I dressed in a tank top and shorts, still feeling echoes of him across my body. He had left himself all over me, my bed and my mind, not to mention the sinister-looking purple souvenir on my neck. I put concealer on it, grabbed my sun hat and went out onto the deck of the ship, unusually open to interaction with other people.

  I went to the pool and stretched out on a lounge chair, enjoying the abundant sunshine and the warm air of the Caribbean. I wondered how close we would come to the shores of Cuba and whether Rafa would even notice. The ship was scheduled to disembark in Miami in less than twenty hours, and he would stay here, toiling away in a cruise ship kitchen while I went back to Boxwood and a life that consisted of nothing but reading, traveling and the occasional evening at home with my brother when he was between business trips.

  As the pool filled up with passengers and screaming children, I didn’t feel my usual urge to retreat to a quiet corner, remaining in place as the reggae music blasted and the lounge chairs filled up around me. A family of four piled up beside me, and still I stayed put, feeling good. It was a mood that was welcome, yet so unlike me.

  A young waiter approached with a tray of drinks. Dark and attractive like all the young men on the ship, he was nowhere near as handsome and rugged as Rafa, who was in a league of his own.

  “Good afternoon, madam,” said the waiter in an unmistakable Spanish accent. “Cocktail?” I was rather skilled at identifying even the most subtle inflections, often surprising people when I could tell not only what country, but also what state they were from. Still, I tended to err on the side of caution, because some people confused my legitimate interest with cultural bias.

  I lifted the brim of my hat a little and leaned forward to scan the sugary, fruity drinks on his tray, none of which were the least bit appealing. “Do you think you could bring me a double Russian Standard Gold vodka, neat?” I asked.

  “Right away,” he said. As the waiter turned to leave, I realized he would be able to properly translate for me. I took a chance that he wouldn’t be offended if I asked.

  “Wait—”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said proudly.

  “What does the word médico mean?”

  “It means doctor.” He looked around, concerned. “Is someone sick?”

  “No, no,” I said. “I’m just writing a letter. Are you sure? Could it mean paramedic, or nurse or something else?”

  He cocked his head to the side and said, “No, ma’am, those are other things. Enfermera is nurse, paramédico is paramedic. Médico is doctor,” he said, with the absolute certainty only a native speaker can have. “Does that help you?”

  “Yes, definitely,” I said, leaning back. “Thank you very much.”

  “My pleasure.” Looking down at my legs he added, “Ma’am, forgive me, but please be careful of the sun. It’s very strong here.”

  That evening, as the ship made its way home closer to Miami, I took a few minutes to enjoy the Caribbean sunset from the balcony in my cabin. The sky was a palette of pinks and blues, and the water was unusually calm, almost glassy. I had seen beautiful sunsets in my native Florida many times, but tonight I was more than a passive bystander. I thought of all the other people watching this same light at this precise moment in time, some just born and some about to die. No matter who we are, or where we are in our journey, some things always remain the same, and it is we who change and see it differently. Copernicus was wrong, the Earth is the center of the universe—our universe—and human souls are nothing but satellites.

  Back inside, I chose a more demure dress for the final evening of the cruise, but it was no less beautiful than the black lace gown still draped over the side of the chair. I couldn’t bear to disturb it, and it gave me great pleasure just to see it there as a r
eminder of what had transpired the night before. Tonight I wore a high-necked, backless floral Givenchy tulle dress I’d bought just four months ago in Paris. The salesgirl had called it the “Printemps” gown, and when it was all wrapped up in yards of paper and fabric, she presented it to me in a satin box the size of a small desk. As I struggled to carry the package out, I almost bumped into a very elegant woman who appeared to be in her eighties or nineties. She’d watched me make my purchase with great interest, so I asked the salesgirl who she was.

  “The Viscountess Romilly,” she whispered with awe.

  The Viscountess glanced at me out of the corner of her eye again, and I thought it was because she might have thought me too plain to be deserving of such a gown. Unlike her, I wore no makeup, no jewelry and very simple clothing. Bejeweled and powdered as finely as any woman in Paris, clearly she had once been a very beautiful woman. Even now, the Viscountess Romilly was the epitome of refinement and sophistication, the reward for a life fully lived. On my way out, she met my eyes and said, “Profitez-en pendant que vous le pouvez, mon cher.” Enjoy it while you can, my dear.

  I glanced at myself in the mirror after dressing and found that I did enjoy the gown very much. It was a work of art, created by hand over many thousands of hours, exemplary of an artistry that could make even the most ordinary woman remarkable. I didn’t pay much attention to the fact that I had allowed myself to overdo it in the sun this afternoon and was getting redder by the minute; my only concern was that Rafa’s plum-colored bite wasn’t covered by the neckline of the dress. I searched for the tube of concealer everywhere, but even though I opened every drawer and cabinet, I still couldn’t find it. I tried to arrange my hair so that it was covered, but I knew it wouldn’t stay in place longer than five minutes, so I boldly put it up in a French twist. Let the world see what my lover had done.

  Finally ready for dinner, as I was about to leave the cabin, I caught sight of something shiny at the foot of the bed. I came closer and saw that it was Rafa’s watch, and as I admired the simple rectangular face, I rubbed the strap between my fingers, keenly aware of how close the leather had been to his skin. I slipped it on my wrist and went to him.