by Tara West
Another slow song starts, and when I press her sweet little body against mine, she responds by "accidentally" grazing my groin with her hand. When I grab her wrist and flash a warning glare, she smiles coyly.
I lean down and growl into her ear. "Are you ready to go back to the hotel?"
Her answer is a breathy whisper. "More than ready."
***
Christina
Despite my exhausting day, I find my second wind as Andrés strips off my clothes and lies me down. When he slowly slides into me, burying his shaft deep inside my wet channel, I lift my hips, grinding into him. I melt into his body's heat as his lips seek out mine. I cup his face in my hands, relishing the feel of his rough skin on my palms. Our lovemaking is a timeless dance, our bodies, hearts and souls moving as one. He brings me close to climax several times before we both finally give into the powerful release that washes through us. We come undone, and then Andrés makes love to me again.
When he finally rolls off of me and pulls me against his chest, whispering Spanish words of love into my ear, my heart and soul sing with happiness, and my sated body hums in satisfaction. We fall asleep in each other's arms. The perfect ending to the perfect day.
Chapter Twenty-One
Christina
Last night marks the first night Andrés slept in bed with me since the nightmares began. I've forgotten how wonderful it feels to wake up in his arms, but that good morning kiss is pure heaven. The best part was he slept soundly beside me, no bad dreams at all. I'm hoping this little vacation was just what he needed to unwind and escape the nightmares, and he will return to our bed from now on. I strongly believe his recurring nightmares are associated with the pressures from his job, and maybe a change in employment would put an end to them. Even though I know Andrés doesn't want to let Tio down, my fiancé's mental health is more important than hurt feelings.
Though I'm sad to leave the mountains behind, Andrés reassures me we will make winter in Vegas an annual event, and next time we'll plan to spend more time in the snow. Andrés wants me to see the downtown lights tonight before we fly back to Texas tomorrow. He's been to Vegas a few times with his cousins and he says the lightshow is unlike anything he's ever seen. Though I'm sure he's right and I'll be impressed, after the way we made love last night, I'd be perfectly content to spend the rest of our vacation in the hotel room. We're staying at a hotel called The Golden Nugget, which Andrés says is at the heart of the light show.
I'm unpacking and trying to find just the right dress for dinner, although I already have an idea what I want to wear. Grace packed a sequined little black number in my suitcase. It must be one of her dresses, because I'd never be bold enough to buy something like this. As I eye the thing with a frown, I wonder if it's supposed to be worn with tights underneath. It barely covers my ass. Then I remember some of the girls I saw in the smoky casino downstairs. Their dresses were cut so short, their crotches were practically hanging out of them. I heave a sigh as I toss the dress on the bed. What would Andrés say if I wore it tonight? A smile lights up my face as I think I know exactly what will happen. He'll rip that dress off me and make love to me all night long. Okay, maybe I will wear it. I'll have to remember to thank Grace later for packing it.
Then I remember that other dress she packed. I should have known why my suitcase was so heavy. She actually had the nerve to pack my wedding gown, minus the train, of course, which I'm sure would never fit. The heavy silk skirt takes up nearly my entire suitcase. I can see the material bulging from beneath the luggage divider. I know it's getting wrinkled, but what the hell am I supposed to do with it? After all the stress Andrés and I have been through this month, I'm not sure now is the right time to get married. Besides, I never found the right shoes, and a girl can't experience the most momentous day of her life without the right footwear. I'd have my girl card revoked for sure.
Andrés is still in the shower, so I hurry and slip into the black dress and patent leather and rhinestone wedge heels. I sit at a pretty vanity table with a lit mirror and quickly apply mascara, blush, and lipstick. Andrés doesn't like my makeup too heavy. He says I'm beautiful without it. I'm running a brush through my hair when he comes out of the bathroom.
The steam from the shower eddies into the room, carrying the scent of his spicy aftershave. I love the way he smells. The heat from his musk sets my pheromones ringing like alarm sirens in a natural disaster. As I look at his clean-shaven face and slicked back hair, I realize my little black dress has nothing on Andrés's pure male sexiness.
My legs wobble as I slowly stand, and I can feel moisture pooling between my thighs.
He comes to me in a few long strides, his gaze traveling the length of my body as he lets out a low whistle. The look in his eyes is like a predatory cat preparing to pounce on his prey. "You know better than to wear a dress like that around me, mija," he growls into my ear before nipping at my neck.
A soft moan escapes my lips as he alternates between biting and kissing the soft curve of my neck all the way to my shoulder.
He cups the globes of my ass and hikes the flimsy fabric up over my hips. "Turn around," he commands in a tone that leaves no room for argument. I spin and watch as he hikes the dress up to my waist, balling the fabric in one hand and squeezing my breast hard with the other. I cry out when he pinches my nipple through the fabric. I gasp when he bends down behind me and rips my panties to the floor. He presses a hand against the back of my neck and pushes me forward. "Hands on the table," he commands.
I eagerly obey, and then he's kicking the stool forward and lifting my knees onto the padded bench. I'm on all fours, watching him in the mirror. Twin thunderstorms brew beneath his gaze as he unzips his pants and drops them to the floor. I lick my lips at the sight of his large erection springing from beneath his button up shirt. I shudder at the mischievous tilt of his smile as he hikes up my skirt again, licks his fingers, and then drives them into my slick channel.
"Naughty girl," he teases. "You're already wet. Did you start without me?"
"No." I shake my head.
Before I can say any more, he pulls out his fingers and buries the entire length of his erection in me, pounding against my swollen center like a battering ram. I suck in a sharp breath as he slides back out and then slams into me again and again. The vanity table rattles beneath me, banging against the wall as Andrés digs his fingers into my hips and drives in deeper, harder. And even though I'm still sore and tender from last night, my core weeps with wetness, savoring each achingly erotic thrust. I can feel that point of pleasure swelling inside me like a bubble ready to pop.
When Andrés cries out, burying himself deep inside me, my own release comes swiftly, bucking against his throbbing head as his juices spill inside me. After the wild pounding of my heart slows down to a heavy thud, he slides out and then quickly returns with a towel.
"See what happens when you dress like that?" He playfully swats my ass before wiping between my thighs.
"I'll have to wear it again," I tease, wiggling my hips.
Andrés lifts me and turns me toward him. He's got this look of pure satisfaction in his glazed over expression. Cupping my chin with his fingers, he feathers a soft kiss across my lips. "You make me very happy, mija."
My chest swells to near bursting as I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, and for the first time in weeks, I feel as if all those broken pieces of my heart are fusing back together.
***
Andrés
"Wow. This has to be the best steak I've ever eaten."
My fiancé closes her eyes and groans as she bites into her steak. I'm suddenly jealous, and though I want to deny it, I know the reason why. I've been so busy, I haven't been able to cook for her lately, and she's enjoying that steak a little too much. I feel like her taste buds are cheating on me. I could probably make a steak that tastes just as good, if not better. I make a mental note to fix her one when we get home.
"What is in these mushrooms?" She
leans forward and feeds me a bite. "Do you think you could make these?"
My mouth is awash in flavor. Marsala, and a mixture of Italian herbs. I nod as I open my mouth for another bite. Wow. If I ran Arturo's catering business, I'd definitely put mushrooms like this on the menu. Then I mentally kick myself in the ass for planning for a career I know I can never have. "I'm sure I can."
"Omigod!" she squeals. "I'll love you forever if you do."
I give her my best sideways glare. "You'd better love me forever, anyway."
She sets down her wine glass, bats long lashes and flashes a coy smile. "You know I will."
God, she looks so beautiful tonight. Her emerald eyes sparkle from the glow of the candlelight, and after spending the day in the snow, the color has returned to her face. But it's her smile that stops my heart, so wide it illuminates her entire face. I've missed that smile.
I've missed everything about her. I've been so absorbed in my job, I haven't made enough of an effort to spend time with her. After this trip, I intend to change that.
I stare down into my glass, at the mixture of rum and Coke and circular ice cubes, and though I don't intend it, I voice my thoughts aloud. "I need to make more time to do the things I love, like cooking and being with you."
Christina takes a sip from her wine, eyeing me skeptically. "Your Uncle Arturo called me a few days ago."
Why would he do that? Is he using her to convince me to work for him? I set my silverware down and push aside the grilled salmon plate. I have to force myself to unclench my jaw as I wait for her to finish.
She downs the rest of her wine, and then exhales slowly. "He wanted to offer his condolences about the baby and then he started telling me stories about how you used to follow him around in the kitchen. How whenever he would come over, you'd run and get your apron. How you'd rather help him cook than go outside and work on something for Tio."
I force myself to ignore the increasing tempo of my heart and try to keep my expression even. "That was a long time ago."
Biting on her lip, she runs a finger across the rim of her glass. Her expression is erotic, distracting. I realize the stakes must be high if Christina is using her sexual charms this early. "He thinks you've missed your true calling. He said something about his new catering business."
I shake my head. "I can't leave Tio."
She slumps in the booth, sighing. "It's obvious you're unhappy with your job, Andrés. Tio wouldn't want you to be miserable for the rest of your life."
"Catering doesn't pay enough, mija."
"Arturo said he offered you eighty thousand a year."
She says this as if I'm supposed to be impressed. Actually, the bills we have now don't exceed that income. Considering Christina was raised by a rich bitch, she's pretty low maintenance, with the exception of the money she spends on paint. I know we could be comfortable on eighty-thousand plus whatever she makes. But I also can't forget she broke up with a billionaire's son to be with me. Ten years from now, when she doesn't have a luxury car or mansion, I don't want her regretting her decision.
"I've made almost two-hundred thousand this year working for Tio," I say. "I'll make double that next year."
I'm expecting her to be shocked by this news, but she doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. We haven't discussed how much I'll be making, other than it will be a lot. It was only last week, as Tio and I were going over the books with his accountant, that we discussed what I might expect to make in the coming years. They said I could easily pull in half a million a year.
Frowning, her gaze searches mine. I tense up, wondering what she's searching for. Finally, she folds her hands, staring at me with those penetrating eyes, as if she's trying to melt away my layers of resistance.
"But will you be happy?" she asks.
No, I think to myself, but I'm still unwilling to admit it. "We could buy a house. A nice house, maybe even a ranch of our own."
She strokes my hand with her delicate fingers. "How nice will it be if you're never there to share it with me?"
***
Christina
We walk hand-in-hand beneath the colorful, flashing lights on Freemont Street. A video plays on a large canopy screen above us. It's like the whole ceiling is a rock video, and hot music filters in from the loudspeakers surrounding us. The street is teaming with vendors selling all kind of goods, from chocolate to personalized license plates. And the entertainers on the street are hilarious. After growing up in Austin, the weird capital of Texas, I should be used to strange, right? But I don't know how to classify some of the people I meet in downtown Vegas. There's the topless woman who's somehow managed to avoid being labeled a flasher by painting giant strawberries on her Double-D, saggy breasts. Not quite sure who she's pretending to be other than a middle-aged woman with delusional Strawberry Shortcake fantasies. There's the old guy in a diaper, wearing cupid wings and a bow strung across his back. My favorite has to be the bronze cowboy. That's right. He's painted every part of his body, from his boots to his hat, bronze , and he stands as still as a statue while people pose for pictures. Of course, none of them do it for free, so Andrés hands three Elvises some bills and we snap a few pictures with them.
We're strolling arm-in-arm, eating cotton candy and enjoying the odd attractions, when I stop suddenly, as if I've run into a brick wall.
Omigod!
I break into a run until I reach the storefront window. I place my hands on the glass, and I think my jaw hits the concrete as I stare at the shoes the mannequin is wearing. And when I say the shoes, I mean my shoes.
These red, strappy heels with pretty shimmery flower bows match the flowers on my wedding gown perfectly.
"What is it, mija?" Andrés asks as he joins me.
I point at the window and jump up and down. "The shoes!"
He looks at me as if I've gone loco.
"My shoes," I squeal. "The shoes that match my wedding dress. I gave up looking for them and here they are."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, and then his full lips break into a slow grin. "We need to buy them."
***
I walk out of the store with my brand new shoes strapped to my feet. I know they totally don't go with the black dress I'm wearing, but I don't care. These beauties were practically screaming through the window for me to put them on. And as I sway my hips in front of Andrés before twirling around on my toes, I think these dazzling heels are the perfect fit.
Andrés smiles and whistles at me as we continue to walk down the street, past shops with high dollar clothes, noisy pubs, and blinking slot machines. I'm not quite sure how we end up standing in front of that wedding chapel, but as Andrés laces his fingers through mine, my feet propel me forward, and I'm drawn to the little white church like a moth to a flame.
That's when I realize the shoes, the chapel, the dress Grace packed for me has to be fate. As I look up into Andrés's soul-filled gaze, I know the one thing that would make this already memorable vacation absolutely perfect. As if we are both of one mind, we wordlessly walk inside. We reserve the deluxe Elvis wedding slot. Why we decided on Elvis, I have no idea, but I figure if we're going to get married in Vegas, we might as well go all the way. We rush back to the hotel and Andrés helps me into my gown.
I smooth down the fabric as I admire my reflection in the mirror. The dress isn't too wrinkled now, and the flowers and butterflies I added along the bottom are beautiful, but I think my shimmery red shoes make the gown, which reaches just above my ankles without the heavy train. I sway my skirt a few times, admiring my reflection.
Andrés comes up behind me, placing his strong hands on my hips. He pulls back my veil and plants a soft kiss on my neck. "You're beautiful, mija."
My eyes flutter shut as I savor the way his lips tickle my skin. When he takes a step back, I open my eyes and admire my handsome groom. He's changed into a suit jacket and dress pants. Not too formal, but not too casual, either. Although,Andrés could marry me in jeans for all I care. What matters is he's
going to be my husband.
***
Andrés
I feel like the luckiest man in the world right now. Christina is so fucking beautiful. As I take her arm in mine and lead her through the hotel lobby, I still can't believe the girl of my dreams is about to become my bride.
I feel like I'm floating in a dream as we walk hand-in-hand across the crowded downtown sidewalk. Lots of people stop to congratulate us, which makes the trip take longer than it should. I nervously check my watch. We've got ten minutes before our scheduled appointment, and we've still got two more blocks to go. I summon what I learned back in Army training, square my shoulders and dodge, (sometimes push) people out of the way. I jostle that religious nut who says Revelations is upon us. I "accidentally" elbow the guy trying to sell us tickets to a strip club. We narrowly escape the old lady who wants to read our fortunes.
"Don't you fear what your future may hold?" she calls at our backs.
I pretend not to hear her.
The problem is, I do hear her. Because her voice is the same voice of worry that has been running through my head. I do fear what my future may hold. I fear it so fucking much, because once I make Christina my wife, my future will be her future, too. And the thought of it almost makes my knees go weak.
Considering how I buried myself in my job all last month while she mourned the loss of our baby, I know I've already failed her once. I should have insisted on time off. I should have been there for her.
Once we make it to an opening, I pull her along faster, but I don't know why I'm hurrying anymore. I realize we've got to make it to our wedding, but I feel as if something else is propelling my feet forward.
The word takes hold of me like a vice: fear. I'm fucking scared.
"Slow down, Andrés."
Christina sounds frustrated.
"Sorry, mija, but our appointment is in"—I check my watch—"four minutes."
She releases my hand and bends over, adjusting a strap on her shoe. "They won't care if we're a few minutes late."
