Tug (28 page)

“Yes!” I scream. I’ve never been more sure of anything.

He removes his thumb and replaces it with one of his fingers, pushing farther inside.

“Ah,” I moan, the sensation mildly painful, but I want more, and I push my hips into his hand.

“Fuck!” he groans in my ear.

He withdraws his fingers, coating them again with my wetness. This time two fingers slowly circle my tight opening before he pushes them inside. It’s painful, but I’m too turned on to care. His fingers twist, and I cry out loudly before he removes them.

I turn my head, peering at him over my shoulder. He brings his hand to his mouth, spitting inside of it. His hand lowers, I assume to lubricate himself, and then I feel his cock nudging my tight opening. I turn my head back, staring into the suite through the glass, and grind my teeth together. With every inch he slowly enters, I fall further in love with him, his carefulness stealing my breath away. I’m lost in adoration, oblivious to noises from the crowded street below and the waves crashing into the cliffs. Fully inside me, he stills. His lips kiss up my neck to my ear. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I utter, breathless, overwhelmed with the intensity of our joining. It hurts, but it’s not unbearable and I want more. Tears leak from my eyes, caused by a feeling of complete love and devotion for this man.

He lifts his head and gets a firm grasp on my hips as he starts to move. At first, I feel more pain than pleasure, but slowly, my body begins to accept him. He feels thicker and heavier there, but more erotic also. My body and my brain are completely confused. They want to protest the moment I’ve always forbidden, but they also want to experience every mind-numbing, delicious second of pure and sensual gratification. His fingers continue to massage my clit, and I feel a powerful buildup brewing from deep in my belly.

My orgasm is going to be earth-shattering, and my sex squeezes tight in anticipation. His movements transition from slow to quick to chaotic as his legs began to shake. My moans combine with his, filling the air with our cries of pleasure. He pushes forward, burying himself so deep the mild pain returns, but the passionate sounds of his labored breathing make me crave more, and I push back urging him to continue.

He groans loudly, slowly withdrawing and surging forward with one last powerful thrust. It’s my complete undoing. I come unraveled, spiraling out of control as I succumb to blissful waves of ecstasy rolling through my body. I feel him pulse inside me as he releases, and I crash onto the table, sated heavily by the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced.

Tug’s touch is gentle as he massages my shoulders, working his way down my spine while slowly withdrawing from me.

He spins me around and I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest and absorbing his warmth. I feel weak and he holds me close, palming the side of my head.

“I’ve never done that before. It was incredible.”

Providing him with a first sexual experience thrills me. I lift my head. “You make me feel safe. I haven’t felt this secure since I was a little girl. Thank you.”

He smiles and pulls my head back against his chest. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

S
howered and dressed for dinner, we walk up the beach to a restaurant that is part of the Intercontinental Hotel. The hostess seats us on the back patio at a table in front of a fire pit. The evening is a dream date. We drink and laugh, eat too much, and lick whipped cream from our dessert off each other’s mouths. The restaurant airs an old black and white movie, using the brick building across the way as a screen. I get to enjoy Tug’s jokes about the clothing and hairstyles from the era. And just for the evening, I forget that my papa is being laid to rest tomorrow, that Eduardo may find me, and that we have to go visit Mr. Torrente soon. Tonight, it is only me and the man I love.

We can’t keep our hands off each other as we ride the elevator to the top floor. Our lips fight to stay connected as we pull at each other’s clothing, losing pieces along the way until we reach the bedroom naked. He walks me backward to the bed and pushes me gently down onto the mattress. His warm body covers mine.

“I love you, sweet girl,” he says, pinning my hands above my head. His gaze travels to my breasts, and his lips part. “I love every inch of you.” His head lowers, and his hot breath exhales against my breast before he pulls my nipple between his teeth and sucks hard enough that I arch my back.

He kisses my lips again, and then looks into my eyes with an emotion that makes my heart ache. I reach up and run my fingers through his stubble, holding both cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so fucking happy,” he says, so earnestly that my eyes tear up. “My entire life, I loved a girl who was never mine to love.”

I swallow my breath, ready to cry. He still loves Tori, and I’ll never replace her. No one will. I finally manage to say, “But I’m not her, and you’ll never feel that way about me. I get it.”

His eyebrows pinch together. “No. You’re not her. You’re you, and you’re perfect. My love for you is so much stronger than it ever was for Tori. The reasons why she never reciprocated my feelings for her and never loved me like I wanted her to are clear to me now. My heart was waiting for you. It’s yours with all I have to give.”

A powerful wave of emotion ripples through me, a combination of love and lust. “Make love to me,” are the only words I can say. Anything else is going to turn me into a blubbering, sobbing mess, and I don’t want to ruin the passion behind this moment.

I lock my feet together behind his hips and dig my fingernails into his shoulders. His cock slips slowly inside me, and I lift my hips from the bed, pulling him deeper. He groans into my neck and stills. I wiggle, the ache deep inside taking charge and seeking relief.

“I’m going to make love to you very slowly, sweet girl.”

His promise heats my skin from head to toe. Tug and I have never done anything slowly, especially sex. Our passionate moments together are usually driven by an unsustainable hunger that turns into a quick race to the finish before a marathon night of fast, hard fucking ensues. As he moves slowly in a steady and tranquil rhythm, my body responds emotionally. This is expression without words, and the love I feel for him consumes me and drags me under. For the first time in my life, I feel content.

I feel beautiful.

And I feel complete.

I
wake in a dreamy fog to the sound of the alarm on my cell phone. My limbs throb as I stretch, tired and sore. Every muscle aches and I smile, remembering yesterday. There isn’t an inch of this suite Tug and I didn’t christen. I roll to my side to nuzzle against him, but the bed is empty.

After slipping into a plush hotel robe, I go out to the patio, where Tug is sitting at the table. His hair is always styled a little rumpled and messy, but this morning it’s unruly. He’s in his boxers, with his phone to his ear. Whoever is on the other end is doing most of the talking. Although I’m mildly sore from last night, the smile he gives me instantly heats my arousal. I stroll over to him and climb onto his lap, resting my cheek on his shoulder. His free hand slips under my robe and glides up my bare back, causing me to shiver.

The air is crisp, and smells of salt and something sweet, like baked waffle cone. My stomach rumbles, and I hear Tug chuckle before he nudges me from his lap and points at the food on the table. My mouth waters as I create a stack of waffles and cover them in whipped cream, syrup, and strawberries. Tug watches me with a look of amusement. It’s a towering stack, but I’m starving.

He points to a bottle of pain reliever on the table. I smile at his thoughtfulness and open the bottle, dropping two pills in my hand. The water tastes amazing as I swallow down the two pills and guzzle until it’s gone, earning me another deep chuckle from Tug.

As I devour the mountain of waffles, I listen to a lot of
uh-hu’s
, and
yes’s
, and
I understand’s
from Tug. I offer Tug a strawberry, which he smiles and accepts.

I finish my breakfast and Tug apologizes for still being on the phone, which isn’t necessary. He has a business to run, and I’ve taken a lot of his time the last few days. I kiss his cheek and head inside for a shower.

T
here’s nothing that can be said to describe the feeling of standing over a box that contains a loved one you’ll never see again, a person who your life revolved around. My papa was the one constant in my life. My heart doesn’t contain memories he’s not in, from the tickle-fest as a small child, to his strong arms holding me at Mama’s funeral, to a stubborn fool that argued with me about moments he’d forgotten—he’s always been in my life. He was a treasure, and I miss him terribly. I wish I could see his face, touch him, hold him, and tell him I love him, but there’s a barrier, and it’s not just the wooden lid of the casket — it’s the dark reality of death. The greatest obstacle for anyone to express their feelings is when that very person is no longer here to listen. As a tear trickles down my skin and splashes onto the deep wooden casket, I vow to never again suppress my feelings or pretend they don’t exist. Javier and Tug and anyone who comes into my life that I care about will hear how much they mean to me.

Tug slips his arms around my waist from behind. “Penny for your thoughts?”

I turn in his embrace, running my fingertips through the light brown stubble that always shadows his face. “I love you.”

“Hmm … I love you, too, but I asked for your thoughts.”

“How much I love you is what I was thinking, and I promise that every day I’m going to say it and make you feel how strong my love is.”

He blinks and then holds his eyes closed. His lips press against mine, and he speaks against my mouth. “I promise to do the same.”

The arrival of the priest interrupts us.

Although I didn’t feel a service was warranted for only the two of us, Tug insisted on it. As the priest recites a prayer and speaks kindly of Papa, I’m grateful he did. It offers closure for me and a proper burial for Papa, who’d been a religious man. Religion was something we had argued about often. I could never connect with a God who could take so much from me and allow me to experience such struggle and heartache. Papa’s response was always that my experiences provided me with God’s greatest gift. I never won the argument, because I could never refute Javier’s presence in my life and what it meant to me to be a mother. In times of despair, God’s gift was my greatest salvation, and who could argue with that?