by Tara West
Andrés settles his powerful body between my legs and gently sinks against me. I sigh as I feel the head of his shaft pressing against my slick entrance. I want this. I know it’s the wrong time and the wrong place, but I really, really want this.
Andrés cups my face and kisses me so deeply, and so passionately, I moan into his mouth and instinctively wrap my legs around him, pushing my heels into his ass and trying to coax him inside me.
But, damn him, his hips don’t budge as he continues to press against my entrance. The sensation is torture, but before I can complain, his tongue delves into my mouth in long, languid strokes.
I am nearly out of breath when Andrés breaks the kiss. He smiles down at me and twirls a lock of my wet hair between his fingers. “I thought you were an angel the first time I met you. Now I know for sure.”
I shake my head and growl. “No talking. I need this.” I reach between us and stroke his erection.
Andrés answers by sliding into me, hard and deep. He silences my gasp with another kiss, this one powerful and bruising. Our tongues spar in a frenzy, and I clutch the roots of his hair as he continues to pound into me. This is not sweet, gentle love making. This is lust. This is need, fueled by something more potent than words can define. This is passion, an all-consuming fuck. And, oh-my-God, I can’t get enough.
The orgasm that ripples through me comes without warning. It’s powerful and strong, squeezing his shaft all the way down to the root as he pushes deep inside me, groaning into my mouth. I feel his head throbbing against my center, his cum spilling into my already soaked channel. I grip his shoulders as he thrusts against my thrumming core again and again, causing another orgasm, more powerful than the first, to overpower me. I scream his name as spasms rock my body, sending waves of shock rippling through me. Then, I melt into his bed as I go limp.
I vaguely remember Andrés kissing my brow before pulling away. My eyelids are heavy as he wipes between my legs with a towel. I’m relishing the tingling feeling that radiates from between my thighs all the way to the tips of my toes. The last thing I remember before I let my eyes fall shut is how very much I’ve missed sex.
* * *
I wake up to the most delicious smell of roasting meat. I open one eye, then the other, and slowly pull myself up and lean against the headboard. Andrés sits beside me, biting into what looks to be a steaming steak fajita. My stomach rumbles, and my mouth waters.
“Want one?” Andrés says with a smirk. “I’ve been trying to wake you up.” He scoots closer, waving the fajita below my nose. “I finally had to bring out the big guns.”
I lick my lips and enthusiastically nod. He hands me a red plastic cup, and I glimpse the fruit swimming in the swirling red liquid before taking a huge gulp.
I instantly regret it.
Andrés’s family makes much stronger sangria than he does. Whatever this is, it’s not just wine. There’s something in the drink that gives it quite a kick. The liquid burns a little going down, but it’s still refreshing, so I take a few much smaller sips before grabbing the fajita plate from him.
He’s built me a mouth-watering monster, a warm flour tortilla smothered in steak, mushrooms, onions, peppers, and loaded with cheese, sour cream, and guacamole. I practically devour it whole, and I’m ready for another. Luckily, Andrés has a second plate with more fajitas. I nearly bite off his finger as he hands one to me. I had no idea funerals, saving lives, and sex could work up such an appetite.
Wait a minute? Did I actually go to a funeral and then have totally hot sex on the same day? I swear I need to have my head examined. Normal people don’t do this. Do they? A wave of guilt washes over me as I slowly chew my food. I don’t savor the spicy flavors anymore. Here I am enjoying myself at a party when poor Mrs. Peterson was only just buried.
Andrés must sense my guilt because he wraps his arm around my shoulders, his whisper a heated breath in my ear. “No more sad thoughts, mija.” He taps my nose and kisses my cheek. “My family is waiting for you to come downstairs so we can toast my uncle.”
“They’re waiting for me?” I gasp. “How long did I sleep?”
Andrés sets the plate on a nearby dresser and turns to me. “About two hours.”
“Omigod.” I jump out of bed and look around the room for my clothes. “I’m so sorry.”
Andrés comes up to me and settles his hands on my shoulders, looking down at me with the sweetest smile ever. “Don’t be. They know you’ve had a rough week. Besides, you’re the hero now. They don’t mind waiting on you.”
My hands fly to my mouth as I’m assailed by the memory of the little girl flailing around in the water. “Amelia! Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.” He squeezes my shoulders and breaks into a wide grin. “She can’t wait to thank you for saving her life.”
I cast my gaze to the floor, feeling the blush creep into my cheeks. His family shouldn’t be hailing me as a hero. I did what had to be done. That was all. “It was nothing.”
Andrés leans closer and brushes his lips across my forehead. “It was everything.”
“My clothes were wet,” I say, as a shiver races up my spine. I realize I’m wearing nothing but his old T-shirt, so I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into his warmth.
“Tia already dried them,” Andrés says as he rubs his hands up my back. “Look.”
Though I’m loath to pull out of Andrés’s arms, I turn and notice my clothes are neatly folded on top of a big trunk at the edge of his bed. “Oh, I did sleep a while.”
“Let’s get you dressed,” he says, “and we’ll go downstairs.”
“Okay.” I shrug as he hands me my clothes. Although, truthfully, I’d rather crawl back into his bed and stay in his room for the rest of the night. I fear what will happen when I go back to the party. Now that I’m a hero, his family has one more reason to want us to settle down.
* * *
Andrés
I lead Christina down the stairs toward the sound of the heavy bass of Tio’s favorite Tejano music. Food plates are scattered all over the large house. I can hear the tag clinking on Chico’s collar, and I stop to look beneath the dining room table. The mutt wags his tail as he happily licks a discarded paper plate. My aunt’s little dog looks like a stuffed sausage.
I shake my head and shrug. It’s a special day, after all. I suppose Chico deserves to celebrate, too.
We walk through the dining room to the large porch that encompasses the entire backside of the house. The backyard is lit with glowing lamps hanging from a canopy of oak branches. These little touches are one of the many reasons I love the home where I grew up. My aunt once told me each lantern represents a member of the Cruz family. When I was on tour in Afghanistan, Tio told me Tia had brought my lamp into her bedroom. She’d lit it each and every night until I’d come home.
I settle my hand on the doornob leading to the porch and squeeze Christina’s hand as I look down into her big green eyes. I sense apprehension in her gaze, and the way she squeezes my hand back so tightly, I know she’s uncomfortable.
I only wish my girlfriend could have known the kind of love from her family that I’ve shared with mine.
I repress a grimace, feeling like I’m stuck in one of those old west movie scenes when the music stops as the stranger walks into the bar. When I lead Christina onto the patio and my family turns to us, her hand in mine starts to sweat.
Damn. If I feel uncomfortable under the weight of so many eager stares, how does Christina feel?
She’s probably wishing she could take the first train out of this crazy town.
“There she is!” one of my cousins cries.
“Our hero!” my Tia responds.
My cousin Rosario, little Amelia’s mother, throws herself in our path before seizing Christina. “You’re an angel.” She sobs as she squeezes Christina to her chest while kissing her hair. “A guardian angel.”
“I did what I had to do.” I hear her squeak beneath Rosario’s vice grip; it look
s like she’s crushing Christina with her heavy breasts.
I’m forced to let go of Christina’s hand, and I watch with horror as more of my family squeeze between me and Christina.
“Hey, hey, go easy on her,” I say, but nobody pays any attention as they take turns pushing me out of the way and giving Christina hugs.
“The Lord sent you to her. I don’t care what you say, you are an angel,” Tia Linda, Amelia’s grandmother, says through a dramatic sob while waving her hands above her head. She’s a big woman, having birthed seven kids, and Christina looks like a limp rag doll as she’s crushed within her bruising arms.
The moment Tia Linda backs away and I catch sight of my girlfriend looking like she’s been hit by steamroller, one of my cousins picks up Amelia and thrusts the child toward Christina.
“Thank you for saving me,” Amelia says as she wraps her arms around Christina’s neck and plants a kiss on her cheek.
My heart feels like it’s stopped beating as I watch Christina smile at the child in her arms. That warm, loving smile does not remind me of a woman who doesn’t want children.
“You’re welcome,” Christina says as she taps Amelia on the nose. “I hope you’ve learned to stay away from the water unless you have an adult with you.”
Amelia vigorously nods her head, and then she and Christina share a hug before Rosario takes back her child.
“I told you she’d make a good mother,” one of my aunts says to an uncle in a not-so-hushed whisper as she nods toward Christina.
I cut through the crowd and reach my girlfriend as she turns as red as an overripe apple. I give her an apologetic shrug and pick a piece of shredded cheese out of her hair, wondering how it got there. There’s no telling with my family.
I lead her to a nearby table, take a seat, and pull her into my lap, knowing I’ll have to keep hold of Christina if I want to prevent my family from crushing her to death. We are given flutes of champagne as Tio starts banging on his glass with a spoon.
Tio and Tia are sitting at the head table, on a makeshift dais along a set of stone steps that leads to Tia’s garden waterfall. Two of their sons, Cesar and Esteban, who are really more like brothers to me, are sitting at the table beside them. Esteban has brought a date, a tall, pretty brunette I don’t recognize. Cesar is looking glum, and I figure he’s still not over the girlfriend who dumped him a few weeks ago.
As soon as everyone settles in their seats, Tio stops banging on his glass, and then he slowly rises while casting a solemn gaze over the crowd, looking as regal as a king.
He clears his throat and rubs his trim grey beard before settling his gaze on me and Christina. When his face lights up, and he flashes the signature Cruz devious grin, I swallow hard, knowing my family isn’t finished embarrassing my girlfriend.
“I’d like to propose a toast.” He says as he lifts his glass with a wide smile. “To Andrés’s beautiful girlfriend, Christina. Thank you for turning what could have been a tragic day into a blessing. And thank you for painting the mural of my hometown, Guadalajara. It is truly a masterpiece.” He tilts his chin as he waves his glass toward the atrium that houses the pool behind us. “Your best work yet.”
For such a small girl, Christina manages to put off a lot of body heat as she leans into me and shyly smiles back. “You’re welcome.”
“Finally, thank you for loving my nephew the way he deserves to be loved.” Now it’s my turn to blush. Does Tio really need to make this birthday speech about me? “He’s an American hero, a decorated veteran. And who better to love a hero, than another hero? Our country has been made safer because of Andrés, and my baby niece is alive because of Christina. You have both made my sixtieth birthday memorable. So, a toast to Andrés and Christina. Salud!”
“Salud!” My family raises their glasses in unison.
Esteban clears this throat, stands up beside his dad and then looks over at me with a wink. “With any luck, the next time we toast them, it will be on a more formal occasion.”
I remind myself I need to kick my cousin’s ass at the first available opportunity.
“Salud!” The rest of the family agrees, sounding even more enthused than before.
* * *
Christina
“When are you and Andrés going to tie the knot and have kids?”
I should be used to the marriage and baby pressure by now, right? So why is it every time another Cruz asks this question, I get this urge to run back upstairs and hide in Andrés’s bedroom?
I force myself to put on a brave face as I turn up my chin. “We’re not.”
I shake my head as the room tilts to one side. Must have something to do with this strong sangria I’ve been nursing. I’m already on my third cup. I only hope the drink will help make all these questions a bit more bearable.
Andrés’s uncle, or cousin, or grandpa or whatever he is, looks at me with wide eyes. “Not ever?” he asks as he scratches the back of his greying head.
I slide off Andrés’s lap and nearly lose my balance as I plop into the empty chair beside him. “No.”
I don’t look over at Andrés. I don’t dare. His family has been bugging me all night, and he hasn’t done much to stop them. His silence isn’t very reassuring.
The old man chuckles. “That’s what my wife said. Six kids and nine grandkids later, and she’s still saying it.” He leans over and nudges me, a knowing twinkle in his big brown eyes. “You’ll change your mind. They all change their minds.”
It takes all my willpower not to lose my temper with the old man. Instead, I decide to take another drink.
The uncle turns from me, still smiling, and waves a hand at Andrés. “Come see me before the wedding. I’ll do a prenup for free.”
I shoot Andrés a glare, but his gaze is cast down, his tanned face flushed a bright crimson. “That’s okay, uncle, but thanks, anyway.”
The old man makes an exasperated sounding snort, then picks up his beer bottle and waves it at us. “Every married couple needs a prenup.” He winks at me. “Not that I want to see you divorce this lovely lady.”
I look away from him and sip my drink.
“Uncle,” Andrés says pleadingly, “we don’t want to put you out.”
The man slowly rises, takes a swig of beer, and belches into his fist. “You can never put me out, Andrés.” His eyes cloud over as he leans over and clasps Andrés on the shoulder. “You are my familia. We take care of each other.”
I’m still nursing my drink as the old man walks away. I don’t bother to look at Andrés until I’ve downed nearly the whole glass. The burning in my throat and gut is starting to numb now, and the room has a bit more tilt, but I don’t care.
“Okay,” I say to Andrés as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, “that was weird.”
“I’m sorry.” Andrés flashes a baleful grin. “What else do you expect from my family?”
Good question, but I don’t have an answer. I have no idea what to expect when I’ve only suffered cold indifference from my family. “Why do they all think we’re getting married and having kids?”
“Look around you, mija. My relatives are good at marriage and kids.”
Andrés motions toward the crowded patio. Children squeal and dodge between trees as they chase each other around the yard. The adults are laughing as they bump into each other on the dance floor while they move to the rhythm of the Tejano band.
One thing they all have in common: they look happy. Well, everyone except for Andrés’s cousin, Cesar, who’s sulking at a corner table. Andrés told me his girlfriend recently dumped him. The boy is a hottie, too. He could almost pass for Andrés’s twin brother. I wonder what girl would be crazy enough to dump any of Andrés’s gorgeous cousins. I remember I am pissed off about something, but I’ve completely forgotten what it is. The room tilts to the other side, and my head swims.
I look over at Andrés and smile. “What were we talking about again?” My words run together as I talk, kind of like they’re b
umping into each other, which makes me think of my words tripping along a dance floor to Tejano music. This makes me laugh.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink, mija,” he says as he pries the drink from my hand. Weird, because I’m clutching the cup like a lifeline.
* * *
Andrés
I have never seen Christina drunk before, and as she falls all over me while I help her into the truck, I hope I never see her this drunk again. Sure, I know she’s had a hard week with her friend dying and Tyler’s hospitalization, but I suspect the real reason she’s smashed has more to do with her inability to cope with something else: our future together. If we even have a future together.
I climb into my truck and start the ignition. Christina has laid her seat back, and she’s snuggling into one of my jackets, eyes closed, looking blissfully happy.
Unlike earlier tonight.
A blade twists in my heart every time I close my eyes and envision her subtle scowl whenever someone in my family mentioned marriage.
She couldn’t have made it more painfully obvious she doesn’t want a future with me, and yet, I was stupid enough to have had that ring made.
What I can’t understand is why she was engaged to that arrogant ass, Jackson James, for over a year. And the way she fusses over his baby, you’d think Christina was pretending to be Tyler’s mother.
Or his stepmother.
How can Christina tell me she never wants marriage and children? Or is it that she just doesn’t want my name and my children?
I get this sinking feeling in my gut I’m being used. I’m her temporary fuck until she reconciles with Jackson. Maybe she’s using me to make her former fiancé jealous.
I was sorely tempted to pull her aside tonight and confront her, but after what she’s been through this week, I knew I’d come off like a total jerk.
As I drive down the darkened Texas highway, heading toward the bright lights of Austin, I strengthen my resolve. I’m going to give Christina a few more days to mourn the loss of her friend, and then I’ll confront her. I don’t want to force marriage or babies this soon. I know she’s not ready. Hell, I won’t be ready for at least a few more years. But I need to know this relationship isn’t all for nothing.