StripperwithSpice (18 page)

“We need someone to do meat and dessert and…” I point to one
of his nephews as I heat the grill. “You cut the vegetables.”

Fernando smiles. “I’m leaving it in good hands, I see.”

Elena shows up soon after. “You need help with dessert?”

“Absolutely,” I reply, “but it’s your birthday. You should
rest.”

She just waves at me.

Orders fly in until dozens of little papers hang on the rack
in front of me. I plan it out in my mind, what has to be cooked and when. Then
I call out orders, fumbling my way through this with the others. I’m not always
cooking exactly what people order, but I stick to the basic criteria of hot and
edible. Eggs have become my new best friends. They’re perfect building blocks
for creative omelets with Mexican ingredients.

The heat soon drives me out of my sweater so I’m glad I had
the foresight to wear a shirt underneath. A small radio, tuned to a Spanish
channel, overlays the clanging of metal utensils and rumble of boiling water
with mariachi music.

Fernando rushes in, out of breath, and hands me more orders.
“The ones with food are happy. Keep up the good work.”

As time speeds by, I hardly notice my feet hurt or that I
have tomato sauce under my nails and grease on my forehead. And how long has
the face of my watch been obliterated with grease?

I only notice the scents of everything I create and the
flavors of samples I taste along the way. Exhilaration ripples through my
entire body, filling me with energy that won’t quit. Surrounded by Carlos’ relatives,
it’s as if I’m in a big family kitchen.

I’m even learning a little Spanish. I’ve already heard
la
comida
enough times to know it means food.

Carlos enters next, bringing even more orders, and smiles at
me. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, we’re a little busy back here,” I say as nonchalantly
as I can.

He puts his hands in his pockets and gazes at me with awe.
It’s the same way women look at him when he’s dancing. I never dreamed anyone
would look at me that way.

“You’re radiant, Janice.”

His mother adds a sprinkle of cinnamon to a dish of flan, an
added touch to the traditional recipe. “Don’t stand there gawking, Carlos.
There’s work to do.”

As I prepare another pot of Mexican rice with garlic, oil
and broth, I realize I’m much too deep into Carlos’ life now to even think of
running away. But standing in this kitchen isn’t all about him. It’s about me.
I didn’t just find a family today. I found a piece of me—a piece I can’t afford
to lose.

* * * * *

That night, Carlos carries me to his bed where I’ll spend
the night.

“You look exhausted,
querida
.”

“I can’t spend the night here.” I scramble to a sitting
position on the gray comforter with black geometric designs on it. “Tomorrow is
a workday.”

Sitting next to me on the bed, he moves my hair aside to
kiss my neck. “I’ll get you there on time. Besides, I think today was a
workday. Your real work,
cocinara
.”

“Is that the word for a cook?”

He nods.

I comb my fingers through my tangled hair, releasing the
smell of food. “Don’t be silly. I only helped out.”

“Helped out, my foot. You ran the place.” As he clasps my
hands, the same look of awe touches his face. “Janice, you were born to be in a
kitchen.”

“Oh, come on.”

His dark gaze probes mine. “I mean it. You took over that
place as though you’ve been working there your entire life. Maybe it’s a new
career for you.”

I expel a breath as I try to wrap my mind around such an
absurd idea. “I like the career I have.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you? How come you never look happy
when you talk about it or are doing overtime?”

“Because it’s work. Because I have to earn a living.”

“Work should be fun. Mine is. Now get up so I can pull back
the covers.”

We both stand by the bed. Shouldn’t we be having wild sex
now? I’m so tired and the aura of family still hangs around us. They hugged me
as we left as if they’d known me forever. All I want to do is curl up with
Carlos in bed. The feeling of being married flits through my head again. We
even take our pants off in unison, as if we’ve been going to bed together for
years.

After he pulls back the covers, he chucks off his vest and
unbuttons his shirt. Before he can take it off, I grab his arm.

“You look so hot in that shirt, please leave it on.”

He grins. “Okay, but your sweater has to come off. House
rules.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like rules.”

“Smart-ass. I only like the ones I invent.”

Once I’m under the covers with him in my underwear, I rest
my head on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me your mother is an alcoholic?”

I press my lips together. I didn’t just say that, did I?

He takes my hand under the red sheets, making them rustle.
“Because that’s in the past.”

“What was it like growing up with her?”

Each of his fingers stiffens against mine. “Don’t go there,
okay?”

“I told you about my past.” I release his hand to lean up on
one elbow. “But I have a feeling yours might have been a lot worse.”

He’s quiet for so long I almost wonder if he’s fallen
asleep.

“You’re the one always wanting to get close,” I remind him.
“Closeness means no secrets between us.”

“All right. You really want to know how it was?” He gets in
the same position I’m in, facing me as a mirror image. “What do you want to
hear about first? The vomit I cleaned up? The time I had to call the paramedics
because I couldn’t get her to wake up? The jobs she lost?”

Seeing the turmoil on his face, I put up my hand to stop
him. “It’s all right. You don’t have to—”

His free hand clenches into a fist on the pillow. “Or how
about the screaming and the beatings?”

Ice fills my stomach. “She beat you?”

He points to the scar near his eye. “Where do you think I
got this? I tried to take most of it so Fernando and Luisa didn’t have to.”

I drop my gaze to the sheets. Like the sun, the pain in his
eyes is too intense for me to look at for long. He doesn’t cry, but the backs
of my eyes sting.

“I’m so sorry, Carlos. I had no idea.”

“I’m not bitter. She did the best she could with her
circumstances and finally got cleaned up.”

I trace patterns on the sheets. “My problems were nothing
compared to that. They must have seemed trivial to you.”

He grabs my hand. “Nothing about you is trivial to me.”

Hugging him, I bury my face in his shoulder. “How could you
turn out to be such a caring person after going through so much pain?”

He brushes the hair back from my forehead and looks at me. “Those
trials made me the person I am. Just as yours made you.”

Suddenly the theory that’s been drifting through my mind in
pieces all long takes shape.

“That’s why you need to make women happy,” I say out loud.
“Because she was in so much pain. What do you think?”

He rolls off the bed and gets up. “I think you should stick
to cooking and give the analysis a rest.”

While he leaves to go to the bathroom, I push the covers to
my feet and lie in a seductive pose. Our seriousness still hangs heavily in the
air. What we need right now is sex and even though I’m exhausted out of my
mind, I want to please him.

It’s about time someone made Carlos happy for a change.

Determined to stay awake, I gaze around the room. I can’t
identify what’s different until I study the dresser area. At least half of the
stuff I saw during the football party is gone, especially the pictures of him
with other women. He must have done some cleaning.

When he comes back, his lips lift into a half-smile. “I
thought you’d be asleep.”

“If I recall, you had some plans for building my trust.”

I watch the birth of his erection, forming a tempting bulge
in his black briefs.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asks.

“I’m so tired I’m going to let you do anything you want to
me.”

His smile jumps from half to full and his bulge doubles in
size. “In that case, I’ll be right back with the lubricant.”

Lubricant?
Just what am I signing up for here?

When he returns, his briefs are gone. His erection bobs in
tantalizing arcs while he stacks the pillows. He asks me to lie across them,
which perches my buttocks into the air. My fatigue disappears and my pussy
trickles with anticipation. I shudder with a mixture of lust and fear as he
pulls my panties down my legs. The action leaves behind a trail of goose bumps
that pucker so hard they hurt.

How many other girls has he done this with? What if I can’t
handle it the way I couldn’t handle having his cock in my throat at the mall?

The bed dips as he gets behind me and runs his fingers
across my swollen pussy lips.

“You’re already wet and beautiful.”

He doesn’t say it, but I can tell he’s pleased I shave my
cunt regularly now.

When he touches me again, something slippery kisses the skin
between my butt cheeks. My stomach clenches as I wonder what he’s going to do.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,
querida
,” he murmurs. “We’re going to do this
really slow. Anytime you want me to stop, just say so.”

As if to reassure me, his palm slides over my backside,
caressing me and raising more goose bumps. His lubricated fingers tease my
rosette, circling and making tiny probes. I’m not used to having this part of
my body touched and strange tingles of delight arc down my legs.

Scary or not, I want this.

When his finger probes deeper, I squirm. “Oh, that smarts a
little.”

He pauses. “Relax. Open to me. You can trust me, Janice.”

His honeyed words spread over me, soothing my entire body.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, I strive to do what he says. After all
he’s done for me, I want to please him. I try concentrating but it doesn’t
work. The breath I held hisses out between my teeth.

Why is this so difficult?

His palm glides over my buttocks with patient, repetitive
strokes, filling the room with the sound of gentle friction.

“Trust me,” he says again, more firmly this time. “
Puedes
confiar en mí
.”

“I take it that’s the translation for trust?”

His finger remains perfectly still, but he breathes hard
with restraint. “
Sí, la confianza
…trust
.
”

Determined to please him, I keep trying. As soon as I manage
to let go, his finger slides deep, rewarding me with golden waves of sensation.
He flutters it and I moan. When my clit hardens to a painful point, I realize
the nerves down there are all connected. Part of me has come to life for the
first time.

His finger slips out, which feels even better than when it
went in.

He presses a kiss to the side of my hip. “You did great. I
think that’s enough for today though.”

“I want your cock.”

I blink at the same unbidden voice that volunteered to cook
today. Did I really just say that?

I hear his smile without turning around to see it. “Are you
sure?”

Pleasing him has fallen by the wayside. My body demands to
be pleased now.

“Do it! Do it before I change my mind.”

The sounds of the condom packet and squirting lubricant
swell my cunt nearly to the melting point. When he grabs my butt cheeks and
spreads them, it’s as if he’s baring my soul. Nothing inside me is hidden from
him anymore and I know the same is true of him.

“I’m going to go really slow,” he tells me. “Remember to
trust me.”

When the head of his cock lodges at my opening, it feels as
huge as a boulder. Um, can I still change my mind? If women can give birth to
triplets, I should be able to manage this. I want so badly to trust him.

He moves forward a couple of millimeters, which feels more
like three feet. The lubricant eases his passage. When the head of his shaft is
halfway inside me, he stops.

“How are we doing?” he asks.

Sweat breaks out across my forehead and my breath comes in
gusts as I clutch the pillows I’m lying on. What if he damages something? What
if he gets stuck in there?

“Can you wait a minute? Don’t move?”

He does as I ask. As blood pounds through my body with equal
doses of fear and lust, I feel my rosette clench him in a death grip, fighting
the invasion.

Trust me.

As soon as I relax, he slides forward until the rounded head
is all the way inside. His hands caress my hips with exquisite gentleness.

“Are you okay? I’m not hurting you am I?”

I answer with a monosyllabic grunt and take more of him in.
“You feel huge.”

“I’m going to pull out now,” he tells me.

His withdrawal feels even more intense than his entrance
did. Sweat collects on my face and between my breasts as the rim of his cock
head tugs at me, refusing to let go.

“I’m going to enter you again.” Each of his words is slow
and deliberate.

I answer with a gasp—of anticipation or refusal?

He eases my hips toward him. “Get on your knees now so
you’ll have better control.”

Cool air brushes my quivering belly as it leaves the safe
embrace of the pillows. When his round hardness breeches my opening again, my
knees tremble from the intensity of this battle between my trust and my love. I
meet him halfway, sliding backward on the endless, rigid length while it
impales me.

He eases out, faster than before. I groan, surprised by the
tone of throaty lust in it. The soft brush of his shirttails against the backs
of my thighs nearly sends me into sensory overload. By the time we establish a
very slow rhythm, my pussy grinds with the most intense sensations I’ve ever
felt. Unable to stop, I plunge two fingers deep inside my slick folds.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come all over my cock. You’ll come
hard too.”