“You want children soon?” I ask, yanking at the top button on my blue dress shirt to give myself a little more room to breathe.
“Yeah, if, you know, things stay the way they are with us, I can see it happening sooner rather than later. I mean, if that’s what you want.” She nudges my side playfully, easing the gravity of the conversation we’re having.
I mull over the idea of marriage and kids. Lately it’s been on my mind a lot more, especially with us buying our home, taking that big step. It’s only natural to consider the ones after it. “You’re right. I’m not getting any younger, and I’ve always wanted a family. I think us setting up our home is going down the right track. You?”
The corresponding smile she has at my comment is blinding. “Totally agree.”
I press a kiss to her temple and keep her moving forward. We have reservations that I don’t want to be late for. “One step at a time?” I whisper.
She nods happily. “One step at a time. Now . . . are you going to tell me where we’re going or what?”
“No, I’m not.” I stop on the sidewalk in front of two large dark wooden doors. “Because we’re here.”
Skyler gazes at the building and reads the sign. “Cardamomo Tablao Flamenco.” Her eyes widen, and an all-white, bright smile stares back at me. “Flamenco dancing!”
“Yep!” I grin. “The only flamenco place recommended by the New York Times apparently. It’s private, hard to get in, and supposed to be quite the show. We’re having dinner here first, and then we’ve got front-row tickets to the private show.”
“This. Is. Awesome!” She screeches in awe, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me hard before pulling back and continuing to burst out, “I’m so excited!”
“Come on, Peaches.” I hold open the door for her to enter before me.
We’re greeted by the hostess, where I give my name and explicit reservation for us to be right up front and the table behind us to be given to Nate and Rachel. She leads us through the throngs of people and into a long rectangular room. Everything in the room is a wild flourish of colors. The circular tables on the ground level are quaint and private. Then a few tables back, the room rises, and there are lines of red booths giving the restaurant goers an unencumbered view, but nothing like the front row. My girl can touch the stage where the performance will be held.
The restaurant fills up as we place our order for the four-course meal. The starter course is an Iberian ham served with toast and tomatoes, reminding me of bruschetta with meat. Sky shimmies in her chair as she enjoys the mixture. Right as we’re completing the starter, the waiter delivers what they consider the first course, which is a variety of palate-impressing cheeses and toasted breads.
“One thing I’ve found in my European travels, they do not mess around when it comes to their breads and cheeses. I don’t know what it is. It’s like the stuff comes straight from the cheese mill and bakery.” Skyler pops a chunk of white cheese into her mouth, then proceeds to lick her fingers. “So good!” She hums, and the sound goes right to my dick, making him take notice.
“I couldn’t agree more. My guess is that they probably pick up the bread daily from a local bakery and weekly on the cheese.”
She nods, slathers another piece of toast, and holds it up to me. I lean forward, make eye contact, and take a fierce bite. Her pupils dilate, and she licks her lips.
I chew for a few moments and swallow as she watches the movement in my neck. I lift my hand and trace the side of her face down to her jaw with one finger. “You’re thinking about fucking me right now.” My voice is hoarse, my thoughts going to exactly the same thing.
“Oh yeah. I don’t know what it is, honey. Maybe it’s just having alone time . . . finally . . . but I’m . . .”—she fans her face—“. . . just . . . hot for you.”
I grin, leaning over the table, and she does the same until our lips meet in a much more chaste kiss than I’d prefer. “Good. Eat up.”
She bites her lip, and I have to grit my teeth to prevent the beast from coming to life. I adjust my cock so that he’s got a little more space and take a few deep breaths and a long chug of my ice water, attempting to cool my jets. The last thing I want to do is sit through an entire show with a hard-on.
We pick our second course, which if you include the start is technically the third course, and it arrives shortly after we finish the cheese and toast. I went with the Iberian pork fillet in a black garlic sauce, and she went with the cod confit with salad and roasted peppers.
Every few seconds, Skyler moans around another bite of her fish, which does absolutely nothing for my repeated attempts to keep the beast in check.
Once we’ve finished eating, I order us some Spanish red wine the waiter recommended to have with our dessert. Skyler scoots her chair closer to mine as men start to line the sides and back of the stage. Four men have acoustic guitars, and another guy is holding what looks like a box of some sort. Another places a few mics where he and two other people sit down, keeping the mics at seat level. The lights dim, and everyone focuses on the stage. It darkens for a moment as a woman dressed from shoulder to ankle in gold-and-green lace appears in the center. The bottom half of her dress has at least ten rows of ruffles. She’s holding a bright-red shawl with heaps of fringe dangling from the edge. Her dark hair is slicked back into a tight bun at the nape, where a huge white flower, larger than the bun, is nestled. Her face is focused with a fierce expression, her lips stained a cherry red.
“She’s so beautiful.” Skyler cuddles at my side, and I put an arm around her chair.
“Yes, she is.” However, on her feet are the most hideous pair of black chunky heels I’ve ever seen.
The acoustic guitar plays out a beat while the woman’s body gyrates in a fluid movement, her hands curving in, out, and up along with the melody. The voice of one of the men comes into the song, and the music starts to get louder. As the volume of the music rises, the woman moves faster until she starts to stomp those ugly shoes in a manner that’s so kinetic I can feel the thunder in my chest every time her heels make contact with the stage.
Skyler’s body heaves along with the music, her shoulders moving from side to side, and her face has a dreamy quality as she watches the woman dance.
The tempo picks up and the volume increases. The entire space fills with the vibrating beat that pounds inside my heart right down into my gut. I feel the music seeping deep, becoming a part of me.
As the music feeds the room with an electric, sensual energy, I lean over to Sky and press my lips against her ear. “It is said that flamenco breathes life, passion, and raw emotion through the skin.” I trace her ear with my lips, run my nose down the column of her neck, and press a kiss to her nape. She shivers and sighs at the contact.
The woman on stage pulls the shawl from around her neck and flutters it widely in the air as she spins in a complex series of circles, stomping, and arm movements. Her body flows with the movement in a languid upper-body display, whereas the bottom half is juxtaposed in harsh, hammering jabs to the floor. There’s a fiery, almost menacing twist of her lips as she moves like she wants to exorcise the demons floating around her to let the vivaciousness of passion, love, and sex take their place.
I place my hand on Skyler’s thigh, teasing underneath the loose fabric of her dress until I secretly slip high enough to trace the lace of her panties. I encounter her arousal coating the flimsy fabric. I trace her slit with an exploring finger.
“Parker . . .” She speaks so softly I can barely hear it over the music; then she opens her legs. It’s a silent invitation to touch the heart of her, right here.
I cup her entire sex, grinding the palm of my hand down on her clit until her body goes rigid in shock at the intense, bold move.
Making sure to block out the audience behind us, including Rach and Nate, I curve over my girl’s body and whisper in her ear, “Let’s go to the restroom.”
“Together . . . ,” she says breathily.
&nbs
p; “Fuck yes,” I growl, and nip at her ear.
I remove my hand stealthily and use my white sport coat to cover my very large erection from view. When I stand, both Rachel and Nate stand up.
I hold out my hand in a “stop” gesture. “Just taking her to the restroom. Stay here; we’ll be right back.”
Nate narrows his gaze while Rachel grins wickedly. That woman sees too much.
“We can follow . . . ,” Nate attempts, but I shake my head.
Skyler does the same. “Park’s got me. Be back.”
I usher her through the crowd, the music thumping a heavy beat in my heart right along to the throbbing in my dick.
Once we make it to where the bathrooms are, I see a door that says “Salida,” which I know translates to “exit” in English. At the back of the hall, I tug Skyler away from the ladies’ room and to the door out back. When I open it, there’s a tiny courtyard. In the left-hand corner there’s a section of lattice protruding out, almost as if the owner had an inkling that people would get so swept away in their show that the passion would consume them and they’d need a place to relieve that intense feeling.
I note a small rock, which I wedge into the door to make sure it stays open enough that we can go back in. Then I scout the space behind the lattice about ten feet from the door and find just what I’m looking for. It’s a smoking section. There’s a single wrought iron chair with a canister on the ground filled with cigarette butts. I go over to the chair, and Sky follows, standing a few feet from me, her chest heaving, pupils dilated, and her lips so soft and moist looking, I want to bite them until she screams. Instead, I undo my belt, button, and zipper and pull out my cock. It stands straight up at attention, practically reaching my belly button. Then I sit down, push my pants to my ankles, and point to my cock.
“Sit on it. Now,” I grate through my teeth, no longer capable of anything but having her tight, wet heat surrounding me and pounding out this need inside.
She licks her lips, tucks her hands under her dress, and pulls down a tiny scrap of lace, which is a poor excuse for a pair of panties.
I hold out my hand. “Give them to me.” I lift them to my face and inhale her musk. It makes my head swim with desire, my mouth water, and my dick weep at the tip.
“Don’t make me wait,” I grit through clenched teeth.
9
SKYLER
I can’t believe we’re going to do this, right here, out in the open in a courtyard in Spain outside of a flamenco nightclub. It’s so beyond hot, I’m not sure I can make my legs move the three feet needed to get what I want.
Parker doesn’t have the same problem, though. He attacks like a python, his movements coiled and tight as he tucks my underwear into his coat pocket, leans forward, captures my hand, and tugs me over his lap. I straddle his muscular thighs and place my hand around his bulging erection like a handle.
“You’re so hard, honey.” I whimper a little as the walls of my sex contract at the phantom of a cock that’s not yet there.
“You make me that way.” His voice is strained, a barely contained animalistic sound leaking out the edges of his lips. “Every sigh. Every lick of your lips. Every sway of your shoulders tonight had me burning to be inside of you. I’m not waiting a moment longer.” His voice has a ruthless quality while he lifts up my dress, centers at my slick cleft, grabs my hips, and impales me on his length.
“Fuck!” I tip my head back at the intense sensation of taking him in one hard, huge plunge. Everything about it is so raw and unplanned. Two bodies striving for one another without fear or insecurities. Just our primal, carnal natures oozing out every pore, reaching for the other.
Parker pushes down the front of my dress, his fingers abrading across an erect tip as he forcefully pulls the lace cup of my bra aside, cups my round, swollen breast, and encases it within the heat of his hand.
Liquid fire burns me everywhere. My chest. Between my thighs. Where his mouth is rhythmically sucking at my breast. And it’s so good, I can hardly breathe.
“Ride me,” he snarls around my breast, biting down until I cry out.
I’m so gone, I get lost in his words, doing exactly as he says. With the power in my legs, and the leverage I’ve got on his shoulders, I ride him fast and hard, up and down, squeezing his length on every withdrawal, hammering down on each plunge. It’s everything and more.
“Hurry, baby. Anyone can come out here and find us,” he taunts, and I’m not sure if he does it to scare me or turn me on more. It definitely has the latter effect, my synapses firing all over the place with pleasure.
His cock feels like a velvet-encased pipe, hard and unyielding and soft at the same time. He’s powering up as I come down, hitting a spot deep inside me over and over again until I’m chanting, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” and then . . . I do.
Spectacularly.
Parker’s entire body locks around me, his arms flattening me to his chest, his grip on my shoulders holding me pinned on his cock like a butterfly to a collector’s board. “Fuck!” he roars into my neck, biting down on the sensitive tissue so hard my body convulses into another miniorgasm. He licks the space and places soothing kisses there, bringing us both down from the height of bliss. His body jerks in a series of aftershocks, like those after an earthquake, which creates the blessed, amazing sensation of his dick flexing deep inside me.
I run my lips up his neck in a sequence of sweet kisses and sigh into the warmth of his succulent skin as my lips glide along its surface. He does the same using the flat of his tongue, bathing me in his own way. When our mouths finally, expertly touch, we’re ravenous, going at one another fervently, kissing deeply, tongues tangling while our arms hold one another tight.
Until the serenity is broken by the back door swinging open, slamming against the brick facade on the other side of it. Through the space in the lattice, I see a large shape and a shiny black gun pointed out in front of the stranger.
I lock my arms around Parker, but it’s too late for me to speak or warn him. The dark, shadowy figure moves fast, his bulky frame blocking the small bit of light from in front of us about a good six feet away. I yelp in fear, squeezing Parker like my life depends on it, wanting to make sure that I cover every inch of him with my own body so that he is unharmed.
“Aw, fucking hell! Should have known,” a familiar, irritated voice says as the gun disappears from sight and the hulking form walks away.
“What? What is it?” a female voice asks, appearing behind the lattice, her platinum-blonde hair glinting in the low light. “Well, then, mystery solved. See you in the hallway,” Rachel announces, barely containing the laughter in her tone. Before she’s fully past the lattice, she pokes her head back around. “Nice knees, Parker,” she snorts, and then bounds off after her husband.
“Um, honey, did that just happen?” I try to clear the sex haze and fear but fail miserably, my body shaking with the leftover anxiety of seeing a gun right after I had a monster orgasm.
“Yeah, Peaches, Nate and Rachel just caught us postfucking with my pants around my ankles. Second, don’t you ever cover my body with your own if you see a threat. You get behind me. Always,” he chastises in that manly voice that brooks no argument.
I figure to even say anything would have me in a snit with my man, and really, the situation is beyond hilarious. The visual and being caught all starts to hit me, and my body starts to jerk in Parker’s lap as the laughter bubbles up out of my lungs and chest. “At least it was them and not the—”
Right as I say it, a bunch of flashes go off from over the fence across from us.
“Shit! Nate!” Parker bellows, and I hear the door to the courtyard fly open as Parker presses up my dress to cover my breasts. “Fence. Paps,” Parker calls out.
Nate jumps up onto a crate and hovers over the fence, screaming a bunch of expletives. “Get the fuck out of here. Nothing to see,” Nate demands, his arms waving wildly.
While Nate is shooing t
he two paparazzi away, Parker lifts me off his now softening cock, hikes up his pants, and secures button and zipper before latching his loose belt.
I squeeze my legs together, wishing I had something to use before his essence slides down and out of me in an embarrassing display of our recent sexual activities.
“Rach, can you, uh, take me to the bathroom?” I ask quietly, not wanting Nate or Parker to hear.
Rachel nods silently but doesn’t say anything. I know the two of them are unhappy that we put ourselves at risk again, but compromising pictures be damned—I’d never give up that experience with Parker in a million years. It’s one of the first times we let loose and were just a silly, lovesick couple getting frisky at a nightclub. I just hope he feels the same way about it. Especially when we see a picture of us snuggling, me in his lap with his pants down around his ankles. At least my dress covered the essentials so there won’t be a picture of my bare ass in the papers tomorrow. Though, I know with a sinking heart, the media is going to have a field day with this one.
On second thought . . .
Fuck ’em.
The next day, Parker was more dispirited than ever before. His mood deteriorated to surly over coffee when he opened his email and was notified of the hundreds of mentions of his name on every celebrity rag from here to kingdom come. This did not get any better when we showed up at the practice stage to find Bo grinning from ear to ear.
“Quiet day out with my woman sightseeing, he said.” Bo grins wickedly.
“Bo . . . ,” Parker warns.
“A leisurely stroll through Madrid’s nightlife scene, he said.” Bo continues his approach, a rolled-up newspaper in his hand.
International Guy: Volume 4 Page 10