by West, Tara
“I don’t know.” He grabs my hand and settles it on the bulge beneath his jeans. “I’m not convinced you mean it.”
“How about now?” I giggle as I stroke his erection.
“Better,” he rasps, but he still doesn’t sound convinced.
I trail kisses down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt as I go, relishing the scent of his deep musk that envelops my senses like a warm cloud. I trace that trail of dark hair to his naval and continue my descent. I smile to myself when I see Andrés wastes no time in unbuttoning his jeans. When he pulls his hard cock from his underwear, I lap up the juices that spill from his slit before taking his head in my mouth. I tease the bulbous tip with my tongue until Andrés prompts me with a hand on my head.
I pull up for air, just long enough to bat my lashes at him. “Please, Andrés,” I beg again in my best seductive voice, before I wrap my lips around his cock and suck him all the way down to the back of my throat.
He groans and bucks his hips as I slurp up and down his shaft with wet, sloppy suction.
Andrés grabs my hair and pulls me off him. I release his head with a “pop,” not surprised by his thunderous expression.
He hooks his hands beneath my shoulders, pulling me up the length of his body. “Come with me, mija,” he says in a voice dripping with seductive sweetness.
Andrés slides my panties down my hips, deftly slipping them off my feet. Then, he bunches my dress in one hand, lifting it over my waist, before pulling the straps off my shoulders and freeing my breasts. He grabs each breast, anchoring me to him and squeezing hard enough to make me gasp in shock.
We both groan as I slide onto his hard length. The springs don’t bother me anymore as they clang in time to our rhythm. This bed has so much bounce, I feel as if we’re fucking on a trampoline, but each thrust only heightens my pleasure as his head bucks against my swollen core.
He pinches my nipples, tugging them so hard I nearly collapse on top of him. I’m about ready to slap him, but then the stinging ebbs as currents of pleasure course through me. Andrés kisses me passionately as I slide up and down his cock. He slaps my ass hard, and I cry into his mouth, imagining the angry red handprint he’s left on my skin.
When I pause to catch my breath, he pushes down on my lower back and thrusts deeply. My heart is beating furiously now as I match his tempo with my own, the joining of our bodies at the deepest point of pleasure so exquisite, I nearly come undone.
And then I do come undone. The orgasm overtakes me with blunt force, like I’m being struck head-on by a Mack truck. I barely have time to cry out, as my insides clench and then release several times over, each pulse tightening the hold around him until I feel him explode deep inside me, bathing my already slick channel with his seed. I take him in as deep as I can, knowing this could be the moment we conceive another child. I cup his cheeks, kissing him with fevered passion as he grinds into me again and again, his pulsating head teasing my sensitive point of pleasure until he stirs it to life again, releasing another powerful climax.
I go limp in his arms as I’m wracked with spasms. I imagine my womb soaking up his juices, and I pray that during this beautiful moment we’ve made a child, not just because I want more children, but because I want Andrés’s children.
I love this man so very much.
* * *
After Andrés has to sacrifice one of his socks to clean us up, I follow him through the rest of the house on legs that feel like rubber. We have literally fucked like rabbits on this trip, the result of thirteen months of pent up sexual frustration. I remind myself, not for the first time, never to let it go this far again. I’m already resolved to allow my mom to babysit more often and go on a weekly date night with my husband. I’m sure Andrés won’t care if all we do is order in a pizza and fuck. He deserves more of my love, and he’s going to get it.
The home has a basement with a wine cellar and a huge den that looks like it’s been recently redone, and when I say recent, I mean sometime in the last four decades. Andrés has already claimed this room with the ugly wood paneling as his man cave. I agree, as long as he allows me to remodel it. I can already tell this house is going to take me years to complete, but in the end, I know it will be worth it.
Chapter Six
Andrés
Christina and I haven’t fucked this much since before we were married. I think I pulled a muscle in my back last night, and my dick may have been rubbed raw, but I’m not complaining. This trip has been long overdue. I hope my wife agrees to these honeymoons more often. My cock sure loves the attention, and so does my ego. And though I meant every word when I told my wife how much I appreciate the way she cares for our son, I’ve grown tired of sitting on the bench. It’s about time I got some action.
I look over at her, my heart beating harder when she flashes that beautiful smile, the kind of smile that makes her emerald eyes dazzle. Her hair has come undone, its thick strands whipping across her mouth as she holds onto the wheel and steers us toward the open water.
The boat broker, some old guy with a bad comb-over, keeps telling my wife what a good job she’s doing. I can tell he’s got the hots for Christina by the creepy way he leers at her when he thinks I’m not looking. I’m half tempted to throw his ass over the side of the boat, or at the very least, wrap a towel around my wife. She’s wearing skimpy shorts and a red spaghetti strap bathing suit top, one that emphasizes her big beautiful tits, tits that fed my baby. Tits that I feasted on most of last night. Tits that I’m sure the damn broker would love to get his mouth on, too.
Christina stands in front of the captain’s chair with feet braced apart and takes each wave as if she was born on the water. I forget sometimes she used to go fishing with her dad. She never talks about him anymore, and I don’t like bringing up memories that cause her pain.
This boat is freaking awesome. It’s got twin engines, a cabin with a compact kitchen and a small sleeping space, just enough so that James can have a retreat when he needs a nap. Although, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if buying a boat with one baby, and hopefully another one on the way, is such a good idea. I loved to fish with my uncles and cousins while growing up; it’s a tradition I can’t wait to pass on to James, but my uncles didn’t start taking me until I was in grade school, and even then we only went a few times a year. And with all the money I know we’re going to need to fix up the new house, maybe we shouldn’t be spending more on a boat.
Besides, though Christina appears to have her sea legs now, will she be able to go on the water when she’s pregnant? I remember how she would get car sick when she was carrying James. I can’t imagine what this boat would do to her. And knowing my wife, there’s no way she’d let me take James fishing without her. I shake my head as I think about how foolish I’ve been. Now’s not the time to be throwing our money away on a boat.
We hit a big wave, and Christina screams her delight as salt water splashes our faces. Her tits bounce so hard, they practically bust out of her skimpy top. Mr. Broker’s eyes just about fall out of his head, too.
I’ve had enough. I whistle and give Christina the signal to turn it around. When her eyes scrunch up, I take the wheel and slowly slip the boat into neutral. We sit on the open water as other vessels pass us by. I rip off my shirt, and before she has time to protest, I’m slipping it over her head.
“No more boating, mija.” I flash the broker a glare that says, “Keep staring, pendejo, and you’ll be swimming your way back to shore.”
The guy takes the hint, because he flushes crimson all the way to his thinning roots. He turns away, scratching the back of his neck and pretending to stare at something along the shoreline. Or maybe he’s just looking for more bikini-clad girls.
“But, Andrés,” she cries. “Don’t you like this boat?”
“I do, I do,” I say as my shoulders fall. “But it’s just a material thing. You and James are all that matter to me right now.”
The smile that lights up her face makes up for any regrets I
may have about giving up the boat.
She leans into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I know we’re sharing a private moment, but I kind of hope the broker is watching as I cup my wife’s ass and haul her against me, claiming her mouth with such ferocity, there will be no question she’s mine.
* * *
Christina
I don’t know what came over Andrés, but I can’t even begin to describe the relief that washes over me. As much as I enjoy cruising along the waves, I have been worried about taking James out here.
Now we can postpone it until our family is a little older. I wonder why my husband had a change of heart, but I decide not to question him as he drives the boat back to the dock in stony silence. The tension radiating off his broad shoulders is so palpable, I can almost feel it. Andrés keeps giving the broker dirty looks, which I suspect has something to do with those few weird leers I caught the guy giving me.
Ugh, what a creep. I don’t feel bad at all about the gas and time the guy wasted on us. I can’t wait to get off this boat so I can soak in the tub. I’m still sore after our wild love-making last night. Plus, I think I pulled a muscle in my thigh, but I’m not complaining. Not at all.
After we disembark, Andrés takes the broker’s outstretched hand, his bronzed muscles flexing with pure raw power. I gasp as I see my husband jerk the man toward him, bending down to whisper something in his ear.
The man’s beet red face turns bright crimson.
His apology comes out in a jumble of words. “I’m really sorry, sir. I couldn’t help myself,” he says as his gaze flashes to me.
I cross my arms, thankful I’m wearing my husband’s oversized shirt, and turn away. The way the guy looks at me makes me feel dirty. My gooseflesh crawls, as I rub my arms, trying to purge my skin from the memory of his repugnant gaze.
Bleh. Now I really don’t regret not buying a boat from him. I can only imagine what Andrés said to him. Knowing my territorial husband, probably something along the lines of, “If you ever look at my wife that way again, I’ll throw you over the side.”
My heart swells with pride as the broker hurries down the other end of the dock. Andrés watches the guy with tightened fists until he turns the corner. My husband has got more testosterone than a bull in heat, and he’s more territorial than a starving dog with a bone.
Damn, he makes me horny.
Possessiveness still radiates off him as he comes up to me and snakes an arm around my waist. “You ready to go back to the condo?” he asks with a throaty rasp.
I lean my head against his bare shoulder, cursing myself as moisture pools between my thighs. I’m still raw and sore from our fuckfest, and my body is already priming for more orgasms. “I’m sure there’s other boat dealers on the island,” I say as I settle a hand on his chest.
I watch the thick column of his throat as it rises and falls with strained breath. “That’s not why I don’t want a boat.”
I look up at him, searching for a sign beneath his gaze. His normally, bright, coppery eyes are still darkened by anger.
“Then why?” I ask.
“Because you’re right.” He flashes a weak smile as he cups my face. “Now’s not the time for a boat, not if we want to have another baby. There’s thousands more boats like that one. We’ll wait until our kids are a little older. Besides,” he says as he traces my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
I exhale a deep breath of air, not even realizing I’d been holding my breath. “Thank you, Andrés.”
When he leans down and brushes his lips across mine, my knees weaken. I don’t care about that muscle I pulled in my thigh or the soreness between my legs. I just want Andrés to make love to me the rest of the afternoon.
* * *
We can’t get back to Andrés’s truck fast enough, but we manage to stop kissing and groping long enough for him to play the perfect gentleman and open my door. He even kisses me once more before helping me into my seatbelt. God, I love this man.
It’s only after Andrés has started the truck and rolled down the windows to let in a nice breeze that I notice my blinking phone sitting inside the center console. I’d left it in the truck because I didn’t want it to get damaged by the salt water. Besides, I knew we wouldn’t get reception, anyway.
My heart stills when I see I’ve got five missed calls, all from my mom.
My gasp startles Andrés, and before he can put the truck in drive, he leans over and looks at my phone. “What is it, mija?”
“My mom’s been trying to reach us,” I barely manage to say, dialing my mom with shaky fingers.
“Christina?” she answers on the first ring.
“Mom,” I blurt out. “What’s wrong?”
“Before you start panicking,” she says in a voice that I know she means to be soothing, “James is okay. He had a little accident.”
My vision tunnels and the air seems to close in around me. “What kind of accident?”
“He knocked the baby monitor off the shelf, and it hit him on the head.”
There’s something my mom’s not telling me. I sense an undercurrent of worry beneath her words, which feel almost rehearsed.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” I ask.
Andrés laces his hand through mine and squeezes. “What is it?”
“James hurt his head,” I mouth back.
“Yes, he’s fine. He’s got a bump and a gash on his head,” Mom says on a rush of air. “We took him to get an X-ray just to be sure.”
Gash? Did she say gash? When I think of gashes, I think of blood and swelling and pain. Oh, my poor little boy! “Omigod!”
My eyes blur with tears, and then Andrés takes the phone from me, hitting the speaker button.
“Jenny,” he asks, “Is James okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” she says. “No brain damage. The swelling is on the outside.”
“Is he upset?” I ask through a sob. “Is he in pain?”
I hear her audible sigh through the phone and imagine her shaking her head. “He’s knocking down blocks with your brothers.”
I know there was no way I could have prevented this, but I feel like such bad mother at the moment. I was off joyriding and my baby was getting X-rayed for a concussion. I imagine how scared he must have been, and I wasn’t even there to comfort him.
“We should come home,” I say as I wipe my tears with the back of my hand.
“Nonsense,” Mom snaps. “Enjoy your time with your husband.”
And then before I get the chance to ask her anything else, she’s hanging up on me. I stare at the phone with a slack jaw before Andrés cups my chin and closes my mouth shut.
“Trying to catch flies?” he asks me jokingly.
But I’m not in the mood to joke. Not at all. I’m about to tell him as much, but instead, I burst into tears.
Chapter Seven
Andrés
When my son sees his mother, his whole world lights up. He holds out his arms, screaming, “Mama!” and she scoops him into her embrace. Christina rocks him, burying her face in his hair as she walks to the far end of the room. I know she’s crying. I know she’s also feeling guilty for what happened. I wish there was some way she could see the Christina I see. I wish there was some way I could make her believe she’s a good mother.
Christina’s step-dad and mom are staring after her, lines of worry etched into their faces.
“I told Jenny not to tell Christina until you came home,” her step-dad grumbles as he runs a hand through his greying hair. “The niño is fine. I examined him myself.”
“That’s okay.” I shrug. “It only cut the trip short by a few hours.”
Her mom sighs and shakes her head. “I bet she worried all the way home.”
“She did,” I say, “and I love her for it.”
* * *
Christina
“That didn’t take long.” Andrés peers over the book he’s reading in bed, looking sexier
than should be allowed in a T-shirt that clings to his muscular chest like a second skin.
“He went right to sleep.” I say, slipping out of my robe and climbing beneath the covers. “My brothers wore him out while we were gone.”
He sets the book down and turns to me, running a finger down my arm. “How are you doing?”
His simple touch sends a jolt right through me, which is a good thing, because for the past year I’ve been taking every caress, whisper, and kiss for granted. Being alone with Andrés this weekend has rekindled the magic, and I’m not about to lose it.
“I’m okay.” I look into his warm brown eyes. “I think I’m over the shock.” Andrés traces a lazy pattern on my hand before reaching underneath and rubbing my palm. I realize he’s trying to turn me on, and it’s sort of working. I just wish I could get the image of my son’s angry red bump out of my mind. I looks like a mouse has burrowed beneath his forehead.
“That’s a huge bump, Andrés,” I say through a sigh. My neck muscles tense as I brace myself for another onslaught of guilt. Andrés, my mom, and step-dad have told me it wasn’t my fault I wasn’t there for him. I know they’re right, but why does being a mommy have to be so heartbreaking?
“All we have to do is paint him red, and he’ll look like one of those Teletubby kids.”
I look into my husband’s smiling face and instinctively sock him in the arm. “That’s not funny.” And now that image of James’s ugly bump is replaced by one of our son in a Teletubby costume.
Laughter bubbles up in my throat, and I have to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from letting it escape.
The mischievous gleam in Andrés’s eyes is enough to make me come undone.
“You’re right,” I groan. “He better not start dancing to techno music and making weird noises.”
