“Is that kama sutra gel?” I asked.
“Yes. It gets warm, not that we need it, but I want you to feel very good.” He kissed my mouth, then moved his big lips down my body to my cock again. He tongued my balls, using his lips to pull on the ball sac. I thought I would die from pleasure. Nobody had ever done that to me. He slipped a finger inside me and I could feel the heat of the gel radiating through me.
“Oh, fuck me,” I rasped.
He ripped open a foil, whipping the rubber over his shaft. I didn’t think it would fit because he was pretty big, then he was between my open legs, his cock resting against my asshole. I clutched at him, pawing his ass cheeks. I wanted him inside me.
He began fucking me, the feeling of pain and pressure intense until his cockhead moved all the way into me. God, could I take it? I held his hips in my hands to give me a little time to adjust to having that gigantor inside me. He kissed me, assuring me we could stop any time. I saw the need and anguish in his eyes, surprised how emotional we both were.
“I’m not a gardener,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s not my profession. Only my passion.”
I couldn’t think with his cock pushing its way into me.
“I want you so badly,” he said.
Hell, I wanted him, too. I came as soon as he thrust all the way into me. He kissed me hard and deeply, his tongue probing my mouth. He moaned when my juices spilled between our melded bodies. He began to fuck me with a vengeance. It was the most exhilarating fuck of my life. He was tender, but also passionate—pulling, pushing, laughing, and kissing me.
“Come with me,” he implored, but I’d already come twice. When he came, I felt a different sense of release. I experienced the intensity of his own explosion deep within me and I held on until he’d stopped fucking me.
He stayed in me, our hearts pounding.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a week now,” he said.
We stayed in bed a little while longer. The night was young. Eight o’clock. The party was just getting started in TJ, but when we showered and changed and joined Angus and Santos in the kitchen, they were just getting out of bed themselves.
“You want to meet the others? They’re waiting for our call.” Santos glanced from me to Isidoro. “Or, do you prefer we stay in and have a quiet night?”
One thing I had always loved about actors, good actors, as opposed to stars, was that they read people well.
“We’ll stay in,” he said, without waiting for a response. “You guys want a margatini, since we’re not going out?”
I almost swooned. That was my favorite drink on the whole planet and one that Santos had introduced to me and Angus. It was a mixture of a Grand Marnier, tequila, vermouth, sweet and sour, and lime, and it was deceptively delicious. The damned thing was lethal. One was perfect, two for me was overdoing it. Three, and it was time for a coma.
“I told him I’m not a gardener,” Isidoro said to Santos, who was busy pouring jiggers of juice into a cocktail shaker.
“You…what?” Santos turned around, stunned. “You never tell anybody.”
Isidoro sighed. “Santos and Angus know all my secrets. I didn’t call you all week because I couldn’t. I… I wanted to call so many times. I wouldn’t be telling you now except…well, I can’t move forward with this if you can’t handle what I do.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a drug enforcement agent. I work undercover.”
Jesus H Christ. Why me? Why couldn’t he be a simple gardener?
It all came tumbling out over cocktails and tapas. He’d been working in LA as part of a task force and he’d been captured and tortured by a big-time drug dealer. Tears pricked my eyes as he described what had happened to him. He’d escaped and gotten shot in the shoulder. It had been three years, but after shuffling papers in a desk job and working on his gardening, he’d helped some of his family members open businesses. His mother and two sisters ran a string of florists, thanks to him. Now he was back undercover, posing as a juanita—pot—farmer.
“So that’s why you say you’re a gardener.” I tried to absorb all this. It was so intense, I required a second margatini. All’s fair in love and gardening.
I asked many questions, falling harder for him by the second. I was not an insta-love kinda guy but I was in serious like, with one toe in the deeper end of the emotional pool. He seemed to be the exact kind of guy that should have been a cop—strong, dependable, trustworthy… Man, what if he gets hurt again?
“Please explain to me what happens? You get a call and you go into your cover. You bust open drug gangs. Isn’t that dangerous? I mean…you’ve been shot at. You’ve been tortured.”
“The man who hurt me killed my ex-lover. He was a detective in Los Angeles. I feel bad that because of me, he was killed. I have to see this through—this particular mission—because it involves this man…this monster. After that, who knows? I may return to gardening full-time. It really is my passion.”
After our conversation, we spent a potent night in bed. I couldn’t stop touching him. Hands, fingers, tongues… We were all over each other. He kept promising me he would be safe. When he fucked me for the third time, I didn’t think I would stop coming.
“Tomorrow, you’ll see where I live,” he told me, wrapping me in his arms when we stopped to sleep.
* * * *
In the morning, Angus made a breakfast of heart-shaped waffles with strawberries and bananas, then the four of us set off in Santos’ car for Isidoro’s home at Rosarito Beach, half an hour south of Tijuana. I’d never been there before and loved the sparkling cliff-side views of the Pacific Ocean as we drove.
“The Paleo-Indians lived here for thousands of years and some of their artifacts still exist,” Isidoro told me. He mentioned that Rosarito was another word for little rose and pointed out his favorite places to watch for whales, his favorite stores, restaurants, and some of the old Spanish missions. I felt like I’d stepped back in time to a charming little oasis.
His house was a sprawling ranch-style abode with the most incredible garden I had ever seen. The four of us pored over every inch. He showed me his rare flowers and plants, and I met the tree he apparently thought was a lot like me. I smelled the delicate buds and thought I would be lucky if I was ever that beautiful.
Inside was just as lovely, but I was a little taken aback to see a huge altar that was a virtual shrine to his ex-lover. I began to understand a little of why Isidoro had held back from me all week. I think he liked me—a lot—but the past had a powerful pull. I said nothing about all the photos of the two of them together, treasured mementos on top of the altar table. I did tell him the beautiful statue of the Virgin Mary was exquisite, and he thanked me.
My mind tossed around all the thoughts I had. Was he ready to start again? If he wasn’t, would he have told me his truth?
We had a long, lazy seafood lunch at his favorite beach café and walked along the sand afterward. I felt his gaze on my face the whole time. As we walked along the foaming water’s edge, I felt a strange tug to all of this. It was familiar, and yet frightening. I had no lover’s death in my past, but I’d experienced loss. I could see myself being here with this man. I could imagine spending days and months with him. I was also aware he was still hurting. I didn’t want to hurt him further. And I sure as heck didn’t want him to hurt me, either. I felt we could take our time. I wanted to take our time—if he would give me that.
He came to me at one point and for a brief moment, took my hand. There were other people walking the shoreline and he said to me, “I know it’s not as beautiful as some American beaches, but it is peaceful here, no?”
“Oh, I think it’s beautiful. And it’s so quiet. I feel like we’re a million miles from Tijuana.”
He smiled. “We might as well be. This place is my sanctuary.” He shrugged. “In my line of work, that’s something that is hard-won, and I treasure it every day.”
“I imagine, work
ing undercover, you risk being discovered all the time.”
He nodded. “There’s that.” He took a deep sigh. “I have to live like a real Juanita grower. I know it’s an illegal trade, but these growers…they live hard lives. They are the poorest of the poor. They are forced into labor to feed their families. One wrong move and they can be shot dead. They live for months alone in the mountains, with flimsy tents out in the open, drinking water out of plastic bottles and eating canned food. They risk everything for the plant. They are always under duress to grow faster, bigger plants. If something goes wrong, it’s all over for them.”
I stared at him. I’d never thought about marijuana from a grower’s perspective.
“You know, I have a friend whose husband runs a legal dispensary,” I said. “She told me he has invested in grows up in Bakersfield. It’s a profitable business, but he’s always the target of raids and thefts.”
Isidoro nodded. “Legal sellers like your friend make the illegal trade harder. My job is to entrap the big drug runners, the ones who intimidate, torture and kill their growers. And sometimes their wives and children, too.”
“Oh, God,” I said. “Please be careful.”
“I will.” He squeezed my hand again and we joined the others, letting the waves lap over our feet.
* * * *
Back at the house, we had some downtime. Isidoro fell asleep on the sofa and Angus and Santos were in the guestroom. I took the opportunity to examine Isidoro’s altar more closely. Staring at the pictures of Isidoro and his lost love, I couldn’t help being struck by the joy they seemed to have with each other. The photos showed them smiling and laughing. There were photos of them together, with family, and one of them skiing someplace, laughing as snow fell around them.
I was intruding on Isidoro’s memories, on his private pain. I took a deep breath, studying those photos because they felt so real, so…so perfect. How did one go on living after having a love like that? One photo caught my eye. The two men were holding gigantic vegetable displays. In fact they were surrounded by carved vegetables. Their laughter made me smile. It also made me sad, because it was hard to believe this handsome man, so full of life, was gone.
A tear fell from my eye for someone I’d never known.
“That was a beautiful night.” Isidoro’s voice jolted me from my reverie. He came to me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“What were you doing?” I asked, unable to tear my gaze from the photo.
“Celebrating Night of the Radishes.”
I glanced at him as he stood beside me. “There’s really a Night of the Radishes?”
He smiled. “Sure there is. It’s a three-day festival. Marco grew amazing vegetables, and his family is from Oaxaca. They celebrate the festival for three days there. Right before Christmas.”
“Marco was his name?”
Isidoro closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.
“I’m so sorry you lost him.”
He glanced at me. “I know you are. And I appreciate that. I know he’s in Heaven with family members who were there to meet him.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “He deserved much more than this life.”
“How did the, er, cartel kill him?”
“Shot him in the head. He was posing as a drug dealer, but somebody tipped them off that he was wired.”
Silence fell between us.
“I will always remember him and honor him. We have a saying you know, in my country, that you should embrace your grief. Give into it completely, for only then can you reach the other side and find real happiness once again.”
“That’s beautiful,” I said, and meant it. I gazed again at the photos, of a life and a love cut short. Could I ever make Isidoro as happy as Marco had?
* * * *
That night, we went out with Santos and Angus’ friends. We bar-hopped to a couple of places, dancing and having fun. It was as relaxing and real as the previous weekend had been. When Isidoro asked if we could talk, I felt enough time had passed since we’d left his house. We walked back to his house, the silence punctuated by occasional waves in the distance and a rooster that crowed, clearly mistaking the time of day.
“What are you thinking?” Isidoro asked.
“I like you, Isidoro. Very much.”
He nodded. “But?”
“No buts. None at all. I think… I hope we can get to know each other, that we can keep seeing each other. I hope you shared your story with me because you want that, too.”
“Yes, I do. I won’t lie. It scares me. The thought of anything happening to you because of me…kills me. You are…you are such light. You’re a wonderful man. I want to know you more and more. But just give me…time, please. Give me this, and know that when I pull away, it’s not because I don’t want you, but because I need to protect you—and myself. But I promise you, we’ll see each other and we’ll make this thing grow. I’m the expert of impossible flowers, and this I know. We can grow.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me.
How could I possibly say no?
Inside the house, we sat on the sofa. He held me in his arms. Outside, the cock crowed again.
Isidoro suddenly laughed. “That’s one confused bird.”
“Yeah. Does he always do that?”
Isidoro grinned. “Oh, yes. The people that own him rescued him from a very bad slaughterhouse. They say he crows for joy, for happiness at a second chance at life. Rescued animals always know they’ve been saved.” He looked at me, his eyes gleaming in the near darkness. “I think the same goes for people, too.”
I leaned in and kissed him, earning a fervent response. I loved the way he kissed me and I soon found myself getting dizzy from his embrace. He broke away from me, grinning.
“Breathe,” he said. “I keep forgetting to let you do that.”
He took my hand and we went to his room. The front door opened and we poked our heads out to wave a greeting to Santos and Angus, who waved back, then threw themselves at one another.
Isidoro closed his door, a smile on his face. “This is the first time since he met Angus that I’m not in here alone. Would you like me to show you how happy that makes me?”
“I think you should. Just to be polite.”
He laughed and drew me to him. “I don’t know why you delight me so much, Ky, but you do. I think of you and it makes my whole body smile.” He kissed me and he made my body giggle. Heaps.
Isidoro was the most oral guy I had ever been with, and once we’d stripped off each other’s clothes, he pushed me to the bed with a hard thrust and worked on my feet with impassioned kisses. He took his time moving his way up my legs. He licked places I’d never known to be erogenous zones, since nobody had ever lavished affection on them before, such as the backs of my knees and across the bony points of my kneecaps. Everything turned me on as he flipped me onto my belly, then my back and onto my belly again, concentrating on every inch of my body. He examined every inch of my skin, pausing at my shinbone at one point. I lay back on the bed, his dark eyes looking down at mine as he knelt between my legs. “You have a small scar. How did this happen?” He ran his soft thumb pad over it, his expression grave as he held my gaze. “Who did this to you, Ky?”
I couldn’t believe he’d noticed the scar—it had been so long since I’d gotten it. To my way of thinking, he had a scary expression on his face, as though he’d hunt down the guy who’d done it and beat him to death.
He dropped a kiss on the scar, which touched me. “Tell me,” he whispered.
I shrugged. “I got it playing hockey at school.”
“And who did this to you?”
I became worried for the guy whose name in that moment I’d forgotten, anyway, and I shrugged. “It was an accident. It was hockey.”
“Hockey.” He looked amused for a moment. “I’ve never played it.”
“What was your favorite game growing up?” Now why did I go and ask him that? It was amazing how things stuck in your brain and tumbled out when you least expected. I
’d read an article about conversation starters when I’d first started dating. Maybe having to recall getting whacked with a hockey puck had jogged my memory.
Isidoro looked down at me, his head tilted at an angle. “I didn’t play games, but I had something I liked playing with.”
“A toy?”
“A cash register,” he said.
“An actual cash register or a toy one?”
He laughed. “A real one. I sold candy door to door from the time I was five years old. My mother thought it would stop the older kids from stealing my money.”
I swallowed. I’d been busy playing with grow-in-water dinosaurs at that age. And Lego. Then, I’d discovered sports. I felt like my life was so shallow and stupid in comparison with Isidoro. How did he find me even remotely attractive?
He moved up my shin and suddenly peered into my open mouth. I wasn’t sure I was up to further forensic scrutiny.
“Nice teeth,” he said. “No wonder you always have such nice breath.” He kissed me with an urgency that took me by surprise, then pulled away from me. “Don’t feel bad for me. We’ve had different lives, but I am happy now. And playing with my cash register gave me a deep love for putting things inside things and beautiful things coming out.” His wicked smile revved me up again, his face taking on a serious tone once more as he reached for my cock with greedy fingers and bent his head, sucking and licking me with vigor.
Isidoro held on to the base of my shaft so tightly it seemed to cut off the blood supply. His head bobbed up and down as he worked, and I sighed with contentment. He wrapped his fingers around my ball sac and held tightly as he swabbed my cockhead with his tongue. Suddenly he released my balls and licked them, as though making it all better. Tingles of pleasure coursed through my whole body. He tightened his hold again and sucked me. I drew in a breath, mad fireworks going off in my head when he released me a second time and licked my bursting balls.
About You Page 7
