Sombra

by Leslie McAdam

  And in the dim light of the hall, I realize where I’ve seen him.

  Oh shit. My face pales and my hand shakes.

  “Guapa, are you okay?” Tavo whispers, reaching under the table to hold my hand.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I take a bite of lettuce, but it tastes like paper.

  Now that I know who Señor Molinero is, I can’t stop looking at him. I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop wondering why he’s been here. How many times?

  Off to the side, Sonia takes selfies with Guillermo, who keeps flirting with her. Tavo’s grandmother lectures his grandfather about smoking, while his aunt and uncle exchange bored looks, since this is the hundredth time they’ve heard this argument. And Mari Carmen and Jorge are in their own world.

  Tavo’s mom keeps her eyes on Señor Molinero.

  And Tavo squeezes my knee. “Do you want to record me playing music after dinner?”

  “What? Oh, yes,” I say, distractedly. “Absolutely.”

  He furrows his brow, tilts his head, then shakes it and goes back to eating.

  This family has so many secrets I’m having trouble keeping up.

  “Uno. Dos. Tres,” I whisper, and hit the red button on Tavo’s iPhone.

  Lit by candles in his room, his face glows. The guitar body shines, but the neck remains in the shadows, obscuring the strength with which he forms the chords. Tavo begins to play, his magical, talented fingers plucking the strings one at a time, so detailed, so quick and precise.

  This isn’t something he’s memorized and plays without thought. Tavo shows his soul. Tavo plays like he’s playing just for me. He’s making love to me with his voice and his instrument, creating something in this moment for him, for me, for us.

  I do my best to keep the camera steady as I record him, propping it up against the back of a chair to help my shaking hand.

  The song begins with him playing a melody on the flexible strings, and then he starts to sing, occasionally thumping the guitar as percussion. He infuses this traditional, classical song with his assured, giving personality.

  He’s so beautiful when he plays. While he’s always striking, when he sings his eyes close and the song pours out his full lips. Messy strands of hair fall in his eyes, and he shakes his head to see.

  I mostly watch the veins dance on the back of his quick hands—although his sexy forearms covered in bracelets also vie for my close attention.

  His voice is more than the one he uses in the bedroom with me. He’s seducing the whole world, and he doesn’t even know it. Tavo simply knows how to coax the music out of the guitar and show us his underbelly. That makes anyone who listens to it marvel at his talent.

  And fall for him.

  When he finishes this song, he looks up and gives an adorable little smile. “You like?” he asks shyly.

  “Absolutely. Yes.” I stop the video and then edit the ends of it on his iPhone, so it begins right as he plays. I keep the smile at the end. “Should I post it on YouTube?”

  Letting out his breath, he nods. “Sure. Let’s see what happens.”

  We record two more songs, uploading them, and then he spends the rest of the night strumming my body as thoroughly as he strums the guitar.

  A few days later, I shut off the hot water, hang up the shower nozzle, and fumble for a towel, my arm dripping on the white tile floor. Since the farm laundry dries on a clothesline outside, using it reminds me of scouring with steel wool, especially since I’m used to all the fabric softeners and additives my mom pours into the wash. On the plus side, a rough towel invigorates the skin.

  With using my body as much as I have since I got together with Tavo, every shower feels like relief, the hot water soothing my achy muscles and my mushy, sex-sated brain. This morning, it’s helping me wake up, too. I’ve been so tired from spending most of every night awake with him.

  Guess I’m finally developing my undeveloped muscles in the most delectable way possible.

  Stepping out of the tiny Euro tub, I dry off and wrap the towel around my wacky-colored hair. It’s faded slightly, but not much. Dani touched it up the other day, and I can’t wait to experiment with more dyes. When I look at myself in the clear top part of the fogged-up mirror, really look at myself, I’ve changed. I’m not lighter or heavier, taller or different-shaped, but I’m living in my body more. Now I can see how much I tried to escape living before—subconsciously. I didn’t pay any attention to what I truly needed. I lived for the approval of others, and that’s a way of hiding in plain sight, burying my true self.

  I don’t hide with Tavo.

  Being with him is so freeing. And not just the joy of really living in my body. While I haven’t crossed into vanity, it’s helped me so much to see myself through Tavo’s eyes. To know how much he appreciates my curves.

  Pumping lotion into my palm, I begin moisturizing my skin, enjoying the process. I run my fingers over my hips. Caressing them. Allowing them. Taking my time.

  A knock at the bathroom door makes me hastily take the towel off my head and clutch it to my front. But a quiet whistle tells me it’s Tavo. I have to mess with him, though. “¿Quién es?”

  “Tavo.” I get his low, sexy voice through the door, and God, that does things to me. I crack the door open, and he slips into the steamy, vapor-laden room with me, dressed in a black sweater and button-down shirt with tailored jeans. He’s always so neat, even when he’s casually dressed in a T-shirt.

  As I stand here wet and almost naked, I’m his prey. His expression is one of unfiltered, searing fire. Before he says anything more, he locks the door behind him. My heart rate soars. “Buenos días, Kim,” he says and steps toward me, dropping a light, delicate kiss on my lips—

  —that immediately turns into a deep, giving one. This is typical Tavo. He gives me affection, he doesn’t take it. The only way he takes it is when he sees me enjoying his ministrations, because he makes no secret that’s his real kink—seeing me get off. I must say, I don’t mind.

  Thankfully, he accepts my gifts in return.

  As his hands loop down my back to end up firmly holding my ass, my towel falls, and I move to stand apart from it. He takes my movement as an excuse to spin me around so I’m facing the foggy mirror, my back to his front.

  “Hands on the counter, amor,” he orders, his lips whispering against my neck. As I obey, he starts taking long, sweet sucks on my skin between my ear and shoulder. One hand lingers on my breast, the other makes its way down between my legs, and he starts rubbing me. “You want this?”

  I nod, my head tilted back, my lips parted. After so many sessions with him, I’m shameless. I’m dizzy with him. Two of his fingers massage me at my core, caressing me, inside and out. His other hand holds me to him as he licks and kisses my neck. I can only see our shapes in the mirror—our outlines—nothing clear. But I know I love feeling his strong body behind me. Him.

  I love him.

  Because the sex we have isn’t just infatuation or lust overtaking us over and over again, although it is that. It’s a dance of trust, with our hearts joining together and our souls melding.

  He grins against my neck. Now he’s talking in Spanish, because he knows I understand more of it than when I first got here. He also knows that when he starts speaking Spanish, I’d pretty much just throw my panties at him, if they weren’t off already. “You like this, little bunny. Your breaths are fast. Your heat scorches me. Your wetness coats me. You’re loving this, no?”

  I am.

  “You can take me now,” I whisper, but he shakes his head.

  “No ravaging you without protection. Appointment next week, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is a taste before class. Bend over more.”

  He’s using his growly voice that leaves no room for argument, and I don’t want to argue. “Tavo,” I whisper, but I can’t say anything more. He overwhelms me with his attention.

  I lean toward the counter, spreading my legs more. His hands assuredly rub
and rub and rub between my legs, as he kisses down my back, and rub, rub, rub, and more kisses, and I close my eyes and open them. I’m staring down at the tile and then up into the mirror, which remains steamy. Wiggling my hips gets me nowhere, because he holds me to him, and I feel his arousal. “You want to come on my face?” he asks. “Before class?”

  Did he ask a question?

  But he’s shifted, now on his knees between my legs, and what was his finger is now his tongue. One of my legs props up on the counter, and I’m standing, spread apart like a dirty ballet dancer at the barre.

  This is so naughty, because there’s space under the door, and you can hear out in the hall. I’m trying to keep it quiet, because I don’t know if anyone is up and waiting to use the shower.

  I let all my thoughts go, though, and indulge in his tongue on me. My shoulders relax, and I can’t help but grind into his model-perfect face. The hollows under his cheekbones covered with his scruff.

  My body works, as it always does with him. I quiver. I tense. And biting my knuckle, I come, shaking all over him as he keeps going on my pussy.

  When I come down, he’s still there, going slower and gentler, easing me down from my high. I still, and he stands up, grabs a towel and wipes his face.

  He gives me a devilish grin. “Get dressed, or we’ll be late.”

  “Let me at least return the favor,” I sigh, glancing down at his obvious erection. I can’t bear to have him uncomfortable.

  He starts to shake his head, no, but then shrugs and gestures down with his arms out. “What is mine is yours.”

  I’m on my knees unbuckling his belt before he finishes his sentence and shoving down his pants.

  It’s kinda hot to have him fully dressed and me naked. Because it’s Tavo, I get off on giving him his fantasies. I've come to understand what this give and take of power means to him, the freedom and trust, and it’s fun to play the role of him being the Dom and me the sub.

  He’s said that we can switch sometime, too.

  As I kneel on the cushion of the towel, I lick up his shaft to the top and grip him with my other hand, pumping him up his length. I’m still not used to his piercing. It fascinates me, and I run my tongue over the top, down his head to the other end. With my other hand, I gently squeeze his balls, then make my way back.

  Tavo’s gone, his head thrown back. He lowers it back down, giving me a soft look while he’s fully hard. I can tell he’s gone, because he’s doing the low, whispered, Spanish-curse thing while running his hands through my still-wet hair. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, thrusting into my mouth, and I choke a little and recover.

  “I’m sorry, amor,” he pants and tries to pull me up by my chin, but I shake my head and keep going.

  I’m sucking, licking, swirling, jacking him. Doing whatever makes him swear more. Whatever makes him harder. Whatever makes his veins pop and his breath come out in a guttural roar.

  “Joder. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck,” he hisses. “Kim, my love, don’t stop, don’t stop. Please, oh fuck, yes—”

  There’s a pause.

  And his warm essence pumps into my mouth. I swallow it and keep sucking until his body relaxes, and he lets out a sigh

  Then he pulls me up and gives me the most ardent kiss of the day, laying waste to my mouth. He tastes like me, but it’s faint from my shower, and all I care is that I’m starting the day in his arms. I don’t want to do anything but kiss Tavo today. And I hug him so hard I get button marks from his shirt on my front.

  After a long while, we drop our arms and step back. He puts himself back in his pants and tucks in his shirt, zipping up and buckling. I find the towel and wrap it around my torso. With one more kiss, I look out to see if the coast is clear.

  It is.

  I dart across to my room, and he puts his hands in his pocket, whistling down the corridor like nothing has happened.

  Nothing earth-shattering, except me being totally and completely in love with him.

  “How’s school going?” asks Guillermo in Spanish as he passes me a soft-boiled egg. Although we normally have thick, lovely bread for breakfast, Tía Valeria got up early, made tiny eggs with toast points and squeezed oranges for juice.

  I take a sip gratefully, although it tastes a little off, like the fruit was sweeter a week ago. Now the juice is pulpy, orange-colored water. With the egg in an egg cup, I cut off the top and dip in a piece of bread. Answering him in Spanish, I say, “School’s so much better. It’s amazing how much I’m learning each week.” And I pop the bite in my mouth.

  The eggs taste off, too.

  Tavo’s next to me, drinking coffee. His mom isn’t around, but several of the others are in various stages of getting ready for the day. Already done, Mari Carmen picks up her dishes and puts them in the sink, then leaves to go see Jorge. Tavo’s abuelo and abuela sit in the corner, sipping coffee and not saying anything.

  I’m not handling the smell of eggs. It’s making me nauseous. That’s not normal. I usually like them.

  Looking down at the plate, I’m not hungry. My stomach’s growling and empty, but I can’t eat anything.

  Tavo studies me, then reaches over and touches my cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”

  I open my mouth to say something, and the feeling rises in my throat. I’m going to vomit. Without answering him, I cover my mouth with my hand and run down the hallway, barely making it to the bathroom before I throw up last night’s dinner.

  It hurts. My stomach hurts. The acid burns in my throat, and I just want to lie down.

  I don’t really feel like I have the flu. No sniffles, no sore throat except for the pain from throwing up.

  And it hits me.

  No.

  Oh, no. No, it can’t be.

  I took that pill. It’s supposed to work. We’ve been careful since that first time.

  But it’s not one hundred percent effective.

  I’m kneeling on the same floor I was kneeling on earlier, only now I’m shaking.

  Tavo knocks on the door. “Are you okay, amor?”

  I don’t know how to tell him that I think I’m pregnant.

  Nineteen

  Tavo - Flores

  Kim fled to the bathroom and won’t let me in. While she could be sick, I don’t think so.

  I’ve touched her enough recently to know she doesn’t have a fever. She’s not coughing.

  Could she be with child?

  Now I’m feeling nauseous, too.

  While having a child would blow up my future plans like a firecracker at a town celebration, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about it with Kim. Yet again, as I stand outside the bathroom door, I’m imagining her precious belly full of our kicking baby. A new de la Guerra with hazel eyes. Boy? Girl?

  I don’t care.

  I didn’t know I wanted a child until now. But I do. I fucking do. I’m already in love with it. Even if it’s the completely wrong time, it’s with the right woman. I know it down to the electron level of my cells.

  First things first. I quietly knock on the door. I don’t want to create huge drama for her, I just want to help. “Kim? Can I get you something?”

  “No.” Her faint, miserable voice wafts under the door like she’s curled up on the floor, and that makes my heart hurt. I need to hold her in my arms. “Nothing.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “No!” She’s gathered strength in her tone, but it’s still off. My stomach sinks.

  “Okay,” I say quietly. I lean against the wall outside, then slide down to the floor, facing the door, and wait. If anyone asks me why I’m loitering, I’ll tell them to go to hell. Also, fuck school today. I need to take care of her. My poor little conejo.

  The toilet flushes, then flushes again. If only she’d let me in. If only I could help her alleviate the pain. All I can think of is her. How do I help her?

  Finally she emerges, and I struggle to get up, brushing off my hands and my clothes. “Kim?”

  “I can’t talk to
you,” she whispers. “Not now.” Her quiet pain is a dagger to my gut, but I’m not going to let her suffer by herself.

  I stand in front of her bedroom door. “No, amor. You are not well. I will care for you.”

  The look she gives me is so full of pain, the dagger in my abdomen rips down my torso, tearing me in two. She opens her mouth to argue with me, but gives up and nods.

  I don’t know if her giving up makes me hurt less or more. I want her fight back. Her spirit.

  Not knowing what to do, I follow her into her room and shut the door behind us.

  She beelines to her bed and curls up, holding her knees to her chest while I take my place at the foot of the bed. I reach out to touch her ankle and draw back. This balance between caring for her but not wanting to pressure her beyond her comfort level is driving me batshit crazy. “Do you think …” I start. “Do you think it’s the flu?”

  Lifting up her head, her tear-filled eyes meet mine. She shoves her face back into the pillow. “No.”

  “Do you want to take the test? Do you still have it?”

  A while passes before she answers. But she sits up and nods, hugging herself. Placing her feet on the floor, she starts to stand up, but I catch her wrist.

  “Come here,” I say and tug her into my arms. She crawls into my lap, and I wrap my arms around her, cradling her with everything I have. Not just my body, but my love.

  “What’s happening, Tavo?” Her voice is a low squeak.

  “What’s happening is that no matter what, I will care for you. If you are sick with the flu, I’ll bring you soup. If it’s something else, we will … we will make a joint decision. But no matter what, I am with you. Always. You are not alone. You are never alone.”

  Kim doesn’t respond verbally. But her arms snake up around my neck, and she clings to me. “Okay.”

  “Is the waiting making it worse?”

  She nods.

  “Then go. I’ll stay here.”

  Setting her feet again on the tile floor, she crosses the room to her bag and digs out the pregnancy test. Sliding it under her shirt, she opens the bedroom door, looks both ways, and scurries into the bathroom.