“Please, Carolina. You’ve made your point. This is cruel.”
I bent over him again and kept my balance on one hand so I could keep playing with myself with the other while I sucked him. I took him deeper into my mouth the second time, and he growled—he actually growled—and I etched the sound in my mind so I could take it with me for the rest of my days.
“Stop, Carolina,” he ordered, and I couldn’t stop myself from obeying, his power over me from last night lingering somewhere in the recesses of my brain.
I crawled up toward him and found his mouth, letting him taste what had been on my tongue, morning breath be damned, because this was so hot. I used his shoulders for support as I came up over him and slid down over his cock slowly—so slowly.
The girth of him sent a stretch of pain to my core as I slid down around his length. My mouth parted from his. I gulped some air to ebb the pain away, but he noticed my wince.
“Are you in pain, baby? We don’t have to, we can stop if you are too sore.” His body stilled like he wouldn’t dare move a muscle lest he hurt me.
I shook my head.
The thing was, there was a pain where we joined, but also so much pleasure, and there was no way I was stopping now. I circled my hips gently as I took the rest of him in, and he groaned.
“I’m okay,” I promised. “A little sore, but nothing I can’t handle.” I slid down further until there was nothing more to take in and rode him for all that I was worth.
Hector grabbed onto my hip bones, encouraging my rhythm. He helped me up his shaft and brought me down forcefully. His fingers dug into my skin, but the pain was masked under the pleasure of his fullness inside me. The way it felt to be with him had never been close to this with anyone, not even remotely.
He sat up fully and took my mouth in his. I moaned into his tongue, and he rewarded me by pushing me until I fell on my back. He rolled up over me in an instant, never once disconnecting from my body. Grabbing my right leg, he placed it over his shoulder, and the stretch felt divine.
“Oh,” I moaned with the surprise of this new position. I tried bucking my hips, but too much of his weight was on me, and I was powerless. “Hector,” I moaned.
“I’m here, baby,” he said, claiming my lips once again.
He picked up speed as he drove into me over and over, and when I couldn’t take it any longer, I clenched around him as I found my release. My center convulsed around him, and his body stilled. The morning light splayed across his forehead, and I could see a vein making itself known over his taut skin as he came inside me.
After we both came undone, he rolled off me. We lay next to each other for a long moment, panting. The sweat from the heat of us started to cool over my body, and I curled to his side, seeking his warmth.
We both lay there for a moment as we brought down our heart rates and our breaths. After a long moment of coming back to, Hector broke the silence.
“So I take it that was a yes?”
Six Years Later
Thanksgiving Day
Epilogue
Hector stood in front of the fireplace mantel with all the family pictures, our five-year-old daughter in his arms. Marisela’s long legs dangled nearly to his knees, and already we could tell she would grow up to be tall—just like her parents.
She wore a deep blue dress with grey wool leggings and looked positively adorable in her daddy’s arms. Though physically she looked most like me, her attitude, brain, and mannerisms were all Hector Medina.
When our daughter was born, Hector had wanted to name her after my mom, but Marisela came into this world with my face—my mother’s face. I couldn’t handle looking at her and calling her by my mother’s name day after day. Instead, I suggested we name her after his mom. Hector had grinned as he let out a tear. Marisela, who had been in her dad’s arms swaddled in the tiniest bundle I had ever seen, caught the tear with her forehead.
Grammy Marisela, as we all now called her to differentiate between grandmother and granddaughter, wasn’t joining us this holiday season. In her seventies, she didn’t like leaving her home in Mexico to travel any longer, but we had promised to visit in the spring.
“Daddy, this is my brother,” Marisela said, pointing to the picture of Jake my dad had added to the mantel.
“Yes,” Hector said. “That’s your older brother Jake.”
“He’s in heaven,” she told him matter-of-factly, and the words sounded like my father’s counsel.
“Is he now?” Hector asked like she had all the answers.
“Yeah!” Marisela said with a confidence not unlike her father’s. “Grammy Consuelo takes care of him there.” And that explanation definitely had Dad written all over it. Hector chuckled, and Marisela didn’t notice her dad’s eyes misting over, but I caught sight of it when he turned his face slightly away from her to take a deep breath.
Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. I was standing, leaning against the door frame that led to the living room, watching my family. “You know, Mami would be so in love with her granddaughter,” I said as I clasped Dad’s hand on my shoulder.
“She is in love with her,” said Dad. I wasn’t sure I believed that, but it was still comforting that he believed it, and he believed it enough for the both of us. “You have a package,” he said. “It’s on the table.”
I went into the kitchen where Sofia and her daughter Audrey were smearing masa onto dry corn husks and helping Dad roll tamales. I grabbed the small box from the table so it wouldn’t be in the way of their work.
I watched Audrey work diligently, her tongue poking out to the side as she concentrated on getting the perfect tamal, and I laughed. She was twelve now and growing into a beautiful young woman. Her dad and Sofia were going to have a heck of a time with boys real soon.
“Tía,” Audrey said, looking up at me. “Is Tía Sara coming to dinner with the boys?”
“Yeah, why aren’t they already here helping?” Sofia asked with mock-disdain.
“No, Mom!” Audrey said. “My tía Sara doesn’t come until the food is ready.”
Audrey made the accusation so seriously, Dad, Sofia, and I all roared with laughter. Hector and Marisela joined us in the kitchen, asking us what was so funny. Hector joined in with laughter when I repeated Audrey’s matter-of-fact statement.
“Yes, sweetie,” I told her. “Sara is coming, but it’s better if she comes when dinner is ready, or do you want her tornado boys here while we try to work?”
“No!” she said with horror, and we all laughed again. Audrey returned her attention to the tamal she was rolling. She feigned disinterest when she spoke again, but I didn’t miss her cute little rosy cheeks reddening crimson. “What about Tía Mandy? Is she bringing Lulu?”
Why was my niece asking about Mandy’s son Lucas? I knew they were almost the same age and went to the same school, but the redness in her face amused me. I tried not to show it as I answered her. “No, sweetie. Lulu is in Spain with his other grandparents for the holidays. He’ll be back after the new year.”
Audrey shrugged, and I changed the subject to prevent her any embarrassment if anyone else caught on. I still had her back. I just hoped there wasn’t payback from Sofia when Marisela became a pre-teen and started thinking about boys.
Hector lowered Marisela to the ground, and she ran to her grandpa who had a ball of masa waiting for her to play with. She rolled the dough in her hands and sank her fingers into it, giggling at the sensation. She ran to the living room with it still in her hands.
“What’s the package?” Hector asked.
I had forgotten about it and looked down at the small box still resting on my lap. “I don’t know. Hand me the kitchen scissors?”
“Is your dad coming to dinner, Audrey?” Hector asked as he handed me the scissors.
Audrey’s little face fell, and she bit her lip just like her momma.
“No,” Sofia said when Audrey didn’t answer. “He’s in Germany working, but he’ll be back by Christmas, right,
honey?” Sofia ran her fingers over Audrey’s bangs, pushing them away from her eyes.
“Right,” said Audrey, more cheerful now.
Opening the package, I found an assortment of Mexican candy, and I smiled. I knew exactly who these were from. The box was filled with tamarind-covered candy, my favorite watermelon lollipops, banana bubble gum, and several cajeta and dulce de leche candies. I opened the card, recognizing the familiar handwriting that found me every holiday season.
For the doctor who gave me a fighting chance,
Thank you for saving my life.
Much Love,
Valentina Dennis
“It’s from a patient,” I said. Hector hovered over me, looking inside the box. His hand reached toward my lap for a piece of candy, but I smacked it away. “That’s my candy, Dr. Medina,” I said.
“Is that right, Dr. Ramirez?” Hector put his hands on his hips in warning just like he did when he was attempting—and failing—to be stern with our daughter.
I sprang to my feet, opened the door to the backyard, and ran as I clutched the box in my hands. I only barely heard Hector’s footfalls on the grass as he followed me, but I knew he wasn’t far behind.
He caught me and gripped my waist with one hand as he tickled me with the other.
“No, daddy!” shouted Marisela, now next to us. “She is going to drop the candy!”
I wiggled in his grip. “Stop! Stop!” I pleaded through the laughter.
Hector stopped long enough for me to hand my daughter the box. Marisela’s eyes widened at the sight of all the candy, and she ran with it back inside the house to show her grandpa.
“Dr. Ramirez,” Hector said. “Half of what is yours is mine.”
“Everything except for candy.” I grinned at him, and he tackled me to the ground.
Dad hadn’t raked the yard yet, and I laid on a bed of yellow and orange leaves. Hector’s weight pinned me to the ground, and he dipped his head to kiss me gently—just one chaste little peck would do for now, until we got home and put Marisela to bed.
As he looked at me with that smile of his, I thought of everything we had created together and how beautiful it all was. Nothing we had ever done together was ever short of remarkable.
I had come from a tiny family, just Dad and me, but I’d slowly but surely grown it. First, with Ramiro, then Sara, then all my girlfriends, and finally, all my nieces and nephews. We had filled this house with a huge family and a lot of laughter.
I lay there, looking up at my husband, feeling the crisp autumn air nip at my skin, incredibly grateful for the family we had made.
* * *
FIN
Bonus Chapter
Would you like to read a free bonus chapter from Remission? To get Hector’s point of view when he first meets Carolina, join my reader club here.
In the meantime, are you ready to start on Valentina’s story? Keep reading for an excerpt from the second book in the Heartland Metro Hospital series, Contusion.
Contusion Excerpt
Chapter One
It’s either the machine or me. You are going down, I telepathically warn the vending contraption holding my Pop-Tart hostage. I’ve never had a Pop-Tart in my life, but I haven’t eaten all day, and hangry Valentina Almonte . . . well, let’s just say even inanimate objects wouldn’t want to meet her. “I train with two-hundred-and-fifty-pound men, so you better give it soon,” I mutter under my breath as I think about my coach, Chema. Chema, who didn’t know where I was and was probably worried. Two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Chema, who I have only been able to wrestle to the ground once. I should call him today, but not until I eat. Chema isn’t fond of hangry Valentina either. I shake the vending machine as discreetly as possible.
I’m getting ready to start kicking the thing when someone clears their throat nearby to grab my attention. I turn and am faced with a red-headed, freckled man who has about four inches on my five-foot-five frame. I stare with surprise at the handsome stranger with piercing green eyes. His nose and cheekbones are chiseled like a Roman marble statue. I’ve never seen a red-headed person this close before, and I’ve always been a sucker for bearded smart guys. He wears glasses, so he has to be smart. That’s the rule, right? Yet there is something manly about him, starting with his short beard and solidifying with a surprisingly deep voice considering his slender frame.
“Here,” he says, extending two dollar bills my way.
“Um, it’s okay,” I say, self-conscious about the last remnants of my Spanish accent that I was never quite able to shake off.
“Please,” he insists. “I’m afraid for its life.” He points to the vending machine and smirks as he extends the bills my way again.
I cock my head to the side, unsure I should accept—my brain misfiring at what to say to this handsome stranger—when he sweeps past me to insert the bills into the machine. His arm brushes mine, and I jump back like I am dodging a strike from my opponent.
“What was it?” he asks and smiles broadly.
I point to the lopsided pastry package dangling from a corner caught on the claw of the feeding coil. “The Pop-Tart,” I say. This is so embarrassing. I finally meet someone in the U.S., someone handsome, and he is buying out my hostage snack.
When the snack drops, he bends down to grab my prize, and I don’t check out his ass. Not one little bit. But if I had, which I didn’t, I’d have to admit it is quite a fine ass in that light-colored denim.
“Are you waiting for family?” he asks, handing me the Pop-Tart.
I look around nervously at the nearly empty waiting area. I’m not ready to tell anyone, even a stranger, so I shrug and change the subject instead. “Thanks, um—what’s your name?”
“You betcha. I’m Rory,” he says, and his smile extends to his eyes. He offers his hand, and I take it in mine.
“Valentina. Nice to meet you.”
He adjusts the backpack strap over his shoulder, and I wonder if he is a college student because he has to be in his early twenties. “Valentina,” he tries out the name in his mouth. “That’s pretty. I don’t think I know any Valentinas.”
Except for the salsa, I think. “It’s Mexican,” I say abruptly.
“Is that where you’re from? Mexico?”
I nod. “Well, thanks again for the snack. I appreciate it.”
I’m walking toward my spot in the waiting room when he calls out after me. “Anytime. And take it easy on the equipment, tiger.”
Sitting in my chair, I track the fiery-haired Rory as he leaves the waiting area. I slump back in my seat and open the silvery package—my stomach groans at the sound, and my mouth waters. I had seen Pop-Tarts on American television many times, but by the time I was old enough to travel north, I was already in training.
My rigorous training included a strict food plan that was gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, and all the other trendy ‘-frees’ that coach Chema could throw my way. I had fought it at the time, but he’d refused to train me if I wouldn’t agree to follow his rules to a T.
Chema is a coveted mixed martial arts coach, and I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to train with him, so I promised I would stay on the food plan if he would train me. He has coached me since I was sixteen, and after eight years of training, he’s more like an older brother than a coach.
If he could see me now, about to eat a gluten-full, sugar-full, dairy-full atomic snack, I’d be doing push-ups for days in punishment. I smile and take a healthy bite. My face contorts, and my nose scrunches up. Maybe I should have taken baby steps with the sugar after eight years without.
Yes. Eight years with no sugar. It wasn’t a sacrifice. Well, it had been at first, but it was one I was more than willing to make if it meant I could one day get to the UFC.
I only manage to eat half of one Pop-Tart before I have to throw it out, completely empalagada, and I wonder what the English word is for that sickening over-sugared nauseous sensation. The search engine on my phone has no answers, and I let it go.
“Valentina Almonte,” a young woman calls out, and I follow her through two sets of doors until we settle in a small office.
“Please take a seat,” she says with a warm smile.
This woman has to be close to my age, and I find myself relaxing a little at the familiarity.
“I’m Amanda. You can call me Mandy. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes. I remember. You did the eligibility questionnaire when I first signed up for the clinical trial.”
“Exactly. I’m Dr. Ramirez’s research assistant.” She smiles again and splits her attention between my face and her computer screen as she reads my medical chart.
“I have to confirm information you have already given.”
“Okay,” I say. I squeeze my hands into fists and relax them, repeating the motion several times. I follow my calming technique with deep breaths as I prepare for what’s next.
“Please state your full name.”
“Valentina Almonte.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-four.”
“City of Residence.”
“Well, it was Mexico City, but it will be Kansas City for the duration of the treatment as well as six months of follow-up care.”
“Any changes in symptoms?”
“No symptoms other than the slight back pain I already reported.”
“Has the frequency or intensity of the back pain changed in any way?”
“No. It’s the same.”
“I know when we spoke on the phone, you hadn’t received any treatment, but have you received any treatment since?”
“No cancer treatment. No. I only take over-the-counter pain medication sometimes for my back, but not every day.”
“Thank you,” Mandy says. “I know it’s weird because you gave all the information already, but I want to prepare you. Many doctors, nurses, and even hospital staff will have you confirm a lot of the same information over and over. Please be patient with us. It’s hospital policy.”
Remission Page 22