“Not soon enough?” I hear as I lower myself into the car. My eyes flash to the voice responsible for the question.
“Izzy? How—What—” I reach for her with my good arm and she gently crawls into my lap. “Where’s—”
She chuckles at my verbal stumbling. “Johnny took them home. We all figured after the game you just had, you’d need some extra cheering up. Plus,” she huffs, “you’re going to need help getting ready for your dinner. Baz and Lito figured I’m the better one for the job. Well, that and Baz said something about not wanting to handle your crippled junk.”
“Fucker. My junk’s not crippled.” She shifts off my lap so that her legs drape across mine, but her head is still tucked against my uninjured shoulder. “This is sooooo what I needed.” My head drops to rest on hers and I feel the remaining energy drain from my body. My eyes flicker shut, my mind’s not far behind.
“Vicki called.”
“Mmhm,” I answered.
“She thinks she can help. Mentioned something about turning off—” Izzy’s voice fades as darkness rolls in.
Chapter Thirty-Six: A Bad Dream
April 2007
“Diego,” I hear Izzy call my name. “Mi amor. Estamos aquí.” I smile with closed eyes. I love it when she speaks Spanish. “Okay, sleepy head. I know you’re awake when you’re grinning like a fool.”
Ken opens the door for us and I lumber out of the car first. Izzy follows. We’re actually at a service entrance in the back of the hotel. We can’t risk being seen together. The paparazzi would be all over that and then Sasha would unleash her hell hounds.
“I was thinking that I could help give you a bath,” Izzy declares as the elevator ascends to my suite. “Probably need to get in with you. You know. Just to make sure you’re thoroughly cleaned,” she teases. “I take this job very seriously.”
“You little sex maniac. Can’t you see I’m injured?” I ask teasingly.
She nods coyly. “Aaand?”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open when we reach my floor. “Come on,” I hastily drag her down the hall to my door. “I suddenly feel way too dirty.”
Izzy giggles and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve heard in too, too long. She bounces in place while I fumble with my wallet trying to get the key out. “Here,” she says, holding out her hand. “Let me help.”
As soon as we’re through the door, I take her to the floor with me and kiss her senseless. When I’m done, we’re both gasping for air. She gives me a come-and-get-it look and bounds towards and up the stairs.
In my current condition, I’m not so nimble and quick. She’s up the stairs and has the tub filling with water before I’m halfway up. By the time I’m there, the tub is almost fifty percent full. Izzy doesn’t say a word as she moves about the lavish bathroom grabbing the essentials: towels, washcloths, soap, fresh wrap, and some topical cream to help with the swelling and pain. I love the idea that taking care of me is routine. She knows just how this goes and I thank the fates for right here, right now. She doesn’t have to be here. In fact, I keep thinking that this is a dream. No way after the shit I’ve done would Izzy be here, drawing me a bath, preparing to get naked to make sure I’m clean. Ugh. For a dinner with Sasha, no less.
“What’s wrong, Diego? Are you in pain?” After she’s placed the supplies on the counter and around the tub, she comes to stand next to me. “Let me help you.”
Izzy helps me out of my shirt and unwraps the packed on ice, then the bandage underneath that. My workout pants, shorts, and compression shorts are next. “Oh, my.” She acts shocked at the sight of my semi-erect cock. “We’ve no time to waste,” she says guiding me to the tub.
Holding my arm, she starts to help me into the tub. I laugh at the thought. “You do realize that if I were to slip, you wouldn’t be able to stop me, right? In fact, if you tried to help, you’d probably come splashing down with me.” I place my foot into the waiting water and faster than it went in it came out. “Fuck, Izzy. You trying to stew me?”
“Relax, you big baby. It’s not that hot. Now, get in.” I do as ordered and I brave the scalding water. “I didn’t fill it all the way. Make sure to not let your shoulder soak in the hot water.”
I open my mouth to tease her once I’m situated, but I’m stunned silent. Izzy’s pulled her hair up and undressed. The steam from the bath mixed with the chilly air of the hotel suite creates an ethereal mist billowing around her. Her dewy curves highlighted by the dim lighting glistens.
“Were you going to say something, my love?” She softly laughs, knowing she distracted me and twisted tongue.
Izzy climbs into the tub and places herself in front of me between my knees. “Now, let’s get the parts that need soap first,” she declares with a wink. She grabs a washcloth, wets it, and soaps it up. After achieving a nice lather, she proceeds to draw the cloth across my chest and down my right arm. When she crosses to the left, she’s careful not jostle my arm. I lean forward for her to get my back. “It seems I’ve run out of parts above water to clean. Think you could stand long enough to let me scrub the rest of you?”
“Considering my endowment, I make no promises. You could be awhile with just the third-leg of my tripod,” I jest and stand like asked.
She shakes her head at me and mumbles something. I don’t have time to consider it because she’s taken my cock in one hand and is gently and slowly rubbing the length of it. With a groan, I stumble and Izzy stops. I look at her in protest. “Don’t stop,” I practically beg.
“Let’s get the rest of you cleaned before we get to the deep cleaning.” She flashes me that mischievous smile and proceeds to torture me with soft strokes up and down my legs. I lose my footing but am able to keep myself from completely sloshing down into the water when Izzy focuses her cleaning attention on my balls. Hard as rocks and ready to explode, the slight abrasiveness to the cloth almost causes me to jump the gun.
Izzy loses the cloth once I’m settled back in the water. Her warm tiny hands massage my hardened junk. Switching from my balls, she returns to the slow rubbing of the length of me. My head drops back and the rolled up towel on the side of the tub now makes sense. Her ministrations switch from slow and unhurried. Her eager strokes draw out something between a groan and a growl from my throat. “Fuck, Izzy.”
She stops. “Who’s fucking Izzy?”
I lift my head and my eyes connect with hers. I watch as she drags her hands up from the water and between her breasts. She caresses her full globes painfully slow, knowing the ache she’s creating in my balls. Her hands trail up her chest, slicking her neck with the warm bath water. I’m mesmerized by her hands. They continue up the sides of her face and a glimmer of light draws my attention back to her fabulous tits. When they start to bounce as if she were laughing, I peel my eyes to study her face. She only quirks her eyebrows up at me in question.
What? Oh, I remember. “If it pleases Izzy, then Diego will be fucking Izzy.”
She scoots up closer, straddling my legs. “Well, if it’s okay with you, I’ll be doing most of the work,” she claims. “You are injured.”
Izzy languidly lowers her body onto mine. Our parts fitting together like puzzle pieces, the warmth of her sweetness wrapped around my cock replaces the cooling bath water. Once my shaft is fully sheathed in her pussy, Izzy leans in, rocking just a little for effect. “Relax,” she whispers. “I’ve got this. I’ve got you.”
And the unexpected happens. My eyes fill with tears and guilt rips at my heart. “I don’t know what I’ve done to ever deserve you, but in this life and those after, I will make it my life’s purpose to be the man worthy of you.”
Izzy takes me to the edge and pulls me back so many times I lose count. It’s purposeful and steady, void of the need to hurry or rush. Time nearly stands still. The water sloshes back and forth in t
he tub, the sound not unlike the sound of the ocean gently bumping the sides of a boat in the water. It’s rhythmic and soothing and when the end comes for both of us, it stays the course. Our orgasms are drawn out under the release of the built up pressure. Our names are hushed, breathless praises dispersing into the silence of the room around us.
We stayed there. Izzy straddled around my lap and my one good arm squeezing her. Squeezing her so tight for fear that easing up just a little bit, the dream would disappear and I’d find myself waking alone in my bed.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I open my eyes as Izzy shifts up from her spot on my chest. “You set an alarm?” I ask incredulously.
“I did,” she answers. It’s so nonchalant, I wonder if it broke the spell I was afraid would dissipate, if I held her just a little looser. “I’m okay,” she soothes. She must see the concern written on my face. “Just making sure we don’t give the devil a foothold. And,” she pauses, “I can help you get ready, but I’d like to leave before you do. I just don’t think I have the strength to see you off. Leaving will be hard enough.” She nudges my chin and I adjust allowing her to snuggle up against my neck.
As promised, Izzy helps me get ready. After drying me off, she applies the topical cream and wraps my shoulder with a fresh elastic bandage. Getting dressed is the hard part. I settle for a tank top undershirt and a button up dress shirt, forgoing a tie because I already feel as if I’m suffocating under the constricting wrap. Izzy slides on my boxer briefs, placing a chaste kiss at the top of my happy trail. I manage the dress pants myself, but require her help with tucking in my shirt. When I’m ready for the suit jacket, Izzy fits me a sling for added support. I opt to wear the suit jacket with only my right arm in a sleeve and the other side hanging on my shoulder.
Smoothing the shoulders of my jacket and running her hands down the sleeves, I watch Izzy suck in her bottom lip. I hook my finger under her chin and tilt her head until her eyes meet mine. “I know,” I say guiltily.
There aren’t any more words and in five minutes Sasha will be calling up to my suite and texting me, she’s here. We stare. It’s all we can do. It’s the only thing we can do to keep it all from falling apart. Izzy’s the first to shake off the trance. She pushes up on her toes and I make things easier and lean down. She places a sweet desperate sorrowful kiss on my closed lips and chokes on a sob before pulling away.
She walks out with a shaky smile in place, but a smile nonetheless. I know she’s called on her reserves to find the strength to see this through. I see it in her strong posture, her squared shoulders.
Before she closes the door behind her, I call out. “Love you so much, so much.”
And then I’m alone. Alone with guilt that has me professing my love as she walks out without looking back, without making the same declaration.
*ring*bzz*ring*bzz
The stifling quietude is interrupted by the jarring sound of the phones ringing and buzzing. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, staring at the door, but now it’s time to go. I don’t bother with either phone. My feet are stuck in place. I suddenly fell like the eleven-year-old boy that begged his mother to stay, to not leave him and his grandfather alone. The teenage boy that refused to go see his mother, not because he was mad, but because in that moment, in front of the closed door, she was still alive and as long as that door remained closed, time could stand still and she couldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t leave him without saying goodbye.
“Oh mamá. ¿Cómo llegué aquí? Desearía que estuvieras aquí.” I stop myself from falling to my knees. The phones keep ringing, keep buzzing. I’m so desperate for this to be over; I wonder how I got here, wish my mom were here now. “I’m so afraid that Izzy will get taken from me before I can fix this. Make this right. Mamá, no puedo perderla, también.” I can’t lose Izzy, too. I can’t.
I feel my resolve slip back into place as I remember the fight I’m bringing to Sasha. I can’t quit now. I have to see this through. I have to prove to myself that I’m the kind of man that deserves another chance, the kind of man that deserves a woman like Izzy. This life and those after.
Dinner was nice enough. The suits were excited to hear I was eager to get back on the pitch as quickly as possible. They mused over the idea that my first game back will likely be the finals for the QPL Cup. How, if rankings stayed as they were, that game would be against Bastos and the Greenwich Palace FC. I tasted the blood from my tongue for most of the night. Sasha found it necessary to constantly touch me. She’d hook her arm through mine, rub my hand. I had to play the game, had to.
When I’d lost sight of that, Sasha reached under the table and dug her claws into my thigh. Her not so gentle reminder came with a warning whispered in my ear. “You are mine. I promise I’ll destroy you if you allow them to think otherwise.”
After that, I drowned the returning pain and the contemptible situation with top shelf whiskey, encouraging the suits to imbibe with me. We chatted for hours over dinner and drinks. The suits wanted to live through my football experiences, so I regaled them with the stories of collegiate days on and off the pitch. Told them of my Global Cup adventures, explained why I played for the United States and not Mexico. The old timers got a little sappy when it came down to Izzy. Sasha was unimpressed and mumbled an incoherent comment.
The evening dragged on into the late hours of the night and after a couple of bottles of whiskey, we parted ways. I was too under the influence to keep Sasha from hanging from my good arm, which made shielding my eyes from the flash frenzy waiting for us outside the restaurant impossible. Sasha ate it up. She apologized for not being able to answer questions. “I really do need to get Diego home. He’s had a rough day. Thank you all for your concern.”
“Thanks, Sasha. You’re kinda alright when you’re not being a vile bitch,” I stammer as she helps me through the door of my suite. “I’ve got it from—hiccup—here,” I shout back at her. I stumble past the dining area and onto a couch. The cool upholstery soothes the heat flushing my face and I fall down the rabbit hole.
Ahhh! A burning sensation radiates through my arm and shoulder followed by a throbbing that snaps my eyes wide open. I stare at the ceiling of the small bedroom in my suite. Reality crashes down on me and I reach with my good arm for the bad one. What the fuck? Draped across my good arm is an arm. What the fuck? I follow the arm up to the shoulder it’s attached to. Blonde hair drapes over the bare skin and I choke down the vomit threatening to come up.
Sasha? What the fuck happened?
Not able to stand another moment with this woman, I grit through the pain and remove myself from her side. The throbbing is no longer isolated in my shoulder. My head pounds like the big ceremonial drums in an Aztec ritual. I tread lightly—if you can call it that. Down the hall and to the dining table where I know I left my pain medication.
A flash of an image brandishes my fucking mind, the open container of my pills spills to the top of the table. Tiny white jumbo sized Tic Tacs bounce every which way, some scattering towards the other sides of the table and others leaping off this side. I fight down the bile with a gag. Sasha helping me out of my coat. Unable to handle my knees, I scoot a chair out and sit before my legs do it for me. I scoop up a pill and swallow it. I don’t have the energy to get the water. In a moment, I can grab the water. I choke on another gag; this time, it retches my entire body. Sasha pawing at me with my shirt off. Ugh. My stomach performs an awkward, unsettling series of somersaults as chunks from last night play back like rapidly clicking through a reel on a View-Master. Sasha undressing me completely. *click* Sasha naked. *click* Sasha kissing me. *click* Sasha hovering above me. Her smile is one of a woman that got exactly what she wanted. Like she said. *click* The two of us sweaty. *click*
“There you are, lover man.”
I rush to the sink to expel the demonic spirits trapped in my body. I st
umble my way and catch my injured shoulder on the wall on the way into the kitchenette. The pain seers through my body, across my shoulders and down my back. I feel it in my toes on the left side. I steady myself against the counter and count my way through the pain. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. The throbbing has substantially lessened. I go about what I should have done already. I grab a glass and turn on the water. I chug an entire glass and fill it a second time, all the while ignoring the stabbing pain going on behind my eyes and between my ears. I gasp for air. I forgot to breathe as I chugged the second glass.
Confident I can move to the couch without emptying my stomach, I blindly guide myself around the furniture along the way. Fuck, I’ve been here way too long if I can do this with my eyes closed. I prop myself up with some pillows, suddenly thankful that I can do all this without having to look at Sasha. What the fuck happened? Scratch that. How the fuck did that happen?
“D,” Sasha purrs. “Ca—”
“Don’t you fucking call me that.” Eyes still closed, I don’t lose the feral sound to my voice.
She gasps. I assume in shock. My eyes will remain closed. I refuse to give this nightmare anymore footing. “Diego,” she wines, “you have to look at me.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know how the fuck last night happened. I know what,” I choke on the words. “That’s played back vividly. But there’s no way in hell, I’d have done what I did with you!”
“Afraid so, lover man.” The bitch is laying it on thick. “Three times,” she claims. “Diego, darling. You were practically begging me for it. Why I had to convince you to let me do the work because I refused to let you unwrap your sh—.”
There’s a click somewhere in the background, but still rejecting this reality my eyes continue to remain closed. “Diego?”
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 24
