Interpreter

by Kristy Marie

  She shrugs one dainty shoulder in my direction. “Probably.”

  Probably. I let out a deep, exaggerated sigh for her benefit. Probably will just not do. I want Milah Iglesias sated and compliant, and the only way to do that is by growling out, “Unbutton my pants. Now.”

  Her eyes light up and she scoots closer to the edge, her fingers starting at my pecks and moving down the planes of my abs. Not at all what I asked her to do. But at this point, I’m not surprised. The pads of her fingers graze the trail of hair disappearing into my jeans, and after the sweet torture, she finally slips the button through and pulls them open with a quick yank. “Can I push them all the way down?” she asks, her tongue snaking out and wetting her lips.

  “No.” Her playtime is done. “It’s my turn.”

  I push her back on the bed and shove my own damn jeans down my body. Leaving only my boxers on, I crawl up her body, hovering above her chest. “You don’t listen for shit,” I note, tugging my boxers down and pulling my cock out, giving it two quick pumps right in front of her face.

  She licks her lips. “It’s bigger than I thought it was going to be” is what she responds with.

  I cock a brow. “You thought I had a small cock?”

  “Not small. Just average, white guy cock.”

  Average, white guy cock. Wow. Now, I’m going to fuck her extra hard just because she put the thought of another guy fucking her in my head.

  “But this”—she points to my cock still in my hand—“this is magnificent.” She weighs my expression like she wants me to give her permission to touch it. I don’t.

  “Lean back,” I demand. “I want to see that smart mouth of yours suck this magnificent”—I roll my eyes at her description—“cock of mine.”

  Sometimes women aren’t up for the alpha bullshit. Some will flat-out tell you no, but Milah… Milah looks like I just pulled out her favorite pair of shoes.

  She nestles back into the mattress and smirks and then, before she can open all the way, I am shoving my cock down her throat. She doesn’t even gag. Not once. Oh God. I’m not going home tonight. In fact, I think I’ll need the rest of the school year with this woman.

  Milah takes all of me, sucking and rimming the head of my cock with her tongue until I fold over, struggling to stay upright. God, it feels so fucking good. Has a blow job always felt this good? I don’t think it has. A tingling starts at the base of my dick faster than I imagined. If she keeps this rhythm, it’s going to be a short night. I pull up and note the flushness of her face and kiss her so hard that it feels like I’m trying to crawl inside her.

  “I want you naked,” I mumble between kisses. A gentle push against my shoulder is her response. I pull back, sitting on my knees.

  “Lie back,” she says, attempting to turn the tables. I can smell her hair, exotic and sweet, just like the beach vacations we used to take. There is no way I’m lying back on her pillows and being immersed in her scent. When I just blink, she pulls her hands out in front of her chest and signs, “Now, the only thing you’re allowed to say is ‘Yes, Mami.’ Am I clear?”

  Ha! She’s funny. “Turn around. On your knees.” I’m done with her talking.

  Her mouth falls into a straight line, and her throat works.

  “Now, Milah,” I growl. I goddamn growl at this woman, and it feels fucking good. It feels normal. It feels exhilarating. Tanned skin glistens in the lamp light as she sits up, getting to her knees and turning around like she’s supposed to. She’s confident in her body as she doesn’t fidget or try to cover any part of herself. She just kneels there, her peach-shaped ass beckoning me to grab her. But I don’t. Not yet.

  “Grab the headboard.”

  She does and it shocks me. Without wasting any more time, I pull the zipper of her dress down, the fabric parting against her back, exposing slivers of flesh as it falls around her body. I kiss her shoulder and tug the fabric until she lifts her knees so I can toss the dress she will never again wear for another man. I stand, leaving her kneeling, exposed, and so incredibly sexy while I pull a condom from my wallet. There’s no turning back now.

  I crawl up the bed, trailing a finger down the curve of her spine, and she shivers. My fingers move across her body, exploring every inch until they reach their destination. Her throat. I touch the soft skin, her swallow tickling my palm.

  “Spread your legs,” I whisper. Vibrations bounce against my hand. A moan. “Do you like being the student, Ms. Iglesias?”

  More vibrations.

  My free hand creeps along her stomach, down the valley between her legs. I hesitate, hovering over her center. Her throat works, and her head falls toward her chest.

  “You want me to touch you, Mami?” I use the name she wanted me to call her before when she thought she was in charge. “Hmm? Is that what you want?” Her hands clench on the headboard. I grasp her pussy, and she sucks in a breath, her throat swallowing the moan I desperately want to hear. “Show me, Mami. Show me how much you want me to touch you.” I move the hand at her throat and slip two fingers past her lips. She doesn’t need any more directions, her lips purse as she sucks, taking long pulls against the sensitive skin of my fingers.

  A moan bubbles up from my chest, and I circle her clit with the pad of my finger, moving in the same rhythm as her mouth. I can feel the vibrations from inside her mouth as she keeps up the suction, forcing her head up.

  “You feel so good… como el cielo.” I slip one finger inside and find her dripping. “So wet….” So fucking perfect. I add another finger, stretching her from the inside and pull my fingers from her mouth. Her breathing is sharp when I straddle her legs with mine—both of us on our knees, her back to my chest and my fingers inside her pussy. I push against her back so that her chest drops lower and pushes her ass into my cock.

  I palm both cheeks just like I envisioned earlier, gripping and moving her hips against my bare cock. I work my hands toward the middle, toward that delicate line that parts her center. Easing down, I lick her from behind. From front to back, tasting her sweetness against my tongue. Her legs quake, and her entire body seems to vibrate with a muted sound of pleasure.

  I’m tearing open the condom wrapper and rolling it along my length seconds later. I can’t wait any longer. My hand goes back to her throat, my source of sound, while my free hand fists my cock and slides it between her cheeks, a warning, before I ease it inside her, parting her hot flesh of muscle against the latex barrier between us. God, how I want to rip it off and feel her against me. To feel flesh against flesh. To feel her wetness coat my cock in pleasure.

  I work my cock inside inch by inch, letting her adjust before I push in all the way. She jumps against my hold, and I pause, allowing her a minute to relax.

  “Good girl,” I praise, rubbing my hand down her back, following the line of her spine until it ends.

  She swallows and turns her head, trying to say something. I lean over so I can see. “I want to hear you too,” she tells me, and my cock jumps inside her.

  I shake my head. That’s too much. Too exposed. Her facing me, feeling my throat, taking in the sounds and faces I make as I come apart in her body… it’s too much. I can’t.

  “Please, Tim. Please let me feel you.”

  Dammit. Remember when I said women know how to bring a man down? Yeah, Milah is no different. I take a deep breath. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  “Okay,” I say softly and pull out of her warmth, sitting back on my ankles and placing my hands along my thighs. “Come here.” My dick is straining to get back inside of her. It jumps while we watch her turn around, slowly placing each of her legs around me, delicately sitting on my thighs. Her wetness glides along my skin as she wraps one arm around me and places the other at my throat just as I had done to her.

  I clear my throat, and her eyes widen. “It feels….” I swallow, feeling very vulnerable in this moment as she stares at my neck. “It feels so intimate.”

  It does. It’s like our own language that no
one understands.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she says, her gaze fixed to my lips. She lowers her head and presses her breasts against me. “So beautiful….”

  At that, I grip her hips and push her down on my cock. “Hang on to me.” Her grip tightens, and I put my hand back to her throat as she goes up and down on my cock. Our hands are at each other’s throats, both of us crumbling with each thrust until we fall into each other, sweaty and spent.

  I pull back, admiring the flush of her face, her hand still around my throat. She strokes my jaw as if she’s doing the same. And then she places the softest of kisses on my lips and mouths, “Again.”

  “Mami!”

  Someone is shaking me more than they should this early in the morning. “Wake up, Mami. You have to see this.”

  I rub at my eyes and zero in on the idiot sitting on my legs. “Have you been drinking Jäger again, Pe? I told you that stuff makes you crazy.” I push at my roommate. “Go back to your room and sleep it off.” I try bucking him off, but all he does is flip on the light.

  “Mami!” he whisper-shouts in my ear. “Mr. Broody is in our kitchen!”

  My eyes fly open, visions of the best sex I’ve ever had floating around in my head. “Our kitchen? The one we never use unless Marcus is over?”

  Felipe nods. “Yes, that’s the one. Get up. You have to see him cooking.” Pe waggles his eyebrows, which don’t look that great this morning since he doesn’t have his face on. “He’s shirtless,” he adds all giddy. “And he has these back dimples—”

  “Back off my man, Pe,” I say, shoving the overexcited fool. “You just celebrated your anniversary last night.”

  Felipe gives me a look of horror. “Have I taught you nothing, little prude?” I blink, not understanding where this is going before he catches on and sighs. “Marcus is still here. We both have been eyeing those dimples. And get this! He’s making breakfast for all of us!” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “I don’t know who you sucked off at school to land him for a co-teacher, but they certainly deserve a Christmas card this year.”

  Sitting up, I rub at my eyes, making sure there isn’t a wad of mascara sitting in the corner. “You didn’t say anything to him like—”

  “Like you not getting laid since Céline’s last album or that you clogged up the drain trimming the beave yesterday?”

  “I did not! That was you shaving your legs! I told you to try waxing. It lasts longer.”

  Felipe laughs, wrapping me up in a bruising hug. “I’m so proud of you. You finally kept your crazy intact long enough for a man to make you breakfast.”

  I narrow my eyes, focusing on the silk robe knotted at Pe’s bare chest. “I’m not going to miss you when I move,” I lie.

  “Oh, you’re going to miss me. Now, hurry up and get your haggard ass out of bed so you can watch him stir the waffle batter. Spoiler alert: his ass barely jiggles. Tell Papi how firm it was in your hands….”

  “Okay, that’s enough.” I push the crazy man off and drag the sheet with me.

  “Ooh, you slept naked,” he notes as I try to find where the hell Tim tossed my clothes last night. Would it have been too much to ask for him to have folded and stacked them back on the dresser? The memory of him stuffing my underwear in his pocket comes flooding back to me. Yeah, that would have been too much to ask. The Tim I saw last night was a very different Tim. Quite possibly, the real Tim.

  “Give me your robe,” I say, nodding at the silk number he doesn’t need. He has on silk pants. I’m the one naked here.

  “No. Get something out of your closet.”

  This diva….

  “Do you want to see him stir the batter again or not?” Pe ponders my question and then mutters something about me being a diva, but he slides off the robe and hands it to me.

  “I want to know all the details later,” he negotiates.

  I nod in agreement, but I don’t plan on telling Pe shit. What went down in here last night will forever stay my and Tim’s memory. Except the soreness between my legs. That’s no memory.

  Cinching the robe, I follow my nosy roommate out and into the kitchen where sure enough, Tim is shirtless in front of the waffle iron. His hair is disheveled—you can thank me for that—and his pants are unbuttoned, hanging dangerously low on his hips. “How hungry are you?” I whisper to Pe, who can’t seem to take his eyes off Tim, who is explaining to Marcus how you can’t overcook the waffle with fresh blueberries or it will dry out.

  “Pretty hungry, why?”

  I watch Tim explaining so thoroughly and Marcus nodding, soaking up every word. “Because I might want to break in the kitchen table we’ve never used.”

  A slow grin stretches along Pe’s face. “Someone raised you right, girl.”

  Damn straight he did.

  Pe and I take a seat at the island, both of us ogling our respective men. “Good morning,” says the man who made me come with just his fingers in one of Pe’s precious hideaways. “You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Pe snorts. “You couldn’t wake her with a dick in the mouth. The girl sleeps like the dead.”

  “Felipe!”

  That was Marcus. He loves me, and he also has way more class than both me and Felipe.

  “Thank you, Marcus.” I look at Pe. Nah, nah, na-nah, nah. Your boyfriend loves me is what my smug-ass look says.

  “Give me back my robe. I should have let you miss the show.” His head shakes subtly before his lips purse. “Ungrateful prude.”

  A throat clears in front of us that I would recognize anywhere. “So, I need to go home and get some clothes—”

  “No, you don’t.” Pe beats me to it, and I roll my eyes.

  “Sure. I can take you home.”

  Tim smiles and scratches the stubble on his face. “Would you also like to stay for dinner? My family usually does Sunday dinner, but Hayes and Theo will be out of town for work, so they moved it to today. You don’t have to, but….”

  Gah, was he this cute at work when he was nervous?

  I watch as his eyes look down at his hands. “But I’d like for you to come. For all of you to come.”

  Pe makes this choking noise and sits up straight. “You mean to the foundation? The Holy Land of hotties?”

  He’s not going. I know they’ve already met him, but just that comment alone deserves him sitting this one out.

  “Uh….”

  Tim’s eyes are asking for me to interpret what Felipe just said. I’m not going to. I’m sure what he saw was correct.

  “I’d love to,” I answer, just as Felipe blurts out, “We’d love to.”

  Great, I guess I won’t be breaking in this kitchen table in after all.

  The McCallister-Jameson Foundation is cozy.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe a stone building with aluminum add-on buildings. I don’t know, but I did not expect a historical plantation house located on hundreds of acres of farmland.

  “Were you expecting tents?” the smart-ass next to me teases. I guess I deserve it, I may have gasped when Anniston opened the door and the smell of fresh-baked pies filled my nose. Pictures upon pictures line the walls through the entryway that looks like it’s decorated from one of those HGTV shows Pe and I pass over, looking for Below Deck. We’re both drama divas. Don’t judge.

  “I may have envisioned something a little more… military like,” I admit. Okay, fine. I may have thought they would all be out target practicing.

  “This isn’t the military,” Tim agrees. “Anniston has worked hard to make this a home for all of us. The only things left of the military are our workouts and strict schedules.”

  Uh-oh. “Did you mess up your schedule, you know, sleeping over?”

  Wow. Way to make that sound grown up, Milah.

  Tim chuckles. “No. I’m—”

  “No longer a virgin!”

  I startle at the collective cheers as we enter the family room.

  “Do you think they need
pool boys?” Pe whispers loudly in my ear. “We volunteer as tribute.”

  I shake my head, watching as Tim flips off the guy in the backward baseball hat. “Fuck you, Theo.”

  “Felipe! My man! Come out back; let me show you where the cool kids hang.”

  I can feel the excitement radiating off Pe as Theo approaches, only to turn back and add, “Stay here, Jameson. I hate having to hurt your feelings every day. It makes Breck cry.”

  Jameson, as Theo called him, gets up anyway. “It’s good to see you again, Felipe.” Cade tips his chin. “Marcus.” And then he claps Tim on the back and greets me with a warm smile. “Milah.”

  I like him. I know Felipe has already claimed Theo, and that’s fine. They fit with each other. But the big guy with those mint green eyes seems really nice. But then he shoves Theo into the wall when walking by, so maybe he isn’t all that nice?

  “They are friends,” whispers Tim.

  “No, we aren’t, Lambros. Stop filling Jameson’s head with pipe dreams. It’s not good for his self-esteem. Come on, boys, let me show you around.”

  Pe practically giggles, and I find myself grinning at the craziness in this house. It’s kind of like me and Pe but on a much larger scale.

  “So, you want to see out back?” Tim asks me once Pe and Marcus follow Theo and Cade down the hall.

  I nod, but then remember he’s in yesterday’s clothes. “Do you want to change first?”

  He pinches his shirt between his fingers. “Yeah, that’s probably best. Let me take you into the kitchen. Breck and Anniston will keep you from Theo.”

  Completely not worried about the shenanigans around here, I follow his fine ass into the open chef’s kitchen. The dark-haired woman I saw briefly at the bar is chopping fruit and handing it to little Aspen who is shoveling as much in as her little fists will let her. Breck is her name.

  “Don’t feed all my fruit to that little cracker thief,” Tim says, a playful lilt to his voice as he leans down behind the island as if he’s planning a sneak attack. Aspen squeals and kicks her feet in the high-chair just before Tim darts around and snags one of her pieces of fruit before he makes munching sounds against her neck.