Say Yes (Something More) (11 page)

I gasp and turn toward him. Break up with Andrés? The thought of losing him causes a hollow, empty ache in my chest. Andrés is my life.

“I don’t want to break up with you. Not now. Not ever.” I shake my head as my eyes pool with moisture. Just when I thought I’d cried out every tear. “I’ve already told you why I don’t want kids.”

He leans so close, we are only a few breaths apart. He frowns as he wipes a tear from the corner of my eye. “Did you ever think about what I want?”

Did I ever think about what Andrés wants?

Did I?

The answer hits me like a bullet to the chest.
No. Not really.

That’s when I realize I’ve been behaving like a selfish bitch toward the best guy I’ve ever known. I didn’t need to respond to the topic with such disgust. I should have at least listened to what Andrés wanted. Maybe I’ve been trying to ignore or deny it, but it’s clear to me now Andrés badly wants a family.

I still wish he wouldn’t press to have this conversation so early in our relationship. Maybe six months of dating is a long time for his family, but I don’t think so.

“Andrés,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I’m only twenty-one. I don’t know what I’m going to want in five or ten years. Right now, I just want to finish school.” I think about that stupid psychology class that could possibly prevent me from graduating this semester. “I’ve got final exams coming up and so much work to do….” My voice breaks and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. “I don’t understand why we have to fight over this now.”

“I’m so sorry, mija.” He kisses my cheek a few times, then the lobe of my ear. “Can you forgive me?” he says as he kisses my neck.

I respond involuntarily, rolling onto my side and arching into him. He wraps his arm around my waist and continues to trail kisses down my collarbone.

Some part of me doesn’t want to forgive him. Another part of me doesn’t want to forgive myself. All this time I’ve had my reasons for not wanting a family, and I haven’t given much thought to what Andrés wanted. Of course, he’d want something more from our relationship. Of course, he’d eventually want to settle down and have kids.

A wave of shame washes over me for not considering his feelings, and something clenches my heart like a vice, a much deeper, darker feeling I don’t want to acknowledge. But it’s there, hovering at the recesses of my mind, threatening to overwhelm me with grief: the thought that one day we may have to go our separate ways. I don’t want to lose him. Not ever. But can I bring myself to give him what he wants?

Just as the grief is about to overwhelm me, he lifts my shirt over my breasts and sucks my nipple. The feeling is exquisite, and I groan, giving into the pleasure of the moment. I won’t let myself think about losing him. I won’t. At this moment, I want nothing more than to make love to him.

I reach for his shirt and practically claw it off his back. I need him so badly.

He must be as desperate as me, because he pulls off my panties and shirt and then settles his large body over mine, lavishing my breasts with more kisses while the tip of his erection teases my swollen clit.

I run my fingers through his thick hair, and down to his shoulders, and press against his back as I arch my pelvis against his length.

I cry out as he pulls back, feathering kisses down my abdomen and toward the juncture between my thighs. I don’t want him to take his time. I want him inside me. Now.

But then…ohhhh.

His tongue feels so nice. He spears deep inside me and comes up to swirl the tip of his tongue across my sensitive bud. Again, and again, and again.

Then, he’s lapping me like a kitten with a bowl of milk. My climax is building, climbing ever higher in a euphoric spiral of ecstasy.

I massage his scalp and grab his hair by the roots, pressing him into me while he spears me with his talented tongue.

My last coherent thought before he sucks my swollen bud is this is by far the best damn licking of my life.

His tongue makes love to me so tenderly while swirling across my sex, stopping to gently nip my bud with his teeth. I feel his finger probing my center, first one and then two, thrusting into me.

My mind becomes a haze and I scream his name as he makes me ride that fragile line between ecstasy and torture.

That spiral of pleasure reaches the pinnacle, and the orgasm that grips me is so powerful, I fear I may die from it.

Andrés rides out each wave that consumes me by tonguing me with more pressure and pushing his fingers all the way to my thrumming center.

I don’t know how many orgasms I have, but by the time the tremors slow to a languid pulse, I feel so incredibly sated, I have to fight against the fatigue that consumes me.

Andrés slowly slides his fingers out of me and then kisses my abdomen and my breasts. He grips my leg and pulls it up with him. My body complies, even though I feel about as limp as a rag doll.

As he stretches across me, kissing my chin and lips and gently probing my entrance with his swollen head, I have another idea. I want to show Andrés how deeply I love him by pleasuring him with my mouth as he did for me. I reach between us and grab his erection.

“Wait,” I breathe against his cheek.

He releases me and I slide down while pushing him onto his back. He gladly complies as I kiss down his hard abdomen and across the length of his swollen shaft. He answers with a groan, and I can feel his tremors beneath my tongue as I lap up the moisture pooling at the tip of his cock. And then I take him in my mouth, sucking him as I slide down the length of his shaft. He is too big to swallow, but I take in what I can, one slow inch at a time, until the cock head is pressing the back of my throat. I cup his balls with my hand, gently massaging moisture into the heavy sacks while I slowly move my mouth up and down, constricting my wet lips around him like a hand in a glove.

He’s alternating between calling my name and swearing in Spanish while flexing his hips beneath me and pumping into my mouth.

“Stop, stop, stop!” he cries out.

But I don’t want to stop. I want to keep showing Andrés how deeply I love him.

Somehow he manages to lift me off him. The air whooshes from my lungs as he flips me onto my back and climbs on top of me. He wastes no time sliding deep inside, growling into my ear as he fucks me with deep, hard thrusts. I don’t have time to prepare for the orgasm that overpowers me as his large head jars my swollen center. I feel him swell and then burst. He cries out, his hips spasm against my pelvis as his head throbs deep inside me. He cups my cheek and kisses me passionately, our tongues melding together in a frenzy as he continues to assault me with deep thrusts. His pulsating head triggers another climax, this one grips me almost painfully, and I am at the orgasm’s mercy.

We pant into each other’s mouths, chests heaving for several erratic heartbeats, before he finally pulls me to him and rolls us over. We cling to each other for a long time after, kissing, stroking, teasing. Andrés has given me so much, yet I can’t seem to get enough, and we make love well into the night.       

Chapter Ten

Christina

I step out of the shower after scrubbing today’s paint and grease off, and check my phone for missed messages. Nothing from Andrés.

All day.

I know he’s been busy with work, but I was still hoping for something. Up until a few weeks ago, he’d send me several texts a day. I’ve gotten one this whole week, and that was after work when he asked what I wanted for dinner. But it’s only three-thirty, and he doesn’t get off work for another few hours. I got to clock out early because I finished my project ahead of schedule. I should probably use this extra time to study psychology, right?

Ha, ha! I’m so funny!

No. I’ve got another thing in mind. I’m thinking about hitting Victoria’s Secret for something sweet and sexy to wear for Andrés tonight.

And just as I’m thinking bad thoughts, very bad thoughts like pleasuring him more with my mouth, I get a text from Pencil Dick.

Ugh. I never thought I’d have to deal with Jackson after the breakup, and now it’s like bad breath
deja vu
all over again.

My heart skips a beat when I read the text. He’s got Tyler and he wants me to join them. I haven’t seen Ty in over a week, and I have to admit, I’ve been having serious baby withdrawals. I remember the day of Mrs. Peterson’s funeral, feeling so lucky to have Andrés there to hold me, but something was missing, and it took me all day to realize what it was. I wanted so badly to hold Ty in my arms. I crave that baby like a drug.

Not healthy, I know.

He’s not my kid. I know that, too.

Both of his parents are assholes. I think this endears Ty to me even more. Poor baby. I know what it’s like to have parents who are dicks.

Jackson sends me another text. They are at the restaurant inside the country club. My mother’s country club. Do I want to risk the chance of seeing The Spitting Cobra? I know she goes there far too often. After all, she’s got a busy agenda trolling for rich men and backstabbing her friends.

I look down at my phone, poised to decline his invitation, which makes me sad because I really miss Ty.

As if he’s reading my mind, he sends me one more message.
Your mom already went home.

Oh, well, I suppose my argument for not wanting to meet Jackson at the club is invalid, but I should refuse him. Andrés might be mad at me if I go.

Maybe I could get some cuddle time with Tyler and leave. I could seriously do this in fifteen minutes. I think about Andrés’s confession last night, how he thinks I’m going to break up with him soon because I want to spend time with Tyler, yet I don’t want my own kids.  

 I know I’ve hurt Andrés, but at this point I don’t know how to fix it. All I know is I really want to see that baby. I fire off a text that I’ll be over in a half hour. I can visit Ty for a while and be home in time to make dinner.

Andrés doesn’t have to know I went.

Wait a minute? Did I just think that?

Would I really try to hide this from Andrés? I’m not cheating on him. Why should I have to lie to him about visiting the godson I’ve literally loved since his birth? I was in the room when he was born. I was Karri’s birthing partner. I held Ty before she did.

The more I think about needing Andrés’s permission to see Ty, the more pissed off I get. He has no right to come between me and Ty, and he’ll have to understand that.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

* * *

I can’t believe how healthy Ty looks in just over a week. Most of the color has returned to his cheeks, and his blue-green eyes sparkle with excitement as he bounces around in his high chair and hands me French fries.

“Teeny,” he says over and over, flashing that cherubic grin.

I lean forward and bat my lashes. “Mmmmmm,” I say while pretending to chew his mushed-up fry. I hand it back to him. “Here, you try.”

He pops the fry in his mouth, grinning as he grinds the potato between tiny teeth.

I look around at the fancy white linen table-cloths, crystal drinking glasses, and polished silverware, and think this is an odd place to take a baby. My parents only allowed me to come to their club on special occasions.

Violin music filters in from the opposite end of the room as we look out over the green through expansive bay windows. The menu prices are outrageous, but I’m not eating, anyway. I’d rather order a pizza than sit down to a meal with Jackson.

Jackson has already informed me this is the only restaurant where Ty is allowed to eat. Apparently, Jackson’s dad went through the country club’s kitchen and threatened every chef with dire consequences if any of them fed the baby the wrong food. Jackson has apologized several times for asking me to meet him at my mom’s favorite hangout. He must notice how tense I am, always looking over my shoulder in case The Cobra slithers into the room.

Nora Richards, one of my mother’s annoying, socialite friends, strolls into the restaurant with an exaggerated swagger. I’ve seen her down enough wine to know what that swagger means. She’s somehow managed to make her drunk walk look posh.

Sort of.

She reminds me of a washed up runway model with hip dysplasia. A few quick glances at the other diners snickering behind her back, and I guess they’re not falling for her swagger, either. 

I cringe when she spots me and quickens her pace, coming straight toward our table. Ugh, now she looks like a speed-walking, washed up model in need of hip transplants.

“Christina, darling! How have you been?” The older woman stops a good three feet away and blows air kisses in my direction while waving around the red wine in her hand with an air of superiority. She’s oblivious as the liquid sloshes onto her expensive leather shoes. “I haven’t seen you here in ages.” She smiles as she sweeps her hand up the back of her brassy red up-do.

I know it must be difficult for her to maintain that smile for so long when she looks as if those collagen balloons on her face are about to burst.

“I’ve been busy, Nora.” I say, keeping my tone firm with the slightest undertone of annoyance.  

“Wonderful,” she exclaims, and as her eyes widen, her tightly stitched face looking ready to bust at the seams. “It’s just….” She turns and looks over her shoulder before edging toward me, the look of concern on her marred brow so forced, it’s comical. “Your mother has been so hush hush about what you’ve been up to,” she says in a not-so-subtle whisper.

Jackson groans from across the table. Tyler squeals, “Eeew!” for some reason. Why do I suspect he’s eeewing at this woman? No doubt Nora frightens him. She’s wearing enough makeup to rival a rodeo clown, and I swear I could bounce a quarter off her glossy, tight cheekbones.

“Just working and going to school,” I say, trying my best to sound indifferent. Maybe she’ll get the hint and leave.  

She looks at Jackson and waves a withered hand in his direction. “It’s so nice to see you two together again.”