Justine snorts indignantly when I tell her how long it’s been for me. “What? You haven’t sex in in two years? Come on. I don’t believe that. Are we having some sort of celibacy contest that I wasn’t aware of?”

  I open my mouth, about to tell her about Christina, but then decide against it. I don’t want to ruin my window of opportunity with Justine. Although at this point, that window is only open a crack, and I expect she’ll want to sleep in a guest bedroom. “It’s true. I haven’t had sex in a long time. I’ve had better things to do. Sorry I don’t fit your stereotype of a Latin lover.”

  “You know I don’t think that. But why? Why haven’t you been with anyone? That’s strange. And trust me, the bar for strange is pretty high this week.”

  “It’s not important, and I don’t feel like talking about it. Tell me about your ex.” I want to know what I’m up against as I screw her. Will she be thinking of him? Wishing it was him on top of her and not me?

  She sighs. “Jared was a mistake, an honest one. We should have just stayed friends. He was smart and funny, and yet we didn’t have that…”

  The heaviness in my chest actually lifts. Why do I feel triumphant every time I discover that I’m still the first, the only, in Justine’s life?

  “Connection?” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and when she nods, I know the moment I’ve been waiting for has finally come.

  I want to lunge for her mouth, want to press her down on the rug. But something tells me I should take it a little slower, that I should seduce her and make her wait. So I clear the room of the little table and hold out my hand. She rises, her eyes blazing like a scared, trapped panther.

  I pull her into my arms, and we begin to sway. I’ve always loved the romance of old movies, how men were silent and strong and knew when to seduce and be soft.

  This is one of those times when I need to plot every move, every second. Justine’s expecting me to pounce. But I’m holding her in my arms, bathing in her perfume, feeling her hair against my lips. She shudders, and in the glow of the candlelight, I notice goosebumps on her arms.

  “I went to the spa and endured the waxing. It hurt. I’m totally bare,” she murmurs.

  I normally liked a bit of hair on Justine when we’d been together before. I loved her smell and how her hair down there felt. But I’ve been thinking about this all day, and my dick is at full attention now. She presses against me, and I know she can feel my erection. Justine tells me that she didn’t spend all of the money the way I’d asked. No matter. I’ll punish her for that later. Right now she’s snuggled in my arms, and I’m still thinking about the waxing.

  Prolonging the crackling tension a few minutes longer, I sing a bit of the old Cuban bolero in her ear and my hands slide to her ass.

  Is she wearing underwear? I can’t feel any panty lines. “Want to show me your new lingerie?”

  “Yes, Rafecito, I do. Unzip me.”

  I do, slowly, teasing her and myself. Her back is so fucking sexy.

  I trail my finger down the column of her spine. I have to catch my breath when the dress falls away. She’s naked, except for the heels, her apple-shaped ass destroying any shred of concentration or anger that I had.

  She turns around, and my eyes skim her body, then stop at her bare pussy. I lick my lips. Did I just say something about how gorgeous she was? I’m not sure if I’m even conscious at this point. I’m mesmerized by her skin, by how soft her stomach is, by how the curve of her hips is like a sculpture, by how the seam of her sex perfectly hides the area I’ve been fantasizing about all day.

  Taking me by the hand, she leads me to the sofa, where she sits and tells me to get on my knees. I’m supposed to be the one giving the commands, but for now, I’m just grateful that she’s sharing her gorgeous body with me. How can I be angry with her when she’s naked? This is what I’ve waited for all these years, and I’m ready to sample everything she’ll give me.

  I kneel, and she opens her legs. Oh, fuck. She’s soaking wet. I can see her pink skin glistening in the candlelight, ready for me. This is going to be an incredible month. I run a finger around her bare skin, reveling in the slippery slit of her sex.

  “You know what I’m going to do, don’t you, Justi?”

  With a well of self-control I didn’t know I possessed, I press my mouth to her inner thigh and not between her legs. I need to taste her, and I kiss up her leg, inhaling her musky, sweet scent. I’m acutely aware of how my dick feels like it’s being strangled in my jeans. I want to let it loose, but I also want her in my mouth.

  Decisions, decisions. I start to undo my jeans right at the time my lips slide over Justine’s wet skin.

  Screw the jeans. With my fingers, I spread Justine’s lips so I can expose her. I growl when I see how her folds are still deep pink, like the petals of a perfect flower. I can see the shadow of her clit and the promise of what’s to come. I lick my lips. When she tosses her hair and whimpers, I know I haven’t forgotten how to appeal to all of her senses.

  And she hasn’t forgotten how to appeal to me, either, because every time I kiss her, every time I grab her flesh, every time I get a fresh lick of her, my heart feels like it’s going to burst.

  The tip of my tongue makes contact with her sensitive skin, and then I kiss her deeply down there.

  “Oh, God, Rafa.” She tilts my head up, so I’m looking at her. She runs two fingers over the wetness coating my lips. “I still love…” Her voice trails off.

  I hold my breath and stare into her half-lidded eyes.

  “I still love this, Rafa.”

  She guides me back down, and I know, without a doubt, that this night is the beginning of something I won’t be able to control.

  10

  Skin to Skin

  A few months after Justine and I started dating, I brought her to my aunt and uncle’s house for a traditional Sunday dinner. It was Mother’s Day, and I knew Justine would be upset about her mother being gone. My aunt always cooked a big dinner on that day, although we never talked about my own mother, so I thought it might boost Justine’s spirits to get out of her dorm and celebrate in a subtle way around people who wouldn’t ask questions or require her to grieve publicly.

  I was hesitant whether my plan would work—Justine seemed so down in the days before Mother’s Day—but when she tasted the incredible food and then her aunt and uncle made her laugh, I began to relax.

  After we’d feasted on mojo-marinated pork and rice and beans and plantains, I’d left Justine in the kitchen with my aunt so they could discuss the finer points of the tres leches cake. I joined my uncle on the porch, where he was smoking a Dominican cigar. He never smoked Cubans, of course; not only were they illegal in Miami at the time, they were produced under Communist rule and that was verboten.

  “What do you think of Justine?” I asked in Spanish. We always talked in Spanish, my uncle and me.

  “She’s beautiful and I know she’s in love with you,” Tío said.

  I grinned. “Yeah. I’m crazy about her. I know she’s the one, Tío.”

  We sat in silence, with him smoking and me feeling full of incredible food and the knowledge that I’d found the perfect person to spend my life with. Eternity, if possible. I’d been so naïve back then.

  “Rafa.” My uncle broke my reverie. “People make love in their native language.”

  I frowned. Was my uncle telling me that Justine and I were too different? That we’d never make it as a couple because she wasn’t Cuban? I shot him a side eye, but he just kept smoking his cigar.

  “What do you mean, Tío?”

  He didn’t answer, and I’d just chalked it up to one of my uncle’s Cuban sayings. He had many of them.

  Over the years I’d thought about that, how maybe Justine and I had failed because we weren’t from the same culture. That’s what her father had thought. My uncle had never said anything more about it, not even when Justine left me and I thought I’d die from depression.

  Now that I’m inside her, on the floor of this luxury villa while we kiss and graze each other’s bodies, I realize that my uncle had been right.

  Only not in the way I’d initially interpreted his words.

  Somehow, we do speak the same language—one that’s only known to the two of us. Never mind the languages that Justine and I learned from birth, they’re irrelevant. When we’re together, naked and bared like we are right now, we speak fluently.

  She bites my shoulder, and I trap her wrists in my hands, pinning her to the floor. Everything else disappears—making money, the years that have slipped away, our past—and we’re at our best.

  Together. Finally.

  “You’re exquisite,” she murmurs.

  “Exquisite?” I bury myself inside her and stop moving.

  “Mmhmm. Your cock. The way you use it, the shape, the length, the girth. Mmm.”

  I grind on her, and she falls into the rhythm. It’s mind-blowing sex, the best I’ve had in years. I’ve screwed many women since Justine, but none have ever been as suited to my needs. None have ever known how to touch me, how to move under me, how to both submit and challenge me at the same time.

  Like Justine is right now.

  “Kiss me,” she whispers. “Kiss me. God, you’re so beautiful still. Please?”

  Kiss me.

  Please.

  You’re so beautiful.

  She’s the only woman who has ever said I was beautiful, an unusual choice of words for a man who once boxed and who has hands the size of an animal. It’s no less arresting and emotional now as when she first said it.

  She draws me close to her body, and we’re skin to skin. With her lips to my ears and in the softest possible whisper, she says the word please.

  That sends me over the edge, and my orgasm strips me raw. It leaves me defenseless, and I’m putty at her side. I press my lips to her shoulder and caress her arm. There are no thoughts in my mind, just a pure, post-orgasm stupor.

  It’s as if I’m drugged. Even though we’re on the floor, I’m so relaxed that I could snooze here, with her in my arms. Maybe we will, for a few minutes, then go for round two. I begin to drift off.

  “Why did we ever break up? Remind me. We were always so lovely together after sex.”

  Why does she have to keep bringing up the past? Why can’t she be content with what we have right now? My eyes snap open, and I sit up. “Way to ruin the moment.”

  “You’re the one who said you want to punish me. While having sex with me. Christ, Rafa. Real classy.”

  I scowl. I guess I did say something like that during sex. Fucking was apparently like a truth serum for me. I was just saying whatever came to mind. I didn’t think she’d take it seriously. Christ. I reach for my boxer briefs and stand up to put them on.

  We bicker some more, and then I stalk to the kitchen for some water. It gives me a much-needed break from Justine’s constant questions. Truth be told, I don’t want to confront the past with her. Not yet. I just want to have a carefree month with her, like we used to.

  Is that so wrong?

  I check my phone and scroll through my missed calls. Another call from Christina. It’s annoying that she keeps calling, and I wonder if she wants her job back. I email my assistant and copy David, asking if the note went to Christina. I also mention that I’ll be offline until Monday morning. I shut the phone off, grateful that my staff is so competent that my company can run by itself for a bit. I’d trust David with all of my money and my secrets.

  As I guzzle water, I spy Justine’s bare ass moving up the stairs.

  Grinning, I dump the rest of the liquid down the drain and pour a glass of wine. I also set a couple more empanadas and some napkins on a big plate, because I know Justine’s usually hungry after sex.

  Balancing the wine and the plate, I make my way upstairs. She’s sitting on the bed, naked, checking her phone.

  Without a word, I hold the food and glass toward her. She looks up and reaches for the wine.

  “Thanks,” she says in a halting voice. She goes back to her phone. I remain standing, just in my boxers, holding the platter of food.

  Her eyes glance up and land first on the empanadas, then on my crotch. A flush creeps onto her cheeks.

  “Well, I guess I could have another.” She tosses the phone on the bed and takes an empanada, her eyes on my body the entire time.

  * * *

  Some time later, shortly after she’s unpacked and a half-hour after she’s given me a mind-altering blowjob, we’re on the bed, watching TV. I’ve turned it on not because I enjoy television, but because I’m hoping it will keep us both from fighting or talking about the past.

  “What do you want to watch?” I ask.

  She shrugs and slips under the covers. I’m already under them. “A show. Whatever. Yeah, that.” She points to the black-and-white movie on the screen.

  I oblige and turn out the lamp on the nightstand. She’s all the way on the other side of the bed, not touching me.

  “You can get more comfortable,” I say.

  “I’m comfy.” She pulls the covers up to her neck. The bed’s so enormous that we could each practically wave our arms and legs and not touch. Well, probably not, but she’s far enough away that it feels like we’re on different continents.

  I sneak glances at her, the flickering black-and-white movie reflecting off her glasses. I’ve always loved the way she looks with glasses. Serious and sexy. I shift my leg toward hers and touch her foot with mine. She doesn’t pull away, so I scoot closer to her.

  She doesn’t say anything when I put my arm around her, but I catch a little smile on her lips. I kiss her forehead. She rests her hand on my chest. Then she trails her fingers down my stomach and lower…only to clasp my flaccid dick.

  I groan. “Muñeca, I’m sorry. You took everything I had when you sucked me.”

  She giggles and rubs my leg instead. “Are you sure?”

  “You want another round?”

  She lifts her head and shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” I whisper, pulling her toward me, kissing her. I shift her body on top of mine and force her legs apart with my own. I want to fuck her, but exhaustion, emotional turmoil, and two powerful orgasms have rendered my dick useless at the moment. I’m a little embarrassed, but I am thirty-five. An overworked thirty-five.

  “I need some time to recharge. I’m not the young stud I used to be.”

  She giggles at that.

  “But…” I graze my hand over her ass. She’s slippery between her legs, and I dip my middle finger into her. “But you’re already charged up.”

  “And ready to go,” she whispers, tilting her hips into my hand. “I love your fingers.”

  “I know you do. Roll over on your back. So you’re lying on top of me. Let me do this right.”

  She flings off the duvet and the sheet so we’re naked, bathed in the blue-grey glow of the movie. Gently, she reclines her small body atop my chest and opens her legs wide. She’s still got her glasses on, which makes her look even more erotic. I shift so I’m sitting up and hoist her up as well, so she’s between my legs.

  “That’s a good girl,” I whisper in her ear. “Now I can finger fuck you so good.”

  I have easy access to her now. With one hand, I plunge two fingers into her. With the other, I circle her clit. Within seconds, she’s writhing and grinding against me.

  “You like this? You miss it?”

  “Rafa,” she breathes.

  I slip a third finger inside and murmur against her ear. “I didn’t hear you, baby doll. Did you miss this?” I take my hands away from her so I can play with her breasts. My hands are soaked, and her skin is now gummy with her fluid. “I love when we get messy like this. Fuck, you’re wet. It’s on your thighs.”

  She gasps and wriggles. “Why’d you stop?”

  Her hand goes to her clit, and I grab her wrist and make a tsk-tsk noise.

  “I’m going to be the one to make you come.” I take her hand wet with her juices and guide it to her mouth. “See how wet you are?”

  She closes her eyes and sucks on her fingers while whimpering, and I return to her clit. I spread her labia wide with one hand and stroke with the fingers of the other.

  “Give it to me. Can you? Can you be a good girl and give me an orgasm? Come on my fingers? Take your time. I can do this all night.” I whisper this in Spanish, and her whole body flashes with heat.

  I can tell when she’s coming because her muscles spasm, and my fingers plunge into her once again right at the peak of her orgasm.

  Justine cries out, lets loose with a low roar, and I grin against her neck. Her glasses are skewed on her nose, she’s moving around so much. My sexy little librarian in the throes of an orgasm.

  “Just like that, Justi. Just like that.”

  She rolls off me and onto her side, and all I see is her back, her ass, and her messy hair. Is she panting? She half-rolls over to look at me. Her hair is in her face, and she pushes it aside. I grin triumphantly as she takes off her glasses.

  “You think it’s funny, don’t you?”

  “I think what’s funny?”

  “The effect you have on my body.”

  “Hmm. Funny? No. I don’t think that’s funny. I think it’s pretty fucking sexy, though. I mean, has anyone else ever had this effect on you?”

  She reaches for the sheet and the duvet and rolls away from me. Just when I think she’s not going to answer, I hear her muffled voice.

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you?” I press my front into her back and sweep her hair up, away from her neck. I press my lips to her nape and notice her skin is scorching.

  “No.”

  “No what?”

  “No one else has had this effect on me.”

  “Not the anchorman?”

  “Nope.”

  I kiss her neck again and rub my nose against her skin. The fact that the anchorman wasn’t as good in bed as I am gives me a solid feeling of superiority. I blow on her hot skin.

 

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