Chapter 21
TOMáS
“You’re right, the Met is beautiful at night,” Sarina says, standing in front of the floor to ceiling window in my penthouse.
I inch closer, standing behind her and there’s no ignoring the way her back arches with the increased contact or how her head falls to the side, opening her neck to me, tempting me to kiss it.
“Why am I here Tomás?”
She flips around to face me, pressing her back against the glass.
“I want to help you get what your grandmother left for you in her will.”
Her lips fall to a pout, but I see the look in her eyes. The moment I mentioned her grandmother she became sad, but she’s trying her hardest to fight it.
“That would have worked when you were my husband.” She lifts her hands up to air quote.
“It can still work.” I lift the certificate I grabbed once we got back to my penthouse for her to see.
“What’s that?”
“My officiant license.”
“What are you, a priest?”
I laugh. “God forbid. No. I’m not even religious.” I go on to explain that I had received my officiant certificate years ago when Emilio asked if I could be the officiant for his and Gabriella’s wedding.
“I want to marry us.”
“I…I…” she stammers, clearly in shock.
Since the moment I met her, I’ve felt this unexplainable pull. To be near her, to be by her side, to help her. And this idea, wild as it is, can and will work, so long as she says yes.
“I already texted a friend that works at the city clerk office, he can have a marriage license for us by morning.” I go on to explain all the technical aspects, though I can’t tell if she’s absorbing it all.
She remains understandably quiet, so I offer to get us some water to drink.
She simply nods and it’s not until I’m halfway to the fridge, when she calls my name.
“Do you have champagne?”
“I don’t think so,” I respond, not even registering the reason she’s asking.
Spotting a bottle of wine, I suggest that instead, my heart suddenly begins racing in my chest a mile a minute.
“If I say yes, is there a way we can do this without telling my dad? I know it’s the stipulation to the will, and as much as I want to piss him off, I think having you as a date is good enough.
I’d rather, if possible, get the will part done on the low, and then once I have what’s mine —since to my knowledge there is nothing saying I have to return it upon an annulment or divorce— I can deal with him.
Or better yet, maybe I’ll finally have the courage to go no contact with him. ”
I meet her over on the couch, handing her the glass of wine. “All I need is the attorney’s contact information who drew up the will, and I can take care of everything.”
It sounds simple, though the more I think about it, the more I realize there are some serious plot holes in my plan. In my haste to make sure I had everything I needed to even make this an option, I didn’t think it through fully.
Sarina takes a sip of her wine and so do I, and before I know it, we’ve depleted each of our glasses, in need of a refill.
“Where are we doing this? Or I guess, how?” she asks, as I give us both an even pour.
Somehow, I didn’t think that part, the most important part, through.
“Technically, since I’m the officiant, I can just say I performed our ceremony, and tomorrow when we go to the city clerk’s I can sign off on everything.”
“Hmm,” she hums, sounding disappointed.
“Unless you’d prefer that we go about it a different way.”
“Weddings don’t matter to me. I don’t have a preference, just the piece of paper is fine.”
“Okay.” I can’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment ripple through me, despite this being purely transactional.
She saunters closer, hips swaying with each step until she has me cornered. With little force, she pushes me down onto the couch to straddle.
“That’s all it is, a piece of paper,” she murmurs, against my neck. Her breath coating my skin like an elixir. “A business contract. A means of control. I’d much rather focus on consummating.”
Everything she’s saying is throwing me for a loop, especially as she works my belt buckle.
I study her as she undoes it with ease. It sounds like she’s speaking from experience, and I can’t move past it.
Not even as my dick is freed from my boxers, and she is now on her knees shimmying my pants down.
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” I whimper as her warm mouth takes me with ease to the back of her throat.
Maintaining perfect eye contact, she hums around me, gliding her mouth up and down my shaft as her hands keep tempo squeezing and kneading the vein protruding through it.
It’s not until I feel my orgasm nearing that she releases me from her mouth.
“Of course, it does,” she coos, rising to her feet, turning to face the window.
I almost forgot what I even said before until she lifts her dress upward, showing me her very blue, very wet thong.
She rises to her feet. “You don’t have to pretend that’s not how marriage works to impress me enough to get laid.”
“Have you been married before?” I ask. Not sure why I do. But it’s the way she seems so jaded that has me curious to know.
Back turned to me, she arches it as she takes off her panties, tossing them over her shoulder.
“Almost,” she breathes, lowering her wet pussy onto my lap.
A dozen question circle my head as jealousy intermingles with my curiosity.
“Then you don’t know.”
Hips rolling in a circle, she shoots me a quick glance from over her shoulder. “I know enough.”
My hands adhere to the swell of her hips, pulling her close to me. “Let me prove you wrong.”
There’s a shift in her demeanor. Apprehension. Disbelief, perhaps. A silent challenge accepted. It’s difficult to tell when her wet pussy is gliding back and forth over my more than ready dick. “I want to consummate. I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“I have condoms in my room.”
She shakes her head, leaning back onto my chest. “I’m on the pill, and my recent test came back clear.”
“Same.”
We say nothing else. The only sounds that come from either of us are a slew of sighs and panted breaths as she faces the window overlooking the Met, bouncing on me reverse cowgirl.
She’s close, I can feel it, her walls are tightening by the second, and I take it as my opportunity to maneuver her around to face me while staying deep inside of her.
She squeals from the shift in position.
I bring both hands to her face, cupping it in my palms as our lips skim one another’s.
“Come for me,” I whisper.
Our lips fall into a kiss, each of our tongues battling for dominance, though it is as I pull back a bit and let her take the lead, that I feel her not only come but come to life, confidence dictating her every move.
“That’s it, mi esposa,” I praise her, hell-bent on proving her wrong, while indulging myself in the fantasy of what it feels like to have a wife, even if it’s temporary.
“Okay, so it’s up to you —we can either go over the details next time I see you in the office, or I can text them to you,” Sarina says all too casually, looking on the floor behind the couch.
I grab my pants, putting them back on as I rise to my feet to join her.
The blue lace I know she’s looking for burns into my periphery.
“Looking for this?” I wave her panties in front of her, dangling them just enough that she goes to grasp them, but I move my hand back, locking them into my tight fist.
She shifts to her tiptoes and I use our considerable height difference to my advantage by lifting my clenched fist upward, just out of her reach.
“Are you attempting to hold my panties hostage?”
“Yes,” I reply, unapologetically.
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to leave yet,” flies out of my mouth instead of something smooth like, ‘A night cap is in order’. At least I didn’t say how I really feel, admitting that since I bought the couch we just fucked on, all I’ve envisioned is having someone to cuddle up to on it.
Her gaze narrows, eyeing my clenched palm. “Do you have ice cream?”
Not what I was expecting, but okay.
I run over to the freezer, her panties still in my possession, and scan the mostly bare interior. Aside from some frozen ice cube trays of sofrito my mom gave me, and some frozen fruit, there’s not much in there.
Her heels click over to me, and defeated I hand her back her panties, unable to look away from the smile stretching her lips. “You’re fucking adorable you know that?”
“Not sure I want to be adorable to you, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Let me rephrase, you look sexy as hell, but you are surprisingly sweet… thoughtful.”
“Why? Because you asked me for ice cream, and I looked to see if I had any?”
The playfulness dissipates on her face, and in its place a blank expression forms. “Well, yeah.”
“If ice cream is what it takes to get to spend more time with you, then I’m going to make sure you get whatever ice cream you want,” I say, handing her my phone so she can select what she wants from the delivery app.
“This is definitely different,” she breathes out, sounding surprised.
“You haven’t ordered for delivery before?”
“Of course I have,” she scoffs, swiping at the phone screen, not looking at me. “It’s just that I’m not used to someone being so attentive to my needs and wants.”
“Then I guess you should get used to it.”
Her brow quirks up.
“Oh yeah?”
I flash a smile, winking at her. “As long as you’re my wife, it’s my job to take care of every want and need you may have.”
“I’d be careful if I were you, I can be really needy,” she hums, her blue eyes boring into mine.
I walk around the kitchen counter, placing my arm around her so my lips near her ear, pulling her in close to whisper, “Is that a challenge?”
Goosebumps spread onto her skin.
“Maybe,” she breathes.
“Good. I like being needed. And if it’s by you, need me all you want. I’m waiting and willing.”
“Fuck me!” she squeals, moving forward a bit to create space between us. “You can’t keep doing that.”
I look at her confused. “Doing what?” I ask, knowing full well what I’m doing as I drop to my knees in front of her, my mouth skimming the hem of her dress, hiking it up with my teeth.
“That,” she breathes.
I lift her dress upward, taking one of her legs and guiding it over my shoulder.
“This,” she pants, as I extend my tongue to her exposed, still wet slit, both my eyes on her.
Her breathing increases, as moans pour out of her mouth with my tongue circling her already swollen clit.
“I don’t want to get used to this,” she pants, repeating her sentiment from before.
“Ssh.” My mouth vibrates her core as I devour her, while saying to myself a reply, “Let me get used to this.”