Interpreter

by Kristy Marie

  Fuck.

  “I—”

  He holds up that damn finger and the word “One” comes out gravelly and… oh my God. It’s just hot as fuck. I can’t even pull myself together to realize he has grabbed the water hose and his jaw is clenching while he places the hose on top of the hood, warning me.

  “Two.”

  His chest heaves with the word, and his pec flexes as if it were the exclamation mark.

  Felipe would want to see this. Really, he has a thing with pecs and—“Three.”

  “Why are you still counting?”

  I hope I seem confident, and I know this sounds shitty, but I’m glad he couldn’t hear the crack in my voice when I asked the question. My vajayjay clenched a little and well, you know how that goes.

  “Four.”

  Okay, great. Now I have questions. Is he counting to five or ten? What happens when he gets to said number?

  “I recommend you take your shoes off,” he warns. “I’d hate for them to get ruined.” His tongue swipes out again, moisturizing that damn lip. I’m definitely buying him some lip balm. This natural moisturizing is not good for either of us.

  “F—”

  “Wait!” I stop his counting, deciding he’s right. These are good shoes. No need in them suffering when I was the one that got us into this mess. Although, I do owe them a cleaning for the whole soggy ground thing. Ugh.

  I slip off the designer heels and place them neatly next to a tire, the only barrier between me and Mr. Lambros.

  “Okay, I’m—”

  “Five.”

  Before I can wonder if he was counting to five or ten, Tim leaps over the hood of the car, water hose in hand, and snags me around the waist, pushing me against the car with his body.

  I’m telling you, his heaving chest and bubble-soaked body pressed against mine is not at all sexy.

  “That’s not fair!” I push against his body, and he grabs my wrist, stopping me.

  A grunt hangs between us as he halts my wiggling with a knee between my legs.

  Oh, hello. That feels amazing. Just a little to the left.

  “What’s not fair,” he begins, pressing my wrist down by my side, “is having to stare at your nipples and not fucking you against my car for everyone to see.”

  Oh. Well. I think I can get on board with where this is going. Mami could use an orgasm like yesterday.

  “You cannot see my nipples through this shirt,” I say, correcting his earlier lie. It’s a statement meant to calm my nerves and de-escalate the situation. What I really want to say is “No shit? You really wanted to fuck me against the car?”

  But I don’t, because I’m supposed to be mad at him. And he really is lying. My clothes are completely appropriate for little eyes. Except for the current cami I’m in because I was hot in Cal’s car. Dammit. I left my sweater in his car.

  Tim’s eyes never leave my lips. Since I can’t sign, (see: him restraining me in a completely kinky way) I make sure I enunciate every syllable.

  Those well-moisturized lips smirk down at me right before freezing cold water hits my chest, stealing my breath. “Ah! What the h—”

  I wiggle, pushing against his knee that has finally hit the damn mark.

  “You see, Mami”—he presses the trigger a little and water oozes from the hose and onto my breasts—“I’m not lying.” More water soaks through my shirt, and dammit, I groan.

  Tim’s eyes dart to mine.

  Did he feel me groan? I wouldn’t be surprised. We are almost sharing his pants.

  Without another word, his chin dips and he presses his lips to my neck, dragging them down the length of my throat. I shift on his knee, grinding myself just a little deeper into the denim.

  “Look down,” he whispers against my throat.

  I really don’t want to. I feel the girls standing at attention as if saying, “Here we are, Mr. Lambros. Keep us warm. This bitch is a cockblocker.”

  I sigh, hoping he feels it and catches the look of annoyance on my face. This is ridiculous. My girls behaved the entire time I was here. The only reason they are poking through the lace of my bra is because he wet them.

  He. Wet. Them.

  It was sexy—even if the water was freezing—and now I’m super turned on. But I will not let him think he is right. He’s not. My nipples have not been hard this entire time. Hell, I’ve been in the house for the majority of the time. He’s ridiculous.

  My throat is pushed against his lips as I barely look down at my whores of nipples, clearly poking out through my shirt.

  He pulls back and grins. It would be cute if he wasn’t getting on my last nerve.

  “You sprayed me with cold water, which was rude, by the way.”

  Soft laughter bounces between our bodies, and I try—and fail—not to grin at this insane argument we’re having.

  “You were rude,” he counters.

  “How was I rude?” I blanch. “I simply came to talk to you—”

  Warmth.

  That’s all I can think as the muscles in my neck give out and my head falls back in a groan as Tim’s mouth wraps my straining nipple in the warm cocoon of his mouth. Slowly he sucks the greedy little nipple in his mouth, massaging, caressing her into a state of flaccidity.

  My free hand goes to the back of Tim’s head and holds him there, just in case his head needs a little support. His mouth could get tired. You never know.

  “What the fuck were you doing with Cal, Mami?” His voice his rough and gritty, and I totally swoon that he kept with our bedroom names for each other. He lifts me off the ground with one arm—I swear to God—and slams me on the hood of his car as if I weigh nothing.

  My back is soaked in suds as he slides me up the hood of his car before yanking me back down and splaying me out wide for his perusal.

  “I hope these aren’t good panties,” he mutters, fingering the edge of the material. “Because they aren’t going to make it out in one piece.”

  I don’t see what’s so sexy about a man ruining underwear but—the fabric rips at my hip, and Tim’s tongue is right there to soothe the reddened skin. Ah, yes. Now I see the appeal. With only his head visible between my legs, I fall back, enjoying the feel of his mouth, quiet and not demanding like usual. I let the hulk of a man finish tearing the fabric from my body and discard them where no one cares to even look. Especially not me. All I care is that he keeps doing that thing with his tongue—oh shit. Yes. Right there. One by one, he pulls my legs over his shoulders, his huge-ass arms winding between them and holding me open.

  “You didn’t answer me,” he says, the golden flecks in his eyes shining just above my clit.

  Ugh. Why is he still talking? Why can’t we work this out physically?

  The air hits my exposed flesh and my back arches. “No. They weren’t good panties,” I moan. “Please put your mouth back on me. Fuck the panties.”

  I’m desperate. Needy and fucking desperate. The hood vibrates, and I pull my desperate ass up enough to see he’s laughing at me. “What’s so funny?” He takes a minute, eyeing my pissed-off look, I’m sure, and then yanks me down to his chest, basically using me as his personal gear shift.

  “I’m not talking about your thong,” he growls. “I’m talking about Cal.”

  “Eww. Why are we talking about Cal when we’re….” I motion at my spread-eagle position. There is no room for Cal here. This is a Tim and Milah space.

  Tim’s mouth goes back to my clit, and his thumb presses against my ass. I clench, not because I’m scared—well, maybe I am, a little. I hear the noises Felipe makes sometimes when Marcus is over; that can’t be comfortable at first.

  His thumb loses the pressure as the other fingers join in with my sweet torture. Two, in particular, glide inside me, thrusting in and out lazily until they stop.

  “Answer me,” he growls, his eyes on mine.

  “Gah! Are we still on Cal?” I grumble. His eyes are as firm and unbelieving just like his touch on my center. Fine. “He drove by. I
was going to call you, but he drove by first and offered me a ride.”

  His fingers pick up speed, but his mouth doesn’t go back to where I need it the most.

  “Does he have a thing for you?” he says, low and unsure.

  Ugh. “Please can we stop talking?” His fingers are still moving, but they are teasing, not using the pressure I need to come on the hood of this car.

  “No!” I scream out in the open pastures. “It doesn’t matter if he does have a thing for me because I only have a thing for you!” I take a breath and glare down at the dark head of hair between my legs. “Now please, stop fucking talking!”

  My legs are yanked open, and I worry for a second he might dislocate my hip at this angle, but then his blessed tongue, firm and literally a magic wand, goes to the center of my clit before his mouth begins to suck, sending spasms through my legs. My hands knot in his hair, and I cry out as his fingers press up, massaging the spot that sends black spots through my vision.

  “Don’t stop,” I beg him, but he doesn’t hear me because his face is still pleasantly buried between my legs. I try to feel for his throat, any connection I can make so he knows how much he’s killing this whole oral thing right now, but I can’t reach. It’s then that his hand, the one holding my legs open, seeks out and takes hold of mine. The connection is so intimate. Every piece of us, even out in the open, is connected. We don’t need words. We just need each other’s touch. His fingers inside of me. His mouth measuring the pressure as my clit swells. His hand holding mine anchors me to reality when I finally shatter in his arms.

  Radio host: He took time off from school?

  Penelope: Unfortunately, he did. You remember I said he was stubborn.

  Radio host: So, he came home to Vegas to be with you?

  Penelope: For a year. He updated everything he could. He mounted white boards in every room. Notepads every six feet. All of the TVs had closed captioning turned on.

  Radio host: He sounds like one devoted son.

  Penelope: He most certainly is. If it wasn’t for Tim pushing me—sitting next to me with a bowl of pretzels, challenging me to learn how to read lips—I don’t know that I would have. I probably would have always relied on sign language.

  Radio host: Oh wow! You read lips?

  Penelope: Yes, not as good as Timaeus does, but I’m pretty decent.

  Radio host: Ah man, I would love to have that skill. It would make eavesdropping so much easier.

  Penelope: Ha! I’ve never thought about that, but you’re right.

  I don’t know that I’ve ever made love to a woman. But as Milah’s breathing evens out on the hood of my car, I think I have now. No, we weren’t having sex, but we were connected more than just physically. I didn’t have to hear her. No, her pussy clenched around my fingers, her legs shivering at my ears… her hand reaching for mine… it was the most intimate I’d ever been with a woman.

  I unlock my arms from around her legs and kiss up her thighs. I was so fucking pissed to see her get out of the car with Cal. Enraged, is a better term, and my brothers knew it; each of them stepping up and preventing a scene in front of parents.

  “Come,” I tell Milah, easing off the hood.

  “I can’t,” she signs. “I think my legs have turned to noodles.”

  I chuckle at her dramatic description. “I’m sure you’re fine.” But I scoop her up anyway and carry her over my shoulder. My body aches from the effort I exerted while cleaning the last few cars. If I couldn’t put my hands on Cal, then I would take it out on the filth of everyone’s rims. I open the back gate and head toward the pool, finding what I need. The hot tub.

  “Strip,” I demand, tugging off my jeans and tossing them onto a table. Milah looks at the hot tub bubbling next to the pool.

  “What if your family comes back early?”

  “They won’t,” I assure her. We’ve all been around each other for too long. We know when to give each other space to cool down. The guys and I have done it plenty of times for Theo—not that he cares about privacy, but we still give it to him.

  “Okay,” she signs with her thumb and index finger. Within minutes we are both naked and soaking in the warmth of the water.

  “Are you still mad at me?” she asks. She’s sitting on my lap, her chest out of the water, and those damn nipples are hard and beckoning for me to warm them.

  “No,” I tell her, brushing a piece of hair from her face. “I’m not mad.”

  “I didn’t call Cal to come and get me. I swear.”

  I believe her. But just seeing him with her… knowing he rescued her and not me sent a feeling of territorial jealousy through me that I couldn’t shake off. Somewhere in all this, Milah became everything to me. She’s the reason I get up in the morning. The reason I stop by the convenience store every morning for a bag of mint M&M’s. The whole reason that I can now play music and enjoy it. And maybe the most important reason of them all, she introduced me to Oliver. The little kid who practices alongside us every day, making sure he signs out the words perfectly while Milah sings. He’s a brilliant little boy.

  Milah has brought so much to my life that I can’t imagine losing her, and I guess that’s why seeing Cal, a guy that I know pines after her, bring her here had me seconds from going insane with jealousy.

  “I’ll get your car fixed tomorrow,” I tell her, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I know a guy.” Well, technically I know a girl who knows a guy. Bianca, Hayes’s girlfriend, works for a repair shop. She and Mac can fix anything.

  “Thank you,” she says, winding her hand around my head and into my hair. “Are you going to tell me why you didn’t invite me to the fundraiser?”

  That crease she loathes makes its appearance, and I shrug. “You were quiet this afternoon.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Try again. I know when you lie. You shrug.”

  My chest rumbles with low laughter. “I do not.” Note to self: stop fucking shrugging.

  “You do. Now tell me the real reason you failed to mention you were going to be washing Moochy Martha’s Mercedes shirtless today.”

  “Moochy Martha,” I mouth, and it sends a vibration through her chest.

  “You have to know she wants to dry hump you in the break room.” The tightness in her face tells me she’s serious about this topic.

  “Are you jealous?” Laughter bubbles out of me until she halts it with a pinch to my nipple. “Ow.” I rub the battered nipple. “Who the hell is Moochy Martha? And I didn’t wash a Mercedes today. Mason did.”

  Her lips purse, and she nods like she knew this and was just checking. “Oh. Well. I’m glad she got it washed. It needed it.”

  “You were jealous. Is that why you were marching through that line like you were about to kick my ass?” I laugh. “Because you thought I was going to dry hump Moochy Martha against her car?” My laughter steals my breath. This woman.

  “Well, when you say it like that it makes the situation seem silly.”

  “It is silly,” I amend.

  “As silly as you going all Terminator because I rolled up with Cal?” She looks smug.

  “That was different. You were in a tank top.” And in his car. It was a totally different situation.

  “And you were shirtless.”

  I see her point.

  Sighing, I lean down and suck a nipple. She’s relaxed by the time I meet her gaze. “I don’t know who Moochy Martha is. Even if I did, there would be no dry humping going on at a car wash with kids around.” She gives me a look like tell that to my ripped panties. “At least not until everyone left. But again, I don’t know who Martha is.”

  “She’s a teacher on the third-grade hall. You smiled at her today,” she supplies.

  “I smiled at her?” I flash her a smug look before adding, “I thought you said I never smile at school?”

  She shoves at my chest, and I catch her hand, guiding her index finger past my lips. I give the wrinkled skin—from the water, not another wrinkle that will freak her o
ut—a few long pulls.

  “Are you ready for the show next week?”

  And we’re on to another horrific subject. The performance that I agreed to do.

  I sigh. “As ready as I think I can be.”

  I’ve been going back to the school in the evenings. Doc lets me in when he’s cleaning, and I just sit and play for hours at the piano. It’s soothing. Part of me wishes that I hadn’t agreed to play in front of everyone, and the other part of me gets a rush just thinking about the adrenaline of playing in front of a crowd. It’s been so many years….

  Milah cups water in her hand and pours it over my chest, the heat scalding against my cool skin. “The last time I was at your house….”

  She tries to scoot back, but I hold her tight. “Just ask me. What do you want to know?” I’ve known Milah long enough to know her tells. She wants to ask me something, but she’s scared of how I might react.

  Her chest expands and she nods, scooping another handful of water as if that will soothe me. “I overheard Dr. Parker at the barbecue.”

  Oh fuck. There’s no telling what he said.

  “He mentioned to Anniston that your doctor had an opening in his surgery schedule.”

  I sigh. Thanks a lot, Dr. Parker.

  “Is there a surgery they want you to have?”

  I return the soothing motion of cupping water and watching as it cascades down her breasts before plunging down her flat stomach. “Yes.”

  “Yes, they want you to have a surgery?”

  I nod.

  “And you don’t want to?” Her face is relaxed, so that tells me she isn’t shocked by this revelation, only curious.

  I shake my head.

  “What’s the surgery?”

  Is it wrong if I just slipped my cock in and fucked her into silence? Right. No condom. I can’t have any of that.

  “The surgery consists of placing a prosthesis inside my ear.”

  Her eyes widen. “Would you be able to hear?”