Say When (11 page)

I scream and arch my back, but he grasps my hips and latches on with his mouth, probing deeply inside me. He pulls back only to gently suckle my cleft, swirling his tongue across my achingly tender bud with long, languid strokes, before diving back into me with jarring thrusts.

“Stop!” I beg.

But he’s not listening, and there’s no way I can stop this powerful orgasm from overwhelming me. I scream to the ceiling as the first wave takes me. Damn the boy! He keeps tonguing me and rubbing his finger across my throbbing bud. Another wave, and another, and I am powerless to do anything but ride out this storm of pleasure.

By the time Andrés lifts his head, my cleft is so swollen and tender, I wince after he slips on that condom and slides inside me.

My legs feel like jelly as he lifts each ankle over his shoulders. He slides in deeper, until he reaches that tender, pulsating point at the end of my womb. Despite the dark storm clouds brewing behind his eyes, Andrés smiles down at me, as he times each thrust, battering me with painful ecstasy. It doesn’t take him long to build up my need, and I’m crying out his name again, begging him to stop, begging him to go on.

The climax that rocks my core grips my entire body. I’m vaguely aware of Andrés grunting and then pulsating inside me. He hovers over me for a long moment before collapsing beside me. I’m nestled in his warm embrace, and he’s whispering something in Spanish into my ear while kissing my neck.

I close my eyes and bask in the glow of the best lovemaking of my life. I’ve never felt so happy. Never felt so loved. I’m thinking this man is incredible, and I want him, all of him, every day and every night. Screw the consequences.

* * *

“Hey, Tio.” Andrés has no idea what compels him to call his uncle. Maybe he just feels like he needs to hear the older man’s steady and comforting voice while he waits for Christina to get out of the shower. Andrés still can’t believe, after dodging bullets and land mines for four years, he’s nervous waiting on a girl. “I called home and Auntie said you were at work.”

“At the body shop.” Tio sounds exhausted. “Gotta interview new artists, mijo. You coming to dinner tonight?”

Ever since he got back, Andrés has spent every Sunday out at the ranch with his family. That is another reason he’s called his Tio. If things go well with Christina, he won’t be able to make it to the ranch today. No, he’ll be spending another amazing night with Christina in his arms. For two consecutive nights he’s not had a single nightmare. She has to be an angel, a gift from heaven. Andrés only hopes he is worthy enough to hold on to his heavenly beauty.

“I don’t know,” he says, trying not to sound too hopeful. “I might be busy.” That is, if she doesn’t run out on him again.

“Is there a girl involved?” Tio asks.

“How did you know?” Andrés doesn’t know why his uncle’s question takes him by surprise. Tio is the smartest man Andrés has ever known. He grew up wanting to be just like him. And then Andrés went through that rebellious stage. Not a day goes by when Andrés doesn’t regret shaming his uncle during his wild teenage years, especially after all Tio has done for him.

The old man’s voice rings with laughter. “There’s always a girl involved.”

Andrés can’t help himself. He might regret it later, but he is just amazed by Christina’s talents. He knew she was different from other girls he’s dated, and now he knows why. “She’s an artist, Tio,” he says with a note of awe in his voice. “You should see her work.”

“Can she paint cars?” Tio asks.

“I don’t know,” Andrés says, but he knows she can. The question is whether she will. He doesn’t want to make his uncle promises, especially when he hasn’t talked to Christina yet. “She’s done a lot of boats.” Andrés remembers the boat hulls with the jumping fish. He knows the pictures in her portfolio didn’t do the artwork justice.

“Boats? I’ve got a boat here that needs to be finished by tomorrow. You gonna bring her by or what?” Andrés can hear the urgency in Tio’s voice. Finding and keeping good artists is always a sore spot for his uncle. So many of them get into trouble with the law or hooked on drugs. Of all of his uncle’s businesses, the paint and body shop gives him the most headaches.

“I’ll ask her and get back to you.” Andrés says, and then he mentally smacks himself upside the head for even suggesting it. Christina won’t want to waste her talents painting cars.

“She in the shower, mijo?” Tio chuckles. “Should you bring her by the house instead?”

Andrés freezes. Maybe calling his uncle wasn’t such a good idea. The old man is too smart for his own good.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” he says through a nervous laugh. Actually, he doesn’t know if
she
is ready for that yet. He knows how his family can be, and he isn’t about to throw Christina into a pack of wild coyotes. She’ll run away for sure. “I’ll see if she needs a job and get back to you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Tio answers with a note of impatience in his voice.

He’s plagued by doubt after he hangs up the phone. Christina’s work should be hanging in expensive art galleries. She’s a college student, and judging by the way she speaks and dresses, a wealthy one. Why would she want to go to work for his uncle in the slums?

Chapter Thirteen

I’m sipping sweet coffee and munching on crunchy bacon, giving Andrés coy smiles while he’s looking at my website on his laptop.

“I gotta look at your paintings again,” he said to me this morning, before he kissed me on the cheek, rolled out of bed, and went into the kitchen with his computer tucked under his arm.

By the time I’d gotten out of the shower, the heavenly scents of bacon and coffee assailed my senses, so I’d brushed my teeth, slipped on my clean undies, jeans, and ripped shirt, and gone into the kitchen to find breakfast ready, and Andrés drooling over my portfolio.

Amazingly, I don’t feel awkward this time around. Not one bit. I’m sitting at his kitchen table, slathering butter and jelly on toast while he shakes his head from behind his screen. I want to know what image he’s looking at but I don’t say a thing. Instead, I admire the angular contours of his face, his high cheekbones and lush, full lips. I’m not exactly the religious type, but I think that this boy had to have been personally designed by a higher power. I’m not very good with clay, which saddens me, because with his finely sculpted body, he’d make a beautiful statue. I do want to draw him, though, and again my hands itch for a pad and pencil.

He looks up from the screen and eyes me pointedly. “So you looking for a job?”

“I haven’t been.” Thanks to all those college credits I took my senior year of high school plus my full schedule for the past three years, I only have one semester left. I’d planned on taking this summer off. Jackson and I were going to travel to his family’s summer home, and I thought I could paint while I was there. Last summer, I earned five grand from just a few murals.

“Are you almost finished with school?” Andrés asks.

I’m shocked he knows so little about me, and yet we’ve already shared two incredible nights of passion.

“Yeah,” I say. “This fall is my last semester.”

“You must have a ton of jobs lined up,” Andrés says.

I laugh and shake my head. “Nope.”

“Nope?” He eyes me skeptically. “There’s so much you can do with your talents.”

I don’t know how to respond to his praise, so I sip my coffee, pretending I’m really thirsty. I haven’t thought enough about a job after college. I’ve been so consumed by my mother’s schemes to get Jackson to set a date. My dream has always been to open my own art studio, either that or work as a freelance graphic designer. Occasionally, I do sell a few of my paintings or digital designs off my website, but with my studies, I haven’t had time to really get my name out there. I’ve always thought after college I could use Jackson’s family’s connections to help me get established.

Now that I don’t have those connections, I need to work on promoting myself, which will be difficult since I’m probably the worst critic of my work. No matter how hard I try to perfect a creation, I always find myself wanting to fix minor details later.

“How about you?” I ask, needing to change the subject. I’ve always felt more comfortable talking about other people’s skills, not my own. “What are your plans?”

I eye him with baited breath. This is when I cross my fingers, and hope and pray he’s got some serious aspirations, because even though I tell myself I don’t give a damn what my mother thinks anymore, I know deep down I do. I hate myself for craving her validation. I’ve got some serious mommy issues.

He heaves a sigh before looking at me. I can see his thoughts trouble him, so I don’t say anything as I wait for him to speak.

“I just got home five weeks ago,” he says. “I’m still adjusting.”

“Five weeks?” I ask. “Where were you?”

“Afghanistan, mostly.”

A darkness settles over him. It’s in the subtle changes of his face, and when he looks into my eyes, it’s like a weight is pressing on my chest. Karri’s brother once said a lot of soldiers come back from the war depressed, so I’m afraid I’ll upset Andrés if I ask him any more questions.

Luckily, I don’t need to wait long before Andrés changes the subject. “My uncle’s got a paint and body shop. Do you know anything about air brushing?”

“Yeah. I’ve airbrushed before.” I perk up, thinking back to my first artistic job. The logos I air-brushed on every boat were my own design, a beautiful Dorado with brilliant blue and gold hues, jumping out of the water. The name of my dad’s dealership was just below the splash. I got lots of compliments on that design, and I never got sick of painting it because I made each one slightly different. My dad only paid me twenty bucks a logo, but it got me out of the house and away from my controlling mother.

Andrés slants a sideways smile, and he looks like he’s brewing up trouble. “So do you want to go meet him? Maybe show him your work?”

“Right now?” I look down at my clothes. Not only did Andrés rip my shirt, he popped off two buttons.

“Yeah.” Andrés shrugs, trying to look noncommittal, but he’s still got that devious gleam in his eyes. “I know he’d want to meet you. He needs an artist.”

“Like air brushing on cars?” I toy with a piece of bacon, looking skeptically at Andrés. I don’t know why, but the thought of auditioning for an art job twists my stomach in knots.

“Whatever they bring into the shop. I’ve seen buses, boats, motorcycles.” Andrés downs the last of his coffee. I notice how his hand slightly shakes when he sets his mug on the table. “Is that something you can do?” There’s a nervous edge to his voice as he breaks eye-contact and focuses on a crumb on the table.

“Yeah,” I answer hesitantly before popping the bacon in my mouth.

Andrés rises and stretches. I notice his hands still shake, and then I get an eyeful of rippling muscles from beneath his tank top.

“His artists usually make five hundred to a thousand a design.” There’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes as the rest of his body stills. It’s almost like he’s forgotten to breathe as he waits for me to respond.

But I can’t respond right away, because my brain is screaming
five hundred to a thousand dollars!

I gag as a wedge of bacon gets lodged in my throat. I have to swallow several gulps of coffee just to get it to go down.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before looking up at him with wide eyes. “Seriously? I could afford my own apartment with that kind of money.”

He smiles as his body starts to visibly relax. He walks over to the counter and pours himself another cup of coffee. “Does that mean you want to apply for the job?”

“I need to go home first. I don’t have anything to wear.” I wave at my torn shirt.

Andrés arches a brow as he leans back against the counter. “Did I do that?”

I bite my lip while averting my gaze. Images of last night swirl through my brain and I flush as I think about going back into the bedroom with Andrés again. “I’m pretty sure you did.”

“I owe you a shirt.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I hesitantly smile. I swear my internal temperature is hotter than my steaming coffee. “It was worth it.”

Chapter Fourteen

Whatever this is that Andrés and I have together, whether it be casual sex or “something more,” I’m pretty sure I am royally screwing up our relationship by starting it off with a total lie. Rather than having him take me to my house so I can get a change of clothes, he’s taking me to my apartment.

Yes, that’s right. My apartment, which is actually Grace’s apartment. She gave me a spare key last month when she asked me to look after her little dog while she flew to Vegas for the weekend. I would have taken her Chihuahua home with me, except the evil shit tried to chew off my toes whenever I came near. So twice a day, I fed him, strapped him to a leash while only managing to lose the skin off a few fingers, and took him for a walk.

Then I tied him up by his neck and hung him from the rafters.

No, I kid, but the fantasy did cross my mind. I’d left him alone in Grace’s apartment, not feeling the slightest bit guilty, because I knew if I brought him home with me, he would have slit my throat with his little claws while I slept.

My hand shakes as I try to fit the key into Grace’s apartment door. This is supposed to be easy. Andrés is not supposed to be hovering behind me, but I couldn’t convince him to wait in the car. He said he needed to use the restroom, but I’m not so sure. Somehow I get the feeling Andrés just wants to see inside my apartment. I didn’t see Grace’s car in the parking lot, and I’m hoping she isn’t home because I don’t want her to freak when we walk inside her front door.

When I finally pry open the lock and spill inside Grace’s doorway, four pounds of tan and black, fluffy ferociousness is waiting for me, growling so hard, I swear his entire head looks like a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. I wonder if this thing is part piranha.

“Are you sure you’re at the right house?” Andrés says at my back.

My neck and spine stiffen, and I’m too embarrassed to turn around and look at him. Why didn’t I tell Andrés the truth? That I live in a museum with a psychopath. But I already know why. My mom would have scared him away.