Seduction (15 page)

“Don’t say it unless you mean it,” she says.

I walk closer. “Marisela…” I need to tread carefully. Words are worth a dime a dozen to her. “You should know me by now—I don’t throw the L-word around.” Instead of talking, I’ll act.

I cup her face between my hands, slanting my mouth over hers. There’s a hint of apple pie on her lips. So sweet—so completely edible. I walk her backward until her shoulders hit my front door. I don’t give a shit where we are. Sometimes the laws of physics take precedence over correct social behavior. And she’s completely shielded from view by my body. I lift her dress, gathering it above her breasts. She’s wearing black lace panties and no bra. My fingers naturally go for her barbells. I pinch her nipples roughly, waiting for the pained expression I love to see on her face. Her jaw clenches—her eyes shut. I squeeze again. She inhales through her teeth.

I always considered myself a strong man, until I made love to Marisela the first time. I bite my way down her slim neck. She moans. Her hands are all over me—up my shirt—down my pants. She grips my cock with both hands.

“So big,” she whispers, staring at me.

I lean into her. “Wanna find out how big it really is?” A car barrels down the street. “Tell me what you want.”

I invade her panties, thrusting two fingers inside her. I find her clit and give it a gentle tweak. She goes rigid, sensations ripping through her body. “Tell me.” I jam my knee between her legs, thrusting my hand in and out of her.

She sighs, pulling her hands out of my pants.

“Say it.”

“I want you inside me.”

I withdraw my fingers, then suck on them like a pussy-flavored lollipop. I love how she tastes. So does she; I press my fingers to her lips and she opens her mouth.
Fuck.
I flip her around and bend her over just enough so her ass is sticking up. I unzip my fly.

“Put your hands over your head.”

She does.

I slide her panties off. Her little ass bobs up and down like I’m already riding her. I tether her wrists with one hand and brace myself against the door with the other. A crush on me? Those words fly around in my head. I’m staring hard at her bare bottom, caught somewhere between my deep feelings and lust. Part of me wants to cradle her in my hands like a delicate piece of crystal, the other half wants to tear into her flesh like it’s the last time I’ll ever see or feel her again. I’m not used to this balancing act. My lips twitch.

Aroused by her wiggling hips, I crush into her. She’s so fucking tight I swear she’s a perpetual virgin. Within three thrusts, I feel the pulse of her climax. It turns me on. Suddenly I want her on her back. I pull out.

“Craig,” she complains.

“Nope.” I refuse to give in. “Inside. Now.” I dig in my back pocket and pull out the keys. I unlock the door, then push it open. “March upstairs.”

I flip on the hallway light and lick my lips in anticipation. She doesn’t bother to straighten her dress, but climbs slowly. I’m harder than I’ve ever been. I don’t deserve this goddess. As if she heard my thoughts, she looks over her shoulder as she reaches the top step and gives me a lopsided grin.

“Do I have to wait all night?”

“You?” I ask, taking the stairs two at a time. “Who just came when I breathed on her?”

“Hardly,” she teases. “Just an appetizer.”

She wants multiple orgasms? No problem. I smack her left ass cheek and steer her through my bedroom door. Sex with Marisela is therapeutic. Perhaps we should do this every day and night. I again consider asking her to move in with me.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, staring at me.

“Nothing, baby.” I sweep her off her feet, then drop her on the bed. Better control my facial expressions in the future. She giggles.

“Take off your clothes.”

I unbutton my shirt. “On your back, wench—spread your legs.” I’m on top of her before she gets comfortable. I smooth wayward curls away from her face, fitting myself between her legs. I don’t understand how anyone could hurt her—those damned eyes are so beautiful. And I know there’s something even more precious buried beneath her rib cage: a heart as big as Texas. A slightly damaged one, but it’s the one I want. “I want to make love to you.”

A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows as if she doesn’t understand what I mean.

“What we did on the porch,” I say, pushing into her gently, “that’s sex.” I lace my fingers with her right hand and lift it above her head. “This”—I thrust in a couple more inches—“is something completely different.”

She raises her hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Craig.”

Really? I’m gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch ex. Fully rooted now, I thrust gently, pull out a few inches, then sink deeper inside her. Torture at its best. I do it over and over again until she deflates underneath me. Then I pound against her, seeking her tongue with mine. The kiss nearly sends me headfirst over the edge. Marisela doesn’t just kiss; she pours her soul out every time our lips meet. There’s something crazy about a girl who kisses like that. I should know; I’ve waited all my life to meet the girl who kisses with the same abandon I do.
Shit.
My balls tingle. I suck in a breath and stop.

“Don’t move,” I warn.

She wiggles.

“Marisela—”

“Come with me.” She pulls her hand free and cups my ass with both hands, anchoring me to her body. Her legs encircle my waist, and she pumps so hard I can’t resist the urge to match her frantic motion.

I arch my back, pulling up a bit so I can lose myself in her blue gaze. “You’re mine.” That’s all I can manage to say before I explode inside her.

I meet my sister and Macey at the Dragonfly restaurant on S.P.I.D. at one o’clock. We like to eat after the lunch rush. I order the goat cheese ravioli and iced tea. Might as well indulge a little; the news I have for Robyn won’t make her happy. I stare at her little paunch, digging the fact the next generation of our family is growing inside her.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Macey says. “I’ll take care of her.”

“I’m not questioning you,” Robyn insists. “It’s the people who hang out at your place when you’re not there I’m concerned about.”

I shovel a forkful of pasta in my mouth, wondering when I’ll be invited to join the conversation that’s all about me.

“Dana is harmless,” Macey continues. “As for the guys she bangs, want me to check their references?”

Robyn dabs her mouth with her linen napkin, then drops it on the table. “That was uncalled for.”

“Coddling a grown woman is nearly as offensive.” Macey looks at me.

“I can take care of myself,” I assure my sister. “Consider it a test run. One month. If anything goes wrong, I promise to move back in with you.”

Robyn sighs dramatically and nibbles on a piece of romaine lettuce. “Garrick is your biggest supporter.”

“I know.” I flutter my eyelashes like the perfect southern belle. “Remind me to thank him.”

“That doesn’t mean
I’m
happy.” Robyn taps her fingernails on the table. “Didn’t Craig fuck some sense into you?”

“Robyn?” Macey’s mouth drops open. “I seem to recall a time when your husband used that line on you.” She laughs.

“Where do you think I got it from?”

“Try something original.” I roll my eyes.

“All right,” Robyn whispers. “I don’t want you moving in with my best friend. You’re not mature enough to keep yourself out of trouble.”

“Thanks a lot.” I lay my fork on my plate. “First school, then Mom and Dad. And now you want to control where I live. Does it ever end?”

Robyn reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Listen, little girl. I know how tough you think you are, but sometimes it’s best to listen to the people who care most—we’ve been through some shit, too.”

I close my eyes, remembering how badly my parents treated Robyn. Despite her misfortunes, she kept a roof over her head and attended college full time. Then my brother-in-law swept her off her feet.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Not everyone has the same motivation as you. I tried school, remember? Right now all I want is a place to call my own. A chance to reestablish myself after Estevan destroyed everything I worked so hard to get.”

Robyn sighs.

“She makes a good point.” Macey smiles.

“Will you consider going back to school?” Robyn asks.

“Maybe.” I’ve thought about it many times. But not pre-med. I want to pursue a music degree. Maybe play for the Corpus Christi Symphony Orchestra or teach. “Give me some time to sort things out.” I can see the wheels inside my sister’s incredible mind spinning. She’s deliberating. “I’ll call you every night before I go to bed and show up on Sundays for dinner.”

“Shut up.” Robyn slaps my hand.

“Just saying.”

“Sometimes you talk too much.” Robyn chuckles.

Four rowdy cowboys walk inside the restaurant.

“Here we go,” Macey whispers.

The hostess seats them at a table across from ours. I take a long drink of tea and smile at Robyn. She winks at me. It’s so quiet I wait for the proverbial pin to drop. Then the expected happens.

“Hey, darlin’,” one of the cowboys call, “can I buy you a drink?”

Macey elects herself to be our social guardian. “No thanks, cowboy. We’re having a quiet
sista
lunch.”

“Good thing I wasn’t talking to you, Stripperella,” he shoots back, staring at me.

I twist around in my chair and study the rude asshole. He’s younger than I thought, tall and clean-cut. “Do you kiss your mama with that rude mouth?” I ask.

“No,” he answers, “but I’ll kiss you if you let me.”

His buddies laugh.

“You know what they say about boot size and IQs,” I say nonchalantly.

“What?” he asks, holding up his left foot.

A solid thirteen if I ever saw one. “It’s a rhetorical question, dumb-ass.”

“I like ’em feisty.”

“You like them any way you can get them,” I comment.

Macey gestures for a time-out. “Let’s skip this round,” she says. “My soup is getting cold.”

“Shut up,” the cowboy addresses Macey again.

Before I can react, she stands, picks up her glass of ice water, stomps to his table, then dumps her drink in his lap. “Maybe this will help you cool off, homeboy.”

He shoots out of his chair, ripping his Stetson off his head. “Bitch.”

“Nope.” Macey slams the empty glass on his table. “Kitten has claws.” She curls her fingers like a cat and hisses before she returns to her seat.

The waitress shows up with a guy dressed in a suit. “Are these guys giving you trouble?”

“No,” Macey says. “The big one over there just needed an attitude adjustment.” She picks up her napkin and places it neatly on her lap as if nothing happened. “I’d like a Corona with extra lime.”

The waitress nods, gazing at the cowboys, then back at us. “Yes, ma’am.”

After lunch, I give my sister and Macey hugs, then head straight to my bike. Time for a long ride, especially after dealing with those pricks inside. I hate rednecks.
Hell,
I dislike anyone who bullies people. My hometown is changing—lots of people moving here from out of state. It makes for interesting social dynamics—the kind I try to avoid. I zip my leather jacket and decide to go helmet free. There’s a reason dogs stick their heads out the car window on a long drive. It’s all about the wind blowing through your hair.

I merge with traffic and zip down S.P.I.D., headed for Ocean Drive.

Fifteen minutes later, I turn into Macey’s driveway and stop. I stare at the house, wondering if I’m making the right choice. The little imaginary devil perched on my shoulder tells me I am. All this arguing with my big sister over a hot tub and swimming pool. And what is my boyfriend going to say when he finds out? I swallow. I’ll deal with that later. I turn my bike around and head for Cole Park, the largest green space in the city.

I park and start walking. A few kids are playing on the monkey bars and slide. I smile at the young mothers as I walk by. I claim an empty bench a few yards from the playground and run my fingers through my hair. It’s a cool 60 degrees today, with a few gray clouds overhead, but no rain. Perfect conditions to lose myself in a great book. I unzip my fanny pack and pull out a tattered paperback. I’m a closet history buff—obsessed with early American history. Anything about our forefathers reads like an epic to me. I flip through a half-dozen pages before I sense someone standing behind me. I close the book and place it on the bench.

“Marisela?”

Estevan.
Goose bumps rise all over my body. “What are you doing here, Estevan?” I don’t need to turn around.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to talk to you.” He slithers around the bench and sits next to me. He picks up my book and reads the cover. “
Wives of the Signers
?”

I snatch it from his hands. “Are you really here to discuss my choice of literature?”

“No,” he admits, crossing his muscular legs. “We need to talk.”

“No. We don’t.”

“Listen,” he snaps. “I’m sorry for what happened in San Antonio.”

I cover my face with both hands. “How did you know I was here?”

“Friends in low places.”

“Life isn’t a fucking country song.”

“Ours is.”

Ours?
“There’s no
us.
”

He grabs my hand and gives it a good squeeze. “I disagree.”

“Whatever,” I say, shaking my hand free and standing. “I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

He chuckles and fishes his smart phone from his shirt pocket. “I’ve snapped some great photos over the last week. Look at this one, Kline Avenue in Odem—or this one, a fine white brick house off Weber. Or how about this one?” He holds his phone up so I can see the screen. “A mansion on Ocean Drive.”

My parents’ house, Robyn’s place, and Macey’s. My hackles go up. “What do you want?”

“A chance to make things right.”

“You raped me—there’s no fixing that, unless you want to turn yourself in to the police.”

He snickers. “Rape? The way I remember it, baby, you gave yourself to me.”

Hatred swells inside me. I look around. There are too many people here for him to risk getting violent with me. No, this is his way of letting me know he’s watching me. Like any Mexican family in south Texas, he has dozens of cousins, who probably follow me wherever I go. His daddy is a politician and his mother…she’s the kind of woman who keeps her mouth shut.

“I don’t care what you know; my life isn’t a secret.”

“What about him?”

A picture of Craig. “Leave him out of it.”

“Playing house with white boy?”

“Keep your racist crap to yourself.”

“You’ve become quite the socialite,” he comments. “Lunch with your pregnant sister and her best friend—dinner with me tonight.”

“Been surfing Facebook again?” I ask, unimpressed. “I liked the photos of you posted a couple weeks ago. You look good with no shirt on.” I can’t believe I’m referencing the pictures Craig’s cousin took with the word
rapist
scrolled across Estevan’s chest.

“You’ll pay for that one, bitch.”

“As for dinner with you, not happening.” I turn and walk away.

“I’ll cut that fucking baby out of your sister’s stomach,” he threatens.

I freeze. If it were anyone else, I’d leave. But Estevan is a sociopath, capable of anything when he doesn’t get his way. He’s rich and connected, and I’m deathly afraid of him hurting my family. I have a large extended family too, but we’re not close, not like his. “What do you want from me?” I face him again.

“Dinner at the Water Street Oyster Bar.”

“When?”

“Seven.”

“I don’t have a car, Estevan. How do you suggest I get there? I’m not riding my bike downtown in the party district.”

He reaches in his back pocket and takes out his wallet. He throws a fifty at me. “Take a cab.”