by Webster, K.
“You’re still gloating,” she says with a groan. “We should have gone another round.”
“So that you could have lost yet another bet?” I challenge. I pick a large crumb from her hair and eat it.
“You’re awfully cocky, pilot.”
I pounce on her, settling myself between her thighs. “You like it.”
She rolls her eyes. “I like a man who listens.”
“Is that right?” I taunt, nipping at her lip and chin and nose. “You found the wrong man to fall in love with.”
I freeze as soon as the words so casually tumble out of my mouth. Her eyes are wide and my heart won’t stop pounding in my chest. I should reel them back in or she should argue. We do neither. My lips fuse to hers and I rub my hard cock between the slick lips of her pussy until I’m pushing into her warm depths. She moans into my mouth, her nails clawing at my shoulders.
“Sher, you’re killing me,” I admit against her mouth as I thrust gently. “You’ve wrecked my life in the best possible way.”
“Me?” she moans, lifting her hips as she digs her heels into my ass. “You’re the one who crash landed into my life and my bed, bird boy.”
I kiss her as though I can memorize every taste, every mewl, every ragged breath. Her cunt clenches my cock as if it has been made just for this purpose. Just for me.
It doesn’t take much of my rubbing her clit since I sucked it nearly raw in the shower before she’s detonating in pleasure. The way she writhes and begs and whimpers has me exploding. My heat floods into her, marking her as mine.
I could get used to this.
I could do this forever.
Fuck, I am so attached to this girl. There’s no untangling myself from her without seriously doing my head in. How is it she wrapped me around her finger in such a short amount of time?
“After this vacation is over and it’s back to the grind, we’ll find a way to make it work,” I tell her, my voice somber. “It’s not like I can’t hop a plane anytime I want to come see you.”
Her lips curl into a smile. “And I can work from anywhere. Daddy would love it if I got away from the office more.”
A tightness that had its hold on my heart releases as relief floods through me.
“How will David take it?”
She lets out a heavy sigh that makes my softening cock slip out of her. I settle beside her on the bed and stroke her hair from her face so I can see her eyes.
“David has suddenly decided he wants to lavish me with attention. Dinner last night was a nightmare. It felt different,” she admits. “Because he wasn’t you.”
I grin at her. “How did he take it?”
“Stop gloating,” she warns, swatting at me. “I don’t know. I ran away.”
“Good girl,” I tease. “You’re mine. Tell him that next time.”
“Am I, though?”
“Absofuckinglutely.”
“I’ve never seriously dated anyone before.” She brushes her fingertips along my jaw. “This is all new to me.”
“New to me too, but I can’t say I hate it. In fact, I really love it.”
I’m just thinking about taking her again because my dick can’t seem to get enough of this woman when my phone starts ringing. I reluctantly roll away from her to grab it from the end table where it’s charging.
“Hello?”
“Camilo…”
The heart in my chest that had been thundering wildly slows to a stop. Sheridan must sense the dread rippling off me in waves because she grabs my hand, her pretty face frowning.
“Yeah, Regina?” I croak out.
She pauses on the other line and lets out a ragged sigh. “He passed on peacefully.”
“I don’t understand.” Tears are forming in my eyes as denial hits me hard in the gut. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your daddy died, son. I’m so sorry.”
The phone slips from my grip as I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling through a blur of tears. My entire body trembles with a bone-deep ache that I felt coming after Dad’s stroke, but was in no way prepared for. Something akin to a childish whine crawls up my throat. I can hear Sheridan speaking to Regina and then she hangs up. She wraps her body around mine so tight I think she might crush my ribs, and my girl cries with me.
Not my dad.
Not my hero, my confidant, my biggest cheerleader in life.
He’s gone.
Sheridan
He’s heartbroken.
Destroyed and devastated.
Barely holding it together.
I know exactly how he feels because I’ve been there. Losing a parent was one of the most trying things I ever went through. As he stares ahead, a blank look on his face as we fly high through the clouds, I can’t help but see myself in him. Feel every ounce of his pain.
I want to comfort him and tell him everything’s going to be okay. That his dad lived a full life and he loved his son, but those are just words. Camilo doesn’t need to hear all that, just like I didn’t either when I was nine and lost my mother. He needs support. The strong, quiet kind. He needs someone to be his glue—to hold him together as he breaks apart. Camilo is fierce, that much is obvious, but he’s shattering. I can see it written all over his expressionless face because the eyes don’t lie.
His are angry and sad and confused.
He’s trying to make sense of how his father is gone.
As soon as he received the call, I booked us a flight to Florida. I texted Dad and told him I’d see him in LA. We dressed, packed, and were at the airport within hours. He needs to sleep because the next week is going to be a long, stressful one. The weight on his shoulders finally wins out because his eyes flutter closed and he’s soon breathing deeply. I pull my notebook out of my bag, continuing on with my checklist. I’ve texted Damian and Estefania to let them know. Then, I took Camilo’s phone and found important contacts there as well, making sure his mother and Carter knew too.
I soon fall into my element of planning and making things happen. In just under three hours, I have made a plan so Camilo won’t have to worry.
After we touch down, I guide him to the car service I’ve managed to secure. The driver loads our things in the trunk while I sit with Camilo in the back. He doesn’t say anything, just stares ahead. My heart breaks for him. I manage to get out of him where he lives so we can get some rest. I don’t have time to check out his place because it’s in the wee hours of the morning and he desperately needs to sleep. After kicking off our shoes, we fall into his bed that smells wonderfully like him. I spend the better part of the rest of the night running my fingers through his hair as he cries silently in the dark.
He doesn’t need words right now.
He needs this.
I wake to the morning Florida sun blinding me. Camilo is no longer in bed. With a yawn, I slide out from under the covers and take a moment to check out his room. It’s empty save for a bed and a dresser. No television. No decorations. No pictures. It feels cold to me and my heart aches a little for him. I’m not sure what I expected from his place, but it wasn’t this. I assumed his living space in the States would be just as vibrant as he is, like his villa in Mexico.
He’s never home.
But I’m never home and I still made my place livable. It’s a sanctuary when I am home.
Shaking away the melancholy feelings, I pad out of his room and into the living room. I can smell coffee and follow my nose over to it. He’s left a mug out for me, which makes me smile. After making a cup, I go on a hunt for him. I find him outside on his balcony, staring out at the side of another building. The place is nice with huge, full palm trees and a pretty courtyard below.
“Morning,” I say, settling beside him in the other chair.
“Yep.”
I sip my coffee and stare at him. He looks like hell. His dark hair is messy and sticking up. Dark circles ring his eyes. He’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes and they’re rumpled. I want to crawl into his lap and
ask him if he’s okay, but I get a weird vibe coming from him. One that says he’s in a delicate mood and one wrong move will send him shattering.
“Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat,” I say softly.
“I don’t have anything. Never home. Fridge is empty.” He delivers his words with cold emptiness that makes me shiver despite the warm weather.
“I could pick something up,” I offer.
“Nah. Too much trouble.”
“Maybe we could get dressed and go eat—”
“I’m not hungry, Sheridan,” he snaps. “I can’t fucking eat. In case you forgot, my dad died. I need to deal with that shit first.”
I bite my tongue, holding back fiery words of my own. He most certainly needs to eat and I’ll get some food into him. It’s going to be hard dealing with his attitude, though. While I get why he’s being a dick, it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.
“Right,” I say, sliding into business mode. “I’m going to get showered so we can take care of the funeral arrangements.”
I abandon my coffee and walk back into his condo. After locating my clothes and toiletries, I start the shower, undress, and hop in. I’m furiously scrubbing my hair when the shower door opens and Camilo steps inside behind me. My body warms several degrees as his nakedness presses against mine. He’s hard and his erection pokes against me.
“Camilo…”
He doesn’t answer. His palms slide to my breasts that are slick from the shampoo I haven’t rinsed from my hair that is sliding down them. He pinches my nipples, making me gasp, and then pulls on them almost painfully. My breathing grows heavier the more he abuses my nipples with his fingers. They’ll be sore later. Apparently I like a little pain because I’m practically squirming with need. One of his hands leaves my breast and slides down the curve of my ass. His fingers explore until he finds my pussy from behind. Easily, his finger enters my wet body. I groan when he adds a second one.
“Camilo,” I whine when he fingerfucks me almost too roughly.
“Want me to stop?”
God no.
I shake my head and he continues his probing. He’s softened his touch and I already miss the way he seemed to fuck his fingers into me in an angry way. I’m distracted from his fingers inside me when he twists my nipple. It’s strange how my body reacts in such a needy way. I’m growing closer to orgasm when he pulls his fingers out without warning. I whimper until he presses the head of his dick against my slick opening. He grabs my hip and thrusts hard. My hands slap against the tile wall to keep from falling. Camilo crowds me, pressing my front against the chilly tiles. He fucks me hard as I cling to the wall, holding on for dear life. I know he’s upset about his dad and needs this release.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck.”
Heat floods up inside me. I haven’t climaxed yet. Normally, I’d tell him to get me off too, but things are weird right now. With his softening dick still inside me, he slips his fingers to my pussy. I moan as he easily brings me to orgasm. My body clenches around his and I can feel him already hardening back up. He moves his hips, stretching me with his growing length. I’m dizzied from the steam and still shaking from my orgasm, in no way ready to take him again.
With a growl, he shoves away from me, breaking us apart. I rest my head against the tiled wall as he quickly showers. His cursed words under his breath—several aimed at me—are enough to have me keeping out of his way until he finishes.
Be strong, Sheridan.
He’s hurting and breaking apart inside.
It’s not you, it’s him.
Camilo isn’t a cold person, but grief will make you act like an asshole. I of all people know how it feels to lash out at people you care about. There were plenty of times Daddy received my wrath.
Just when I think he’ll leave me alone in the shower, he runs his fingertips down my spine in a tender way. His hand clutches my hip and then he pats it once before escaping. As soon as he’s gone, I step under the spray to finally wash out my shampoo and cry.
I cry for him.
For us.
I cry until the water runs cold and I’m forced to finish my shower in record speed.
By the time I dry off, dress, and do something about my hair, I smell food. I walk into the kitchen. Camilo is gone but there’s a sack of takeout breakfast. He’s left a note.
Sher – Sorry for being a dick. I’ll be back later. – CZ
His note makes me tear up again. I can feel him pulling away from me with each passing moment. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to give him his space or invade it.
For now, I eat my breakfast and try like hell not to cry.
He needs me strong.
I will be strong for him.
I’m pacing the condo hours later when Camilo decides to return. His eyes are bloodshot, and he stumbles in through the door.
“Where have you been?” I demand, my voice shrill. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”
It’s dark now and I’m pissed.
“I was toasting my dad’s honor.” He shrugs, his body swaying. “What do you care?”
My nostrils flare with fury, but I reel my anger back in. I will not fight with a drunk person. “You were at the bar all day?”
“Not all day.”
“Where were you, Camilo?”
He starts to walk toward me but veers hard to the left, clipping his shoulder hard against the wall. “Ow.”
I stalk over to him and grab his biceps. He reeks of alcohol. “Tell me you didn’t drive.”
“I walked. I don’t know where I left the Tahoe.” He slumps toward me, but he’s too heavy. We both fall to the carpet hard. I yelp when my ass hits the floor. “Sher,” he croons. “I’m sorry.”
His lips find my neck as his body practically crushes mine. I’m seething with rage and now my ass hurts.
“You have got to pull yourself together,” I snap. “Right now. I get it. You’re devastated, but this is out of control. You can’t leave me like that. You can’t drink yourself stupid. You need to let me help you get through this.”
He trembles. “I’ll never get through this.”
“You will, Camilo. I did and you will too.” I shove him off of me and rise to my feet. “What happened?” I storm into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee because he desperately needs it. I also text Carter because I need help.
Camilo crawls into the kitchen and lays his cheek on the tile floor. “I had to go to the nursing home to collect his things. Then I had to go see him.”
“Where is he?”
“Laurel Waters Funeral Home.”
“And?”
“I saw him…” His face scrunches and a ragged sob escapes him. “He’s dead, baby.”
Baby.
My anger simmers a bit. I squat beside him and run my fingers through his messy hair. “I know,” I murmur. “You shouldn’t have done this alone, though. I should have been there to help you.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I feel so angry and fucking sad all at once.”
“I know you do. It’s okay. We’ll get some coffee in you and then some food. Just let me take care of you.”
He nods and then falls asleep on the floor. I let out a heavy sigh as I stand. This is a lot to handle. I text Estefania, needing her support.
Me: He’s a mess. Drunk and upset.
Estefania: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah. Hanging in there. I want to help him but don’t know how.
Estefania: Maybe call his mother?
Me: I’d rather slay dragons, but you’re probably right.
Estefania: Camilo is a good man who is going through a bad time. He needs a good woman to help him through it. Even if it gets ugly. Love is not always pretty.
How is this girl so wise?
Me: Love you.
Estefania: Love you too, bestie.
As soon as we’re done texting, I fish out Camilo’s phone from his jeans pocket. There are seventeen missed calls from me, several f
rom his mother, and a few from Carter. Bypassing the missed calls, I find his mother’s number.
She answers in a string of Spanish.
“Hi, uh, it’s Sheridan.”
Silence.
“I’m with Camilo.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “He’s doing terrible.”
“I should be there with my son.”
“You should,” I agree. “When will you be here?”
More silence.
“The tickets are ridiculously expensive and—”
“I’ll book them,” I bark out, cutting her off. “Is Eduardo coming too? I think Camilo could use his support too.”
She starts to protest, but I already have my phone pulled up and am searching flights. It takes half an hour for me to pull out all the information I need from her to book the flights. When we’re done and hanging up, someone knocks on the door.
I rush over to it and fling it open. Carter stands there holding a bag and frowning.
“He okay?”
“Nope,” I say, my voice quivering.
He gives me a sad smile. “He will be.”
“I hope so.”
“I know it.”
Camilo groans from the kitchen.
“Let’s get this man fed and we’ll go from there,” Carter says, handing me the bag of food. “Thank you for being here for him.”
I don’t know that I want to be anywhere else.
This royally sucks, especially with Camilo being an asshole, but he needs me.
My heart thunders wildly in my chest.
Nowhere else I want to be except here with him.
Camilo
My head throbs so bad I can barely keep my eyes open as the funeral director, Marsha, explains different types of caskets to me. I don’t fucking care. Dad is dead. It doesn’t matter what the box looks like. They’re all expensive as hell and ridiculously overpriced. I rub at my temples and nod, half listening to what she’s saying.
Thankfully, Sheridan is here.