Chapter 13 Without Sin Conceived
Alejandra
My eyes flutter open as I adjust to the brightness of the room.
The first thing I register is the feel of cool silk from the sheets against my skin.
I glance down and notice I'm still wearing the green lingerie from last night. The events of last night crash back into my mind, but as a full body sensation. Ernesto’s breath on my neck, the weight of his cock on my tongue, and my orgasm.
There’s a deep ache in my muscles and a slight burn between my thighs.
Slowly, I turn my head to my right and damn is it a sight to behold.
Ernesto is still asleep with one arm thrown above his head and the other resting on the mattress.
His sculpted chest is on full display, showing all the defined abs and pecs.
The hard lines of his face are soft while he sleeps, making him look so much younger, so peaceful, not at all like the man who brought me to my knees last night.
I turn and reach for my phone on the night stand, moving as carefully as I can so as to not wake Ernesto up.
The bright screen glows showing me it’s only 6:15 am.
Definitely time to get up and shower. Yeah, I definitely need a shower, to get the smell of sin off my skin.
Exactly thirty minutes from now La Princesa de la casa needs to get ready for school and that’s a whole other show to worry about.
That single thought makes my side temple thump.
I slide my legs towards the edge of the bed, the mattress making some noise with my weight.
As I push myself up, a heavy arm encircles my waist, and pulls me against something hard.
My entire body goes rigid because Ernesto, in his deep sleep, wrapped his arm and hands around me.
His fingers splayed over my abdomen. His breathing is still even so that let’s me know he’s still asleep.
My heart beats so fast I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest–like that little ugly baby worm thing from Alien. This position is intimate, and very unsettling, I need to get away from him. This isn’t something the Ernesto I know would do.
The thought of him waking and finding us like this, his arm around me, with my body nestled into his, is mortifying.
He’d most likely shove me away, probably throw a couple of verbal barbs at me to reassert his dominance.
I can already feel the sting of the imaginary words and it hurts.
I need to wake him up and get out of this before he wakes on his own.
“Ernesto,” I whisper as I gently tap his forearm but he doesn’t stir, his grip is still firm around me.
“Ernesto,” I say again, this time a little louder, and I use my elbow against his side this time.
“He shifts with a low groan and opens his eyes. I can tell they’re unfocused, cloudy with sleep, as he blinks at me. For a split second, it’s like he doesn’t realize who I am.
Within seconds his focus sharpens and he’s back to being the asshole Ernesto I know him to be. His eyes flick down to his arm around my waist, then back to my face. Ernesto snatches his hand back as if my skin burned him, and rolls onto his back putting a significant distance between us.
Without a word, I slip out of the bed and hurry into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
Taking a few seconds to compose myself, I lean against the door, pressing my forehead to the cool wood, taking a deep shaky breath.
I move to the walk in shower, and turn the hot water on.
The steam fills the room, fogging up the mirror and glass door.
I remove the emerald lingerie from my body and mentally debate dropping it into the hamper or hiding the evidence.
The hot water helps my muscles unknot as it cascades over my shoulder and down my back.
I close my eyes letting the spray wash away the physical traces of last night but it can’t wash away the memory.
My mind replays it all, Ernesto’s command, the feel of the carpet on my knees, and the feeling of his warm hard cock between my thighs.
Chills take over my body as I remember the way his groans of pleasure vibrated against my neck the moment I came undone on his fingers.
The orgasm he’d given me was nothing like the fumbling, unsatisfying time with an ex or the lonely, half-hearted exploration of my body in my own bed. He unravelled me in a way no other person has.
For the first time in my life, a man hadn’t made me feel like my curves were disgusting.
He’d made me feel… desired. A strange, hidden part of me, a part I recently discovered existed, reveled in the roughness.
And now, in the cleansing steam of the shower, I have to admit a startling truth to myself.
I want more.
I want to feel his calloused hands all over my curves again. I want to know what it will feel like to have him inside me, to be truly possessed by him.
For once in my life, I’m looking forward to being dicked down.
Ave maria purisima que me está pasando. Tres días con este hombre y me he convertido en toda una pervertida.
My thoughts are so scandalous and so at odds with everything I’ve been raised to be, that a shaky laugh escapes me. I turn my face up into the water, letting it run over my eyes and cheeks. Showers truly are the best places to cry. You can never tell if it’s the water or your tears.
I step out of the shower and wrap myself in my new favorite towels. The plush and thick sheet wraps all the way around my chest and I do my little happy dance at that.
As I’m wiping away the condensation from the mirror the bathroom door opens and Ernesto walks into the bathroom with his gloriously naked body.
I freeze mid-swipe. Dios santo. I’ve seen so many naked bodies before at the hospital but his body is different. Ernesto is practically perfect. So brutally beautiful. His body is all hard muscle and taut skin, built for both violence and control.
My eyes travel down his abdomen, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the happy trail of black hair near his groin. He’s semi-hard, and my gaze lingers on his cock, the memory of its heaviness and taste shockingly vivid in my mind.
He doesn’t even try to cover himself, just moves with such an unhurried, almost arrogant, pace. His eyes meet mine in the mirror and there’s a flicker of amusement in them. El muy desgraciado knows the effect he has on my body.
The air shifts as he walks past me and steps directly into the shower, pulling the glass door shut, and turning the water on.
Not trying to stick around and embarrass myself any more than I already have, I quickly gather my things. But before I walk out of the bathroom Ernesto’s voice cuts through the sound of the shower spray, laced with that familiar, mocking tone.
“You might want to wipe the drool from your mouth, Alejandra.”
Trágame tierra!
I snap my mouth shut, turning away from the shower and hurrying towards the walk-in closet.
The closet feels just as intimidating as the one minute sharing the bathroom with Ernesto.
Racks of Veronica’s choices mock me with an elegance I do not possess.
I run my fingers over the silk dress I admired at the store, every single piece of clothing in here is out of my comfort zone.
I live in scrubs, jeans, and old t-shirts–clothes meant for blending in and getting through a twelve hour shift without feeling restricted.
These are clothes for a different type of woman, a woman who commands attention, who has a place in this world of power and wealth–like the one I need to pretend to be.
The door to the closet opens and Ernesto walks in, a white towel wrapped in a knot around his hips.
Water drips from his hair and onto his broad shoulders.
Walking past me he ignores my existence completely, moving to his side of the closet with the same single minded purpose he applies to everything else he does.
His section is a stark contrast to mine.
The entire row is made up of tailored suits in shades of gray, black, and navy.
He pulls out a dark gray suit, a crisp cream button up shirt, and a tie in a deep maroon pattern.
He doesn’t hesitate, his choice made in an instant.
Then, he walks out, leaving me alone with my own indecision.
I think about the maroon tie he chose, such an easy decision. I can either spend the next few minutes overthinking an outfit, or I can just make this real easy for myself.
I choose a pair of maroon slacks, they’re beautifully cut, designed to flatter my curves rather than conceal them. Pairing them with a simple cream-colored silk top and matching cream flats.
As I walk back into the bedroom, chin held high and feeling absolutely gorgeous, Ernesto sits on the edge of the bed fully dressed. He looks up as I pass by, and his eyes sweep over me—a slow, knowing smirk on his lips.
“Trying to coordinate, Mrs. Damos?” His voice is a low, teasing drawl. “Or are you just hoping some of my good taste will rub off on you?”
I ignore the jab and focus on my task at hand walking to the dresser and picking up the wedding ring he gave me.
Grabbing my leave in the conditioner I remove the towel from my head and gently scrunch the product into my curls.
papá’s appointment is today and I either ask him now or I lose my chance.
“I need to ask you something.”
He finishes with his shoes and stands up, adjusting his cufflinks. He doesn’t bother looking at me, his attention is on his reflection in the mirror. “Ask”
“My dad…his chemo appointment is today at one.” The words rush out of me before I lose my nerve. “I need someone to take him and me to the clinic.”
He turns from the mirror, his expression as unreadable as always but he’s considering my request. His gaze is so intense it feels like he’s dissecting me, searching for some hidden motive. I hold his gaze, refusing to look away.
After a few seconds, he gives a single, curt nod. “Fine.”
The relief rushes through me so fast I almost fall back to my knees for him.