by Sabrina Sol
He let go of her only to bring her face up toward his. Staring into her wet eyes, he pleaded one more time. “Can you forgive me?”
She nodded and he finally exhaled. Then he hugged her tight. They stood there for a couple of minutes, just holding onto each other. He could feel her heart beat against his chest, could hear her breathing.
If only they could stay like this. Forever.
Wait, what? Forever wasn’t in the cards for him. Not with Amara.
She was the first to step back. “So are you ready to talk about it? What happened?”
Damn, she knew him so well. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but after the shit he’d just thrown at her, she deserved better than a blow off. “Same old crap. I forgot to do something for my abuela and my mom went into one of her bitching sessions about how I can’t do anything right.”
“What did you forget to do?”
He scoffed. “Does it matter? It’s like she looks for any excuse to remind me of all of the wrong things I’ve ever done in my life.”
“I’m sorry. You can’t let it get to you, though. Especially when it comes to taking care of your abuela. It’s been hard on you both. Maybe she just had a bad day and took it out on you. Sound familiar?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say?”
“All I’m saying is that maybe it’s time for both of you to work out whatever it is between you two. And maybe you have to be the bigger person here and make the first move.”
The bitterness that had been eating at him all night rumbled back to life. Even if he went with her suggestion, there was no way his mother would ever see him as the bigger person—no matter how hard he worked to take care of his abuela, or how much progress he made rebuilding his life. “Maybe I don’t want to be the bigger person. Maybe I like being a jerk.”
This time, her eyes showed both hurt and disappointment. What was wrong with him? Why was he ruining what was supposed to be a special night for them both?
She took a step away from him. “Well, I’m never going to be kind of girl who tells you it’s okay to be a jerk, so maybe I should leave. We can do this another night.”
He grabbed her face in both of his hands. “Hey, I’m just venting, that’s all. I like that you call me out if I’m acting like a dick. It’s good for me. You’re good for me.”
His whispered the last sentence against her lips and then kissed her, soft and gentle. But when she opened her mouth to him—all gentleness went out the window. Fighting the desire to rip her panties off and take her against the wall, Eric clung to his last ounce of self-control and tore his mouth away.
She protested and tried to pull his lips back down on hers.
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he said. “But I have a surprise for you.”
He took her hand and led her through the blue plastic tarp hanging from the newly built wood-framed archway. It opened up into what had once been the bakery’s catchall storage room. It was dark, except for small streams of light peeking through the seams of the brown butcher paper he’d taped across the front street window.
“Ta-da,” he sang and flipped on the light switch.
“Oh, wow,” she gasped. “You’ve done so much in here!”
Warmth spread across his chest as she acknowledged his work. He’d replaced the worn and cracked linoleum tiles with a dark, mahogany laminate wood floor. The dingy gray walls now radiated a warm golden yellow, and the room was nearly emptied of the assorted boxes and old fixtures that had been abandoned there over the years.
The only things left were part of his surprise. It took her a few seconds before she noticed.
In the far corner of the room, he’d set up a futon mattress and covered it with throw pillows and blankets. Two camping lanterns sat on either side of the mattress.
“And what’s this?” She pulled him with her as she walked toward the makeshift bed.
“I know it’s not a fancy hotel room, but…”
“It’s perfect,” she finished for him and put her arms around his neck.
He bent down and kissed her nose. “Hold that thought.” Before she could protest, Eric reached down to turn on the lanterns. Then he ran back to the archway and turned off the lights. Amara waited where he left her, her body outlined in the fluorescent glow of the lanterns. She reached for him again, but he held up his index finger to let her know he had one more thing to do. He walked to the stepstool that held his iPod and pair of mini speakers.
Once he found the custom song list he created earlier, Eric hit play.
“Music, too? This is a full on seduction, isn’t it?” Amara teased when he finally pulled her into his arms.
“Depends. Is it working?” he whispered in her ear.
“It’s a good effort. But I think I might need a little more.”
He loved that she’d become so playful when it came to sex. “Please share.”
“Well, shouldn’t there be some kissing? Like, for example, right here,” she said as she pointed to her neck. He grinned even more and moved his lips right next to her finger. And before she could ask, he swirled his tongue in the same place.
“Ah…yes…this seduction is…starting off…very nicely,” she murmured between his kisses and licks.
“You taste so good. So delicious,” he murmured. His original plan to take it slow was quickly being revised in his head. He moved his hands to grab her ass and pull her tighter against his body, not sure if he could last one more minute without being inside her. The depths of his need should’ve frightened him. He hadn’t needed anyone or anything like this in twelve years.
Except for alcohol.
Was that it? Had he simply replaced one addiction with another?
The feel of her soft lips on his distracted him from his self-interrogation. And when she moved her hands underneath his shirt and fanned them out across his stomach, pleasure rippled throughout his body. No, it wasn’t an addiction. Sex with Amara had turned into more than just a quick fix or instant gratification. He’d needed alcohol to numb his pain, dull his senses. But this woman made him want to feel everything.
She was running through his veins now. He’d come back to life without even realizing it. Because of her. Only her.
He groaned and took her mouth, easing her down onto the mattress, their legs twisting together as he ground his bulging erection against her pussy over and over again. The friction was driving him beyond crazy and he decided the seduction was over. He moved one hand under her skirt and slid it along her inner thigh until he reached the vee between her legs.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Yes, what?”
“Touch me. Please.”
He pulled her panties to the side and slid his index finger between her folds. He groaned. Hot. So hot. For him. Her legs opened to give him better access to her sex and he rewarded her by thrusting another finger inside.
“Oh my God! I’m going to come!” Her moans echoed throughout the empty, small room. It gave him such fucking satisfaction to know that he was responsible for her cries of pleasure. It also made him crazy horny. He couldn’t wait any longer and pulled his fingers out so he could focus on rubbing her clit with long, hard strokes. Seconds later, he claimed her mouth as she shrieked to high heaven as an orgasm rocked her body.
“Take off your jeans,” she said against his lips.
It sent a thrill straight to his groin. “Whatever you want.” Eric kissed her one last time and then stood up to take off his clothes. Amara wiggled out of hers and he joined her naked body back on the mattress.
He looked at her, taking in the perfectness of the moment. All of the anger and frustration he felt earlier had completely disappeared.
She did that.
He moved down her body and opened her up for him. The foil packet was already in place next to the mattress, and it took him only seconds to rip it open and slide on the condom. Positioning himself in between her legs, he grabbed his sheathed cock and rubbed it against the
glistening lips of her pussy. He loved that she was always so wet for him.
“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” Her flushed cheeks and taut nipples screamed that she was. But he needed to hear the words.
“I want you,” she moaned.
Those three little words filled him up in ways he couldn’t explain with words. They unraveled him, yet also completed him all at the same time. In that moment, there was no other man who could give Amara what she craved.
Savor it. Cherish it for as long as she’ll let you.
Problem was, he wasn’t so sure he could accept anything short of forever now that she’d gotten to him. Inside him. He leaned down and kissed her deep and hard. Looking into her eyes, he growled, “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she said between gasps.
“Tell me I’m the only one you want inside you.”
“You’re the only one I want inside me.”
And with one deep thrust, he gave them both what they needed.
Chapter Twelve
“Didn’t you get embarrassed, you know, having a good-looking stranger looking at your…you know,” Amara asked.
“My vajayjay?” Trina answered. “Oh, trust me. There was some embarrassment. But as soon as a contraction hit, I got over that and wanted him as far in there as he could get if it meant getting the baby out quicker.”
“Trina!” Amara’s mother huffed. “You’re a mother now and mothers don’t speak of such things.”
Only Amara could see Trina’s eye roll. She stifled a laugh and got back to attempting to fold the smallest pair of footed pajamas she’d ever seen. The three of them were sitting in Miguel and Trina’s living room folding laundry together, but she kept getting distracted by the overall cuteness of every single piece of clothing and the adorable baby smell they exuded. Her mother’s pile of folded clothes was much taller than Amara’s or Trina’s— a fact that was not lost on her mother and her mother’s evil eye.
“Sorry, Consuelo,” Trina said. “I’ve only had about two hours of sleep in the last two days. I’m a little out of it.”
Amara’s mother heaved a long, exaggerated sigh. “I tell you to sleep when he sleeps. Why don’t you go in the bedroom and lie down for a while?”
“That’s okay. I want to stay out here and catch up with Amara.” Trina turned her body toward her and gave her the knowing look that said she needed some saving from Consuelo’s helpful “advice.”
“So Amara, what’s going on with you? Anything new and interesting?”
“Nothing really.” Oh, except for the fact I’m having the best sex of my life with Eric, and I landed a huge contract for the bakery.
Even if her mother hadn’t been sitting there, Amara still wouldn’t have told Trina about either one. She loved her sister-in-law but she’d been known to blab to Miguel, who then would blab to her parents. She couldn’t risk it, so she kept quiet.
“Come on,” Trina begged. “Give me some gossip and good old fashioned girl talk. I need some grownup time…please.”
“Well, I did hear that they were going to finally close down that bar on Soto Street. There was another fight there last weekend and I heard the owner has had enough dealing with all the winos that hang out on Thursday nights.”
Trina sighed almost as loudly as Consuelo had. “That’s not gossip. It was in the newspaper this morning. I meant tell me something juicy, something not everyone knows yet.”
She shrugged. “I got nothing.” Well, besides her own racy secret, but she wasn’t about to divulge that no matter how bored her sister-in-law was.
“You’re no fun. Fine. Let’s talk about Eric, then.”
Amara focused on snapping the tiny buttons on a new pair of pajamas she’d grabbed from the laundry basket. She didn’t dare look at Trina—or her mother. “Wha…what do you mean?”
“I mean tell me how he’s doing with the remodel? What has it been like with him working there?”
“How would Amara know? He only comes to the bakery at night.” Consuelo answered for her before standing up and heading toward the back of the house. “I’ll go check to see if the other load of blankets is ready.”
Though she usually hated when her mother answered for her, this time Amara was grateful. She didn’t trust the sound of her voice at that moment.
“Hmm, well I was just wondering how much progress he’s made,” Trina continued. “I was telling Miguel that I was surprised he wasn’t supervising him more. What happens if he relapses and goes on some type of a bender? You know it’s a challenge every day for recovering alcoholics to stay sober.”
Amara stopped pretending to fold. “Eric is an alcoholic?”
“Oh. Dammit! I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” Trina cringed. “Don’t say anything to Miguel, okay?”
Why didn’t he tell her? Sure, alcoholism wasn’t exactly an appropriate topic for late night pillow talk, but if he told Miguel why wouldn’t he tell her, too?
Because you’re not his girlfriend and you never wanted to be, remember?
“Amara, hello? Did you hear me?” Trina’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes, I heard you. Of course, I won’t tell Eric or Miguel that I know. I mean if it was important for me to know then he would’ve told me himself.”
She had been referring to Eric, but Trina thought she was talking about Miguel.
“Well, Eric asked him not tell anyone. He didn’t want people judging him even more, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging him either. I just think Miguel needs to be less trusting. After all, we don’t really know this guy anymore.”
Amara wondered if she’d ever get to know him. “So, does he seem different to you?”
Trina shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. He came over to watch a game one night before the baby was born and that was the first time I’d actually talked to him since he got back. He was more quiet than I remember. I told Miguel that and he laughed and said Eric probably just needed to get laid.”
Amara choked on the water she’d just drank.
“Oh, sorry,” Trina said in hushed tones. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that either. Geez, I blame these bullshit postpartum hormones. It’s like fucking truth serum.”
“It’s fine, Trina. I’m fine. Go on.”
“Well, that’s pretty much it. Miguel actually tried to set him up on a blind date with one of our friends who’s not really our friend. It’s this big, old, long story that I’ll bore you with another time. Anyway, I was against it but Miguel insisted.”
Her mouth went dry. She had to take another drink of her water before talking again. “So what happened?”
Trina handed her another basket of clothes. “Nothing. Eric turned him down.”
She tried not to smile. “Did he say why?”
“Yeah, he said he didn’t come back here to find a girlfriend. He just wants to focus on doing a good job for your dad so that he can use him as a reference to get more jobs down the line.”
Her mother walked back into the room and both of them knew it was time to change the subject. But as the conversation turned toward baby this and baby that, Amara’s thoughts drifted again.
Why did it bother her so much that he hadn’t told her about his drinking? She’d been clear since that first night that their arrangement was temporary. He didn’t owe her anything. Especially, not explanations about the past twelve years.
Trina was right. They really didn’t know Eric anymore. It was almost like she’d been sleeping with a complete stranger—something she would have never done before. In fact, she was doing a lot of things she never expected to do. She thought that had been a good thing, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Still, part of her wanted to know what he’d been through.
And the other part wanted to know why she cared so much.
…
Eric had been in trouble enough times in his life to know he was in it now. Only difference was, for once, he had no idea why.
All
he knew is that when he showed up to the bakery that afternoon, Amara started acting weird. He couldn’t tell if she was mad or sad. Even as he helped her carefully pack the desserts she was going to show her parents as part of her plan to partner with L.A. Cuchara, he couldn’t decide whether she looked as though she was about to cry, or rip into him about something.
“These look great, Amara,” he offered, hoping to get some type of conversation going.
“I don’t know. This one looks a little too brown.” She pointed to a perfectly golden empanada inside the pink bakery box.
“Really? I think it looks like all the others.”
“Who’s the baker here? We’re not talking paint samples. You may know the difference between eggshell white and classic white, but I think I know what I’m talking about when it comes to pastries. And this empanada is burned.”
She pulled the flaky dessert out of the box and walked over to the trashcan.
He looked at Daisy for some explanation, but she only shrugged and headed into the kitchen. It was up to him to find out what was wrong with Amara.
After tossing the lone empanada in the trash, she came back to the counter and studied the half-filled box.
“Hey,” he said finally. “What’s going on with you today? I totally get that this is a big deal for you, but sweetheart, you’re kind of acting a little crazy.” He winced when he said the last part—a reaction he’d learned early on, whenever he told the woman in his life that they needed to calm the fuck down. At least he didn’t use those exact words with Amara.
But unlike those other women, she didn’t yell or slap him across the face.
“It’s nothing,” she said instead. She didn’t even look at him.
He knew her well enough to know she was lying.
“I know it’s not nothing. Please, just tell me.” He reached out to touch her hand but she snapped it away and headed into the kitchen.
“We’ll talk later,” she said over her shoulder.
He knew he should leave it at that for the moment. The old Eric wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have wasted another second worrying about what some girl felt or needed. But that was the problem right there, he realized. Amara wasn’t just “some girl,” and he wasn’t the old Eric anymore. He gritted his teeth and stalked into the kitchen after her. “I think we need to talk now.”