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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.
There’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?
Maria’s knee bounces throughout the plane ride to Monterrey. There’s a part of her that isn’t able to trust we aren’t headed directly to our deaths. I can’t even convince her that sex thirty thousand feet in the air will ease her concerns.
When we arrive at the gate in front of Torrente’s mansion, it opens immediately without my pressing the button. I park in front of the front doors and turn off the ignition. Maria gets out before I have the chance to give her one last talk to ease her nerves. I walk around the front of the car and take her hand. Her eyes dart every which way, her body completely stiff. “Relax. I promise you, you’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
We’re greeted at the door by Marco, the man who escorted me to the house in a golf cart on my first visit. He accompanies me and Maria into the sitting room and tells us Mr. Torrente will be right with us and we’re welcome to fix ourselves a drink. We both decline.
Maria wears holes in the Persian rug, pacing, and I know the only way she’ll be okay is for Torrente himself to reassure her. He enters the room, his gaze locking on Maria and holding it for several seconds. He swallows hard and steps closer to us.
“Mr. Hunter, it’s good to see you again.” He shakes my hand, but his eyes are on Maria the entire time. “You must be Maria.”
“Yes,” she answers, her voice laced with worry and fear.
Her eyes widen when he takes her hand and holds it against his cheek affectionately. He kisses the back of her hand before letting it go. “Please, don’t be afraid. You’re safe here. Mr. Hunter has filled me in on your relationship with Mr. Montez, and I’m very displeased.”
