American Sweethearts
Page 6
When we passed one of the covered cabanas on the beach she stopped and jerked her head in its direction. “You want to go in there? I’m freezing.”
I didn’t answer, just followed her into one. The cabanas in this place were seriously pimped out. There was a huge double chaise with a small stack of towels on a shelf to the side. It was dark as fuck inside, but we both had our phones with us and with the help of the flashlight app got situated. Pris draped a couple of the towels over herself like blankets and one over her shoulders.
Once she was settled in she put her head back and let out a long sigh. “This wedding was bomb, but fuck, I’m tired.”
I grunted in agreement as I arranged the three small bottles between us. “You up for some bubbly or you want water?” She looked down at our beverage bounty and smiled. The smile she always had when she was pleased by something or someone. It was just a turning up of her lips, but her eyes went liquid with warmth. I’d missed that smile most of all.
I’d placed my phone in between us with the flashlight on and could see her face half cast in shadow. I spent a moment looking at the lines of her face. Her long neck and the way her skin seemed to be glowing in this light. Her makeup was not perfect at this time of the night. The humidity making her a little shiny, and her deep red lipstick having worn off after hours of food and drink.
She looked like she’d had a long night of fun and she was still, as always, perfectly kissable. I swallowed hard and lifted the beverage offerings to her.
She grabbed them both, first taking a few gulps of the water and then cracking open the little champagne bottle. I did the same and we clinked them together, saying “to Camilo and Thomas” almost at the same time.
She took a long sip and sighed again, and I debated on what to do. There was so much to say. There was so much to do. But a lot of those things were about me, and what I wanted. I’d promised myself that if I ever got the chance to do so again, I’d give her my full attention.
“So what’s up with the job?”
She laughed, shaking her head at me. “Damn, Juan Pablo, you really are a changed man. You’re actually volunteering to hear people whine about their job?”
Okay that stung a little, because even though I could be a little impatient about people’s drama, I wasn’t a total asshole. I could go into my feelings about this, turn her comment into a thing, or I could just keep the focus on her.
“I always want to hear about you, and that will never change.” She looked a little reluctant, like she didn’t know what to do with this new version of me, but it was true. It felt good to look her in the eye when I said that.
“Okay.” She sounded only slightly suspicious, which I guess was an improvement. “It’s not even that it’s bad. This new captain is pretty good and I like working with her. The rest of the team, even though it’s mostly guys, is decent enough.” She slumped and I could feel the weariness radiating from her. “I’m just tired of the politics and educating people that should know better.”
I didn’t know what to say. My job was pretty straightforward. I mean yes, I dealt with some bullshit for sure. There was a whole lot of toxic masculinity and entitlement in that clubhouse. Sure, a lot of the players were Latinx or black but the guys sitting in the executive suites were...not. It made for weird moments. However, I rarely dealt with that. I had a job to do and I did it. And for the most part I got along with everyone.
“I can’t say that I’d have a lot of patience for politics, and you’ve been fighting your way up the ranks for ten years now. I can only imagine that shit’s gotten old for you. Do you like the work at least?”
She lifted a shoulder, obviously trying not to be super down on things but barely succeeding. “I did.”
The dimness in her smile told me the love she’d had for the job in those first few years was no longer there, or it was nowhere near as strong. I hated the idea of Priscilla’s fire being snuffed out by politics and bullshit. Most of the time with Pris I could sense where she hurt and where I could make things better. Tonight I had to remind myself I no longer had a right to any of those places. I’d talked and fought my way out of being the person she came to for comfort.
“I don’t think I can handle I told you so’s right now.” I could hear she was wary of what I would say. She thought I would go back to old arguments and disagreements to hurt her, and in the past I probably would have.
“I have fucked up in so many ways when it comes to us, but I really hate myself for saying things that would make you think I care more about being right than seeing you happy.”
She took in a breath and let it out slowly, eyes still locked on mine. “You’re different, J.”
I shrugged, not wanting to make any of this about me, but something in my chest loosened from her words. Unbidden and completely unfiltered, the words came out of my mouth before I could do anything to stop them.
“You looked beautiful today.” I did something halfway between a cringe and shrug. “You always do, but with the sun in your hair and little bit of a flush you get when you feel like crying but you really don’t want to...” She bit her lip, trying not to laugh and my head swam from how much I wanted her.
I let it hang for a moment and in the way her chest moved, fast and a little erratic, I saw that the moment had turned for her too. In this dark little corner of the Caribbean with white sand under our feet and the ocean breeze serenading us, I wished we were still Pris and J from high school, from college, from even two years ago.
Again, my mouth was faster than my head. “I miss kissing you.”
Pris’s breath caught and fuck I wanted to, but I wouldn’t make a move. I would not encroach on the space she asked for. I would not be the one to break the promise. I was practically vibrating as I waited for her to say something, to ask for what she wanted.
“J.” The way she said that made me feel like I was on fire. I’d missed how just the first letter of my name could sound so fucking hot slipping from her lips.
We both reached out at the same time, mouths crashing together, chests heaving and hands hot on each other.
“Fuck.” I wasn’t sure if it was regret or it was rapture, but tasting Priscilla felt like my entire life was realigning. Like all the things that had gone old and stale shone again.
I kissed her hard and, as always, she gave it all back to me. Hot, hungry. Lips nipping, mouth open and I couldn’t hold it in. I could almost smell her.
“Are we blaming this on post-wedding haze?”
I was so caught up in all the places I wanted to get to on her body that I almost missed the question. When I pulled back, again I could see the vulnerability in her eyes. It hit me hard to know that she thought wherever this was going could hurt her.
I lifted my hands off her and tried to get myself under control. I didn’t ever want to be one of the things that Priscilla regretted. Not again.
I didn’t want to say it, but I made myself do it. “Why don’t I walk you to your room? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” I was more stating a fact than asking a question, and no matter how much my dick was going to hate me later I was glad I said it.
She looked at me for a long moment without answering, her gaze scrutinizing me, as if she was looking for the answer to my question somewhere on my face. Like I’d just turned into a puzzle she was set on solving. I always forgot the way Priscilla could make my skin feel like I was on fire. Like my lust was a tornado swirling inside, powerful enough to lift me clear off my feet.
“I missed kissing you too, J, and I was lying.”
My heart thumped in my chest, because we never did this. Heartfelt and earnest was not us. We were usually too busy slaking whatever thirst we’d built for each other to think about feelings or consequences.
“I don’t need a wedding haze excuse to want you.”
Chapter Seven
Priscilla
Without breaking eye contact I placed the little bottle of bubbly on the table by the chaise and then pushed forward until his lips were right against mine.
I could feel his arms stiffening, as if he wanted to touch me or pull me closer, but was waiting for me to make the next move. Letting me set the tone. But his tongue still darted out slowly, and I ran it over the seam of my lips, making me gasp. “Tell me what you need.”
I slid a hand over his arm, my pointy nails digging into the skin. “I miss your mouth and your hands.” I didn’t even need to say where, it didn’t really matter.
When he kissed me again and I pushed against him, he finally let himself touch. His hands ran over my thighs, then my calves, agonizingly slow, until finally he slipped them under my dress.
“Touch me, J.” I usually chased my orgasms with single-minded determination, but with J I let his touch set the tone and he almost always wanted to explore. He was thorough, and not by going hard and fast. He always took his time, slowly undoing every knot, unfurling every nerve ending until I was a panting, sweaty mess.
He could always wreck me.
He laughed in that filthy way he did when he was getting me so revved up I lost the ability to talk. I wanted to move. Spread my thighs for him, raise my knees, so that he’d touch me like I he knew he could. But he would not be rushed. It felt illicit to be doing this out here, the breeze of the ocean lifting the flaps of the cabana as J made his way over every inch of my skin.
I felt liquid and wild under Juan Pablo’s hands. He could always do that. With his eyes locked with mine he moved so he was kneeling between my legs and ran his hands—rough from years of gripping baseball bats—on the inside of my thighs.
He crawled up on his knees as my thighs widened, adjusting for him. As if he could not hold himself back any longer he pushed my dress up. I threw my own arms over my head, feeling languid and wanting to enjoy the familiar buzzing under my skin.
“You’re soaking through this, Nena.” He leaned in to kiss me as he palmed my sex over the wet lacy fabric.
I gasped as he gripped my thigh hard and circled his thumb over my clit.
“Juan Pablo.” I wasn’t sure if I was laughing or screaming, but he was touching me so I’d beg. I felt myself tighten and my hips started moving without my bidding, needing more.
“You know I go a little crazy when you get like this, Priscilla. Imma have to put my mouth on you.” He sucked his teeth, neck muscles tight from holding back until I told him he could.
“Tú no eres fácil, Juan Pablo.” It was more of a gasp than a statement, as our gazes were locked tight and I exhaled with a laugh.
“You only say that when you’re taunting me to turn you out,” he said, as he flashed me a filthy grin, and with the same thumb he’d been driving me out of my mind with he slipped my underwear off.
He balled the lacy bit of fabric in his hand and pressed it to his nose, closing his eyes in apparent ecstasy. He spoke, eyes still shut tightly, as I laid there vibrating.
“You know what I miss?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. Before I had a chance to say anything he lowered himself to kiss me, his hands roaming over my belly. Fingers tracing the edge of my dress until he got my nipple out. My skin buzzed, anticipating what it would feel like to have his mouth on me.
“I miss this.” He traced a finger over the dark brown areola, and without a word brought his head down to lick at it. His tongue tracing the edges and lapping at the tip.
I hissed at the sensation and pressed the back of my head to the chaise, the ache between my legs getting more and more intense. He took mouthfuls of me, tongue sliding over my nipple as two fingers took turns moving over my clit and dipping into me, looking for the place he always seemed to find so effortlessly.
I had both my hands on his head, keeping his attention on my breasts as I breathed choppily, just on the cusp of coming apart.
“Don’t fucking stop, J,” I begged through gritted teeth, already feeling the waves coming. He grunted, redoubling his assault on my senses and soon I was lost, body pulsing in an orgasm that left me weak.
When I opened my eyes, the way Juan Pablo was looking at me made my belly molten again. The want there, gut deep and all-encompassing like my own. When he was like this, it was so easy to forget all the ways things seemed to fall apart for us.
He ran the back of his hand over his mouth, eyes still roaming over me. I probably looked a mess, but from how he was breathing I knew we were both on the exact same page. No stopping. We’d just keep going at this, kissing, touching until we’d had enough. We’d always been good at pushing off catastrophe as long as we focused on what we could make each other feel.
I ran a hand over his hardness, focusing on him. “Can I have this now?” I sounded a lot more in control than I was, my mouth practically watering for him.
He jerked his head, already making his way down my body. “Not yet.”
I could feel the tingling before his mouth was on me, and when he closed his lips around my clit and pulled, all I could do was fall into the soft deep cushions of the chaise and feel. My hands fisted at my sides, trying to relax into the sensation.
He took turns between sucking hard and circling the hard tip of this tongue to that little nub. The crackle of electricity worked itself up my limbs and gut, until I was vibrating, so close to coming again. Juan Pablo could always get me off in record time. Fleetingly I thought that nothing ever felt this comforting and hot at once.
Soon the tingling in my limbs increased to waves of pleasure and I was coming with a long lazy moan. “Fuuuuuuck that’s so good.”
I lay there panting as J softly ran his hands over my thighs, which he knew was one of the only spots where I didn’t feel hypersensitive after an orgasm. Finally, he pushed up again and searched for my mouth. While we kissed I reached for his cock, but it was soft.
I grinned and pulled back. “Did you jerk it while you were down there?”
I could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed his way down my neck. “I’m good at multi-tasking and need to get these pants dry-cleaned anyway.”
“Gross.” I did not sound disgusted. I wasn’t. I felt satisfied and understood in this little cocoon by the ocean J and I had made.
After we’d each had some more sips on less than optimally cold but still quite delicious bubbly we laid there next to each other, in comfortable silence, and before he opened his mouth I could feel J getting ready to trample right into my post-coital bliss.
“If things don’t get better, would you consider leaving the force?”
My initial reaction was to bristle. Over the years J and I had had more than one blowout over my job and his constant worry that I’d get hurt. So this line of questioning made me defensive, even when I’d been asking myself the same thing. A lot.
I didn’t turn around to look at him, but I made myself come out with it.
“I’ve thought about it.” He didn’t say anything and I knew he wouldn’t until I’d said whatever was on my mind. “But I’m not sure I can, not yet. The multi-disciplinary team is pretty good and I want to keep working in it.”
J would not let me hide the truth from myself. A lot of times that didn’t work out well, but I could always rely on him to hear what was on my mind and tell me what I needed to hear.
“Is that the same kind of group you were in in Ithaca, with the CPS people and the prosec
utors?”
I smiled and turned to look at him, not really surprised, but still touched that he recalled the details of a job I’d left years ago. “Yeah, pretty much the same. Of course the team is a little bigger, and we work with the FBI too, but the same idea. I can’t believe you remember that. I was a baby cop when I was on that Ithaca team.”
He gave me a pointed look. “When have I ever forgotten about something that made you happy, Priscilla?”
Never. But that road was not one I was going down right now.
“You have a good memory.” That elicited a scoff, but whatever it came with, he kept to himself.
Again I veered us off the lane that would put us on the path to talking about our feelings. “Anyway the work is goodish, and some of the guys are assholes, and problematic, but I can mostly deal with it. I also love the forensic social worker from the child advocacy center that sits in on the meetings. Bri.”
There was a shift and I could feel he was refraining from asking more about Bri.
“He’s in a very committed relationship to a man, so you can unclench your jaw. Not that your ass needs to be pressed about men I like.”
“Says you.” That was a verbal pout if I’d ever heard one.
I would not find his whining cute. “We were talking about my dissatisfaction with my job, Juan Pablo.”
He gave me a serious look, almost as if to gauge if I really wanted to hear his full opinion on things. “So are you feeling like things are as good as they’ll get?”
It’s what I’d been avoiding feeling.
Before I could censor myself or change the real answer, I said it out loud. “I just wonder if this is what I want to do forever.”
Another grunt. “You don’t have to. I mean, look at Papi. I think he’s happier running that center than he ever was being a cop, and that man bled blue. You can reinvent yourself, Pris.”
I felt a flash of resentfulness, because that was easy for Juan Pablo to say, he had the dream job with the Yankees making six figures. Meanwhile, my dream job involved coaching people on how to masturbate better and peddling vibrators. Which didn’t exactly come with benefits and I was still not sure I could ever even tell my parents about it.