Chapter Six
Lorenzo awakened early the following day but remained in bed. He swore his sleep had been denied to him because he wore a T-shirt and shorts when he usually slept in the nude. It led to him feeling strangled all night by the clothes.With his daughter asleep in the guest room, he had decided to forego his regular routine.
He sat in the middle of the king-sized bed and ran his strong hands through his waist-length hair.
A memory came swiftly, one that had been hard to forget over the years…
“I love washing your hair,” Josie said, leading him across her studio apartment to the kitchenette, where a stool was positioned in front of the tiny sink.
Lorenzo followed behind her, enjoying the back-and-forth movement of her buttocks and hips as they both enjoyed the freedom of nudity. They rarely bothered with clothing. There was no need. It would be a waste to dress only to soon undress because they could not keep their hands off each other. As he took in her curves and lack of inhibitions, his member stirred to life and rose in the space between them. “Look, mariposa,” he said softly, using his pet name for her of butterfly in Spanish.He knew speaking in his native tongue drove her wild, and he was ready to get wild with her.
Josie stopped and turned. Following his meaningful look downward, she followed his line of vision and framed her pouty mouth in an “o” at his hard length. She gripped it with her free hand, enjoying its heat against her palm. “We just made love, Zo,” she said, looking up at him with eyes filled with play–and rising desire.
He tossed his hair back over his broad shoulder, knowing how much she found the duality of his long hair and masculine features irresistible. “I cannot get enough of you,” he told her.
She looked at him as she lowered her body to squat before him. She eased her hands up his muscled thighs. She never broke their hot gaze as she licked her lips before taking his thick and smooth tip into her mouth with a deep hum that vibrated against his hardness.
Lorenzo swore, reaching to dig his hands into her curly hair and lightly gripping the roots while he helped guide her head back and forth as she sucked him with well-practiced ease. Every muscle in his body tensed as he felt his inches glide over her tongue to reach the top of her throat. He shivered and fought the urge to growl as their eyes remained locked. He felt lost as he tilted his head and bit down on the side of his tongue.
Josie opened her mouth and throat wider as she released a noise to raise her uvula out of the way as she feasted on him and fed him. So skillfully. Slowly. Deliberately.
Lorenzo felt his nut rising. The sweet anticipation of it made his entire body shiver. Beads of sweat coated his muscled frame. His heart pounded furiously. He felt captured by her aura. Locked in and drugged.
He had to fight the urge to weep as the first jolt of his climax coated the back of her throat. Instead, he closed his eyes, afraid she would see the madness she evoked in him. She moaned in pleasure, and he let his head fall back until the tips of his hair lightly caressed his hard and square buttocks that clenched with each explosive release. He freed his own roar of pleasure to press against the ceilings and walls, not caring one bit who heard him.
“Josie, Josie, Josie!” he moaned.
And when she sucked all of his release from his tool until it was limp, he whimpered at the sensitivity of his tip. “Please,” he begged as his knees weakened. He pressed his hands to her forehead to try to free himself. She just gripped his buttocks harder and continued to suck and lick him until a broken falsetto cry was torn from him. “Please, mariposa, please!”
When she finally set him free, Lorenzo stumbled backward and fell against the brick support column. He looked at her with wild eyes as he waited to regain control of his body and mind.
Josie was still squatting as she used her thumbs to clean any traces of his seed from her mouth. Her eyes were shiny with triumph, her cheeks flushed with color, and her plump lips a bit more swollen. “Can we wash your hair now?” she asked as if the large brown nipples of her small plump breasts weren’t hard and her core glistening a bit from her own desire for him.
Lorenzo could barely think straight–far less walk straight!
He released the hot memory at the double knocks on his closed bedroom door. “Aw hell,” he exclaimed, looking down at his erection tenting the coverlet. “I’ll be right out.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Zoie said through the door. “My Mom is here, and I need to talk to both of you.”
When he was sure she had walked away, Lorenzo flung back the covers to sit on the edge. With a shake of his head, he looked down at his erection–eye to eye–and pondered how foolish it was of him as a grown man to be sitting there like a horny teenager.
And now Josephine was in his home.
He was thankful she would be in her bulky clothing and that hairdo he disdained because any sight of the old Josie would be no bueno. That version of her used to set his soul on fire–with desire and love.
“So now you live in the shades of gray? Because I see no sign of the woman I used to know. None.”
He rose, and his still hard inches hung heavily from his body. It led him like a pointer as he locked the door to his bedroom and went into the adjoining bathroom for a shower. His attempt to ease his erection with cool water failed. It didn’t help that he remembered how Josephine leaned over him as she shampooed his hair, placing her beautiful breasts against his face. Up and down, they jiggled as she worked. The temptation for him to taste the twin beauties won, leading to her climbing his growing hardness and riding them both to a climax as he struggled to keep them steady on the stool.
Lorenzo turned the cold water on full blast. The shock succeeded. The steamy memory faded, and his hardness finally eased away so that he could finish his shower.
Standing in front of the long, backlit mirror above the marble tray sink, Lorenzo studied his naked and wet body. He flexed his broad shoulders and pressed a large hand to his chiseled abdomen. He wondered what Josephine thought of his still-fit frame over a decade later. She used to love his body. It had been nothing for them to spend the day in bed with her tracing the contours of his muscles with her finger.
“I lost you, and it broke my heart, and I couldn’t find my way back to the version of me that loved you and missed you.”
Her words came back to him. Both mocking and tempting him.
He knew he could easily have Josephine back in bed…if he chose. He did not. The stain of her keeping his daughter from him was difficult to wash away.
Dressed in a navy sweater and jeans, with his still-damp hair pulled back into a ponytail held with a twist, Lorenzo walked barefoot out of the owner’s suite and down the polished wood floors of the hall. He could hear Zoie explaining all the outfits he purchased her yesterday at the mall.
“Oh, that’s…nice,” her mother said.
He paused. Josephine’s enthusiasm was clearly forced.
‘Now what?’ he wondered, feeling his ire sparked as he began to work his jaw.
“Mama,” Zoie said, her tone chiding.
“What?” Josephine said.
He continued down the hall and stepped into the foyer.
“Mornin’ Daddy,” Zoie said, her eyes twinkling with her inner joy and looking adorable in the colorful pajamas he purchased.
Josephine looked up at him and gave him a look before posting a false smile as she caught Zoie’s eyes back on her.
“Good morning, Zoie. Josephine,” he said, taking in the gray slacks she wore with a white long-sleeved tee and gray loafers.
Surprisingly, her hair was pulled into a loose top knot, and one curl had escaped to dangle in front of her left ear.
“Lorenzo,” she returned.
Zoie stood up and gathered all her new clothing in her arms. “I’m going to get dressed,” she said.
“What did you want to talk to us about?” Lorenzo called behind her.
“After breakfast. Hint-hint,” she called back from the hall where she had disappeared.
“Coffee?” he asked Josephine.
“Yes, I’ll help you,” she said, standing up.
He frowned. He didn’t need or want her help. Or her nearness after his trip down memory lane. “No thanks,” he said, turning to make his way to the kitchen.
She followed him anyway.
He watched her lean against the island. “I remember you couldn’t even cook canned veggies. Did my cookbooks you purchased help any?” he asked slyly as he removed the makings for brioche French toast with fresh seasonal fruit and bacon before turning on the oven.
“Ha-ha,” Josephine said.
“Or did you just buy the books for the photos of me?” he teased.
Their eyes held briefly.
He looked away first, breaking eggs into a glass bowl to briskly whisk.
“Lorenzo, the designer clothing?” she said, ignoring his question. “It’s too much in cost and quantity. Zoie has clothes.”
Here we go.
“At your place,” he said, adding vanilla, cinnamon, a touch of brown sugar, and heavy cream to the bowl. “She can keep the clothes here–or wherever I move to.”
“And the cost?” she asked.
He spared her a glance as he retrieved a cast iron pan and heavy baking sheet from the shelving beneath the island. “Zoie is your child,” he said, hearing the censure in his tone. “Not me, Josephine.”
And I bothered to be concerned about her after her fiancé, Mr. Drip Dry, overheard their conversation.
“That’s just it. She’s a child, and she will outgrow those clothes, Lorenzo,” Josephine said, crossing the kitchen to lightly touch his arm.
He looked down at her hand and then into her eyes.
She withdrew the connection.
“It’s the same quality I wear, and it”s what I will buy her,” he said as he placed the thick slabs of bacon on the baking sheet before sliding it into the hot oven.
“That’s a waste!” she shouted.
“It”s my money,” he countered coldly.
“You have nothing to prove, Lorenzo,” she said, her face imploring.
He slammed the pan on the gas burner. “Don’t I?” he asked.
“Money can’t replace time,” she said.
“Says the woman who denied me the time,” he roared.
She did look remorseful. “Yes, I did,” she admitted softly. “And I’m sorry.”
At the soft clearing of a throat, they both saw Zoie standing there, now dressed in the lavender suit and matching flat shoes she had added to the pile of clothes to be purchased yesterday. Her hair was in a low bun, she wore spectacles, and she carried his laptop.
“Glasses? Really, Zo?” Josephine asked low enough for only his ears.
“There’s no prescription. She wanted frames to wear when she reads because I started wearing reading glasses,” he explained.“I brought her many books, too—all age-appropriate.”
“You’re still a voracious reader?” she asked, looking up at him.
He gave her a nod. “Sí,” he said, thinking of his filled bookshelves in Paris.
They turned their attention back to their daughter.
“We’re not going to church this morning,” Josephine said.
“I know, Mama,” she said, sitting in one of the high chairs surrounding the island. She opened the laptop and gave them both a serious look.
Lorenzo added butter to the cast iron griddle before deftly slicing the brioche to add to the sweet egg mixture.
“I want us to work on a child custody agreement,” Zoie said, looking up from reading something on the screen.
“What!” Josephine exclaimed.
Lorenzo chuckled as he added four slices of egg-soaked bread to the pan to sizzle in the butter. That earned him a hard stare from his ex, which he ignored.
“I love you, Mama. I love both of you,” Zoie said. “But I looked it up online, and an agreement would uncomplicate things.”
“I’m game,” Lorenzo said over a broad shoulder before briefly checking on the bacon.
“So, no more lawyers and court?” Zoie asked.
He gave his daughter a look before turning to flip the toast over. “We really need to discuss this snooping issue that you have,” he said firmly, sure she had stumbled across that nugget of information on his laptop.
“Exactly,” Josephine added.
“I am but a seeker of truth,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest and giving them a comically regal nod.
Lorenzo turned and opened the fridge so the ever-observant child didn’t see his smile.
“I suggest I spend the week with Mama and weekends with Daddy,” Zoie began. “For my birthday and theholidays, I recommend alternating. Christmas with mom, and Thanksgiving in two weeks with dad–because his and my abuela’s cooking is unbeatable. Plus, my Tia Alania is coming. Sorry, Mama.”
“Understandable,” Josephine muttered while rubbing her neck with her fingertips.
Lorenzo released a slight chuckle, which earned him a stare from his daughter and her mother. Spatula still in hand, he looked at Josephine. “And the summers?” he asked her.
“Uhm,” she said softly as she contemplated. “Maybe two weeks on and two weeks off? It would give either of us time to go on trips with her.”
Lorenzo didn’t hide his surprise.
“Good job, Mama,” Zoie said, looking at them both.
He nodded in approval.
She typed away on the laptop.
“I want to help with her expenses,” Lorenzo offered as he removed the crispy brown French toast to sit on a plate before adding four more slices to the pan.
“Ah, the money. I didn’t think of that,” Zoie said softly, clearly talking to herself as she typed away again.
Josephine looked resistant.
He remembered her hyper-independence well, and it was partly due to her having a pretty rough childhood–something he’d forgotten. She rarely discussed her past, but he knew it had affected her deeply.
“You’re not in this alone anymore, Josephine,” he said because she had often spoken of having to do it alone in the past. Reverting to his nickname for her had come so easily at the moment.
Her eyes shot to him, and in the brown depths, he saw her vulnerability.
“Yeah, Mama,” Zoie urged softly. “We’re all in this together. Let my dad help you.”
Josephine gave her a timid smile before stroking her mouth with her fingertips. She began blinking rapidly, and he knew she was fighting back tears. “Half of all expenses. We can email each other copies of any bills or receipts,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, seeming to offer herself comfort.
The urge to do the same surprised and annoyed him because caring for her was not what he felt she deserved.
Zoie typed away. “Anything else?” she asked, her bright eyes shifting from one parent to another.
They both shook their heads.
“Okay. I just have one rule.”
They looked at each other and then at their daughter.
Zoie cleared her throat. “I’m thrilled to have you both in my life. I’m not sure what happened between you two in the past that my dad wasn’t around,” she said. “But, Mama, I don’t want it to be repeated–especially now that you explained you and Brent aren’t getting married.”
Lorenzo did a double-take at that.
Josephine avoided his gaze.
“And so, I would like our one rule to be that you two do not get back together in any way,” Zoie said, giving each a direct look. “I don’t want to lose my dad again.”
Lorenzo locked his black eyes on her. “There is nothing and no one in the world that will come between us again, nieta,” he promised her.
“Are you two getting back together?” she asked, showing confusion in her eyes.
“No!” they both said with emphasis.
“Then the rule should be okay,” Zoie said. “Right? So, just co-parents. Deal?”
“Deal,” Lorenzo said as he used a mitt to remove the pan of crispy bacon.
“Deal,” Josephine agreed, again avoiding Lorenzo’s gaze.
Zoie tapped the keyboard and then stood to walk out of the kitchen.
“Don’t shed too many tears over Brent,” he said, giving her a brief look.
“What did he ever do to you?” she asked with a bit of bite in her tone.
“It’s what he didn”t do for you,” he said. “You crave passion.”
“Brent and I had passion,” she said.
“Yeah, right,” he muttered, with his broad back to her, as he removed fresh fruit from the fridge to slice expertly.
“Where are your plates?” she asked, now standing beside him.
He looked down at her briefly before pointing to the cabinets with his knife.
She removed them and three glasses from the upper shelf.
“Four,” he corrected. “My mother is meditating. She’ll be out here soon.”
She nodded and reached for another.
He paused in slicing fruit to retrieve place settings and utensils to set atop the plates she held. “In here is fine,” he told her.
Josephine busied herself setting the top of the island.
Lorenzo placed the food on platters family style. He set them in the middle of the plates with a glass container of maple syrup he’d already infused with vanilla and cinnamon. He’d just retrieved a carafe of homemade fruit juice as Zoie returned. She carried a piece of paper she must’ve retrieved from the printer he’d set up in his bedroom.
“Sign, please,” the little girl said, looking at them over the rim of her spectacles as she handed her mother the pen she held.
Josephine signed. “Our kid is a future lawyer,” she drawled.
“Or a Supreme Court Justice like Kentaji Brown Jackson,” Zoie declared.“I’ll go get abuela.”
He took the pen Josephine offered, and their hands touched. It shot a spark of awareness through him, and he could tell by how she bit down on her bottom lip that she felt something, too. After he signed his name with dark, slashing strokes, he looked up just as she poured syrup on her French toast and then sucked away the sweet liquid that dripped on her finger. Her lips pouted with the move, and he was thrust back in time to just how delightful that mouth of hers could be. His gut clenched, and his desire stirred to life.
His mind knew desiring Josephine again was trouble he did not need, but it was also clear that his dick had a mind of its own.
∞
One week later
Josephine awakened from sleep with a gasp. Her heart pounded in unison with the throbbing bud buried within the silken layers of her core. She had been dreaming of Lorenzo adorning her with erotic words in Spanish and French as he stroked inside of her from behind with her hair in his fist. She released deep breaths as she lay in the middle of her bed, alone with memories of Lorenzo seemingly so present. Beside her. Tasting her. Inside her. Behind her.
With a moan, she pressed her hand between her thighs as she turned on her side and sought relief from wanting him again. And again. And again. They’d had the most glorious sex life back in their twenties without a care for anything besides pleasing each other and their devotion to their arts. That’s it. That’s all. And it was more than enough.
He had claimed her dreams ever since she caught the sexy chef quietly watching her as she sucked syrup from her finger. She knew Lorenzo Léon Cortez so very well, and there was no mistaking the look of heat and desire in his eyes at her innocent move. It sparked a similar flame inside her. And she’d been on fire ever since.
Every night.
Each dream was more erotic than the last.
And more haunting.
Still cloaked by the darkness of night, she looked at her open closet, and there was just enough moonlight streaming into the room for her to make out the brown leather box. She licked her lips, wishing she dared to reopen the box and relive the memories.
But I don’t.
It was the truth when she confessed to Lorenzo that leaving him had broken her heart. And it was more than the explosive sexual connection. Much more. As a loner all her life, he was not the first man in her bed but the first she had allowed in her life. Somehow, he had found his way past the walls she put up. He had felt like the missing puzzle piece in her existence. That year had been pure bliss getting lost in him and her art. Nothing else had mattered.
To walk away from the love and comfort he provided her had not been easy, and there was no one else she would have done it for except her child. Still, she had cried and longed for him for many years after. She was lucky to have such a happy kid after stewing her in sadness for so many months in her womb.
She released a breath and closed her eyes, praying for a sleep deep enough to not remember her dreams.
∞
One week later
Lorenzo loaded the last plate into the dishwasher. He dried his hands with a dish towel as he looked out at his mother and sister, Alania, doting on Zoie. Usually, he spent Thanksgiving at the restaurant, providing a delicious and hearty meal for those not wanting to take on preparing their own holiday feast. As much as he missed Paris, he wouldn’t trade spending the day with his family for anything. Zoie had changed his life for the better.
He stared out the window and leaned a narrow hip against the countertop to enjoy the view. The sun was fading, and the street lights highlighted the falling snow, making the day even more idyllic. During the last six weeks since learning he was a father, he had been forced to take some downtime with his move back to New York. He learned to like the slower pace and not being so tied to the restaurant as he created a routine with Zoie.
He was searching for a new residence, including other condos in the building for sale. Finally, he had accepted Sean’s offer to star in his own cooking show. He was awaiting contracts to sign on the deal his agent negotiated. Also, he would be the chef-in-residence at GAbrIEL one night a week. Now, he just needed to decide what to do with his Paris digs.
“Daddy?”
He looked over his shoulder as Zoie walked into the spacious kitchen. “Yeah,” he answered.
“The food was so good,” she said, coming over to hug his waist.
Love for her warmed his chest. He never missed the irony of how much she had come to mean to him when he swore he wasn’t meant to be a father. It seemed he was very wrong. “What was your favorite?” he asked. Between him and his mother’s culinary skills, they had cooked more than a dozen dishes varying from traditional Thanksgiving delights like roasted turkey and cornbread dressing to Spanish delicacies like empanadas, tamales, and pozole.
“Abuela’scarnitas,” she said of the roast pork dish that took hours to make.
He chuckled. “Me too, my beautiful daughter,” he said in Spanish.
They were all trying to teach her their native tongue.
“Gracias, papa,” she responded tentatively as if assuring she pronounced it correctly.
He nodded in approval.
“Daddy, will you miss me for Christmas?” Zoie asked.
“Absolutely,” he assured her.
“Promise to have fun so you don”t miss me too much,” she said.
“Your abuela has decided to live with me for a while to help with you when I go back to work,” he assured her. “And your Tia Alania may come back. I won’t be alone.”
“And you have all my Cress aunts, uncles, and cousins,” she reminded him.“And my godsister, Emme.”
“Sí,” he said, having taught her just how important the Cress family was to him.
“I really like them a lot. Especially Aunt Bobbie, the private investigator,”she said with a huge toothy grin.
“You would, little snooper,” he teased.
She laughed, but it was reserved.
“Do you miss your mom?” he observed, looking at the city landscape and the gentle snow flurries again.
He felt her nod her head against his abdomen.
“Do you want to go to her house?” he asked.
“No. I’ve been texting her all day,” she admitted with a sheepish look up at him.
Lorenzo chuckled.
“I wouldn’t worry so much if she and Brent hadn’t broken up,” she said.
He thought of her. Josephine. He was still wrapping his brain around what role he may have played in the end of her engagement.
“I lost you, and it broke my heart, and I couldn’t find my way back to the version of me that loved you and missed you.”
Her words often replayed in his head. He couldn’t forget them, no matter how hard he tried. And he believed them truthful, no matter how much he wished he didn’t.
“Why don”t you call her and tell her I’ll bring a plate when I take you home tomorrow… since she’s a fan,” he offered, looking down at the smile spreading across his daughter’s face.
“Your talking about your cookbooks she has, huh?” Zoie asked.
Lorenzo laughed.
∞
One month later
It took some time to adjust.
Josephine missed Zoie, but the time without her had reminded her of the freedom of her twenties. She was leaning into it instead of feeling lonesome. Before meeting Lorenzo, she had spent much of her life alone, so she fell back on the self-care she had cherished back then. There were naked days, leisurely baths while sipping glasses of her favorite bold red wine, watching sexy movies with uncomplicated plots, and lots of deliveries of her favorite super spicy Indian food. She’d even added some pops of color to her decor and clothing. No one spoke about it, but she knew her employees wondered what brought the change to wearing her hair curly and free of its bun.
And she felt happier. She laughed a little more. She smiled even more than that.
Things were better.
She rarely saw Lorenzo during their drop-offs and pick-ups of Zoie, but their communication was better. The co-parenting was going well. Even Lorenzo’s anger and feelings of betrayal were less palpable.
‘Still there, though,’ she thought. ‘And perhaps always would be.’
She jumped in surprise at her cell phone vibrating in the back pocket of the oversized overalls she wore with a red sports bra as she dusted her living room. She was sitting on the floor and rose up to withdraw the device. “Speak of the handsome devil,” she said before answering his call and setting the phone atop the wooden coffee table.
“Yeah,” she said, bending down to wipe the table’s legs with the old shirt she used as a dust cloth.
“Hello to you, too, Josephine.”
She paused. The sound of his deep voice and sexy Spanish accent was amplified through the phone. She shook her head before lowering it to the hardwood floor to lightly tap. And just like that, her calm was obliterated. Heart pounded. Pulses raced. Clit throbbed to life.
Give me strength.
“Hello, Lorenzo,” she called out.
“Are you home? I wanted to drop off Zoie’s gifts for her to open Christmas morning,” he said. “She’s with my mom, so this time is perfect.”
Josephine bolted up and looked at the phone with an odd expression. “You don”t want to wait until she’s back with you to open them?” she asked.
“No. No need for Zoie to wait until the weekend. She can Facetime me Christmas morning and tell me how much she loves all her gifts, plus she has a bunch from my side of the family she can open with me,” he said.
Josephine looked over to the heavily decorated Christmas tree and all the wrapped presents beneath it. She was sure everything from his side, including the wealthy Cress bunch, would triple what she thought was a pretty good haul on her part. She pushed past her fears that they would all spoil Zoie beyond repair. She reminded herself to be thankful her child had far more love and support than she had growing up. “I’m home,” she said.
“Okay.”
She got up from the floor and approached the stairs to quickly change. She had yet to show her ex the little bit of her old self she welcomed back into her life. She had just landed her foot on the first step when the doorbell rang.
Lorenzo?
“It couldn’t be? Not that quick,” she said, moving swiftly to the door as she remembered she was awaiting a delivery.
“Coming,” she called out as she opened the glass door and crossed the foyer to do the same to one of the outer double doors.
“Lorenzo!” She gasped in surprise, thankful for the height of the packages he carried that blocked her from his view.
She nearly shrieked as she looked down at her overalls and skimpy bra. “Just put the gifts under the tree,” she said, turning to rush back into the living room. “I have to finish something upstairs.”
“I need your help, Josephine,” he said, his voice slightly buffered by the boxes.
She balled her hands into fists like Florida Evans from “Good Times” and definitely wanted to scream: Damn! Damn! Damn! “Okay, stay right there,” she said, feigning a pleasant voice. “I’ll be right back.”
She turned back to the stairs and made it halfway up.
“Josie?”he said in surprise.
She stopped and closed her eyes as she hung her head. She knew that he’d seen her. She turned. Lorenzo had set the gifts on the vestibule floor and was looking at her with an odd expression.
He’s seen a ghost. The old me.
He looked around at the revised decor and then back up at her, still on the stairs. He even tilted his head to the side a little as he walked across the room to stand at the foot of the steps. The intensity of his gaze flustered her.
“You must have been right outside when you called,” she said, fighting not to stammer and reveal her nervousness. “I thought I had time to change.”
“Why did you ever change?” he asked, his Spanish accent heavier in that question.
She ran her fingers through her wild curls as she took in how handsome he looked in all navy blue. “Because I’m not that Josie anymore,” she said.
He climbed the stairs.
She felt locked in place. “I’m Josephine,” she whispered, more to remind herself than him.
He shook his head, denying her that truth, as he landed on the step beneath the one where she stood. “Josie,” he whispered.
His closeness was deafening to her logic. She gasped slightly at the heat and desire radiating from his stare. Every bit of her throbbed to life, and she felt energized by their chemistry. It was familiar. And addictive. She raised a trembling hand to press to the side of his chiseled, handsome face and stroked his soft bottom lip with her thumb. That, too, was familiar. With so much ease, she ached for him. Throbbed for him.
And with a grunt of pleasure, Lorenzo pressed a hot kiss to her palm and licked it.
Josephine released a small, jagged cry that only hinted at her pleasure.
He gripped her waist to guide her down on the uneven steps. She didn”t care. The pleasure of his body lowering atop hers outweighed any discomfort. With hunger, they clung to each other. With a cry, they kissed. With moans, they ground their bodies together.They fit like a key to a lock.
“Mariposa,” he whispered against her mouth as she strung her fingers through his hair to grip the roots tightly.
Lorenzo pressed hot kisses to her entire face in what seemed like worship before returning to her swollen mouth. He traced the plump definition with the tip of his cool tongue. Lost in it and not seeking relief, she wrapped her legs around his strong waist and thrust her hips forward to stroke the long and hard length of him against her bud. It ached for release.
And when he swiftly guided his mouth to her neck, she trembled as he lowered one of the straps of her overalls. He jerked up her sports bra to reveal her small but plump breasts to the air, to his heated gaze, and then to the coolness of his mouth. Deeply he sucked first one nipple and then the other. He circled her full areolas with all of his tongue as if she were water needed to quench an undeniable thirst.
“Mariposa, mariposa, mariposa,” he moaned as if tortured.
She felt his words against the now damp skin. “Yes, Lorenzo. It is your mariposa,” she sighed as he looked down at her with a force that shook her to her core. Tempting and teasing for more. For release. For the climax. She was already so very close.
With eyes wild with desire, he softly presented her his tongue, and she raised her head from the step to suck deeply upon it. She remembered the taste of him with a deep moan that emerged from the depths of her soul.
The doorbell suddenly echoed.
They both paused and released sharp intakes of breath as they searched each other’s eyes and saw the desire they felt mirrored.But as the moments passed and the doorbell rang again, slowly and regretfully, their reasoning took control.
Lorenzo rose from atop her body, and Josephine sat up on the step, but that only brought his erection straining against his zipper to her eye level. She hungered to free the hardness and taste him. With a lick of her lips, she tilted her head back and let him see in her gaze what she wished she could do for them. Fire lit his eyes again, but he shook his head.
“We can’t,” he reminded her.
Oh, but she wanted to. Never had she felt more powerful than when she brought him to an explosive climax with her mouth and then savored every drop of his release with her tongue. She drew her fingertips across her bottom lip, wishing it was the smooth tip of his inches instead.
Lorenzo reached to grip her upper arms to pull her to her feet. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, his voice as hard as his member.
“You started this,” she reminded him.
He nodded in agreement and clenched his jaw as he turned to descend the steps and stride across the living room. With his hand on the knob of the glass-paned inner door, he paused but didn”t look back. “I won”t make that mistake again,” he said, his voice freed of the warmth of his desire and replaced with coolness.
And then he crossed the foyer and opened the front door to exit.
On the stairs, with her breasts still freed from her bra and one strap of her overalls off her shoulder, Josephine saw a glimpse of the slip on the outer door from the delivery service. She would have to pick it up or reschedule because it required a signature.But she didn’t care about the package when Lorenzo opened the door to a passion she had long forgotten. And she had absolutely no idea what to do with it. None. The hunger. The hunger unleashed. The deep strokes that never were. The climax that never came.
They’d started something they couldn’t finish, and she was left with pure sexual frustration.
Damn!