“Take it out,” he said in a tight voice.
She fumbled with the zipper as he sucked on her neck. He sucked hard, wanting to leave a mark the way she’d left marks on his back. He wanted her ex-husband to see. Wanted him to know if he entertained the notion they could get back together, he didn’t stand a chance, though he had the privilege of seeing her every day at work. She belonged to him now.
He’d had a taste and now couldn’t get enough. He wanted her all to himself. To think Ryan had warned him away. Ha. Someone should have warned him about her.
He pushed into her with a low growl, and his knees almost gave way. Wet and hot, she had him all confused and feeling helpless. With no will, no power, and solely at her mercy. His confidence wavered as the lines blurred and he was no longer certain who belonged to whom.
“Call me papi,” he said in her ear.
“Papi,” she whispered, sounding almost shy.
“Louder.” He thrust harder, determined she would not walk away so easily this time. Not when this need for her wouldn’t go away. Not when he couldn’t forget, forced to recall their passionate romp every time he took a shower because soap stung the nicks left by her fingernails in his back.
“Papi.” Her voice shook, and her legs tightened around his lean hips.
“Louder.” He went at her, thrusting deep, punishing her for depriving him.
“Oh, papi,” she gasped. “Oh, yes, so good. Yes, papi. Yes!”
Talia fisted her hands in his hair, pulling strands from the confines of the elastic ponytail holder, biting his neck, mouth open wide as she moaned, letting his pounding thrusts push her through to the inevitable climax.
Making love to him was so carnal, so out-of-control decadent. No one should enjoy sex this much. This kind of passion burned everything in its path. It almost felt wrong, this type of demanding. This type of taking. This type of glorious, heavenly fucking.
She locked harder around him and let loose a trembling cry when an orgasm tore through her. He continued to pound into her like a madman, his harsh breath fanning the side of her neck. The rhythm of his hips wrested yet another orgasm from her, and she cried out again, her voice bouncing off the stairwell walls, drowning his heavy grunts as he shuddered through a consuming climax. She only hoped she’d made it half as good for him as he made it for her.
They held each other tight afterward, their ragged breaths coming short and fast. Only when her heartbeat had slowed to an almost normal pace did he lower her to the ground and rest his head on the wall beside hers. With trembling fingers, Talia pulled her skirt back into place.
Tomas cleared his throat and zipped his jeans. “Next time, don’t be late.”
Next time?
“There will be a next time,” he said.
He kissed the side of her mouth and helplessly, she let the tip of her tongue dip out to taste him. He sucked her lower lip and she whimpered.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said before heading down the stairs.
Talia remained in the stairwell and placed a hand over her chest to calm the erratic beat of her heart. She didn’t know how to control this fire between them. It was out of hand. And she already wanted more—was looking forward to the next time, as he’d promised.
With a deep sigh she picked up the first abandoned shoe and started the slow climb up the stairs on shaky legs. She couldn’t go to the meeting right away and would have to make a detour to the bathroom to fix her makeup and hair.
By the time she arrived in the boardroom she should have thought of a decent excuse to give Jay for being late.
Chapter Fifteen
The sun had gone down hours earlier, and the only light in the room came from a lamp on the nightstand. Talia stretched lazily in the bed. Another good workout, courtesy of Tomas Molina.
The dusting of hairs on his rock-hard chest tickled when he pressed against her back. Raining tender kisses onto her shoulder, he cupped a breast and pulled on the nipple. It hardened into a tight peak and desire unfurled again in her loins.
“We just had sex,” she said, giggling. He had quite the libido, with such a short recovery time she sometimes doubted he’d lost his erection.
“These breasts drive me crazy,” he complained. He kneaded the soft mound, his calloused palm creating a sensual friction. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed sucking a woman’s breasts as much as I do yours.”
Her lids lowered, savoring the words as moisture pooled between her legs. He always said erotic things like that. Words that complimented the richness of her skin tone, lauded her curves, and flattered features that used to make her feel self-conscious. Used to, because a woman would have to be a fool not to appreciate the uniqueness of her own body when a man showed such constant appreciation of it.
He rolled her onto her back and pulled a hard nipple into his mouth. Prying her legs apart, his hot manhood pressed into her heat. She arched her back, gasping when his muscular thighs widened and spread her legs so he could go deeper. Running her fingers over his sweat-slick back, she caressed the contours and grooves of hard muscle. She absorbed the textures of him, the sinewy strength under her fingertips, the soft silk of his hair.
The pull of his mouth and the slow roll of his hips worked in tandem to bring her to a quick, shuddering climax. Fingernails dug into his shoulders and she let loose a soft cry. Her knees clenched around his naked hips, and he came with a harsh groan of male satisfaction before collapsing beside her.
Talia listened to the steady sound of his breathing, amazed at how her life had changed in such a short time. Since the day in the stairwell, their relationship had progressed quickly, and she’d become accustomed to this endless banquet of pleasure.
They’d started out meeting one or two days out of the work week. Tomas would hang around in town, and she’d call him when she left work. Then they’d meet at her condo for wild, bone-melting sex. But it wasn’t enough, and the number of days increased to include every Saturday, at which time she’d drive the hour to his house in the country, spend the night, and drive back on Sunday.
At first they only cared about scratching the itch for each other that wouldn’t go away, but at some point even a couple of days per week proved insufficient, and their meetings became more than sexual. Eventually she gave him a key so when he left work he could stay at her place until she came home. She knew he was just as lost as she about how to handle the magnetic pull they had on each other.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, sitting up. “I could order some food.”
“Sure. What did you have in mind?” He yawned, big and loud.
“I’m not sure. I’ll decide when I see the menus.”
They dragged out of bed. She threw on a blue silk robe, and he pulled on his jeans. Downstairs in the kitchen, Talia opened the drawer filled with menus, and Tomas started opening the cabinet doors.
What’s he doing?
She watched him in silence. The only items on the shelves were her favorite items to snack on—gourmet cheese straws, creamy white nougat imported from France, chocolate chip cookies from the neighborhood bakery, and figs hand-dipped in dark chocolate and imported from Valencia, Spain.
“Do you have anything we can eat now, while we wait?” he asked.
Most of the time they walked to one of the restaurants near her condo. Years ago the area where she lived used to be crime-infested, but investors had swooped in and bought the properties. After fixing them up, young, affluent 20- and 30-somethings moved in. A testament to the changes, trendy cafes and restaurants sprouted up to accommodate that demographic with expensive coffee mixes and eclectic dining choices.
“What I have to eat is what you see,” she said.
Continuing the search, Tomas opened the refrigerator, which contained nothing but water and juice. The only other items were her smoothie packets of diced fruit—quart-sized bags in the freezer containing bananas, strawberries, or whatever fruits and vegetables she’d picked up at the supermarket, so she’d only
have to dump everything into a blender and add juice or water for a quick breakfast.
“Don’t you ever cook?” he asked, closing the refrigerator. “You don’t have anything. Not even eggs to whip up a basic omelet. We’ll have to change that.”
“I have no intention of changing anything,” Talia said, bumping him with her hip. “I told you, growing up we had servants who took care of the day-to-day, so I never had to learn.” She shrugged. “I don’t clean, either. That’s what the cleaning service is for. This isn’t the Dark Ages.”
“There’s nothing wrong with cooking a man a meal.”
“Nothing wrong with not cooking, either. Are your hands broken? Cook for yourself.” Talia set one of the menus on the counter and flipped it open.
“I do cook for myself. It’s cheaper and more convenient.”
He bent close to her ear and placed both hands, palms down, on the counter in front of her. Goose bumps sprang up on the back of her neck, and her nipples pushed against the lining of the robe. He liked to get close to her, and when she didn’t wear heels and he tipped his head down, it truly made her feel small—pequeña or “little one”—as he called her.
“I think the right man could have you barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen making pancakes,” he said in a confident voice. Almost as if he thought he was that man.
She laughed at the thought of her making pancakes. She’d never made them. “Then you have nothing to worry about, because you are not the right man,” she quipped.
He laughed and swatted her on the behind.
“Ow,” Talia said, though it didn’t hurt.
“Order me whatever you order for yourself, but add extra sides,” he said on his way out the kitchen. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“When you eat that much then I’m the one stuck having to help you burn off all those extra calories,” she called out, smiling to herself.
“As if you mind,” he called back.
****
Flat on his back on Talia’s bed, Tomas stared up at the ceiling.
“Are you almost ready?” he called for the third time.
They were on their way to a quinceañera party for one of his friend’s daughters. Well, they would be on their way if she ever came out of the bathroom. He’d arrived thirty minutes ago to pick her up, dressed and ready to go in a black jacket and white shirt. He’d been waiting ever since.
“Would you be patient!” she hollered back. “It takes time to look as good as I do every day.”
And she called him arrogant.
The light in the bathroom extinguished and Tomas sat up. Talia came out wearing a gray, sequined cocktail dress, loose on top, but the fitted skirt clung to her round hips and bottom. She’d styled her hair in a lustrous array of curls piled on top of her head.
“What do you think?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
“Muy bonita.”
“Really?”
One corner of his mouth lifted into an indulgent smile. She preened under his gaze, dark brown eyes lighting up the way they always did whenever he paid her a compliment. He never grew tired of that expression in her eyes.
“Stop fishing for compliments and let’s go.” He still teased her whenever the urge hit him.
Talia slapped his arm. “I’m not fishing,” she said tartly.
Later, they sat at a table with two other couples in a banquet hall filled with friends and family members of the birthday girl.
“I had no idea these quinceañera parties were so extravagant,” Talia whispered.
The catered dinner, a chocolate fountain, and a five-tier cake represented only part of the elaborate setup. Selena, the birthday girl, had arrived wearing a pastel-blue princess dress with her escort and twelve-member court. The stretch Hummer dropped them off in front of the banquet hall before they made their grand entrance.
A live band playing a mix of pop music and traditional Latin sounds had half the guests dancing. Vases in the middle of each table contained flowers in soft-hued colors—pastel blue, muted green, cream, and rose.
Tomas nodded. “The parties are an important rite of passage and represent the transition from being a girl to becoming a woman, but I think the tradition has lost some of its meaning as each family tries to outdo the other. I’ve known families to go into deep debt if they didn’t have friends and family members to help offset the cost. Selena’s mother, Maria, grew up poor and her parents couldn’t afford a nice party, so she wanted to make Selena’s quinces special and memorable.”
“Seeing her dance the first dance with her father was very sweet,” Talia said quietly.
A wistfulness filled her voice and he saw the longing in her eyes. It was near the end of summer and they’d been together for several months, but he didn’t know much about her parents except that her father had died when she was an infant and her mother had died during childbirth. She seldom talked about either of them.
Tomas put his arm around her shoulders, prompted by a sudden need to protect and comfort. “They practiced the waltz for weeks.”
“They looked good out there,” Talia said.
Tomas explained the symbolism of the other events at the party. “Remember when Selena changed from wearing the flats to the heels and received the last doll?” Talia nodded. “They symbolize her maturity now that she’s a woman.”
He ate the last piece of cake on his plate, and sensed Talia’s gaze on him. The adoration in her eyes made his chest swell. She made him feel that way quite often—proud, as if he were some kind of hero.
“I’m glad you brought me. Thank you for sharing your culture with me,” she said softly.
If anyone had told him three months ago he’d be at a party with Talia Jackson and lucky enough to be sharing her bed, he’d think they were crazy. He’d always been attracted to her, he realized, but she’d been married, untouchable. All the friendly animosity between them he now had to admit was nothing more than unacknowledged sexual tension.
She’d started doing thoughtful little things for him lately, like creating special smoothie packets that combined flavors she thought he’d enjoy—mango, papaya, and coconut milk. One smoothie she called the muscle builder, which included protein powder, and another packed with raspberries and bananas she said was good for his heart. His heart. Other women only seemed concerned about the organ between his legs.
She placed her soft hand at the back of his neck and applied pressure, lifting her lips. Their mouths met in a slow, gentle kiss.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Do I need a reason?”
Something inside him stirred. A faint, peculiar emotion that made him want more. Permanence. Monogamy. Those words used to scare him but had a more attractive ring to them now.
He and Talia had grown close, and he’d shared details with her about his life that he’d never shared with anyone. He’d told her about his childhood in Cuba and the devastation of losing his father in a boating accident at the age of nine. His poor upbringing presented a striking contrast to hers. While his family had relied on barter and government rations to supply their needs, she’d never had to ask the cost of anything because price didn’t matter. He grew up in a small house with his brothers, mother, a cousin, and his grandparents. She grew up in a mansion with a nanny, servants, and the only other family member, her grandmother.
Manny, his Cuban friend who owned the restaurant, shuffled over. He had a slight limp from a bone fracture that never properly set when he was a child.
“We’re going over to the restaurant afterward,” he said. “Are the two of you coming?”
“Is the band playing tonight?” Tomas asked.
“Sure is. Food and drinks on me.”
“Food?” Talia interjected. “After all this, you plan to eat again?”
“Trust me, you’ll be ready to eat again once you get through with all the dancing.” Manny winked. “See you two there.” He ambled away.
“You want to go?” Toma
s asked.
She nodded vigorously. “Of course. Sounds like fun.”
Sometimes, when she reacted so happily to one of his suggestions that they go out with his friends, he wondered what her life had been like before. And why he hadn’t met more of her friends. Outside of Shawna and Ryan, initially bewildered but now wholeheartedly accepting of their relationship, he didn’t know anyone else close to her. Not friends and not family, either.
She seemed to have a strange relationship with her grandmother, a woman she seldom talked about but who could influence a change in mood with only a phone call. On those days his only goal was to make her happy and lose the pinched expression she wore after one of their conversations.
“We’ll stay a little longer, say goodbye, and then leave for the restaurant,” he said.
Chapter Sixteen
The patio of Tío Manny’s Restaurant overflowed with a boisterous group of diners when Talia and Tomas arrived. A five-piece band rocked out a vaguely familiar Spanish tune, one she’d probably heard Tomas listening to in the car. The electric guitar player hunched over her instrument, face scrunched into concentrated lines while customers stood on their feet clapping and cheering.
Manny waved them over and introductions were made. Of the nine people at the table, Talia recognized four from the birthday party.
In addition to pitchers of margaritas, everyone had their own drink—mojitos, Cuba Libres, and for the less adventurous, good old Georgia sweet tea.
The waitress came over. “What can I get you two to drink?”
“A Cuba Libre for me, and a piña colada for her,” Tomas replied.
Manny shouted across the table to be heard above the music. “Bring out more appetizers. Empanadas, a couple more shrimp cocktails, and stuffed avocados.”
“Manny, where are we supposed to put all this food?” Talia teased.
The Wrong Man (Love Unexpected) Page 10
