Salsa Nights

by Salsa Nights (lit)

  He flicked his tongue against the red silk thong, dampened by the warm juices rushing from her pussy. Her scent and taste engorged his dick and it jerked impatiently. She moaned and lifted a knee. He scooted his forearms under her thighs, cupped her bottom in his palms to tilt her hips even higher, and licked her covered clit.

  “Mmm, Brad, sí,” she moaned, bucking toward his incessant mouth.

  His dick was prodding through his zipper. It fucking hurt, he was so damned hard for his woman, but he had to slow it down.

  She reached down and pulled her thong aside in a silent plea to end the ache in her cunt. Brad grinned, then he laved her slit, lapping her up and down, teasing. Taunting.

  “Ah,” Isabel cried out.

  Her bubbling cream poured out between her lips, and he licked every drop, finishing with a barrage of flicks across her clit. Her body convulsed and her back arched off the chair. He finally slid his tongue between her sticky lips into her wet cunt, giving her what she most craved.

  Sweet. Delicious. He groaned, lost in a sea of mangoes and coconuts. He smelled her. He tasted her. Fuck, he was drunk with her. He fucked her with his tongue, fast—in, out—licking her moist walls, sucking her juices.

  “Ay, Brad, sí, mi amor!”

  She came. Her pussy muscles tensed, then broke in rippling spasms that surrounded his mouth. It was sensational. Her pussy quivered and squeezed as her hot cream dripped on his tongue. Isabel screamed, gripped his hair, groaned, and trembled.

  He sucked her sensitive, swollen clit as he undid his belt, button, and zipper, freeing an engorged and pulsating dick from his tight jeans. He stood, but only to pull his pants off and throw them where they fell over her skirt. Then he lifted her off the chair and sat her on the table.

  He laced his fingers through hers, bent his body over hers until she lay on her back, then raised her arms above her head. His lips pressed against the fast pulse on her throat. He ran his mouth over the curve of her neck, washing hot air over her scorching skin. She arched her back, supple and ready under his body, tensing and flexing over hers.

  When she wrapped her legs around him, he entered her slowly. Fuck, she’s so tight, so wet. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. But he felt her breasts molded against his chest. He moved inside her convulsing walls, heard her rapid breathing, and smelled exotic fruits coupled with her alluring essence.

  He pulled out, then thrust back in, deeper and deeper. His heart pounded and his breathing was labored. Every vein popped and every neuron fired. She moaned and squeezed his hands. He filled her and drove faster, faster.

  The urge to be with Isabel, with his woman was an addiction. She was his obsession. Her body was created for his. Every breath he took was for her. Making love with her was raw and sensual. It was animal-like, and it was beautiful. It gave him power, and it exposed his bruised heart. She reached for him, and she could save him. He wanted her to.

  When she exploded again in fiery spasms that stroked his cock, he came with her. He spurted his semen, experiencing a bliss possible only in her arms.

  He lay against her, fighting to fill his lungs, more satisfied than he’d ever been, and having the biggest urge to share his whole life with her. He wanted to tell her things about him he didn’t tell anyone, not even Dale. He yearned to grow old with her.

  He should tell her. Maybe he shouldn’t wait after the killer was caught. He moved off her to grab his pants, thinking of a way to phrase what he barely understood but felt with a fire that burned his soul. When he handed her the skirt, she grabbed it and gave him an odd look, before walking toward her room.

  “Isa—” he started, but she shut the door, the sound more stinging than a slap in the face.

  Good job, Brad. You’re real smooth. The best sex of your life, and she walks away. Damn.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Isabel woke before sunrise, earlier than usual, and went through her morning routine in a daze. It was as if she were dragging herself through a sad, out-of-body experience.

  She hadn’t meant to call Brad “my love” in Spanish during sex last night. And maybe it was a phrase thrown around by Latin lovers to their partners in the throes of passion, whether they meant it or not. But not Isabel. She could never call anyone “my love” unless she was in love.

  And therein lay the problem. How could she be in love with Brad when she was in love with Dale? How could that be possible? She was extremely attracted to both, craved them both, and loved them both.

  Up until last night, she’d known she was falling for them but had waged a war with herself. First, she’d convinced herself she couldn’t risk falling in love with them. Then, she’d accepted that she was, but she figured it was her hormones and adrenaline which made her emotions irrelevant. Now she finally raised the symbolic white flag.

  She was in love with Brad and all of his stubbornness, and she was in love with Dale and his candy-sweet charm. Oh, how could she have lost control of her emotions? She’d told herself to be strong, to enjoy the sex, and to not expect anything more than the physical pleasure they gave her.

  She needed to clear her head, to think. The only thing that ever helped her reduce her tension and think coherently was dancing. And she didn’t want to wait for one of them to take her. They were the reason she had to dance in the first place.

  After pulling on her yoga pants and hoodie, she checked the first floor and saw that all was quiet. The guys normally didn’t wake up for about another half hour. Feeling a little hopeful that she could possibly sneak out, she remembered Dale commenting they’d changed the alarm password so she wouldn’t get away again.

  Shit. She stood in the middle of the living room, defeated, feeling as if the walls would cave in around her. But she heard something—a slight splash. She glanced out to the pool and saw someone cut through the water, swimming laps.

  Brad. He torpedoed across the pool with such power, such elegance, it was impossible to tear her eyes away. The way the muscles of his arms and back flexed and tensed brought her one step closer to the patio door. It drew her closer to undressing and joining him under the pre-dawn sky.

  No, she had to get away. And now was her chance. Since he’d turned off the alarm to go outside, then all the doors were unarmed.

  She ran as quietly as she could, holding her breath as she passed Dale’s door, to grab her bag and car keys from her room, then back to the front door. With a quick glance over her shoulder, seeing the powerful body move quickly across the pool unaware of her intentions, she snuck out the door.

  The morning air was cool, damp, and with a spring in her step, she jumped in her car and left the subdivision in less than a minute.

  The sick pangs of guilt heated her gut, but she shoved them away and focused on the road ahead. It had been a rough night, and for the past few days, she’d been within sight of the two most dominating men she’d known. She needed air.

  Last night, when she hadn’t been thinking about what she cried out in Spanish, she was going over what Brad told her. She didn’t want to hear that her grandfather had done such a heroic thing as save their lives. She’d rather think him a fool who got drunk and killed some innocent guy at the neighbor’s party, like her father had told her and her mom. It made his death so much easier to bear.

  If she thought now about those last couple of years of her grandfather’s life that she missed because she thought him to be a monster, instead of what he’d truly been, she’d hate herself. She was too angry at herself already for falling in love with two men who didn’t feel the same way.

  How could she have let all this happen? She couldn’t have them both and she couldn’t have one or the other, since neither looked at her with anything more than lust.

  She sighed heavily, pulling into the parking lot. It wasn’t true. She no longer saw Dale as a playboy and Brad as a jerk. Arrogant, yes, but not a jerk. Dale was a kind soul who loved to cook for her and seduced her with a smile. Brad was the rock in her life who had a tarnished
past but made her feel like she could trust a man. It was tearing her apart that she couldn’t have them both.

  The door chimed when she stepped into her dark studio, and after switching on the lights, she headed toward her locker. What would they think of her if they ever knew she’d fallen for them both? They would think she was confused and stay far, far away from her. The thought was enough to choke her, and she slammed the locker door closed.

  She froze, swearing she’d just heard the door chime. Did someone come in? It was too early—anyone would know that since the times were posted on the door. But if someone had opened the door, then that meant someone had been watching. And she’d been so upset she hadn’t locked the door behind her.

  Well, she wouldn’t stand back here all day. She headed toward the doorway, craning her head to pick up any other sounds coming from the front, but it was quiet. Maybe she’d imagined it.

  But someone now stood in the doorway, blocking the lights from the front to appear in a dark silhouette. It was him. Even without a mask, she knew this was the killer.

  “What do you want?” she asked in a calm, brave voice that surprised her.

  He took a step toward her, and she moved one back. He was slim, not muscular. His straight hair was a dark brown and down to his shoulders. She still couldn’t make out the features of his face, except his smile. The cold twist in his lips made her ill.

  “To see you die,” he told her slowly, stressing the final word.

  Isabel knew she didn’t stand a chance, but not willing to die without trying something, she turned on her heel and ran toward the door. But he was fast. She’d forgotten just how fast.

  She was facedown with his weight on her back, struggling to somehow turn or gain more leverage. But he found her right arm and twisted it painfully behind her back until she screamed.

  If she moved even an inch, the pain in her shoulder was unbearable, so she froze.

  “That’s a good girl,” he taunted right next to her ear.

  “Who are you?” she asked breathlessly.

  The man released her arm so he could flip her over, and he was on top of her again, pinning her with one hand wrapped tightly around her throat.

  Isabel trembled, not sure if she wanted to know the face of the man responsible for her friends’ horrific deaths. But she needed to know who this monster was.

  He brought something near his face, and she heard a click. The glow of a cigarette lighter hovered above her, and Isabel’s mouth went sand dry.

  Green eyes. Key-lime green eyes that could be hers, except for the dark shadows swirling with hatred, with disdain. He smiled, but it never reached his gaze.

  “Sorry I hid my eyes the other day. I needed the magic of shades to be a little deviant. Have a little fun.”

  She shook her head, confused, yet a horrible feeling churned in her stomach.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so rude. My name’s Eric. So nice to finally meet my half sister.”

  * * * *

  Dale poured a cup of coffee and eyed Brad as he strode into the kitchen.

  “So, get any sleep?”

  Brad groaned in response. Dale had stayed up most of the night with Brad. His friend felt like shit after Isabel had gone to bed for the night. She had come out for dinner and said very little before turning in, saying she wanted to be left alone. Brad thought it was because of what she’d learned about her grandfather, and he felt responsible.

  “Barely. I started swimming laps before dawn. Where’s Isabel?” Brad looked toward the hallway.

  “Not up yet. She must have been really tired.”

  Brad shook his head. “She’s always up before us. I’ll go check.”

  Dale grinned, wondering how long it would take his stubborn friend to admit his feelings.

  “Dale,” Brad yelled, and Dale ran to Isabel’s room.

  It was empty and the bed made. Brad was raking his fingers through his hair, and Dale looked around. “Okay, her stuff’s still here, but the duffel bag’s gone. The studio.”

  Brad shot out of the room, grabbing his truck keys on the way into the garage. Dale followed him, grabbing a couple of shirts hanging to dry as they passed by the laundry room. No sense in walking around half-naked in public.

  “This is my fault. Shit.” Brad yelled as he started their truck and waited for the garage door to roll open. “I was out swimming and didn’t see her leave. She’s so mad at me, she didn’t want us taking her today.”

  Dale could feel Brad’s worry, his tension. Hell, he could practically hear his blood boiling in his veins. Maybe now he’d own up to his true feelings and talk to Isabel, once and for all. Why keep torturing himself, allowing Isabel to wonder if they cared for her?

  She cared for them. Dale knew she did. He didn’t know for certain that she loved them. But it didn’t matter. They had to tell her how they felt and fight for her. If she didn’t want to listen, then they’d try harder. They could make this work. They just had to want to be together. The three of them.

  * * * *

  Isabel pulled and pulled, bracing one foot on the wall and ignoring the strangling pain around her wrist. It was no use. Eric had handcuffed one arm to the clothing rack. The five-foot-tall rack was nailed to the wall opposite the lockers.

  “Don’t cry,” she told herself, dropping to her knees and resting her head on her dangling arm.

  She looked up again, eyeing the metal pole, one of three she’d installed to accommodate the many costumes her students used for all their events and competitions. Both ends of every pole were secured to the wall. It was impossible for her to pull the pole off the wall, and she couldn’t slide her wrist through the cuff.

  Angrily, she wiped away her tears and tried pulling again, holding back a scream as the metal cuff dug into her already red skin and bruised bone.

  A chilling voice echoed from the doorway. “Is my sister trying to escape?”

  With a cry of despair, Isabel dropped her clammy forehead back on the numb arm that hung over her head. She turned on her knees to face him.

  Eric squatted in front of her, leaning his elbows on his knees, and the revolting stench of gasoline wafted under her nose. His mouth slowly curved up into a sinister smile. Cold and heartless. She wanted to throw up.

  “Please don’t do this,” she begged in a small voice. “You’re my brother.”

  The evil smile never faltered. His eyes, however, were devoid of any human warmth or compassion and quickly turned deadly. “Your daddy may be my daddy, but we’re not family. Yeah, see, he met my mom twenty-one years ago and, well, you know how babies are made. When he found out my mom was pregnant, he didn’t want her anymore. Told her to stay away. What do you think about that?”

  Isabel didn’t want to believe it. How could she accept that her father had another child and rejected him? But she believed because she was looking into his eyes and saw so much pain. So much pain and anguish. “It must have hurt her,” she choked out.

  “Hurt her?” he whispered menacingly. “It killed her. That’s right. I found her hanging from the basement ceiling when I was eleven. Can you picture that, little sister? What were you doing when you were eleven?”

  Isabel cried softly, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “Oh, that’s right. You had your perfect life. Yes, the dancing, the trophies. Well, you didn’t deserve that. Not when your brother grew up with a poor aunt who didn’t care about him. So you know what I did? I killed your parents.” He laughed.

  Isabel couldn’t breathe. Her world was spiraling, turning black and empty. Her mom, her beautiful mom, had died because her husband rejected a small child from birth. She hadn’t done anything except stay with her pathetic husband.

  “I cut the brake lines, and the cops blamed your father. It was perfect.”

  Her body trembled, more enraged than frightened. Her grandfather had been right. The demented psycho before her murdered her parents, her friends, and he was her brother. Gina, Leyna.

 
“Why my friends?”

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about them. It was just fun. I fucked them because they were just so pretty. And I killed them to hurt you,” he said.

  She hadn’t heard right. She couldn’t have. He was crazy, sick. How could someone kill two women for fun?

  “Well, sister. I’d love to continue our family reunion, but I have to kill you now. I thought about killing you like the others, but it wasn’t poetic enough. This was your father’s studio, right?” When she didn’t answer, he went on. “So it has to go, too. You’ll burn with it.”

  At that moment she heard the eerie sound of wood crackling and saw smoke curling through the door from the front of her studio.

  He yanked her to her feet and gripped her face roughly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better brother.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t do this. It’s not my fault what he did, please, we can—”

  He slapped her hard across her cheek, his palm landing squarely where he’d hit her before. She fell, her wrist turning painfully into the metal that dug between her small hand bones.

  “Don’t. He wanted you, not me. It is your fault,” Eric shouted.

  Isabel squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to ignore the pain in her face and her arm. She had to do something because she didn’t intend to die on her knees. But the smell of smoke told her the end was near. And she’d never told Brad and Dale that she loved them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brad gunned the engine. He finally saw the studio ahead. He also saw the flames burst out of the front windows and lick the front of the building.

  “Oh, God, Isabel.” He’d never known fear like he did now.

  “Try the back!” Dale shouted at him while pulling out his cell phone and dialing the emergency number.

  This couldn’t be happening. His princess was inside. She had to be alive. It couldn’t end this way. He loved her. He had to tell her he loved her, that he heard what she told him last night. He was just a fool, scared to get hurt. He’d been such an ass, thinking he didn’t have to tell her. Oh, God, please let her be safe.