I love it when he does that!
His breathing picks up, and the way he’s holding me becomes more intense. He pulls off my T-shirt, which falls to the floor.
I let myself be carried away by the passion of the moment when Eric suddenly lifts me up in the air and rolls with me back down on the bed. We both hear the same terrible sound.
He’s stunned and stares at me.
“That was not what you think,” I say, trying to explain. Eric arches his brow. “What you just heard was the cake I brought you, which is now smashed under my ass.”
I see his eyes scan down to my butt, confirming the flattened chocolate cake. He falls back on the bed, laughing. I can’t move. If I do, I’ll make a mess of this cake all over the bed. I watch him rolling around and laughing. And, finally, I join him.
“Well, the cake is history, but at least our coffees are alive and well,” I say.
Eric stretches his arm, picks up a cup, and takes a long swallow.
“What are you doing?”
“Having breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
He nods. “And now I want my cake.”
When I see where he’s going, I shake my head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I want my cake,” he insists.
“I said don’t even think about it.”
But when I see how determined he is, I laugh and put up no resistance when he flips me over on the bed.
“Eric, no!”
But it doesn’t matter what I say. My crazy love is licking my butt cheeks.
“Hmm . . . this is the best cake I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Eric!” I protest, but he just keeps on licking and sucking his cake.
I’m laughing much too hard.
“This is quite a banquet.”
“It was supposed to be a gift.”
“Great! Remind me later to give you your gift.”
“You have a gift for me?”
“Did you have any doubts? Like you said, it’s our one-month anniversary!”
I’m laughing when he flips me over again.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
I grab a piece of the squashed cake and smear some on my breasts, then down on my navel and my mound.
I decide to smear it all over him as well, and I grab another piece and smash it against his belly and his shoulder.
Dessert is served!
Eric is playful and throws himself on top of me and kisses me. That cake is completely destroyed and all over the two of us on the bed at this point.
“You’ve always seemed sweet to me, sweetheart, but never more than today.”
Eric sucks my breasts as I breathe in the smell of chocolate. He follows the trail I’ve left him and goes down to my navel, and, when he gets to my mound, he inhales my scent and dives directly for me. He opens my legs, and his tongue goes right inside me.
I twist when I feel vibrations all over my body as he, like a hungry wolf, pushes my thighs down for better access.
“Oh yes . . . yes . . . ,” I say.
He does this over and over, running his tongue on my wetness. His playful fingers quickly find me, and he penetrates me with two of them as his tongue plays and plays with me, and I cry out with delight.
The bed moves, and I grab the sheets and try not to scream. I don’t want everyone else to wake up. I push down with my feet on the mattress until my head falls off the side of the bed.
Eric holds me and centers me on the bed, and now I can’t move. I see him biting his lower lip as he gets up on his knees, grabs me by the waist, and turns me over.
I love how he handles me in bed. I love his possessiveness. And since I know what he wants, I get up a little bit so I’m on all fours. He brings me his hard cock and slowly glides into me.
“More,” I demand.
“You want more?”
“Yes . . .”
“You’re eager,” he says, teasing.
“I like being eager,” I say. “Go deeper.”
He slaps my ass and grabs my hips and gives me what I want, burying himself in me as I groan. I bite the sheets.
“Shh . . . Don’t scream or you’ll wake everybody up,” he whispers in my ear.
He goes in and out of me again and again while I bite the sheets to drown my screams. I love what he does. I like our wild side, and, trying to keep him going, I arch my hips and push back on him.
The two of us pant even harder.
He stops abruptly. He takes his stiff erection out of me and turns me around again. Our eyes meet. He starts to penetrate me again.
“Look at me,” he says.
I stare right at him. He’s my king, my sun, and then it’s me who jerks my pelvis up and surprises him. He smiles slyly at me.
Wow . . . the Iceman awakens!
He puts a hand under me to keep me from moving, and, pressing against me, he kisses me while he continues to fuck me, and all our panting and moaning drowns in our mouths.
Pleasure . . .
Heat . . .
Desire . . .
And love . . .
It’s everything I feel as he thrusts in and out of me, and I open up to receive him until I spasm and come. An instant later, he impales me one final time, and after a long groan, he falls limp on top of me.
I won’t let him go. I’m trembling as his body presses against me. He is wet from sweat, and I hug him even tighter.
Two minutes later, Eric rolls over on the bed and takes me with him so I’m on top of him. He loves doing that. He loves having me on top.
My hair is full of cake and chocolate, and we’re both still covered in the stuff.
“When my sister asks you if you liked the cake, say yes, or she’ll kill me,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” Eric says, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m completely convinced it’s the best cake I’ve ever had in my life.”
We both laugh. Five minutes later, the sugar begins to glue us together, and we get up and go straight to the shower. Passion overtakes us once more as we wash, and I get to make love with my German once again.
6
That afternoon, everyone except Juan Alberto, who went to see a potential client, is gathered at Pachuca’s restaurant. Eric has invited them to celebrate our one-month anniversary.
Before going to the restaurant, he gives me my gift. It’s in an envelope. Eric and his envelopes. I laugh and open it.
“Good for one complete motocross crew.”
He’s happy. His face, his eyes, his smile tell me everything is all right, and I am the happiest woman in the world. I cover him in kisses.
I am astonished we haven’t had a single argument since we got married. I have been thinking about calling the editors at the Guinness Book of World Records. Like our song says, if he says white, I say black, but we’ve been so happy so far. We’re in complete harmony, and I hope this lasts a long, long time.
My father is beaming because he has us all here, and I love seeing him happy. I’ve always thought he’s the best father in the world, and I feel confirmed in this with every passing day. He’s getting an express ticket to heaven just for putting up with my sister and me.
He and Eric get along marvelously, and I love that. I love seeing their complicity, and, even though it won’t always be in my favor, I don’t care. That ease between them is something my father never had with that pig of an ex-son-in-law.
Eric listens to him and doesn’t try to be clever with him, which pleases my father and pleases me even more.
It’s very clear they come from different social classes, but they both try to adapt to the circumstances, and that’s what I think I love about each of them: that they know how to be.
As we all sit at the table, I see Dexter eyeing some young men who’ve just come into the restaurant. Graciela’s just back from the bathroom when they whistle at her.
I love the way Dexter tries to look like a tough guy. I don’t know what’s goi
ng to happen between them, but something is going to happen. Dexter just needs a little time.
My sister seems more relaxed. After talking to her and hearing that my foolish ex-brother-in-law wants to get back together with her, I’m relieved when Raquel makes it clear that’s never going to happen. He’s already taken enough advantage of her, and she’s not going to give him another chance.
In addition, my father has convinced her to stay and live with him in Jerez, at least during baby Lucía’s first year. It sets back returning to Madrid and looking for work, but I think it’s an excellent idea. With my father, Raquel will live like a queen, even though they may want to strangle each other now and again.
Flyn and Luz have become very good friends during this vacation, and when I hear about some of their adventures, I can’t help but laugh. Every time someone mentions that we’re going back to Germany in a few days, they get sad, although they understand the school year will start up again shortly and that we all have to go back to our regular lives.
“Did you like the cake this morning?” my sister asks Eric as Pachuca brings out her cake.
Eric grins foolishly.
“It was the best cake I’ve ever had in my life,” he says.
Raquel is delighted with the compliment. “Well, whenever you like, let me know, and I’ll make you a lemon cake, which is also quite delicious,” she offers.
“Lemon?” whispers Eric. “How refreshing!”
I can’t help it and just crack up; Eric does too. We kiss.
“Oh, Cuchu, love is so beautiful when it’s mutual,” says my sister, rocking baby Lucía in her arms.
But that comment, said with just a trace of longing, saddens me. I’d really love it if Raquel would meet somebody and start her life over again. She needs to. She is the kind of woman who really needs a man by her side to love her and make her happy. And that man is not my father.
The days pass, and we have a splendid time in Jerez. Juan Alberto has meetings with various companies in Andalusia and happily reports that he sees possibilities for his business in the region. During this time, I notice how he looks at my sister. He’s clearly interested, and I’ve also picked up that he’s getting along very well with my niece. Frankly, it’s hard not to get along with Luz; she’s so easygoing that the minute you pay attention to her and play her games, she loves you for the rest of your life.
Obviously, Raquel knows exactly what’s going on, and I’m surprised when the days go by and she doesn’t mention it. But, as I always say, my sister is my sister, and she finally opens up one afternoon when just she and I are sunbathing by the pool at my father’s house.
“Juan Alberto is handsome, isn’t he?” she asks.
“Yes.”
I wait . . . If she wants to talk about it, I’m ready, but she takes her time.
“He seems well educated, don’t you think?” she says after a few minutes.
“Yes.”
I smile. She looks at me sideways.
“What do you think of him as a man?”
“He’s good-looking.”
“Do you know what he said to me the other day when we were all going out to dinner?”
“No.”
“Do you want to know?”
“Of course . . . tell me.”
Graciela joins us at exactly that moment, and I imagine my sister’s going to shut up, but, to my surprise, she goes on.
“The other night, after we’d had a few drinks and were on our way over to your house, he looked me in the eye and said, ‘You’re like a delicious cappuccino: sweet, hot, and you make me nervous.’”
“He said that?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, that’s an exact quote.”
“Well . . . that’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”
Raquel nods. “Yes, it’s rather elegant actually, like him.”
We’re quiet, but I know her, this peace won’t last long. In less than two minutes, she sits back up.
“Now every time he sees me, he says, ‘Sabrosa!’”
“Sabrosa?” asks Graciela as she sits up too. “In Mexico, that’s like saying you’re really hot, or I’d eat you up right here and now.”
“Seriously?” asks Raquel, who’s now blushing. Graciela nods.
I try not to laugh. My sister is trying to keep it together—that’s new. Suddenly, she punches me on the arm.
“All right, enough! I can’t keep pretending I don’t like that handsome Mexican. He’s got the face and voice of a soap opera star, and whenever he says ‘sabrosa’ . . . oh, Cuchu, I feel it all over my body. And now that I know what it means . . . oh God, that’s hot!”
I burst out laughing.
“Cuchu, please don’t laugh. I’m worried.”
“Worried?”
She leans in toward Graciela and me.
“I’ve had some very sexy dreams about him, and now the one who’s all shaky without having had a cappuccino is me.”
I’m still laughing. My sister is hilarious. But she really does look worried.
“So, let’s see, you like Juan Alberto?”
My sister picks up her orange Fanta and takes a long swallow.
“I like him more than eating crawfish with my hands.”
The three of us roar with laughter.
“I’d like to know more about him, Cuchu. He’s a very nice guy, and I like his personality.”
“He’s not right for you, Raquel.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s going back to Mexico and—”
“Why would I care about that?”
That throws me off. Of course she’s going to care about that.
“I’m not looking for him to swear eternal love or anything like that,” she says. “I want to be a modern woman for once in my life and know what it’s like to have a little fling.”
“What?” I ask, stunned.
“Cuchufleta, I just want to have a good time. Forget my problems. To feel pretty and desired. I just don’t want to mess around with him and later find out he’s married. I don’t want to be the cause of another woman’s suffering.”
My sister is the most conventional person on the face of the earth, but now she wants to have a little fling? I’m totally flabbergasted.
It’s clear she wants me to tell her something about her possible fling, but I just look over at Graciela. She knows Juan Alberto better than I do.
“A fling?”
She smiles. She’s so pretty when she does.
“Oh, Cuchu, I must be very desperate for attention because, when I’m with him or he says ‘sabrosa,’ all I want to do is grab him by the neck, throw him in my room, and do things to him,” she says. “I mean, he just really revs me up!”
Revs her up?
My sister just said Juan Alberto revs her up?
I’m dying here. My God! Raquel desperately needs sex and really wants me to give her any info at all about this guy.
“Graciela, you know Juan Alberto better than I do, so, please, help my sister out and tell her something about him,” I say.
“Well, he’s divorced and—”
“Divorced?”
“Uh-huh . . .”
My sister actually likes that. She quickly takes another swallow of her orange Fanta.
“His full name is Juan Alberto Riquelme de San Juan Bolívares.”
“See? He has a soap opera name,” whispers Raquel.
“Yes, I can see,” I say, teasing.
“He’s forty years old, and he’s Dexter’s cousin on his mother’s side. He doesn’t have kids. His ex-wife, Jazmina, who’s a viper to be avoided, never wanted kids in the six years they were married, but now that she’s divorced, she’s pregnant with her new partner.”
“There are women like that,” says my sister.
“Yes,” I say, thinking I don’t want kids either.
“Juanal owns a very successful security firm in Mexico, and he’s trying to expand his business to Europe with this trip. He’s a guy who
likes being home, who’s very loving and a very good friend to his friends.”
I watch my sister process the information Graciela is providing.
“I figured out about his not having kids. You only had to take one look at him with Lucía to realize he’d never had a baby in his arms his whole life.”
“Well, Eric doesn’t have kids either and—”
“But he’s different,” affirms Raquel.
“Different how?” I ask.
“Because he has raised his nephew by himself, and I’m sure when Flyn was a baby, he was super loving with him. You just have to see how he takes care of him, how he spoils Luz and how he falls apart with Lucía. And, anyway, speaking of kids—”
“No,” I say, cutting her off. “We haven’t talked about having them yet, so we don’t have to go there.”
But as soon as I say that, I realize how both my sister and Graciela are looking at me.
“Oh, Cuchufleta,” says Raquel as she drops back down, “and to think of how pretty those kids are going to be!”
Why does everyone insist I have kids?
In the end, and since I don’t want to talk about this, I just lie back down, deciding to simply enjoy the Andalusian sun.
That night, when we all gather at my father’s house for dinner, I watch Juan Alberto and my sister more carefully. They don’t make a bad couple.
After dinner, when Raquel gets off her cell after talking to her ex, I watch as Juan Alberto calms her down. Every time my ex-brother-in-law calls, my sister goes out of her mind.
My father looks over at me, and I arch my brows and suddenly realize he’s smiling and nodding toward Juan Alberto. I can imagine what he’s thinking.
Papá, I know you all too well!
The days pass, and we need to go back to Germany. Vacation is over. Eric has to get back to work, Flyn’s school is starting, and our lives need to get back on track.
After one last meal at Pachuca’s restaurant, in which Flyn and I almost drown in her tomato soup, we decide to go out for drinks on our final night.
My father excuses himself. He prefers to stay home and take care of the kids.
At eight in the evening, when Juan Alberto gets back from a trip to Málaga, we go by my father’s house to pick up Raquel.
Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me Page 7
