The Prince of Punk Rock (31 page)

Angel had a big cock, and with all the men Tommy brought home over the
years, she had a vast database for comparison.
 
Tommy wasn’t shortchanged in the phallic department, by any means.
 
He was generously sized, but Angel was
blessed.

As she sucked on Tommy, Angel’s penis stared her in the eye.
 
She wanted to touch it, but she didn’t think
he would be interested, and she didn’t know how Tommy would feel about it.
Sexual contact with any of the men they shared their bed with was in direct
violation of the ground rules.
 
But Angel
wasn’t just any other man.
 
He was part
of their lives now.
 
The three of them
were a couple.
 
Still, she wasn’t about
to initiate a change in the bylaws without first discussing it with Tommy.

She closed her eyes and ran her hand up and down Tommy’s thighs.
 
Her hand mistakenly ended up on Angel’s leg.
 
It wasn’t uncommon to confuse one another’s
limbs.
 
The three of them were often
tangled together in a knot of arms and legs.
 
She didn’t remove her hand from Angel’s thigh.
 
She kept it there.
 
She brazenly moved it up further, directly
between Angel’s legs, and grabbed his erection in the palm of her hand.
 
A second later, she put his cock in her
mouth.
 
It was big.
 
It was deep in the back of her throat, yet it
was only a little more than halfway in her mouth.
 
And she could barely fit her hand around its
circumference.

Angel immediately stiffened.
 
“What are you doing?
 
Jessi, stop
it!”

She ignored him.

“Tommy, tell her to stop!”

Jessi realized that she crossed the line.
 
She should have asked Tommy first.
 
But she still couldn’t take Angel out of her
mouth.
 
She cautiously peeked up at
Tommy.

He was smiling.
 
“Go ahead.
 
I want to watch.”

Angel began to protest, but Tommy silenced him with a kiss and pushed
his head back down on the pillow.

Even though Angel acted like he didn’t want her to give him a blow job,
he never waned.
 
He was still rock
hard.
 
She felt a hand on her head, but
it wasn’t Angel.
 
It was Tommy.

“Go down deep.”
 
Tommy put
pressure on the back of her head.
 
“He
likes it all the way in your mouth.
 
Use
your tongue.
 
Lick it while you suck
it.
 
Now flick your tongue over and
around the head, like little butterfly kisses.”

Tommy was giving her instructions, and she followed them like an
obedient student.

Tommy put his lips to Angel’s chest.
 
“That’s me sucking you off,” he whispered.
 
“Those are my lips and my tongue on you.”
 
He had his hands all over Angel’s torso and
sucked at Angel’s nipples, while stealing glances down at her.

Angel had his arm across his eyes and he was breathing heavy, almost
gasping.
  
His legs jolted off the bed
and he pressed his pelvis up toward her mouth.
 
He began to pulsate against her tongue and suddenly her mouth was filled
with warm fluid.
 
She couldn’t swallow
all of it and some dripped down her chin.
 
When she drank every last drop, she sat back on her knees.

Before she had a chance to wipe her mouth, Tommy kissed her. He ran his
tongue around her entire mouth, licking any remnants of Angel that may have
lingered.
 
He wanted to taste Angel on
her lips.

“That was fuckin’ hot,” he whispered.

She looked to Angel for his reaction.
 
His lids were half closed and he was smiling at Tommy.
 
“You play dirty, Mr. Blade.
 
And
you
, Mrs. Blade, are a wile
vixen.”

Jessi’s brave initiation of sexual contact with Angel was unplanned,
but something she often fantasized about.
 
Only, in her fantasy, Angel was the aggressor. In reality, he wasn’t
interested.
 
He needed to imagine it was
Tommy.
 
She sighed.
 
At least, she could still rely on her
imagination and fall back on her fantasies, until one day, maybe, she could persuade
him to participate.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

After weeks of trying to coordinate
their schedules, Angel was finally going to introduce Tommy to his
parents.
 
His mother knew by the way he
talked about Tommy that there was something brewing, something more than
friendship, but she never pried. That’s just the kind of woman she was.

“You know you can be yourself in
front of my family,” Angel flashed Tommy a broad smile.
 
“They already know I’m gay.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for
that.
 
Not today.”

Angel’s smile disappeared.
 
“Why not?”

“Because . . . I don’t know,
A.
 
I can’t explain it.
 
You should know how I feel.
 
Weren’t there people who you knew would
understand, but you were still afraid to tell?”

Of course, he knew exactly how
Tommy felt, but it was so long ago that sometimes he forgot the anguish Tommy
was going through.
 
In Angel’s case, it
was his mother.
 
She tried to coax it out
of him.
 
“Is there something you need to
tell me?” she asked him, to which he only shook he head.
 
“You are my first child.
 
I am your mother,” she said.
 
“I know your heart.”
   
It would have been easy to admit he was
gay, but it still took him two years to tell her.
 
When he did, she huffed.
 
“Finally, the truth.
 
I thought you were going to die a closeted
bachelor.”
 
Then she hugged him and
cupped his face in her hands.
 
“I love
you, mijo, so does your father.
 
You
don’t need to hide anything from us, but I respected your privacy.”

He never could hide anything from
his mother. He didn’t know if it was his guilty conscious that gave him away,
or that she possessed a sixth sense.
 
He
remembered the painful time in his life when he was forced to hide his true
identity, even though his mother made it clear that he had her support.
 
Tommy didn’t have any of that.
 
It was harder on Tommy.
 
He needed to remind himself to be more
patient.

Tommy wasn’t really nervous about
meeting Angel’s parents.
 
He was looking
forward to it.
 
Angel spoke so highly of
them and portrayed them as loving and supportive.
 
They encouraged Angel’s choice of pursuing a
career in music, instead of the financial security of the family restaurant.

Angel’s parents lived in
Saddle River
,
New
Jersey
.
 
It was
an affluent neighborhood, rich with lush landscaping and large, impressive
homes.
 
The extensive black asphalt
driveway made a subtle “S” pattern as it wound its way up to the front of the
house.
 
When they got to the front door,
Angel’s mother was waiting from them.
 
His brother, Nesto, and his sister, Maria, stood behind her.
 
They resembled each other, but Angel was a
dead ringer for his mother.

She was a gorgeous woman, with dark
hair that fell in thick waves past her shoulders.
 
Her fiery dark eyes were exactly like
Angel’s.
 
She wore a fitted dress that
stopped above the knee.
 
She was refined
and dignified with an air of sophistication.
 
Her English was impeccable.
 
The
rolling R’s were the only thing that gave away her Latin heritage.

There was barely any time for
conversation before Angel’s father called them into the dining room for
dinner.
 
Mr. Garcia sat at the head of
the table, and Angel was the one who took the seat at the opposite end, not
Mrs. Garcia.
 
She sat next to her
husband, and he periodically patted her hand.

The long mahogany table was set
with a magnificent banquet of Cuban delicacies.
 
The dishes had fancy Spanish names that Tommy couldn’t remember, and
barely pronounce.
 
Aside from the big
bowl of rice with black beans and the plantains, which they called tostones,
Tommy never heard of most of them before, but Mr. Garcia explained each one of
them.
  
There was some kind of garbanzo
bean patty that was surprisingly savory.
 
Tommy didn’t want to try the oxtail, but after Mr. Garcia described the
way it was prepared, with capers in a spicy red wine sauce, Tommy was glad he
did.
 
It was one of the highlights of the
table. The paella was something he was familiar with, but not the way Mr.
Garcia prepared it.
 
It contained
chorizo.
 
When Jessi commented on how much
she loved it, Mr. Garcia was quick to point out that saffron was the essential
spice of the dish.

Each morsel that Tommy put in his
mouth was a new experience, bursting with rich flavor.
 
He tried a little bit of everything, but the
crispy pork belly was the most incredible thing he ever tasted.
 
The deliciously sweet aroma of pork filled
the house the second he walked through the front door.
 
It was the same mouth watering pork that
Angel made the first time he cooked a meal for him and Jessi.
 
The pork was covered with a marinade, called
Mojo, made with tons of garlic and orange juice.
 
It was a Cuban staple and it had its own
story, which Mr. Garcia told with pride for his culture.

“Everything is delicious, Mr.
Garcia, but, you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“It is my pleasure.
 
I cook for strangers every day, but when I
cook for my family, I cook with love.
 
There is no need to be so formal, please call me Ricardo.
 
You are friends of my son.
 
We have shared a meal in my home.
 
Now we are family, too.”