by Robin Leaf
I need to know she doesn’t hate me.
So after stripping off my confining t-shirt and kicking off my shoes, I sit, swirling the last remnants of whiskey in my glass unable to shut down my mind, even for a second.
Images flash that I can’t shake, haunting me. The moment I first saw her. Her dancing in the garage. Our connection at the strip club and in the dressing room. Her reactions in the sex club. Being between her thighs. Her face in the warehouse the next morning when I walked away. Watching her dance at the night club opening. Leaving her again after the video watch party. The dressing room at the concert. Her defeated look today.
More daunting images swirl, tugging at the darkness always lurking inside me.
Jason lying in that hospital bed because I was too selfish to stop myself from one night of pleasure and left him to clean up the mess on his own.
The senator and his smugness, getting away with treason because I wasn’t good enough to get the evidence we needed.
The evil face of De La Torre, who is still kidnapping and selling young girls into slavery and illegally selling guns that kill children and the innocent because I didn’t avoid the fucking wire that ended my military career.
Jenkins and Turk lying in their own blood because of my carelessness.
My mistakes… they’re all on me.
Just like the mistakes I made that led to Cristiana getting targeted by whoever I put in her path.
I couldn’t protect any of them. In fact, it’s all my fault. Every single thing.
God, I’m such a disgrace to my father.
If I had not been there today, she would have walked in that apartment alone, with her sassy determination overtaking her self-preservation. No telling what could have happened to her. And it would have been my fault.
All my fault.
I didn’t protect her.
Just like before.
So many times before.
Jenkins and Turk.
All those kids.
My country.
Jason.
All on me.
An image flashes of Cristiana lying on the floor, blood pooling around her. I squeeze my eyes to make the image go away, but it’s too late. I can’t un-see it.
She whimpers, pleading. I watch as the life drains out of her eyes. I can do nothing but watch her die.
“Hey,” I hear from beside me. “Shhh,” a hand touches my chest. “Noah, I’m fine. Look at me.”
I can’t open my eyes. If I do, I’ll see it again.
Hands caress my cheeks, my forehead, my eyebrows. They feel nice. I feel my face relax.
“That’s it. Abre tus ojos, güero. Mírame.”
I open my eyes as she requests and look up at her. She hovers over me, radiantly beautiful, with a look of concern. I grab her wrists and start to pull her hands away from my face.
“No,” she shakes her head. “Let me.”
Relaxing, I wait a beat before letting go of her. Her hands begin caressing me again, and I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“Eres bien hermosa. Te ves como un ángel.”
She smiles. “You should tell me I look like a beautiful angel in Spanish more often.”
I just stare and focus on her touch. It’s soothing my mind.
Her hands move down my neck to my shoulders, bracing herself as she very carefully straddles my legs and sits. I place my hands on her hips and take a slow, deep breath as the gentle rubbing back and forth across my shoulders relaxes me even more. She moves her hands to my chest.
“I don’t deserve –”
“Shh,” she cuts me off, continuing to trail her fingertips across my skin. “I have wanted to touch these tattoos since I saw them,” she croons lowly, tracing the ink she can see. “Soon, you can tell me about them.”
She continues to touch me, calming my soul. I let my head fall back against the cushion and close my eyes, relishing in the warmth of her hands on my body.
She stops for a moment, and I feel her adjust on my lap. When she settles, she leans closer so that her lips graze up and down the column of my throat. What feels like naked skin grazes the skin of my chest.
My hands move from her hips to just above the waistline of her shorts. I feel no fabric, so I move them up her back. She has removed her shirt and bra.
“Nana,” I hear myself say, with a half-hearted attempt to push her away.
“Please, relax Noah, let me take care of you.” She kisses my cheek by my ear. “Nothing needs to happen. My intention is only to comfort you.”
Gentle kisses land on my temple, across my forehead, over my eyelids. She is careful, deliberate, and perfect.
She eases herself to standing and grabs both my hands and pulls, urging me to stand. I allow her to lead me to my bed.
“May I help you take off your jeans?” she asks quietly.
I nod, and she carefully opens them, pushing them down my legs, and helps me step out of them. She quickly shucks her shorts, and we both stand in front of each other wearing nothing but our underwear.
She gives me a minute to take her in, drinking in all her beauty – her loose curls hanging around her shoulders, her perfect breasts, her slender waist, the flare of her hips – before she climbs onto my bed and scoots to the center, pulling me down to cradle me on her chest. She runs her nails through my hair. My God, it feels divine.
“You know the first time I saw you,” I hear myself say, “you were on the dancefloor at that stupid school dance. I was so captivated by you. I couldn’t see your face, but I knew right then you were extraordinary.”
Her arms tighten around me in a quick hug.
“Then on that beach at my sister’s birthday, you captivated me again. I wanted you from the moment I saw you, but you were too young, and I was leaving soon. I thought about you so often after I left. You were always the question mark in my head. The ‘what if.’” I lift my head to look in her eyes. “No other woman has ever had that profound of an effect on me.” Cupping her cheek, I move closer to her. “It’s always been you, cariño.”
My lips gently stroke across hers once before I pull back and lay my head back down on her chest. Her hand resumes rubbing my head. My hand that’s resting on her stomach takes the liberty of stroking her skin, which is so soft against my callused fingers. She holds me tighter, and I feel her breathing quicken. She really likes me touching her.
Even if I don’t deserve her, I love how she feels. I want to feel more, so my hand travels further on each pass of her skin. I meet no resistance or protest, so I continue until I reach her breast, but I hesitate, unsure what I can do.
I feel her smile against my forehead. “Do what you need to do, güero.”
God, the last time she gave me that same permission… I wanted her so badly. Now she’s here, offering comfort after the day she had. I should be comforting her. I start to pull away when her hand lands over mine, encouraging it to continue on the path it was headed. I cup her breast in my palm, rubbing my thumb over her nipple. She arches slightly and makes a noise similar to a purr, and I thumb it again before I let go.
Nuzzling against her, I kiss the swell of her breast softly. My tongue can’t resist a quick taste of her skin. It’s warm, slightly salty.
Realizing I’m crossing a line, I pull back, attempting to retreat. Her arms tighten, holding me to her.
“Take whatever you need from me, please, Noah. It’s okay.”
I search her face for some sort of sign she’s unsure and see nothing but warmth, understanding… acceptance.
“How can you look at me like that when I –”
She places her hand over my mouth. “Because whatever you feel for me,” she runs her fingertips down my cheek, “I feel for you.”
I shake my head, about to protest.
“Noah, if I told you what you told me, would it matter? Would you let me feel guilt or shame for any of it?”
“You don’t know everything –”
“I told you… there’s nothing
you can tell me that would make me stop wanting you, Noah Reed. Nothing.” She places her hand in the middle of my chest. “You’re a good man.”
I wince, closing my eyes tightly, and shake my head.
“I don’t feel like a good man.”
“And that’s what proves you are a good one. You wouldn’t carry all this guilt, all this responsibility if you weren’t. I wouldn’t trust you if you weren’t. I wouldn’t want you as much as I do.” She puts her fingertips under my chin, directing me to look in her eyes. “And I do. I want you. Every part of you. Heart and soul. Mind and body. Your flaws and your perfections.” She leans in and whispers in my ear. “And I’m offering you the same of me, güero. All you gotta do is take it.”
I feel every ounce of restraint snap as I dive for her lips, cupping her face in my hands. I kiss her with the reverence she deserves. The fact that she’s allowing me is a miracle in itself, but that she’s returning it blows my mind.
We aren’t in a hurry. There’s no rush to get anywhere, no direness, no urgency. There’s just me, showing her how much I care. How much she means to me.
Her hands are first to roam, stroking her fingers across my shoulders and down my arms. God, her hands on me, they are so soothing. So calming. So healing. I’m being touched by an angel.
I focus on her touch and how our mouths move, breathing her in. Feeling her skin on mine. She is offering so much more than comfort. What she’s doing is convincing me that I am the good man she claims me to be.
My hands follow her lead, taking off on a southward journey. I feel across her collar bones and shoulders, traveling at a slow pace. My lips stay where they are for now, moving with hers.
I feel the swell of her breast, gently moving around it until I get underneath. Again, I cup it, learning the shape and feeling the weight in my palm, before I ease toward her nipple. She makes a noise of approval, sort of a sighed grunt, when I flick my thumb across it. I pinch lightly, pulling upward, and let go. Her back arches into me, asking me to do it again, and I do it a few more times. Her touch has moved down my back, and when I pinch harder, she grips me with her fingertips.
After a few minutes, I move my hand down her stomach to the top of her underwear. I toy with the elastic, gaining access under it to caress her lower belly. As I get dangerously close to her pussy, she tilts her hips forward ever so slightly. I suppress my smile. She’s trying so hard to let me go at my pace, but her body is impatient. I mustn’t make an angel wait.
My fingers travel along her slit. She’s wetter than she was the last time I touched her a year ago. I break my lips from hers and slide them to her ear to tell her.
“Estas bien mojada, cariño.”
Her wetness floods my fingers even more. I now get how much it turns her on when I speak Spanish to her. I find her clit and I rub tiny circles just as my tongue enters her mouth, caressing her tongue like I want to do to her pussy. She lets out a tiny moan, moving her hips to get more friction. I don’t speed up or slow down. I simply play, twisting and pinching lightly.
Her thighs begin to tremble, and before I can react, she moans into my mouth, arching into me, shuddering and digging her fingertips into my back.
I pull back from her mouth to watch her face, and what a fucking glorious sight it is. She feels sheer fucking ecstasy in record time from what little I touched her. I want to see if I can pull another one out of her, but she presents a tempting offer.
“Please,” she pants. “I need to feel you inside me.” Her hands find the waistband of my underwear and begin pulling at them desperately. “Now, please.”
Her desperation is contagious. I pull off her underwear as she maneuvers mine down far enough to free my cock. Her right hand grips me, guiding me to her opening. Her hips come forward so that the tip of my cock slides into her.
Oh Jesus, I don’t want to rush this. I really want to enjoy this feeling of sliding into her for the first time, but once my cock is nestled in her warmth, I have to really check my need to slam into her repeatedly.
“Noah,” she moans, clutching my back and wrapping her legs around my ass, pulling me in deeper. “Please.”
“Te voy a hacer sentir tan bien, Cristiana. Despacito.”
I’m totally wrapped in Cristiana, and I’m pretty sure my promise to make her feel good will be honored. I’m just not too sure how long I can keep up with the “slowly” part.
I finally move, and sweet mother of pearl, I’m in paradise. She is an angel, and being inside her takes me to heaven.
My lips travel from hers, down her neck and back up again. Tasting. Worshiping.
“God, Cristiana, te adoro, mí ángel hermosa.”
She whimpers my name on a prayer right before I feel her walls tighten around my shaft. Jesus, if she comes now, it’ll be all over.
“Don’t come yet, cariño. I don’t want this to end.”
“There better be more times, güero.” Her fingernails dig into my ass. “You just feel too good.”
Shit, that did it. My spine tingles, but I try to hold off until I can get her to come first. I adjust the angle of my hips, searching for the spot that will tumble her over the edge. She cries out, and I know I’ve hit it. Quickening my pace, it takes three more thrusts before I feel her clutching me from the inside, squeezing me so tightly, I can do nothing but pump more furiously inside her.
I lose all control of my body, giving it totally over to her.
Like a bullet, my orgasm rockets through me, and I tremble and quake damn near close to what she did.
I collapse on top of her, feeling her arms and legs surround me, enveloping me. Comforting me. Loving me. Making me feel whole for the first time in years.
This is the only place I want to be for the rest of my life, in the arms of this angel.
Twenty Nine
Cristiana
I stayed up watching over Noah, holding him to make sure he wouldn’t have another episode like the one that woke me up. The way he was howling my name… it was heartbreaking.
I had to go to him; there was no choice.
I never asked him about his dream, nor did he offer any explanation. He was freaked and trembling, and I knew he needed me. Taking care of him made me realize something: with all that stuff he admitted to me earlier, none of it matters. I now know for certain what scared the shit out of me back in high school.
Noah Reed is the one, the man with whom I’m meant to fall in love.
It’s why I’ve been so afraid of him, not just because he can break me. It’s because he is one of the people I need in my life. One I can count on.
One I can’t live without.
I told myself I never wanted someone who would get in the way of my career, someone who would hold me back. I really just never wanted to give anyone the opportunity to use me.
Right now, I want to ignore the uncertainty of what is happening with Ignacio and whoever is after me. I want to stay here, wrapped up in each other and push myself over that cliff, diving headlong into that dark side I’ve been afraid of since I met him.
All those things he said were beautiful to hear, and I believe with all my heart that he meant them. But that insecure little puta that lives inside my head, who had been quiet for a long time, is currently trying to convince me that his speech was just one of those heat-of-the-moment things men use to get laid. I can usually shut her up with street tacos, but I haven’t fed her any of those in almost a year. I mean that could be why she’s so chatty now, but she was more likely awakened when Noah and his talented fingers and big cock gave me two embarrassingly quick orgasms.
A dios mío, that was the best sex of my life.
I’ve only had sex with two-and-a-half partners. The half partner was my first experience during my senior year in high school with a guy who only made it an inch in before he finished, so he doesn’t really count. The second, was an awful one night stand at a club with a guy who freaked out when he found out I was technically a virgin. Of course he finished first,
then he couldn’t get away fast enough.
The third… well, I guess I can call him a “boyfriend” since we were together for almost a year, was one of the strippers at Tony’s club. We broke up when he “accidentally” had sex with one of the brides in the alley outside the club after her bachelorette party. I wouldn’t have known about it except that the groom stormed into the club and demanded that Tony fire Joaquin, presenting pretty graphic pictures one of the bridesmaids took, the same pictures he presented at the ceremony when the priest asked if anyone would object to their union. I had to admire the groom’s style, even if he provided the proof that blew my first-and-only relationship to hell. No telling how many rides Joaquin gave brides before he got caught.
But even if I’d had a hundred partners, nothing would compare to what I experienced earlier. Why? Because of the connection we shared. I touched his soul, and he branded mine. I gave him permission to take what he needed from me. My heart went willingly and now solely belongs to him.
I think it always has.
***
I awake with a start, probably because of the huge ass body not usually next to me, and it’s radiating so much heat. It’s barely light outside, but my bladder tells me going back to sleep is not an option. Carefully maneuvering out of the bed, I make my way to the bathroom, feeling every ounce of soreness from what he did to me last night.
When I’m done, I find Noah’s shirt on the floor and put it on. God, it smells like him, and it makes me want to climb back in that bed for a repeat of last night, but he needs sleep after his… whatever that was. His painful wailing of my name will haunt me for a while.
I need caffeine before I even try to find where he launched my underwear, so I pray to all that’s holy that he has a coffee maker or things might get ugly.
