The Cuban

by Kim Rodriguez

  “Come here,” he said in the same deep, unmistakably masculine voice I’d heard in my ear earlier. I took the three or four steps toward him and placed my fingertips on his, and smiling to himself, he pulled me in.

  I became lost in the smell of his hair and a cologne that reminded me of a Guerlain fragrance I remembered from long ago. The fabric of his tuxedo brushed noisily against the tulle under my own lace gown as I came closer, and while I desperately craved his skin on mine, I was only brave enough to put my cheek against his. I closed my eyes and heard him sigh as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

  I didn’t want to pull back, afraid of an awkward moment. It was too delicious standing here just as we were. How can two strangers simply fall into an embrace without even knowing each other’s names? We danced without moving, a pure leap of faith off a tall cliff into a dense fog. Purring with satisfaction, he lost a little of the control he’d been trying so hard to maintain. His hands moved up my back as his soft lips found my neck, sweet kisses so tender that my legs buckled, but when he felt my body go limp in his, he grasped me so tightly by the waist that I let out a cry.

  My clutch and everything in it hit the floor as his mouth came down on mine, the whole of my being opening fully, allowing him access without qualification. We parted our lips, his tongue searching my mouth feverishly, demanding entry. He pulled my body into his own and let me feel his growing need. You do this to me, he said without words.

  After a few moments, he stopped and scanned me again, differently this time. He paid no attention to the black curl that fell out of place onto his lightly tanned forehead, and it was so charming I resisted the urge to push it back. With both hands snugly on my narrow waist, he then gave me a sweet, chaste kiss as if we hadn’t just been about to swallow each other whole.

  “Do you want me—” Again, he tried to find the right word. He glanced down the long empty hall. “To leave?” I marveled at his expression, taking in his lips, now delightfully swollen and red from kissing me. Youthful eyes the color of the sea begged me to stay. For him, the entire encounter had been nothing but an exercise in self-control.

  “No.” Still in his embrace, I whispered, “Speak to me in Spanish. I understand you.” No. Háblame en español. Te entiendo.

  “Really?” he asked in Spanish. His face lit up when I nodded, as if I had just opened up a door he assumed would always be closed between us, and with that simple arrangement, the power between us shifted. For once, I wasn’t responsible for the conversation and the amusing observations. By promising to speak to him in his own language, the esteemed Dr. Amanda Rose, former professor of English, was now the student rather than the teacher.

  “Can you understand me?” I asked, speaking to him in Spanish. The way I spoke was basic and unrefined, but I knew it was good enough, and as I expected he grinned from ear to ear, affording me my first glimpse of his ultra-sexy smile.

  “Of course. Perfectly.”

  Rafa picked my evening bag up off the floor and used the key to open the door, and as we crossed the threshold of the cabin, all pretense and fear fell away. I walked ahead of him, my heart racing and my body attuned to his presence. I stopped at the bed and waited, facing away. The door shut and I knew he was close, but there was only silence.

  When I was ready, I turned to face him and began, “So, what—”

  Before I could finish, he caught me off guard and kissed me. I almost fell backward onto the bed, but his arms, rock-hard across my back, cradled me as I leaned against him with all my weight. He pressed us together, my body responding to his proximity in a way that was unthinking and automatic, my physical state of arousal now completely under his control. A rush of moisture pooled between my legs as he again dipped to kiss my neck and the curve of my shoulder, his grip at my back relaxing and guiding me into a seated position on the bed.

  Dropping to his knees, Rafa looked into my eyes, his angelic face lit from the side by a single fixture above the mirror. He was a vision of shadows and light, and though I lacked the eye of an artist, I was certain Rafa must be at the peak of his exquisite beauty, one so rare it would be criminal not to capture it and preserve it forever. Rafael, the angel, waiting tables on a cruise ship. Rafael, the Adonis, using his beauty to romance sad, rich, old women. It made me sad, yet I knew he must be here for reasons that made sense to him, and I wouldn’t condemn him for it.

  “Please get up,” I said, troubled by the idea that he could be interested in trading a night of passion for money. I brought my knees together. Simply put, I knew I couldn’t possibly take advantage of anyone in need.

  “Why?” he asked sharply. “Do you think you should kneel between the man’s legs first?”

  I was surprised he would risk angering me when he had already put so much into my seduction, but I knew he’d sensed my pity, and rather than allow me to feel superior, his instinct was to challenge me. I’d presumed he could only be offering me pleasure in exchange for what was in my wallet. It might be true, but how little did I think of myself to assume it must be true?

  “You don’t even know my name,” I shot back.

  “Your name is Amada,” he said, as he moved his hungry gaze up and down my body and then squeezed my ankles. The muscles in my thighs relaxed and my legs inched apart again.

  “It’s Amanda,” I replied. His hands moved up the back of my legs, pushing the lace skirt of my gown up as he went. Responding to him, my thighs opened a little more.

  “No, you’re my Amada,” said Rafa, squeezing my knees. No, tú eres mi Amada. With each long stroke he claimed my body from the bottom up, relaxing me, eroding my control, attuning me to him. Amada, I finally remembered, is Spanish for my love.

  “But you don’t know my name,” he countered. He blinked slowly, hypnotically, then rubbed the side of his face against the inside of my thigh, expertly using his coarse whiskers and soft skin to create delightful, unexpected sensations. I was coming apart already and he’d barely touched me.

  “I heard Ernesto call you Rafa. Your name is Rafael.” I struggled to get the words out, finding it difficult to catch my breath with Rafa’s head between my legs. He maintained eye contact with me as he nodded yes, then turned his gaze downward so that he could gently kiss each of my knees and then lick the inside of my naked thigh.

  “Nice to meet you,” he murmured, his soft, wet tongue making its way higher and higher, each stroke melting me inch by inch until I found myself flat on the bed with his handsome face fully in my core. He pulled my silk panties to the side and spread me with his fingers, one too many moments passing before he let his tongue explore me with abandon. I expected him to start thrashing away, but instead he surprised me with a series of torturously slow, precise movements right at my entrance, and when he finally made his way inside, he lapped my walls for a long time. The way he used his mouth was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, his soft tongue ebbing and flowing as he gently rubbed my breasts over my dress. I squirmed and clenched, willing him to go a little higher, but he only gave me more of the same silky kisses. His stubble grazed the delicate skin of my inner thighs again, and the rough sensation coupled with the almost unbearable softness between my legs caused me to come up off the bed. I brought my most sensitive spot to his mouth, silently begging for release.

  “Not yet,” said Rafa, as he made his way back up. I tried to hide my disappointment by studying his lips, gloriously shiny and plump from his work. We lay together side by side now, and although I was incredibly aroused, I still didn’t reach out. He noticed, and I watched his blue eyes go down the length of my body and then stop somewhere I couldn’t tell. “Touch me,” he urged. His face softened as he smiled and kissed me.

  Before long I was on my stomach in the center of the bed. I arched my back as he positioned himself astride me, and it took him no time at all to find the zipper of my gown and pull it all the way down until the cool air of the room swept agains
t my skin. I shifted a little so that he could slide it off and drape it across the wing chair, and now, almost fully nude beneath this stranger, I noted that my lack of abandon, so out of character, didn’t bother me at all. I was simply going to let him have me. So this is what a one night stand is. Strip. Have meaningless sex. Get out.

  “The dress is exquisite,” he said, “but not nearly as fina as you.” He let his hands roam over my back, my ass, and my legs, and I cursed myself, because even in a moment like this, I couldn’t help but notice the nuances of his language.

  “Fine?” I asked, momentarily switching back to English.

  Rafa paused for a moment to think, then resumed the delicious massage, slowly increasing pressure until he was sure I liked a firm touch. His precise, measured rhythm turned me to complete putty in his hands, and he worked my body as if intimately familiar with every fiber under my skin. Still kneading, he said, “Fina means elegant or delicate.”

  “Like when you say, ‘fine china,’” I murmured, understanding, but lost in his touch.

  “Yes. Just. Like. That.”

  His voice was pure velvet in any language, and as he spoke, he pulled my panties down my legs and over my stilettos, leaving me completely naked while he himself remained fully dressed. He punctuated the last word by inserting one finger inside me, precisely where his soft tongue had just been. He rested his other hand on my lower back as my backside rose up to meet the finger massaging me from the inside. I was ass up, chest down, no doubt a pleasant view from his angle.

  Knowing that he couldn’t see my face if I didn’t want him to allowed me to think only about what I was feeling, so I instinctively rotated my hips in unison with the finger inside me. He pushed downward into my soft passage, in the direction of the bed below, and when he slipped a second finger inside, I experienced the strangest sensations of warmth, happiness and well-being. It was amazing, and as he expertly rubbed just the right spot, he called forth something stronger than an orgasm. It was so intense, in fact, that I was fearful of what exactly my body might do if he continued.

  “Your curves are so beautiful,” he said. “I wish you could see yourself.”

  “Tell me,” I whispered. Brazen and blissfully lost in whatever he was doing to me, I turned my head in the other direction and shut my eyes, anticipating the explicit, base words he would no doubt use to describe my form, that of a shameless woman who’d allowed a complete stranger to violate her in less than thirty minutes. Whatever he said, I deserved. But even so, I just wanted to hear him speak. I cried out in protest when he slid off my legs and slipped his fingers out, never having been so close to something so wonderful.

  “Turn over,” he said. Now fully under his spell, I did as he asked and once again we locked eyes. I didn’t want to his physical beauty to hypnotize me, but it was impossible. What could it be like for a man to be so unnaturally handsome that women instantly lost all sense of morality, I wondered. I pitied him for all the disgusting, hungry women who had used money and influence to lure him into their beds. “Had he been born a prince, he undoubtedly would have been an arrogant playboy with the world at his feet, but as an uneducated pauper from a third-world country, he surely had been forced to exchange his only currency to satisfy the most basic of needs.” Sadly, he of all people should have been born an aristocrat like so many of the utterly worthless men I had known, but he hadn’t been. Rafael was just a waiter, made even more vulnerable to the corruption of the world by his magnificent beauty. Even though every inch of my skin was fully bared to him, he seemed far more exposed than I.

  From my supine position, I became aware of the rise and fall of my pale breasts, my nipples two swollen blossoms directly in our line of sight. Rafa held my legs apart and looked thoughtfully. I was a ball of need and didn’t care about anything except feeling him inside me again.

  “I see The Origin of the World.”

  He knew the painting. I blushed, recalling the model’s anatomy, her abundant pubic hair and generous curves. I could picture it in my mind’s eye perfectly, as I had just viewed it last spring in Paris at the Musée d’Orsay. He had been with me then, and I hadn’t even known it.

  My pelvis still humming, I sat up and kissed him, overcome by the instinct to possess and ravish. I was out of my mind with desire for him now, and whether it made sense or not, I knew our bodies were meant for one another. I slid my hands under his jacket and felt his sculpted body beneath the fabric, he every bit as hard as I was soft. I lost any sense of self-doubt and set about consuming him because I knew I wanted him everywhere: in my mouth, in my hair, between my legs, upon me as a blanket. Devouring his lips, I unfastened his tie, his vest and then his shirt. I pushed the heavy garments off and took a moment to examine the naked torso I could feel afire beneath my own skin. He remained still and let me admire him as I traced my fingers along a narrow waist that widened into tanned, broad shoulders and muscular arms that looked as if they had carried the weight of the universe. Irrational and wild, I tugged clumsily at his belt buckle, but he took my wrist and held me still. Oh, no more of this, I thought. Just give me what I want.

  “Amada,” he said breathlessly, resting his forehead on mine, “I can please you in other ways. I don’t want you to remember me and feel empty. You’re too delicate for that.” Again the word fina. I was china to Rafa: pretty and easily broken.

  For possibly the first time in my life I was at a loss for words, so I gladly let my body take over. Rafa still had me by the wrist, so I used my other hand to caress between his legs. He was so hard and beckoning that I was drawn instinctively to that part of him, and without thinking I leaned down and nipped at him through the fabric of his pants. He moaned with pleasure and slightly released his grip so that I was able to pull away and have full use of my hands. Both on our knees now, we kissed and swayed together, still on the precipice of nothing and everything. I burned for him, my body yearning to coil itself around him in the most indelicate of ways. I rubbed against Rafa like an animal in heat, completely unashamed of my neediness, and with that, any sense of chivalry finally left him. Once he decided to take me, any concerns he might have had for being sensible were promptly abandoned, and I saw it in his eyes the moment it happened.

  Rafa took my forearms and pushed me down, as I had been before, then got off the bed. He stared at my body as he finished undressing and I returned his gaze, enraptured just as much by his muscular thighs and his broad shoulders as I was by his large, erect penis. Just before dropping his pants to the floor, he removed his wallet from a pocket and pulled out a condom, and I watched with pleasure as he held himself away from his body and rolled it down his shaft. He was so beautiful everywhere, especially there, and because he was so turned on, I don’t know if he even realized he gave himself a quick stroke before getting back into bed on top of me.

  “Rafa,” I breathed, face to face with him. He kissed me savagely and pushed his whole weight and rock hardness onto me. Feeling unbearably empty, I writhed and ran my fingernails down his back, trying to control his movements and line him up at my entrance, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  “What, Amada?” he asked, looking right into my eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “I—” I gasped, choking on my own words.

  “I can’t help you, then. I’m leaving,” he said, actually sitting up as if to get out of bed. I don’t know what came over me, but I went crazy. I threw my leg over his to keep him from standing up, grabbed him by the hair and bit his shoulder from behind, hard. I know I startled him, but he rewarded me with a little smile anyway.

  “Please,” I begged. Still wrapped around him from behind, I peppered his shoulder blades and the back of his neck with delicate kisses.

  “Wrong answer,” he said, and stood up again. It didn’t matter that I tried to stop him, as he only had to use a bit of his considerable strength to free himself and walk across the room. He stood defiantly by the dressing table and crossed his arms over his chest as he spread his legs a lit
tle and gave me a good view of the body we both knew could bring me so much pleasure. I practically salivated watching his muscles undulate under his tight, tanned skin. His jaw, tight and angry looking, betrayed him, clear evidence of his intense arousal. On the bed without him I felt cold and alone, desperate to figure out whatever it was he wanted to hear.

  “I want you inside me,” I said, switching to English, only because I wasn’t quite sure what those particular words would be. Instinctively I knew he would understand, and as I predicted, he smiled and waited for more.

  “It’s your fault,” I said in my sexiest voice, catching on. “You used your fingers and tongue but stopped before I could finish. Twice. You made me ache way up here where I can’t reach.” I placed my hand over my belly for emphasis.

  His composure broke a little, and I saw him close his eyes and clench his jaw again. Hm. He liked that. I started to feel brave, but it lasted only a second.

  “You think I have sex for money,” he said. “Do you really think I give myself to anyone who asks?”

  “No, I don’t,” I stammered back in Spanish, “Not like that.” I went to him and was pleasantly surprised when he opened his arms and embraced me even though he assumed I was silently judging him.

  “I think you’re doing exactly whatever you need to do, nothing more and nothing less.”

  “You’re correct,” he agreed, bringing his strong hands down around my backside. He kneaded my ass as he kissed me and then, without warning, hiked me effortlessly up onto himself. I gasped with pleasure as I wrapped my arms around his neck and felt him fill me to the brim, then still.

  “All I need is to feel you around me, tight and warm,” he whispered in my ear. It wasn’t enough that he was inside my body, he made it his business to be inside my head, too. “I’ve been hard all night because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about us together just like this.” He slowly began to move his hips, balancing me on his angled pelvis. “I knew you would feel good,” he groaned, moving faster, “but I never imagined I could enjoy you this much.” Nunca me imaginé que iba a gozar tanto de tí.