I huff out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. On the freeway and headed to Izzy, I dread our need to talk.
Pulling into her drive, I’m greeted with an unexpected sight. The front of her place was shrouded in more shadows with only the light from a collection of candles on either side of the entry gate. That’s when I notice the path to the house inside the gate is lined with small colorful glowing bags as I put the car in park.
I’m out of the car and down the path. Bypassing the front door, I let the path of flickering paper bag lanterns be my guide. The path leads down to the indoor-outdoor patio when I bound around the corner into the open room, Izzy gasps and I stop dead in my tracks.
I’d bet my sudden, albeit expected, appearance startled her, but it’s her, all of her, that keeps me from even breathing for fear my next breath takes away the fantasy. She regains her composure and slides her hand from its startled position up and in front of her to her side, resting it on the swell of her hip. She looks like an angel in a buttery yellow Hawaiian-style wrap dress that ends above the knees in the front and just below them in the back. I continue my appraisal of Izzy, drinking in the soft glow of her skin around her ankles, smiling at the pretty buttery-yellow painted toes. Her obsessive need to coordinate is adorable.
And then I remember why I’m standing here. We need to talk. Izzy had to have known how I’d take that ridiculous message. On my pass back up her body, I notice that—thanks to the lit fireplace behind her—she doesn’t have a stitch of clothing on aside from that wrap. The growl that escapes could easily be a result of the wicked temptress in front of me or the evil game she’d played.
The smirk she wears when I drag my eyes to her face knows both reasons I just made that sound. She’s so fucking pleased with herself. I give her a knowing smile. If I wasn’t so fucking caught up in her, I’d turn around and give her a taste of her own cruel medicine. Instead, I close the distance between us in just a couple of strides and punish her with my lips, taking and not asking, because I don’t have to ask for what’s already mine.
She giggles through our merged lips and a smile of relief breaks out across my face. “That was pure evil, bella preciosa.”
“I promise it’ll be worth it,” she reaches up on her tip toes to kiss my jaw.
“Take this off,” I tug at the knot holding the dress in place, “and it will be.”
“Are you hungry?” she asks ignoring my proposal. She walks by me to the patio table.
“Very,” I growl.
She looks back at me over her shoulder and laughs. “Well, I’ve got some sandwiches then,” her offer isn’t as sincere as she aims for. She knows what she’s doing. My beautiful vixen. “Of course, these were meant for after the main course,” she deadpans and turns back to face me. I’m stunned silent, watching her draw her hands up to the knot at the back of her neck. Her hands slow and looks like she’s finally worked the knot free. The thin fabric falls to the ground as Izzy declares, “Dinner is served.”
When I lunge for her, she darts past me toward the couches. She’s a step ahead of me, but I manage to grab her, pulling her soft curves into my body. Relishing the feel of her against me, the smell of her consumes me. She helps me with my inappropriate dinner attire and I’m naked in record time.
“Diego,” she makes my name a plea, I can’t ignore and I look up from where my cock is positioned at her opening. “I did want to talk, though.” There’s a rumble in the room and going by the swat she gives me, I think it may have been a growl from me. “How about you just listen while you worship my body?” Her suggestion garners a grunt of affirmation and concession.
I trail kisses and nips across her collar, down her chest, sweeping my path from side to side until I’ve found one of my favorite places to be. A soft moan from Izzy fills the air around us; my hot breath hitting her clit pebbles her skin. I continue to breathe over her mound, heating up her sensitive nub until she’s squirming. She can barely get out one moan before she’s starting another. I think what she wants to talk about will have to wait.
I take my time pleasuring her. She begs me to finish, but I’m not done watching her come apart. I worship her body, exploring every inch of her with my hands, my lips, my tongue. She’s coming down from her third orgasm and she’s back to begging for more. For me. I crawl up the short length of her, covering her with all of me.
“Please, Diego,” she urges. “I want to feel you inside of me.”
I reach down for the condom in my wallet. Izzy reaches for my wandering hand and tugs my attention back to her. “No condom,” she whispers. “I want to feel all of you inside of me.”
The sharp intake of breath was mine. The enormity of this hangs between us. My eyes searching hers to make sure this is what she wants. The discussion of birth control came up and while she was on some form of it, we agreed that ‘for now’ we’d use condoms for added safety. I’d gone the next day to get tested, as did she. We had our clean bills of health waiting for something.
Waiting for tonight.
“Izzy,” I’m done pretending, “I’m sorry,” but am too tongue twisted to continue. I stare into her eyes and when the lust is chased away by fear and they fill with tears, I realize my apology and the following silence are giving her the wrong idea. I reassure her with a smile armed to melt away her fears. She visibly relaxes and I lean in to show her with my mouth just what this means to me. Without the right words, she can’t know why I’m sorry. How pretending I didn’t confess my love to her has been the bane of my existence for the last three weeks. How it was cowardly to not own my feelings for fear of getting hurt. I inundate the kiss with every ounce of emotion I have in me. Our hips circle and grind in synchronicity. My dick teases at her hot, wet opening.
“Please,” she begs and I accommodate. In one swift motion, I am buried inside of her, holding still, slowing down the onset of the rush of relief because the sound she makes almost flips the switch and brings this sexcapade to a halt.
“Izzy,” I start a slow pace of pumping in and out of her once my heartrate returns to normal. “I love you,” my words continue to ramble on. “I’m sorry that I pretended I didn’t say it because I was afraid you didn’t feel the same way.” I don’t slow my movements, if anything, my pace increases as the weight of my concerns dissipates with every truth I reveal. “I love you, Izzy,” I repeat it once more. “I love you.”
I dare not look away because I see the love in her eyes even though there’s a barrier of unshed tears attempting to mask them. She blinks and tears spill from the corners of her eyes, she smiles and grinds up into me. She must hit the right spot because her back arches up into me and she mutters something about being close.
I can’t wait another minute to give her what she wants. I circle my hips and continue pumping. My thrusts increase to a punishing pace. My dick twitches with the first squeeze of her orgasm tightening around me. She rewards my efforts with a matching grind of her hips and that’s all it takes to send her over the edge and me falling after her. My body shakes with my orgasm and the night air is filled with my string of fucks.
“I meant it, Izzy,” nuzzling into the curve of her neck, whispering into her ear. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Chapter Eleven: Mr. Brightside (Part 6)
January 2007
Oh, Patron. You’re my very best friend.
It’s going down easier than ever. Easier than this trip down memory lane. Sure, it’s all fucking I-love-you’s and orgasms, but it takes one stupid fucking nineteen-year-old boy to mess it all up.
I need another drink. Damn. I examine the remaining third of the bottle of tonight’s elixir. I’m not sure there’s enough left to finish the trip. I became the poster boy for stupid when I panicked after four months of pure fucking bliss and I delivered those wicked four words—We nee
d to talk.
“Fuck,” I sigh.
Chapter Twelve: All Apologies
March 1999
“FUCK YOU!” Izzy screams for the umpteenth time. My knack for pissing her off knows no bounds. She’s raging mad, but we’re twenty-five minutes into this ridiculous argument. Still naked, the bounce of her tits as she adjusts in her bed temporarily distracts me.
“Clever, Izzy. Did you come up with that one on your own?” So, I’m not making it better. Whatever-the-fuck-ever. I’m so tired of this fucking bullshit.
She makes her way to the closet, grabbing her robe hanging from the hook on the door. I stifle a groan as her tits wiggle while she slips on the short silk cover I’d bought her for Valentine’s Day.
When she speaks, she doesn’t verbally acknowledge my juvenile taunt. “Okay, Diego. Let me get this straight. Last night, when you were out with the guys and realized it was going to go longer than expected, it didn’t cross your mind to call and let me know our plans were being changed, possibly canceled?” Oh, it crossed my mind. Flashes of the guys making whipping sounds last night cross my mind now. “It didn’t cross your mind to answer your phone when I called after waiting for thirty minutes for you to show up?” Ignore. That’s what crossed my mind as I’d held the power off button. The guys’ relentless teasing had me switching my phone to off when someone mentioned having to get home to the missus. Something in my expression must falter under her scrutiny. “Oh, something you want to share?” she inquires, there’s a hint of taunting in her voice.
“You’re not my keeper, Izzy!” I admonish, ignoring the fact that we’re not discussing a keeper. “I gave you an idea of when I’d be done with the guys. We didn’t have plans, plans.” Seriously? Plans, plans? “I had said I’d probably be over around eleven,” shrugging with how I remembered things. “It’s not like that in and of itself is a signed commitment.”
“No, you’re right, Diego,” her cool, calm voice is a contradiction to the war raging in her eyes.
“So,” I interject before she can say anything more, “what was your plan with all of this Izzy? Fuck a confession out of me? What the fuck would I have to confess? I got caught up with the guys. Didn’t make it here until I did.”
Yeah. That’s not going to win me any points. Fuck!
Off season is stir crazy season for me. Worse, it seems my offseason coincides with Izzy’s regular season. Hell, it’s more like post-season with how fucking busy she’s been.
Between work and school, I’ve gotten a helluva lot less of Izzy.
With no games or hard practices, I can’t run enough, can’t work out enough. With her schedule, I can’t fuck enough. Last night didn’t help the fucking part.
She’s been so busy getting things organized for her record label’s annual event, an event that’s been her baby since she organized the inaugural one when she was just fourteen. It’s a special awards event for music program students from local colleges. She’s testy. She’s also focused on her graduate project.
I’m on edge and feeling abandoned. I hate how I’ve become so fucking pathetic.
This isn’t fucking me.
“Izzy,” I insist, “I just think that maybe there’s something to be said about all the fighting. Maybe we should…” I can’t finish what I was trying to say, Izzy’s eyes become dark saucers. The war raging in the depths of those saucers brings up the need for protecting myself from bodily injury.
“Maybe we should, what, Diego?” Her voice is cool, her shoulders are strong, and she’s going to destroy me.
“Fuck, Izzy. It’s just…I just…ugh,” I can’t get the words out.
“Okay, Diego.” She sits on her bed across from where I sit in a chair. She’s quiet. She’s being patient, but I saw the pain before she shoved that shit down. I’m hurting her and I don’t even fucking know why. “What the fuck’s going on?”
I don’t answer because fuck if I know. Last night plays back…
“Dude, you’re so fucking whooped.” Cue more whipping sounds from the rest of these assholes. “Hey, Diego,” he mocked like he was having a phone conversation with me, his thumb and pinky made the shape of a phone against his ear. “Let’s go to the party Katie’s sorority is having.” He switched to the ‘phone’ in his other hand and pretended to answer for me. “Sorry, Gabe, no can do. Don’t think the wifey would like that.”
“I don’t sound a fucking thing like that,” I growled. “And she’s not my fucking wife.”
Guess tonight’s ‘Give Diego Shit’ Night. They were all in hysterics over Gabe’s inaccurate recall of our conversation. I’d had no desire to go to that party. Too many been there’s and done that’s. But honestly? I just wanted to spend the time alone with Izzy. Unfortunately, I probably used Izzy as a reason to not go.
“Holy fucking shit!”
“Goddamn!”
“She can be my wifey. The fucking tits on that chick!”
With my back to the door of the pool hall, I had to turn to see what they saw.
In front of the jukebox, stood a leggy blonde with tits that could have kept the Titanic from sinking. She was joined by a curvy redhead, looking like they were trying to solve the music problem with a few bucks and their expertise. Red threw a look back at the group of us. She was aware we were all watching. She whispered into the ear of Blondie and Blondie snuck a look through half-lidded eyes over her shoulder. Whatever it was that Blondie saw, she turned and the girls shared a laugh as they went back to studying the music selection.
“Fuck, Santo! Pretty sure she just raped you with her eyes,” Blake shouted. Of course, the environment worked against us. The precise moment he unleashed his assessment, the music died down switching between songs and the noise from crowds in the pool hall simmered down to a dull buzz. Perfect timing if the idea was to share the thought with the entire hall. Blondie and Red were amused, unabashedly looking in our direction.
Gabe growled in my ear, “Sure, their pick of the night would be the guy with a wife.” As if to drive home his point, my phone fucking rang and Izzy’s name showed up on the caller ID. Angry that the phone was not helping me make my argument, I showed them. I promptly shut off my phone, picked up the water bottle in front of me and walked over to Blondie and Red.
I’ll fucking show them. The boom of cheers coming from them spurred me on while my legs seemed to fight me. I took a moment to chat up the plastics. They clearly hung around a place like this for the attention, maybe even to piss off mommy and daddy. They were so out of place, looking like the perfect Barbies their plastic surgeons intended them to be. Blondie offered to show me the backseat of her car and Red offered to join. I explained that tonight wasn’t a good night, but if they wanted to give me their numbers, we could arrange something in the future.
I’m a prick. I know it. Izzy will eventually know it, too.
I tossed the napkin with two lipstick stains and two phone numbers onto the table as if I’d been throwing down a monster hand in poker. I got a round of back slapping and “You the man!” The slightly sick feeling I got from my repulsive behavior was chased away by the ego-boosting from my fan club.
“My bad, dude,” Gabe smacks my shoulder. “No whips and wedding bells for you.”
“Earth to fucking Diego,” Izzy’s waving her hands in front of my face.
Fuck. How long had I been zoned out?
My head droops and I scrub my hands up and down my face. “Izzy,” I plea. I can’t look at her anymore. I know I’m about to ruin this, but I don’t want to be that guy. The guy that changes who he is because of a woman. The guy that his friends make the whipping sound over. The guy that…ugh. The walls feel like they’re closing in around me and I can’t breathe. “Look,” gasping for the air necessary to spit the rest of this out. “I can’t breathe, Izzy. I can’t think. I don’t know
up from down and I just want easy. I’m nineteen-fucking-years old and it feels complicated and claustrophobic.”
I brave a look at her face and it’s as exactly as I expected: a face of indifference, nothing I can say or do will crack the mask she wants me to see. But I know Izzy and the longer I look into her eyes, I recognize pain and desperation. Her eyes seething, she’s still not going to unleash her fury on me.
“Claustrophobic?” she forms the one word as a question. “Complicated?” Another word. Another question. I’m sure she’s trying to shake the confusion as the ends of her short hair whip in the air around her face. “Ughhh. Fuck you! You fucking man-child!” So much for not unleashing her fury, but that’s all she gives me before she switches back to her mask of indifference. “What happened, D?” her voice softens as she pleads with me to help her understand. “Can’t do the one pussy thing anymore?” She knows about my history of a few girlfriends at a time.
“No.” It’s all I can muster, but I need to leave. This has to be over now. I hate myself for saying the rest. “Let’s just take a break. A step back.” I sound like a fucking tool. “I’m so wrapped up in you; I’m forgetting me and those that were here before you.” She’s stricken by my choice of words but her facade quickly slips back into place. “Fuck. I can’t say the right thing right now.”
“I get it, Diego,” her voice is eerily soothing. “You said so yourself, you’re just nineteen.” Her voice squeaks with my age. I hang my head in my hands. With elbows resting on my knees, I clasp my hands at the back of my neck and pull down. “You need time for you. You don’t need me to keep you from experiencing life.” I realize she’s standing in front of me when the space of carpet I’d been staring at between long blinks is filled with her pretty painted toes. She touches a hand to my head and a lesser man would have cried. I managed to only grunt. “Diego, I really don’t understand where this is all coming from, but I love you enough to let you figure it out. Just do me a favor.” I nod in her hand, unable to look up at her. “Be the man you were meant to be.”
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 7
