Chapter 35
SARINA
“Pick up your damn phone, woman,” I mutter out loud while being forwarded to Lorena’s voicemail yet again.
I know she hates talking on the phone, but this is the fifth time in a row I’ve called.
What if I were dying? I mean, if I were, I don’t know how capable of making a phone call I’d be, but still, five times and no response?
For her sake she better be busy at work or doing whatever kinky shit her and Tino do, because this is ridiculous.
Stubborn as I am, I figure, maybe the sixth time calling will be the charm.
However, as I go to press the call button again, a vibration breaks my focus.
It’s a text…from Tomás. Despite having every intention of swiping away, my finger betrays me by pressing down on the notification with just enough pressure that I’m no longer staring at my call log, but instead at what has become a one-way text thread of Tomás trying to get ahold of me.
Unable to look at the previous messages, my gaze focuses on the most recent one.
Tomás
I heard your building was evacuated
How did you hear that?
Tomás
I have my ways
Did your source mention that it was conveniently only my apartment that had a notice on it?
Tomás
Really?
Yes Apparently the owner of the building told the property manager there is an issue in my unit only
Tomás
Interesting
Well, you know you can always come to my place, while the work is being done.
How did you know that?
Tomás
Lucky guess
Tomás!
Tomás
Fine…
I may or may not own your building
You’re joking
Tomás
No, I recently acquired it as part of my investment portfolio
So what you’re saying is there isn’t anything wrong with my apartment?
Tomás
No, there definitely is.
It’s why I had the property manager put a temporary barricade on the door so you can’t get in it yet
Why not?
Tomás
Because I need to talk to you
I can’t believe you did that
Tomás
Don’t use that emoji
Tomás
Which one? This one?
Please
I don’t know, I’m busy
Tomás
Standing outside of your building?
Creep
Tomás
We share locations, remember?
I’ll make it quick
Why? We both know you have stamina
Tomás
I do But right now I want to talk
Fine, seeing how I don’t think I’ll be getting in my apartment until I adhere to your request I’m on my way
Tomás
Thank you
A few minutes later, I round the corner to Tomás’ penthouse to see him standing outside with his leg tattoos on full display, courtesy of his slutty, too short workout shorts paired with an even sluttier tank top with wide arm openings and the words Hemp Grove Ranch across it.
It’s so good to see him again. I’ve missed not seeing him, fully aware that it’s my fault that we haven’t seen each other.
I needed a few days to process all that happened at Harper’s wedding with my dad.
As much as it needed to happen, and was well overdue, it doesn’t make it any easier.
No one prepares you for essentially having to break up with your parents.
Nor does anyone tell you that as necessary as the separation or break may be, the hurt you’ve grown accustomed to –that you excused– for years, deepens somehow.
“You look beautiful.” The grin on Tomás’ face is contagious as his gaze drinks me in.
“I’m wearing no makeup and have yesterday’s clothes on, but whatever you say.” I can’t help but downplay the compliment. I don’t feel beautiful right now, not with all that’s clouded my mind since leaving Colorado.
He moves closer, reaching for my hand. There’s no denying the calm he brings to my nervous system when he’s around. “You look beautiful always, because that’s who and what you are.”
That’s a first.
I’ve been called beautiful before, sure. But I’ve never had the sentiment said in terms of who I am. It’s always been said with superficial intent.
He leads the way through the lobby and to the elevator. As we ride up to his floor, I feel the need to break the silence cradling us.
“I’m going to dance at Luxe again,” I blurt as the elevator doors glide open.
I don’t know why I started with that. Not that it’s anything to be ashamed of or some secret I was going to keep from him. But if anything, an apology for ignoring him would have been a better thing to say.
The elevator doors open and he guides us into his penthouse, without saying a word.
“Did you hear what I said?”
He lets go, walking to the kitchen island to empty his pockets. “Mhm.”
“That’s it? I tell you I’m going to be dancing again, and all you have to say is ‘mhm’”
He turns to face me, leaning against the island. “I heard you.”
Shifting my weight to one hip, I cross my arms “And?”
“And if I didn’t know any better, you’re about to pick a fight with me.”
“Tomás.” I stomp my foot, but all it does is have him move a hand to his mouth trying to shield his beaming smile.
“I mean it. Why are you being one-worded and all smiley after I just told you I’ll be grinding on other men.
” Low blow, sure. And yeah, I know, a tad immature —or a lot— any-fucking-way, beside the point.
This is what I do. This is who I am. I skate around issues pertaining to my feelings.
I put up a guard of defense even when the situation doesn’t warrant it.
This is how I’ve been conditioned to act or react.
I hate it. But I don’t know any other way.
“No. You said you were going to dance at Luxe again.”
“That’s right. But the grinding part is implied.”
He stares at me for a beat with nothing but intrigue glossing over his face. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you that you can’t do what you want?”
“No.”
His brows lift, as he slowly makes his way toward me. “Good, because I would never stop you from doing what you want. I would never come between you and whatever it is that you need.”
The space between us reduces to practically nothing, and he seizes the opportunity to go on.
“If you want me to be jealous, you’re going to have to try harder because if I have this.
” He pauses, pointing to my chest, just above my heart.
“Then I have nothing to be jealous of. But something tells me you didn’t come here to tell me you’ll be dancing again. ”
“No, I came here because you didn’t give me a choice,” I remind him.
His grin widens just as his hand skims my chin, pulling it forward so our lips brush against each other’s.
“You, mi amor, always have a choice. You are not only beautiful, but you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Not to mention fiercely stubborn, if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be. The question is, do you want me?”
My pulse begins to ricochet through my body. The air becomes trapped in my lungs, unable to speak.
Tears begin to gather in my eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t know how to respond because I don’t know what’s wrong…with me.
I’m not used to feeling like this.
I know what I want to say. What I have to tell him so he knows he’s not just putting himself out on a limb for nothing, but for some reason it’s not coming out.
I’ve spent so many years having to second-guess myself.
Of having to edit myself, my wants, my desires, all of it, before so much as a single syllable left my mouth, that it has me feeling stuck.
Usually this is where a sarcastic jab or something will come out of my mouth to deflect and avoid the feelings I’m experiencing.
But I don’t want to do that. Not with him.
“Carino?” He strokes my chin, trying to snap me from my daze, but if anything, I become more trapped in my head. “Talk to me. If you don’t want me then tell me, it’s okay.”
Finally, I snap to with a bit more humor than the situation warrants, but I can only be who I am. “Do you realize how sexy you are? I’d be a fool not to want a piece of all you have to offer.”
My words fall to the wayside, not giving me the reaction from him I was hoping for.
“I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about if you want me beyond how many times I can get you to moan my name. If that’s what you want, I can be that for you. But if you want –or need– more, tell me.”
He’s no longer towering over me like he usually does.
Everything is happening so fast, yet it feels like it’s playing out in slow motion.
I peer down and see the hem of his gray shorts are nearing the ground as he’s descending to his knees.
“What are you doing?” I barely get the words out of my mouth.
He latches onto my thighs, kneading them in his grip with a tenderness that I was not expecting. It’s not possessive but it’s also not giving any indication that he wants to let me go.
“Looking like the biggest idiot on the planet, but I don’t care.”
Why am I making this so damn difficult when he’s literally on his knees for me?
“You’re not an idiot, I am,” I breathe out.
“Hush now,” he whispers, peering up at me. “Don’t talk about my wife that way.”
“Am I?”
He nods his head enthusiastically and for some reason his level of enthusiasm feels like an aphrodisiac.
I don’t know what years of being with assholes has done to alter my brain, but here I am, having this perfect —inside and out— man, on his knees for me, and I’m questioning if I deserve to feel the way he’s making me feel.
“Your last name is already mine. Just tell me you want to keep it that way. You don’t have to say anything else if it makes you uncomfortable. But please, I’m dying over here. I just need to know that I’m not crazy and that you feel the same way about me that I feel for you.”
I fall to my knees, meeting him eye to eye. “Oh, trust me, you’re as crazy as it gets, wanting to be my husband.”
“I’d be crazy not to want to be your husband.”
“Eh, the jury is out on the that one.”
He silences my opportunity to say anything else with a kiss. A kiss that speaks every serious notion that I can’t seem to get out on my own.
I feel so moved. I don’t know what to say.
I never pictured myself married, especially not after the fiasco with James.
And certainly not how Tomás and I went about it. Yet somehow, in all its unconventional ways, it just makes sense. We make sense.
“So, you’re okay with me dancing as your wife?”
“Absolutely,” he says without pause, or hesitation. “I want to take what we have and let it grow. I want to date you and learn everything there is about you.”
I can’t help but giggle at how amazing yet ass backwards this all sounds.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just a little funny, dating and getting to know your wife, that’s all.”
“Isn’t that the way it should be in marriage? To put that effort in to know the person you’re with? Just because we’re married, doesn’t mean the spark should die. Chances are we’re not going to be the same people we are today, twenty years from now. If we are, that’d be boring.”
“Trust me, life with me will be anything but boring,” I reassure him.
“I look forward to it.”
“I missed you,” I confess. More than he realizes.
“I missed you too.”
“And I’m sorry about Colorado.”
His brow drops. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“Your personal pitch that you weren’t able to do it.”
He cradles my face in his palm, bringing me in for a kiss.
Since he’s already on his knees, an idea sparks that I’ve always wanted to try but I never had anyone so willing to not only please me but allow me to be me.
I inch back a few more steps, creating more space between us.
Like a dog on a leash, he stays put, with his eyes on me, waiting for me to instruct him.
I’ll admit, the way he looks at me, with lust and admiration, feeds my ego as much as it does a much deeper part of me.
The one he’s been pining over that’s been off-limits to just about everyone.
And as good as it feels ,I don’t take it for granted.
I do —and will— always cherish it, the way he cherishes me.
He drinks me in as I first strip free of my shirt, dropping it to the floor. The hunger in his gaze revs up as I unbuckle my bra, baring my pierced nipples to him.
I close the gap between where I stand and he is kneeled, getting close enough that when I toss my bra his way, he’s able to catch it.
And he does… with his mouth.
“Good boy,” I praise him.
He growls, clenching his jaw and keeping my bra locked between his teeth.
I curl my index finger as I walk slowly backward, working my way out of my leggings as I do.
“If you want me to stay your wife, I need you to put those knees to good use.”
“What do you have in mind, mama?”
“I want you to crawl to me,” I pant. I may be initiating this, but there’s still a vulnerability hanging in the air.
He juts his head to the other side of the room. “Well, what are you waiting for? If you want me to crawl, you gotta create some distance between us. Make me work for it.”