Sombra

by Leslie McAdam

  “Do you like it here?” I ask, circling her clit, dripping oil along her ass.

  “Yes.”

  “How about here?” I’m still circling her with my thumb, but now I also insert my middle finger and massage against that rough spot inside that makes her hum.

  “Yes.”

  And with my other hand, I take my thumb coated in olive oil and press into her ass, making her moan. “And this?” My voice is now a husky growl.

  “Fuck. Yes, Tavo, don’t stop.” I move in and out, gently massaging her everywhere.

  She’s hot and wet and so tight around my fingers. I’m watching her body get closer and closer. The subtle ways her voice changes and her body tenses, as she puts all her attention on getting that orgasm. It’s so near.

  Then I stop and pull away my hands.

  “Why? Tavo! No!” she wails. “I was so close.”

  “I could tell. It’s better if you wait.”

  Her lower lip juts out in a pout below the blindfold. “No, it isn’t. It’s better if you give me one now.”

  “I intend to give you the best, the most fantastic orgasm you’ve ever experienced.”

  The shiver that takes over her could be seen from the roof. “Are you speaking in English or in Spanish?”

  I’m not following. I hold her hip, marking her curve with my thumb, because I can’t stop touching her even though I’m trying. “English, of course. What do you mean?”

  “Well, would Professor Diego tell you that in English ‘the best, the most fantastic’ means, ‘not bad’?”

  Oh. “No. In English it means, ‘holy shit.’”

  Her laughter peals, and then she shivers again. “Okay.” Her voice is hushed, but exhilarated.

  “Are you cold, amor?”

  “No. I’m just loving the wait. And hating it.”

  I walk away from the bed and sit at my desk at my computer and wiggle the mouse.

  “I think we need to go shopping. I must buy you toys. Ben-wa balls. A plug.”

  “Okay,” she whispers. “Now?”

  “Is there a problem?” I try really, really hard to keep the amusement out of my voice.

  “Yes.” Her voice is louder. “I need you.”

  “I figured we could do this all night.”

  The sigh from her is almost heartbreaking—but under it, I can feel the joy that she’s being attended to. And teased.

  “I’ll be sure to bookmark some good sites,” I say, and I can feel her about to break.

  Okay.

  Enough. “But right now let’s do this.” I stride to the bed and help her to turn over and face the right way. I take one of my ribbons and secure it around her ankle, then tie that to the bedpost. After I repeat with the other ribbon, she’s now blindfolded and spread wide.

  Her face flushes under the mask, her hair splays across my pillow, and her skin has a sheen on it. Those breathtaking pink nipples point at the ceiling, and she’s arching her back. Her kneecaps flex up and down, trying out the position. Getting comfortable.

  She looks unbelievable—my own personal playground, but more than that, my amor.

  “Do you like this?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is a strong whisper. She’s sucked her lips in her mouth like she’s in pain, but I don’t think she is.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes.”

  I lean over and begin licking her pussy again. It’s so vital, so sensitive to my touch now, that I know she’s careening toward her climax. I can tell by the way she’s tensing her thigh muscles that she wants to squeeze them around my head.

  That would be fun, but they’re tied up at the moment.

  In between licks and sucks, I ask, “What do you want right now?”

  “I. Need. To. Come,” she grits out.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  And this time I don’t stop. Her taste. Dios, there’s nothing better. I’m lapping up her juices, loving her, giving myself wholeheartedly. My tongue soothes her swollen pussy and coaxes her engorged clit. I play her with my fingers. The subtle shifts in her skin tone and increasingly frenzied way her leg muscles clench tells me she’s spellbound, engrossed in the sensations I’m giving her.

  And when she lets go—

  Joder.

  It’s a cry of pleasure that goes on and on and on. I can see her orgasm—her pussy shakes, her body ripples, out of control. I love watching how she feels. And I can’t wait any longer. Unbuckling my belt, I shove my pants down, kick them to the ground, and come up on the bed over her. Then I lift up her blindfold. “Hi,” I say.

  “Hey.”

  “We make love now?”

  She nods vigorously, biting her lip.

  “Okay.” I line myself up and slide into her opening, and she sighs so deliciously I can’t feel or know anything but her acceptance of me. I’m thrusting in her, watching her body move with mine. I love how her breasts shake. Her arms claw at the sheets. Her eyes are closed, mouth open, panting.

  I’m faraway, but at the same time I’m fully present in her.

  “I love your cock in me,” she bursts out. “You’re so sexy. This is beyond—”

  “Amor.”

  She’s tighter around me. Will she go again? I hope, I hope.

  “Fuck, hang on.” I pull out, and I get her bereft whimper again. Reaching over into the bedside table, I grab a condom, rip it open, and slide it on. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her mouth parted, panting, reaching for me, she says, “All good now.”

  My lips against her forehead, her body bending into mine. I continue, but this time, I’m doing slow moves, pulling almost all the way out and then going back in indulgently. Out, slow, slow, slow. In, slow, slow, slow. And each shift in position is ecstasy. I’m savoring this. I’m making love to her. I’m smelling her vanilla-scented hair, her sweat, her perfection.

  But now I want her feet around me. I again pull out, but this time I loosen the ribbons on her ankles and arrange her legs around my waist.

  “This is better,” I say.

  “Yes.”

  With her wrapped around me like Velcro, I proceed to be her attentive lover in as many ways as I can. From kissing her neck to holding her up under her ass, to reaching down and rubbing her clit until she comes again.

  Once she does, she implores me. “Tavo. Please.”

  It’s time to let go. With a few more thrusts, my brain becomes white noise, all of time stops, and I release into her, pumping out my passion. All my fantasies. All my feelings.

  I collapse on top of her, spent and empty, and so in love with her I can’t stand it.

  Bubbles froth around her hands as she swishes in the bathwater. I’m sitting behind her, water up to my armpits, using a sea sponge to clean her off. She’s settled into my front, and I’m singing softly to her as I tend to her. I draw the sponge over her shoulders, and let the suds stream down.

  “Olive oil is good for your skin, you know,” I say. The ends of her hair are damp, but I don’t have anything to put them up, so I lift them up with one hand and put the sponge up behind her neck with the other.

  “It’s good inside and out. Like you.” As she turns to kiss me, she splashes. This tub isn’t quite big enough for the two of us.

  I shake my head. “I’m not good. I’m just trying to be good.”

  Concern registers on her face. “You’re very good, Gustavo, and I don’t just mean in bed. You care about people. You put other people’s needs above your own. You’ve got integrity and kindness unlike anyone else I’ve known.”

  Although I want to brush off the compliment, I think about it. “These are qualities in you, too, mi amor. But more? You are so brave. The bravest woman I know. Who else, with the experience you had, realizes that there’s more out there and actually acts on it? You inspire me, Kim. You’re changing so much as you’re here, but it’s not just change for change’s sake. I think you’re changing to become who you really are.”

  “Tavo,” she whispers, “
I—”

  I interrupt her. “But you haven’t lost your willingness to try new things. You are—what’s the word—intrepid. You haven’t lost your love and respect for other people. This is why you are so attractive to me.”

  “You’re piling it on.”

  “I apologize, I’ll stop,” I say, and pull back the sponge.

  “No, not the suds. You’re piling on the compliments. The piropos.”

  “I could never compliment you enough.”

  She sits up straight and faces me as squarely as she can in the bath. Body wash drips between her beautiful breasts. “Tavo. I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, and I’m sure I’ll make more.” She looks off to the side. “I still have some loose ends I have to tie up.”

  I grin despite myself, thinking of ties.

  Giving me a shove, she says, “I’m serious.” Her face falls. “We’re meant to be together. But what happens when I go home? My heart will break.”

  My heart stands still. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Maybe you can come with me?”

  Running my hands through my wet hair, I lean back against the cold tile. “Ojalá.” Because I’m dreaming of the rest of my life with her.

  “I don’t know how. Maybe we can get you an agent? For your music?”

  That idea is too much to wish for. “Do you know any?”

  “No. I’ll help you look, though.” She places a kiss on my lips. “Doing something about your voice and guitar is honoring your gift. I think you should try. Let’s make a few videos of you singing.” After a pause, she says, “You could design the cover art, too.”

  The next day, I walk with my abuelo in the orchard, inspecting the olives for ripeness. Because we harvest for oil rather than eating, we leave them on the tree longer. But the sun has changed position in the sky, lower and less intense than it is in summer, and soon it will be time to pick.

  “I only hope it’s enough this year,” I mutter, whipping a branch in the air as we amble.

  My grandfather lights a cigarette. “It is always enough and never enough.”

  “How so?”

  “Each tree gives the right amount of oil. No more no less. You can’t force it.”

  I nod. “Vale.”

  “But even though the tree has given its all, it might still not be enough for someone else’s needs.”

  He’s right. Even though I’ve taken care of this orchard, I’ve done everything I need to, it’s still not going to be enough to save this farm. All I can think of to say is, “Qué mala leche.”

  We keep walking, circling the orchard and checking different trees. When we get almost back to the house, he pulls me aside. “Tavo. We all know you have fallen for la estadounidense. But if you do, who will take care of la huerta?

  “I think Guillermo can do it, Abuelo. He wants to. There are some things that my father didn’t show him, but I can do that.”

  He seems to weigh this. “Yes, I think he can. Before, he was too young. Now, he is almost a man.”

  “He wants to.”

  “Then that is what he should do.”

  He reaches over and pats my shoulder. “You have done many things that you did not want to do, for others. I am proud of you. Beware of changing our ways that have worked for centuries.”

  When I get back to my casita, Sonia paces on the front porch. Without letting me say hola, she starts. “I told my father you were brushing me off.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Why does he even care?”

  “He wants what’s best for me.”

  She’s between me and my door. I could push her aside, but I’d rather deal with this. So I go slow. “Why do you think I’m what’s best for you?”

  Pulling her phone out of her pocket and turning it on, she shows me her phone. “I get 25,000 more followers on Instagram each week. I’m starting to get sponsored content. With your face and my body, we could make millions.”

  I shake my head. “Sonia. Listen to me. No.”

  “No? I do not understand why you do not want to go into business—especially when your family owes so much to mine. Don’t you want to make more money?”

  “I do want to make more money. And we will repay the debt to your father. But I’m not doing it with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not interested in you for business. I’m not interested in you for a partner. I am completely and utterly in love with Kim Brown.”

  Sonia’s face registers shock and then mild disgust. “¿La estadounidense?”

  “Yes.”

  She sniffs. “She’s plain.”

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “She must be very easy.”

  Fire flicks from me. “No. She is not. But she is the love of my life. And I’ll thank you not to talk about her that way.”

  With a huff, she spins on her heel and leaves. I’m so glad I told her, but I wish I’d told Kim first.

  When I step inside, my phone buzzes with an email.

  * * *

  De: William Thrash

  Para: Gustavo de la Guerra

  Fecha: 13 de octubre

  Asunto: Asunto: Woman

  * * *

  Tavo,

  * * *

  All straightened out? You get the girl yet?

  * * *

  Will.

  * * *

  I only wish it were straightened out.

  Eighteen

  Kim - Secrets

  It’s nine-thirty at night, and I’m bustling about the kitchen helping Mari Carmen, Tavo’s mom María Luisa, and Tía Valeria get ready for a special meal—a Sunday dinner to celebrate the upcoming olive harvest and the joint venture between the de la Guerras and their neighbors, the Molineros. Mari Carmen and Jorge drove an hour away to Málaga, especially for the purpose of buying seafood off a boat. We’re having pulpo—fried octopus—squid ink pasta, a fish stew with cod called bacalao, plus plenty of veggies, both cooked and in salads, and the ubiquitous bread. This meal pushes my food boundaries, but I’m ready. For dessert, Tía Valeria taught me how make a pastry called palmeras, which is puff pastry coiled up and shaped in a heart, then dipped in chocolate. They’re mouthwatering, and I snapped a dozen pretty pictures of them.

  Amazing I haven’t gained weight here. I think it’s all the physical activity. Ahem.

  I post a picture from my phone, and Mari Carmen catches me. “You and that Instagram!”

  With a shy grin, I lift up my shoulders. “I have more to share now.”

  Since it’s getting colder, dinner at the de la Guerra house has moved from outside under the charming, strung-up lights to inside at a vast and formal dining room with a table big enough to sleep six. The dark, heavy furniture handles all of us, plus glasses of wine and plates of groaning dishes. With candles lit and red velvet curtains, the sumptuous room can feel formidable.

  Especially because Tavo’s mom remains frosty to me. In fact, for the past week, she’s barely acknowledged my presence, although everyone else still makes me feel welcome. In her eyes, I’m the American interloper, destroying her plans for Tavo to marry Sonia and save the farm.

  But he can’t marry her. He told me he won’t. Still, I worry about the family finances and keep hoping I can do something to help. I have no idea what, though.

  As I cut up the baguette, Sonia Molinero breezes in wearing a fashionable floor-length dress that shows plenty of skin on her shoulders. Even though my hands are occupied, she gives me two blithe, but cultured kisses on my cheeks, and pointedly passes over Tavo. While I’m grateful she’s stopped spearing me with imaginary daggers in her eyes, she always make me uneasy. She corners Guillermo, and asks him to pour her a glass of wine.

  Guess she likes him better with a haircut.

  A tall, handsome, dark-haired man wearing a dark blue cashmere sweater over a button-down shirt and slacks steps in the kitchen. He oozes wealth and power, from his crisp haircut to his fancy shoes. I’ve never seen anyone actually wear that br
and in anything other than a magazine. Tavo’s abuelo introduces me to Señor Eduardo Molinero, the neighbor and Sonia’s father. Although I’ve never met him before, I get the niggling feeling I’ve seen him. I put down the knife and shake his hand, kissing his cheeks.

  “Mucho gusto conocerte,” he says, giving me a well-mannered head nod, and he makes his way to Tavo’s mom.

  After everyone has drinks and gathers in the dining room, I take a seat next to Tavo, put my head down, and sneak glances at Mr. Molinero sitting across from us. He’s joking with Tavo’s mom about something that happened when they were young.

  “Do you remember that time, María Luisa, when we were young, and—”

  But she cuts him off, blushing. I’ve never seen Tavo’s mom blush. She shushes him and changes the subject.

  I wish I could figure out where I know him from.

  When it’s time to eat, Mr. Molinero stands. “I wish upon our families a blessing of prosperity at this time of our future union. In our lives, each of us sows a seed. We water it. We tend to it. And we keep away the weeds and the birds and the predators, hoping and praying that it will grow to full maturity and be harvested. I know each person here has something in life he or she wants. A seed of a dream, perhaps, or a wish for the future. May each person here reap the joyful harvest of seeds he or she has planted. And may our families be united forever more.”

  What union of the families?

  I squirm in my seat at the end of his blessing and pass the salad bowl, barely taking any. My stomach roils. Suddenly I’m not hungry, even though I spent the entire day anticipating this meal.

  There has to be a way to help Tavo’s family. Anything but forcing an incompatible marriage.

  “Eduardo, can you get another bottle of wine?” Tavo’s mom asks.

  He rises and heads out of the dining room into the hall without instruction, like he knows his way around.