I can feel her pulse pumping underneath the hand holding her neck. I don’t know if it’s in my mind or actually happening, but it feels as if our hearts are beating in synchronization. I squeeze her closer and kiss her deeper. My mind reels under the possibilities that tonight could have gone differently and it’s my turn to groan in appreciation, thankful that we are where we are…right now.
I break free of our frenzied kissing and get lost in her honey-colored eyes.
“How much do you love this?” I ask twisting the strap of her nightie around my hand. She answers with a shake and a split second later, the strap is snapped. I repeat the animalistic act on the remaining strap and hungrily push down the silky fabric to reveal Izzy’s breasts. I bite back the chuckle stirred up by the pasties covering her nipples, opting to keep the mood hot and bothered, I silently remove the stickers, careful of the sensitive skin underneath.
After studying her until she squirm, I lave each of her perfect globes with my tongue. Tugging and nipping at her nipples in indecipherable intervals. She’s fervently writhing beneath me and we’ve barely just begun. Her squirming rubs my cock and I fight the urge to skip to the balls deep part.
Need tugs on my balls and I rip the front of the nightie apart, massaging her gorgeous tits while I sink to my special place between her thighs. I don’t give Izzy the time to prepare for my invasion. I lap at her clit and swirl around it with my tongue alternating between the two until she’s begging for release. I create a sense of a pattern for Izzy to gyrate and grind her hips to. I break the pattern up with a plunge of my tongue and Izzy’s release comes crashing down on both of us. Her cries filter through the room and tug on my balls. As a man who believes in practice makes perfect, I continue the process of building her up with repetitious patterns and orgasm inducing breaks. She rides my tongue, over and over. I lap up her release, the sweetness better than any dessert I’ve ever had.
Slick with perspiration and her mind somewhere in the stratosphere, I strip myself of my last remaining article of clothing and plunge into her. We cry out together when I’m sheathed root to tip. Her pussy so wet from my preliminary ministrations, I’m buried to the hilt in one fluid motion. We struggle for control, rolling around on the blankets and stacks of pillows. We settle for taking turns and the night drags on filled with moans and cries of passion.
When the end is near for me, I regain control and slow things almost to a halt. I look her in her eyes and I practice more of the uncensored honesty. “Izzy, I was dead serious about everything I said tonight. Right down to the proposal and marriage part. I see what life without you is like and I’m much happier following my heart. I love you so much, so much.”
She looks at me as if I’ve grown an extra head and then bestows upon me the sweetest smile. “How much?” she asks, as if what I just said confuses her.
“So much, so much.” I repeat, hoping she doesn’t think I’m a blubbering fool.
Izzy wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me down. “I love you so much, so much.”
The end was closer than I thought. Driving Izzy to the edge, I allowed myself to let go and my orgasm rushed out of me. When every last bit of me spilled into her, I collapsed, toppling to the side so as not to crush her. As we lay there, I listened to Izzy’s breathing switch from winded to steady to barely audible. She’d fallen asleep and I took the opportunity to memorize her face, the slope of her neck and every other line and curve of her body.
I mull over the fact that I nearly lost all of this and I pull her into me, snaking one arm under and the other over. I drift off to sleep.
The rest of the night was spent in throes of skin and sweat. Between bouts of passion, I’d catch Izzy staring at my new ink. I’m not sure how to take iit and my self-conscious gets the better of me. “Izzy, you can tell me if it’s not right. I need you to love it and I’ll fix it until it’s right for you.”
She laughs and quells my concerns. “I absolutely love it. I just can’t believe you did it. And I’m nervous. You could change your mind again.”
“Like I said, you are my forever. I love you so much, so much.”
Chapter Forty-One: Anarchy in the U.K.
April 2007
All in. A soft sigh escapes from my mouth. La Bella y El Santo.
“Diego.” Sasha’s voice sounds frustrated. “Earth to Diego.”
I’ve been doing that a lot more when I’m in Sasha’s presence, zoning out and taking leisurely trips down memory lane.
I shake the remnants of the memory from my mind and focus my attention on Sasha. “Sorry, Sasha. What’s up?” I keep my voice even and controlled, one could confuse it with pleasant.
“Five minutes,” she huffs out. “Well, it was five minutes a minute ago. Where were you?” she asks.
“Another time and place,” I answer.
The door pops open and one of the show’s stagehands updates the time remaining. “Three minutes,” he says and closes the door.
“You ready for this?” I ask Sasha.
She beams back at me, so excited that I’m playing along. I almost feel guilty for what’s about to happen. Almost.
She nods nervously. “Are you?”
I shrug. “I was born ready.”
The silly statement floods her face with even more excitement.
She calms her breathing, preparing to present herself as poised and polished. As we walk down the hall to the stage, she grabs onto my arm.
“Ms. Stafford,” a stagehand addresses her. “Gavin has asked to speak with Diego first. It should be only a handful of minutes. If you want you can wait here or I can escort you back to the green room.”
Sasha seems so anxious, that she doesn’t question the sudden change in our scheduled appearance. She declines the offer to go back to the green room and chooses to wait where we are now, backstage. We can’t hear a clear thing from here except for the collective reactions produced by the live audience members.
Perfect.
“Mr. Santo, it’s time.”
I hear “Anarchy in the U.K.” by the Sex Pistols playing for my intro music and Sasha gives me a questioning look.
I don’t give her an answer before I turn to make my way onto the stage. I adjust my shirt sleeves and make sure my suit jacket is buttoned. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I steal a glance at the screen.
Good luck ;)
I don’t bother with a reply. I know she’s not expecting one. The curtains in front of me pull back and a blast of studio lights hit me, but I’m able to adjust before I’m out in front of the audience and cameras.
I do the polite waving most celebrities do when they walk onto shows like this. Gavin Nash meets me at the edge of the platform his set sits on.
“Diego Santo,” he says my name.
“Gavin Nash, it’s a real pleasure to be here.”
“I understand we’re in for some must-see surprises.” We’re mic’d up, but they’re not turned on. I keep my answer to a simple nod anyway. “My producer was intrigued after speaking to your wife.” I laugh. I know how the conversation went and Gavin’s producer jumped at the opportunity to jump his ratings with a scandal of this magnitude.
Gavin directs me to the couch for guests and I gladly take a seat in the corner nearest his chair.
“Diego Santo Feo,” he announces with our mics on. The audience goes nuts again and he has to settle them down with his hands.
“Hey, Gavin.”
“First question: ‘Anarchy in the U.K.’? What’s that about?”
I’m curious about how to address Izzy before things kick into play, so I opt for aloof. “Let’s just say that it’s rather fitting and a nod to someone special.”
The audience eats it up. They’re most likely thinking Sasha, not knowing the connection to Izzy.
> “Next question: How’s the shoulder? When do we get to see you back on the pitch?”
“That’s two questions, Gavin.” The audience roars with laughter. Gavin plays the guilty as charged role well. “Shoulder is doing remarkably well. It’s pretty safe to say that I’ll be back to face off against Greenwich Palace FC this weekend.”
The audience applauds and the murmurs of it being earlier than expected filter up to the stage. “That’s fabulous news, mate, but that seems a bit soon.”
“It’s definitely sooner than anticipated. I was told a minimum of three weeks after they set it and got back the X-rays. It’s only been fifteen days, but physical therapy is going well, I have almost no residual pain, and a full range of motion.” I demonstrate my range of motion and finish with a flex.
“That’s quite impressive. What do they say is the cause for the faster recovery?”
I throw Gavin a sly look and the audience reacts with chuckles and “ooh’s” and “ahhh’s”. Gavin raises an eyebrow waiting for the story. “The doctors attribute it to my dedication to getting better, sticking with the regimen, and making sure I rest.” I feign doubt. “But I like to think it has something to do with being in peak physical condition,” I finish, opening up my coat like I’m about to show the goods.
“Go on, now,” he encourages. “Give us a demonstration. Let us see for ourselves,” he flirts.
“For you, Gavin,” I tease back. “But I warn you, I’m not my brother, I like the ladies.” Oh, Sebastian is gonna kill me. The house band starts to play a strip-tease ditty and I play along. I stand up to remove my jacket and undo my tie. I pull out the ends of my dress shirt and unbutton. When I finally remove my shirt, the females in the audience sound like they’re about to lose their shit. A look at Gavin and he’s fanning himself. “What do you think?” I direct the question to the audience. “Are the doctors right? Or am I right?”
“YOU!” was a mostly female response and the loudest of the shouted answers.
Before I can redress, Gavin reaches out to touch my six pack. I’m comfortable enough with my sexuality and his that I turn to make it easier. “Does your brother look anything like you?” he asks earnestly and the crowd laughs.
“Not a bit,” I admonish. “Of course, he’d argue he was the better looking one, but he’s not here to do that.”
We make small talk about how I liked playing in the Queens Premier League compared to the National Soccer League in the States and how I’m adjusting to life on this side of the pond while I dressed to the overall disapproval of the female audience members. I make my apologies and offer them a scandalous story.
The audience cheered. And Gavin introduced Sasha. There was a polite applause for Sasha with a few zealous male fans. She soaked it up. She exchanged air kisses with Gavin and then sat way too close to me on the couch. “So, Sasha, Diego’s promised us a story.”
She leans into me and blushes. “Well,” she coaxes me, “why don’t you tell them? I think there’s even some photos and video to go with his story, Gavin.”
“Yes, there is, but we’ll get to those in a moment.” I take over. “This is a story about love and second chances.” I feel Sasha’s eye bore into me, but the look is dashed before I can confirm. The combined “ahhh’s” of adoration knocked the doubt right out of her.
“First,” I continue with the story, “there’s this guy. He’s not an astrophysicist, but he’s smart, scrappy, built like a god.” If it’s possible, the entire female population in the audience swooned…audibly. “Then there’s this girl. She’s smart, incredible at her job, and sexy as hell.”
“Do tell,” Gavin interjects before I can continue.
“Sadly, it’s been a bit of a bad game for this guy and this girl.” Sasha nods and gives them all a hint of a frown. “But we’re here to fix all that today.” I turn to look at Sasha and speak to only her. “Sasha, my life has been a bit of whirlwind since we met. A roller coaster of magnanimous proportions of emotions, trial, and tribulations.—”
“Ahhh—”
The audience is still aahing when I continue. “Which makes me so happy to tell you and the rest of the world…” I pause, considering my options. “Actually, let’s let the pictures tell part of this story. Gavin?”
He nods to someone off stage and a large screen slowly drops from the ceiling. Once it’s set in place, the screen fills with the recent images of Sasha and me at events as well as those “moment” pictures. I look to Sasha because I know what’s coming up. She sits next to me, her cheek pressed to my shoulder with eyes filling. The images stop and it’s my cue to pick up where they left off.
“Weren’t those great?” The audience answers with clapping hands, hoots, and hollers. “It’s what those photos don’t show that make them so special. For example…” Those two words are the crews’ cue for the next part and the first image Sasha released, the one from the night of the vile bitch, appeared on the screen alone. “See this picture, here?” I don’t wait for the answer. “Something’s missing.” I feign confusion, and Sasha leans away. Her face gets a little twisted. Then, the original image the one of us was manipulated from appears.
A gasp ripples through the audience as they take in the image of Izzy and me. Then murmurs of speculation and confusion drift through the crowd and up to the stage. I chance a glance at Sasha’s face. She’s maintaining her cool, but I’m aware that the Ice Queen is just beneath the surface.
“There’s also this image. It’s the first one of Sasha and me together.”
The screen fills with the first image Sasha released to the tabloids, the one that started this ridiculous game. The audience is expectantly quiet. They probably have a good idea how this game of show and tell will go. They’re not left to wonder for long. The tabloid image shifts to the left while the original images used to make the composite fill the screen. The image of me is filled with some of my teammates while we sat and chatted through our team photo shoot. The image of the bar is a still found from the bar’s grand re-opening. The image of Sasha is of her kissing— “Yes, ladies and gentleman, that is Javi Bastos.”
The murmurs increase. The whole of the stage and the expanse of the studio it’s in is a powder keg with a lit fuse. One look at Sasha and it’s not a matter of if; it’s a matter of when.
“Sasha?” Gavin addresses her. “Can you explain what we’re seeing?”
“I—uh—I’m not sure,” she lies. She’s trying to feign shock.
“I think I could explain,” I offer.
Sasha shoots me a warning look. I shrug it off.
“Remember that scandalous story I promised before Sasha came out? Well, here’s the rest.”
And I spill. Everything. From the stolen kiss to the New Year’s tabloid photo to Bean’s funeral to the here and now.
“You see,” I explain, “Sasha is much more interested in money and appearances. She doesn’t seem to value or respect love. She believes she can beat it. She thinks blackmail can get her what she wants.
“I suppose in the past it has.” The screen fills with images of her conquests. “Unfortunately for each of these victims, Sasha got bored or found someone better. She didn’t even care about the lives she ruined, the families she destroyed.
“When it came down to me, she had her work cut out for her. The first obstacle was my impromptu marriage. Her plans for me were conceived before I signed with London United. I shared the news of my wedding the day I got the offer from William Stafford.”
The sounds of clarity ripple through the studio.
I described my experiences as I encountered them and then added some hindsight, suppositions as to what Sasha’s end game was for her part. I get to the part of Bean landing in the hospital and the stolen kiss.
“I know grief,” I offer in understanding. “I’ve had my share. I felt for
Sasha and I wanted to spare her the embarrassment of making her mistake into a bigger deal.” I look to my left. Sasha’s still sitting there, but space spans between us. Briefly, I wonder why she’s still here. I can only surmise that she thinks she might be able to spin this. “So, I went home, I hugged my wife, and didn’t mention the incident the following morning.” I don’t try to defend myself when the majority of the audience makes sounds of admonishment. “I know. I know. My bad. Really. My bad.”
I proceed with the story. Revealing the bits about the team photo shoot, the tabloid image Sasha rescued me from, and the case of the false message and my missing phone.
When I get to the part where Izzy loses the baby, I feel the tears well in my eyes. The echo of sniffles tells of those being right there with me. “My wife became my sole focus after that. She was lost in her mind and I was lost without her. I immediately canceled or postponed engagements that took me away from Izzy.”
I pause, taking a sip from the glass of water in front of me.
“Oh,” I exclaim, remembering what came next. “Any of you catch the article on me in the On the Pitch?”
There was a mix of yeses and nos. “What you might not be aware of,” I offer, “is that article was not the original one printed.” I shake my head. “Nope. Sasha, here, used her powers of evil to have the article replaced with one that told a much different story. Actually, that’s when I first learned of just how much pull she has. Of course, before the issue could hit the stands, Izzy and I managed to right the wrong.”
I speed through the parts that were in the news or in the rags, adding insight where it was necessary and skimming over the parts that tore my life, and wife, apart. Gavin plays off of my story, asking rhetorical questions and remarking in disbelief. “She didn’t,” he’d said more than once.
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 28