by Tina Donahue
Dante figured if there was consciousness after death and Frank was listening now, that was the worst punishment the man could have gotten. To realize what a fine woman his daughter was and that he’d missed out on knowing her. “He wasn’t a perfect man by any standard,” Dante murmured. “But he did talk about you quite often. How he regretted what he’d done.”
Her eyes widened. “You knew?”
“He told me after he learned he had heart problems. I suggested he get in touch with you. He was too afraid. I know what I’m about to say is no excuse,” Dante added, “but when he took off, leaving you and your mom, he didn’t know how to be a man. How to love. He went through a lot of shit, mainly drugs and living on the street, before he cleaned up. By the time he did, a lot of time had passed and he thought it was too late to go back or to be Frank Simms any longer. He started a new life, just as you’d suspected. New last name, identity and all that. During his last years, he tried to make up for everything he’d done earlier, even making arrangements in his will to pay back the survivor benefits you and your mom got so you wouldn’t be burdened with it. Frank didn’t have any illusions about making peace with God. He wanted to do that with you.”
Lauren’s mouth trembled. “The attorney sent me a note from him along with the others papers. I still haven’t read it. I’ve refused to.”
“It’s okay.”
“No it’s not.”
“You can read it when you’re ready.”
She smiled sadly. “I don’t want to talk about this any longer. I’m ruining your meal. This was supposed to be fun.”
“Who said it won’t be? We’ll talk about whatever you want or we don’t have to talk at all.”
“I don’t mind talking. What is that?” She gestured to the bocaditos.
Dante didn’t comment about her change in subject. Wanting to make her feel comfortable, he smiled. “Something good.”
He selected one with white cheese bubbling out of its corners. His guess was it also had chicken inside. He lifted the treat but stopped before giving it to Lauren. Frowning, he said, “You did say you like meat, right?”
She moved their hands from her thigh to his, near his groin. “Depends. What kind we talking about?”
He leaned closer and brushed his lips over hers. Lauren’s breath spilled out on a wanting sigh. Dante murmured, “You have a dirty mind.”
“You have no idea.” Her lips moved over his with her words. “I’ve fantasized about you for weeks.”
Surprised, he pulled back. “Really?”
“Why do you think I was holed up in Frank’s office so much?” Pausing, she glanced around. Dante noticed that Ricardo wasn’t anywhere near and the other diners were busy with their own conversations. Turning back to him, Lauren spoke just above a whisper, “I was masturbating.”
He laughed softly. “You were not.”
“You’ll never know, will you?” She wrapped her free hand around his, tongued the bocadito into her mouth and let out a lusty moan at what he sensed was the pastry’s flavor.
If this was how Lauren ate when she let loose, Dante couldn’t wait until she was on her knees between his legs, loving his boys and cock. His rod stiffened as she licked pastry flakes from the corners of her mouth. She wore a look of dazed delight, just as she had when he’d been pounding his rod into her sweet, tight cunt.
He lifted another bocadito to her mouth, teasing the seam of her lips with it. A look of carnal and physical hunger flooded her face. She cooed, “What’s inside this one? The same as the other?”
“Let’s find out.” Dante bit it in half. The taste of beef and onions made his taste buds sing. “Meat,” he sighed then covered her mouth with his, transferring the food.
Lauren moaned delicately this time, probably so the other diners wouldn’t hear. Easing back, she chewed and swallowed then leaned toward him again to lick his lips.
They fed each other, washing the bites down with beer and water, until the tray was empty. When it was, Lauren sucked his fingers clean. Dante did the same with hers. Then they simply stared at each other, smiling frequently for no reason at all. Or maybe there was one.
Dante sensed Lauren felt as comfortable with him as he did with her. The night was magic. More than he’d expected. An instrumental with castanets, drums and Spanish guitars played, the beat torrid, thickening his blood. The humid air didn’t cool it, nor did Lauren. She’d toed off her sneakers and ran her foot over his toes.
“I like eating with you,” he said.
Lauren gave him a kittenish look. “We haven’t really eaten that way, have we?”
She was talking about them nude and stretched out, her head facing his feet so her mouth could caress his balls and rod, while his tongue took care of her cleft and clit. “We will. In a way you won’t be able to imagine.”
Even with the subdued lighting, Dante saw her pale skin flush. She breathed, “Yeah?”
“I hope you’re hungry,” Ricardo said, suddenly at their table with their entrees. Boliche, which was beef roast filled with hard-boiled eggs and chorizo sausage, accompanied by a mound of Spanish rice and beans.
Lauren stared at her plate as if she were having a religious experience. Dante could only wonder how many meals she’d skipped in order to pay her bills.
“You need anything else?” Ricardo asked.
A little privacy. Lauren looked reluctant to dig in while Ricardo hovered over her. “We’ll let you know,” Dante said. “I’m sure you have other tables.”
His cousin got the hint. He snickered quietly and took off.
Dante handed Lauren her fork. “Go on. Eat. All of it. I want that plate cleaned. If it’s not, there will be hell to pay.”
She ran the tines of her fork over his arm. His hair stood on end.
“Are we talking about another spanking?” she asked. “You tying me up? Doing it in a public place?”
Clearly, she hadn’t lied about fantasizing. “That’s not hell,” he assured. “That’s heaven. If—and that’s a big if—you get it. I see anything left on your plate and you—”
“I’m eating.” She shoveled a forkful of the boliche into her mouth, chewed then moaned so loudly the couple closest to them looked over. “Oh my god,” she blurted, “this is so good.”
It was. Watching her obvious pleasure increased Dante’s appetite, physically and sexually. They ate, talked, laughed and smiled at each other. The moment she was finished, he ordered another plate for her, ignoring her protests. Lauren finished half of it before pushing the rest away.
“I can’t eat another bite.” She sagged in her chair and cradled her belly. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Damn.”
“Relax. Ricardo will bring you a doggie bag. No biggie.”
She sighed. “You don’t worry about anything, do you?”
“Not now.” There was a time when he’d been where she was. Pressed against the wall by life, not knowing what to do next, chasing a dream that hadn’t really been right for him at all.
Lauren looked as though she wanted to ask what he’d meant. Before she could, Ricardo was at their table again. Dante handed his cousin her plate. “Pack this up so Lauren can take it with her.”
“You got it.”
“Wait. Did Tomás make his brazo gitano and turrōnes today?”
“A whole stack. We got a few left.”
“Throw all of them in a bag for Lauren.”
“Whoa.” She waved her hands. “What if someone else here wants them?”
“Do you even know what they are?” Dante asked.
“No.”
“Dessert,” he said. “Like nothing you’ve ever tasted. If heaven had a flavor, they’d be it. Give her all of them,” he ordered Ricardo. “And whatever other sweets you have.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Go,” Dante ordered his cousin. The young man took off. “Who’s boss here?” Dante asked her.
She fought a smile. “Your uncle who owns this place?”
Dante moved his foot from hers. She followed it, resting her toes on his again. “You?” she breathed.
Damn right.
A short time later, with her packages in hand and his free arm around her waist, Dante led Lauren back to her car. Neither of them spoke during the walk. So much promise and desire charged the air, it was an effort for him to let her go so he could put the bags on her passenger seat.
“I can give you a ride to your place,” she said.
He went around the vehicle and crowded her until she was against the door. “That’s not what I want from you.”
Her eyes sparkled in the faint night light. She whispered, “No?”
No. Dante cupped her face and kissed her hard, deep and long, his tongue filling her mouth, his cock nestled against her pussy. Lauren wrapped her arms around his torso and held on. Good thing. By the time they were finished, they had to support each other.
Breathing hard, Dante pressed his cheek against hers and whispered, “Do you have any skirts? Not the office kind. Ones you wear when you’re not working.”
She eased back and gave him an odd look. “I have a few. Why?”
Dante suckled her throat. She giggled. He spoke softly, “Start wearing them at the parlor.”
Her laughter paused. “We have a dress code now?”
“You do.” He gave her his last order of the evening. “No underwear for you from now on. No stockings. I want you in a skirt nude from the waist down when you’re around me.”
Chapter Six
“Hey, cute,” Jasmina said. Stopped in the doorway of the backroom, she smiled approvingly at Lauren’s gladiator sandals, black lace top and gypsy skirt that was printed with striking designs in dark gold and bronze.
Lauren had found the outfit at a street fair a few years back. Really pretty and super cheap, the top and skirt had spoken to her practical nature rather than her sense of fashion. In this part of the world, she figured neither would go out of style and would be comfortable to wear when she had to shop for groceries or run errands.
She’d never considered how nude she’d feel even with the gauzy fabric falling to her ankles. When Jasmina joined her at the fridge, Lauren pressed her thighs together.
“You look gorgeous,” Jasmina said in a low voice. She put a new stash of Dove bars and a box of Fudgsicles in the freezer. “You planning to make your move on Dante?”
Jasmina should have asked her that last night. Then, she’d been up for anything.
In the harsh light of day, dressed as she was, that suddenly seemed like an incredibly dumb idea to Lauren. Their lovemaking and dinner had been so enchanting, she’d arrived at the parlor earlier than usual, figuring Dante would already be here to take control, using her as they both wanted.
He hadn’t been.
There were no voicemails or emails saying where he was or when he’d show up. He’d never been this late before. For the first hour, Lauren had worried. After that, a cold dread settled on her. Probably no different from what her mother had felt when Frank had failed to return decades ago.
Lauren had almost read her father’s note when she’d returned to her condo last night but got sidetracked by the treats Dante had bought her. Turrōnes, a confection of honey and toasted almonds. Brazo gitano, sponge cake with mango marmalade. And churros, a deep-fried pastry rolled in granulated sugar.
Lauren hadn’t had so much to eat since she’d lost her job. Never had she tasted food as good. Stuffed, relaxed and happy, she’d gone to bed, recalling her toes stroking Dante’s. His impassioned kiss at her car. His hard body smacking against hers as he plunged his cock into her wet and willing cunt. His directive that she not wear panties to work any longer. Remembering that, she’d giggled like a teenager then slept better than she had in months.
Now it was time to wake up.
“Will Van Gogh be able to take all the bookings today?” Lauren asked, sounding surprisingly casual despite her growing conviction that Dante wouldn’t show up.
He wouldn’t disappear as Frank had, but he’d probably call in sick, stay away for a few days then waltz back in here and pretend nothing had happened between them. Not even some really great sex.
That was all it was, Lauren warned herself. They’d been caught up in the moment. Her more than him, and he was regretting it.
“Why would Van Gogh have to?” Jasmina asked then sucked in a breath. “Oh my god, did you fire Dante?”
“No. Of course not. Why would I?”
Jasmina looked reluctant to say.
Lauren suspected what Jasmina was thinking. That she’d finally asked Dante for a date, he’d turned her down and she’d terminated him because of it. God, this was worse than high school. Finally, she stated the obvious, “He’s not here. He’s never been this late. He’s probably going to call in and take a couple of days off.”
Jasmina made a face. “He told you that?”
“He didn’t tell me anything,” Lauren shot back. “He’s not here.”
“He will be,” she said. “No doubt about it.”
“How would you know?”
“He’s just at his meeting with a new vendor who’ll help us cut costs. He told Van Gogh and me about it yesterday. He didn’t mention it to you?”
Lauren wasn’t certain if he had. Yesterday was a blur until they’d gone at each other in the hall. Every moment after that was etched indelibly in her mind. “I guess I forgot.”
“Want me to tell you when he gets here so you can finally ask him out?”
Oh lord. “No.” Lauren backed away. Her skirt fluttered around her legs. Jasmina looked at it again. Before she saw more than she should, Lauren hurried down the hall to Frank’s office.
She closed the door, sank to her chair and ordered herself to get a grip. This was so unlike her. The last time she’d behaved as foolishly was when she’d spent Christmas Day in bed rather than looking for work. She’d wasted time that she wouldn’t get back.
Unlike Dante, who probably had countless relatives eager to help him, Lauren didn’t have anyone.
It’s okay. You’re strong. You’ll survive.
Like there was a choice.
She posted numerous ads on free online sites, offering the parlor for sale. The last batch she’d placed at other sites was answered by young tattoo artists even more strapped for cash than she was. The callers all expected Lauren to carry them as they made minimum payments on the debt.
“It’ll be like what you do with a credit card,” one guy had explained. “You can trust me. I’m good for it.”
Sure.
Next, she scoured the job boards for HR jobs. There were a couple of great openings, dovetailing perfectly with her skills. As she fine-tuned her resume, the parlor started hopping. Men’s and women’s voices drifted down the hall. She heard Jasmina’s cheery greetings, Van Gogh’s subdued hellos, but not Dante’s deep voice.
Maybe it took a lot of time to strong-arm a vendor for a cheaper price. Could be he’d stopped at Castillo’s for a plate of boliche, asking for it in Spanish.
Lauren sagged in her chair, recalling how his smooth, deep voice had sounded wrapped around words she hadn’t understood. No wonder they called Spanish a romance language. Even thinking about his lilting conversation with Ricardo made her toes curl and her heart sink. Dante had given her the best night of her life and Lauren didn’t trust that it would last. Mainly because it wouldn’t.
Sighing deeply, she returned to the various drafts of her resume, proofread each dozens of times, spell- and grammar-checked them then suffered through the lengthy online forms. She was about to hit send on the last one when there was a firm knock on her door.
Lauren’s heart shot to her throat while the rest of her went weak with desire. “Yeah?” she asked then winched at how her voice caught.
Jasmina opened the door, mouthed something and smiled.
Lauren frowned. “What?”
Two bikers lumbered down the hall, their heads turning at Jasmina’s short cut-off
s and long legs. When they stopped to ogle her, Van Gogh called out, “That’s the office. Your appointments are back here with me.”
“Go on,” Jasmina ordered the guys sweetly but firmly then hurried to Lauren’s desk and whispered. “Dante’s back. He doesn’t have a booking for an hour. Go for it.” Without waiting for an answer, she took off, closing the door behind her.
Lauren held her breath, listened hard and heard nothing except Selena’s Dreaming of You, loud male laughter—no doubt from the bikers—and the rush of blood in her ears.
“Go for it,” Jasmina had said.
For what? A few minutes of fun? Dante’s weight pressing into her, his heat and scent offering comfort?
Wasn’t enough. She’d want more. She’d yearn and would lose her focus, allowing herself to be open to hurt. That wasn’t the woman she was.
Lauren hit send, shooting her application through cyberspace.
“Hey,” Dante said to someone just outside her door.
Lauren stopped breathing again.
“How’s it going?” Dante added.
A man’s voice answered, too low for her to hear what he’d said. She stared at the door, expecting it to open. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Her stomach fluttered.
There were more footfalls in the hall. Jasmina’s voice. Selena finished her sweet song. An earthy, vibrant instrumental replaced it.
Lauren’s legs bounced. She tried to keep them still but couldn’t. What was Dante doing out there? If he was still in the hall. If not, why hadn’t he come inside the office before he’d left?
Uh-uh. She didn’t want to know. Wouldn’t think about it. She had stuff to work on.
Her job application had gone through. There was the standard “congratulations, your resume is being processed” notification on her computer screen. She glanced over as someone walked by her door. Not Dante. The footfalls were too light. Probably a woman. Possibly his first client of the day.
Wait. Jasmina had said he wasn’t booked for an hour.
Lauren turned back to her screen. More footfalls. Voices. Music.
Hell. She left her office and went into Dante’s workstation. His back was to her, his attention on his computer screen, probably his client bookings for today. His thick, dark hair looked freshly shampooed. The room smelled of his clean, masculine scent. Lightheaded, Lauren closed the door and locked it.
