Dusk Until Dawn Page 11
“You’re going to make me come. Can’t explain come on my pants to my sister.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his cock. He shoved her skirt up and pushed her panties to the side. When his callused fingertips found her clit, she made a tight, keening noise that echoed against the walls of the small room. Then, he started rubbing her right there. “Instead, you’re going to come all over my hand. After I’ve gotten you off, you’re going to come out and meet my sister. She won’t seem so annoying when you’re dizzy from me turning you the fuck out.”
“Please—please. I need it. So bad. Please.”
“That’s the first time you’ve begged for me.” He speared two fingers inside her and held her up by loosely cupping her throat. She’d normally smack a guy for a move like that, but when Javi did it, it made her feel safe and held and oh-so-fucking-good. “I love that. What do you need to come?”
He rubbed her clit harder, so he couldn’t possibly expect her to use her words. She lifted her head and opened her eyes. His gaze was searching and vulnerable even though he literally held her life in his hands. That was what she needed to come. She jerked in his arms as the orgasm ripped through her.
He moved the hand at her throat to the back of her head, and he kissed the screams from her mouth. He slipped his fingers out of her and pulled her skirt down.
When he finally pulled back, she bit his lower lip to keep him close. She couldn’t talk, or breathe, or make drinks right now.
“I’m not going to meet your sister looking I’ve just come.” He pulled her close, and her heart beat faster. Maybe she’d meet them sometime when she wasn’t part of the staff, but tonight wasn’t the right night.
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Didn’t know if he’d insist that she meet his sister now, when she wasn’t in a position of power. But she couldn’t meet them like this, smelling like sex. They’d guess that she and Javi had been making out in some little darkened nook, and they’d assume she was like all the other women Javi had been with since his divorce.
It struck her then that she wanted to be different. This wasn’t a friends-with-benefits thing for either of them. When she’d walked up to their table, the look in his eyes was full of hope, not embarrassment. Not like the first night she’d walked up to him.
Part of her wanted to believe that he was genuine. He wanted to be with her, and he wanted her to be included in his life, not only his bedroom.
And the way he looked at her, touched her, followed her when she walked away told her that she was something different. Even though her fear had gotten the better of her tonight, this was real. She was special to him and wasn’t about to risk his family seeing her as another desperate, money-grubbing skank. And she wasn’t going to let her fears keep her from doing this right.
“You don’t want to meet my family?” His voice was tentative, but not cold.
“I do. But I want to meet them when I’m wearing normal clothes, and they’re not in a position to tip me.”
He nodded, and she expelled a sigh of relief. He understood. “I get that, I do. I guess I’m trying to move faster because you and I lost years.”
She put her mouth close to his ear. No one would overhear them back here, but she wanted to be close. What she had to say to him was too intimate for distance. “I might not have been ready for you either.” Losing him had broken her heart. And she’d survived. She hadn’t found anyone else while he was married and they were apart, but she’d become more of the woman she needed to be with him.
He pulled back and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I should go. I don’t want them to think I’m debauching someone in a storage closet.”
She laughed, and straightened his lapels. “I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”
“What should I tell them?”
“The truth.”
She squeezed his ass and got back behind the bar. One of the other gossipy-ass waitresses could take care of his table for the rest of the night.
Chapter 11
Javi waited for Maya in front of the entrance to the Wynwood Walls. He hoped that she would like this place. He liked to walk around the outdoor arts complex. When Maya came back, he’d realized that he liked this spot because it reminded him of her.
The loud splashes of color adorning old warehouses were unexpected. It wasn’t the beach or the main Design District, and it wasn’t swarmed by tourists. It was quirky and fun. He didn’t know if bringing Maya here was trying too hard, but he wanted to bring her out on a date without a way to drag her into a dark corner and take her. She needed to know that he wanted to spend time with her with clothes on. But he was worried that she’d think he was cheaping out by suggesting a free date. He felt stupid.
She walked up to him while he was mid-pace, while he was staring at the ground, second-guessing suggesting this as a date.
“This place is awesome.” Her words snapped him out of it. She was peering through the black gates that indicated where the official section of the neighborhood where the graffiti art was sanctioned. Someone had had the bright idea to make a gallery of street art, to celebrate something that most people scorned.
Her big eyes were filled with delight, and he drank her in, standing on the threshold. She wore all black, as usual. But this time it was curve-hugging sundress. His cock jumped when he thought about having easy access. Ever since the night in the storeroom—just a few days really—he’d been dying without her and half hard every time he thought about rucking up her tiny skirt and bending her over.
Her round ass was completely insane—hard to imagine that it existed in real life. Especially his real life. Karrie’s butt was flat. Like everything about her. There was nothing wrong with flat—shit—he’d thought he wanted flat. But now he wanted Maya’s round curves and bright colors.
Even though she’d grown up in New York, she was Miami—bright colors and loud music. He followed her over the threshold and stopped short when he caught up to her next to a mural by another Puerto Rican artist.
“When you got me up at the crack of dawn, I didn’t expect it to be worth it. But this—this is magnificent.” She clenched and unclenched her fists, stunned. “I wish I’d brought my sketchbook. It’s a stunning interpretation of Guernica.”
“The Picasso?” He looked at the mural closely—he hadn’t been over to see this one. And he saw it. Like Picasso’s mural, which brought the world’s attention to the Spanish Civil War, this artist had painted a black and white depiction of sick children and crying mothers, bombed out hotels.
“Yes, it’s brilliant. The artist is Boricua?”
“Yeah.”
“Fucking brilliant. He’s showing what the U.S. is doing to Puerto Rico by not allowing the commonwealth to dissolve their debts in bankruptcy,” Maya said. Javi’s stomach dropped. He knew that HH Limited had divested itself of its Puerto Rican municipal bonds, but not for the right reasons. They were bad bonds and unlikely to get paid. His father couldn’t give two fucks about the fact that Puerto Rico was closing schools and hospitals to pay its debt.
Looking at this mural with Maya made Javi want to be better than that. He didn’t know how, but he wanted it. “I’ll take you for a colada and media noche after this.”
She looked away from the mural for the first time. “Thank you for getting me out of bed for this.”
They walked around the rest of the block. She didn’t protest when he put his hand on her lower back. A sense of rightness with being able to touch her and talk to her settled in his gut. To be able to delight her filled him with pleasure.
He pressed his luck and wrapped his arms around her from behind in front of the giant Dalai Lama painting. He waited for her to lean back into him, to trust that he’d be there. She didn’t. Still didn’t trust that he was behind her.
That was okay. He could wait.
* * * *
Maya bit into her sandwich while Javi was still talking about what was in it.
&nbs
p; “It’s roasted pork, ham, Swiss cheese, pickles, and mustard.”
The lightly toasted soft bread gave way to so much salty goodness that she moaned out loud at the little stand where they’d stopped for a late breakfast. When she followed him west, far west, she’d thought briefly that he was leading her to the swamp to dump her body. But he’d brought her to a coffee stand and gotten her sweet, milky coffee and the best sandwich she’d ever had in her life.
She finished chewing and said, “This is delicious.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I’m kind of surprised you know a place like this.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “A place like what?”
She waved her hands around. “Like a stand in the middle of bum fuck Egypt. We’re past the airport.”
Javi put down his sandwich and knocked on the counter twice. A tiny piece of pickle clung to the corner of his lips. She wanted to lick it off. Gross, she knew, but the way he smirked at her made her want to smack him and kiss him all at once.
“My family didn’t always live in a big house in Coral Gables. My dad’s an immigrant, like your mom.”
She let out a short, rueful laugh. “Your parents are nothing like mine.” She took another bite of food, wanted to keep her jaws busy so she wouldn’t blurt out something nuts like, I’m pretty sure your father didn’t have two families or try to kill your mother. I’m pretty sure he’s not in prison for that for the foreseeable future.
“You never talk about them.”
She shrugged. He didn’t need to know her business. They were so new that her stupid crazy family drama would send him running. And she wasn’t sure that she could find her way back to the actual city. And it would hurt to talk about this. A lot.
“I know your father wasn’t around, but I don’t know why. Why don’t you talk about them?” She hated that he was pressing.
There must be something on her face that made her think she was hiding something—a wrinkle in her brow or a tick in her cheek. She consciously smoothed out her expression before saying. “There’s nothing to talk about. You have a little ham—”
“Bullshit.” He finally wiped his face with a napkin, and he looked much more serious without food hanging off of his face. “You know every single detail about my life, but I know virtually nothing about you. You probably know my shoe size, but I don’t even know how you grew up. I want to know that about you. I want to know everything.”
She could feel bits of her food in the back of her throat. “You don’t want to know. It would destroy your precious sensibilities.”
“I eat at ‘places like this,’ but I can’t understand growing up with a little less money? Give me some credit.” He picked up his cafecito and downed it, his corded throat working to get the liquid down.
“Fuck you, Javi. You couldn’t handle the tattoos and the attitude four years ago, and now you think you can handle the real drama? I don’t fucking think so.”
And she was standing up.
“There she is.” He smiled at her, like he was waiting for her to blow up. She wanted to punch him. Her right fist clenched.
“There who is? Why are you so confusing?”
His head tilted to one side. “You know that when you get angry, you use the f-word like a comma?”
“Are you kidding me? Do you think this is funny?”
He could barely stop himself from laughing. His face was breaking with it. She still wanted to punch him, but seeing him fighting against a smile was awesome. Then, she realized that she hadn’t seen him smile like that in years. Not since before. Not even when they were together. He didn’t smile when they fucked. That was serious business for him. When they fucked, he clenched his jaw and she could trace all the lines in his face, as if he was worried.
Then, he let go of the laugh and her skin flushed with both anger and pleasure.
She looked around, aware that they were fighting in public, that people might see them and think they were having a lovers’ spat. Several old men, who likely sat around drinking cafecitos all day, every day were gawking at them. She doubted they’d see this much action in their hangout spot for years.
“So you know something about me. I use profanity as punctuation.”
“I know more than that. I know that you always smell delicious, even when you reek of turpentine or booze.” He leaned closer. “And you try really hard not to come right before you come. I don’t know why you do it, but I know that it makes me feel like a goddamned champion. I don’t know anything about your past. And I have to know that before we move forward.”
He moved her chairs so that they would face each other if she sat down. She hesitated.
“Move forward to what?” She threw up her hands. He moved his massive thigh out of the way, and she perched on the edge of the chair. They were close. At least physically.
He tucked a strand of hair that had come loose behind her ear. She dipped her head in response, which put his mouth close to her ear. “Move forward to a real relationship.”
“Why do I have to reveal myself to you, lay it all out there to be in a real relationship? Why are you pushing this now?”
“Because if you need to trust me before we go forward, then you need to give me something to hold on to.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Why do I have to tell you about all the fucked-up shit in my past in order to trust you?”
He sighed, his breath heavy and hot against her face. It was all coffee and him. “If you give me something that you need to trust me to keep safe, and I never tell anyone. Then, you’ll trust me. Maybe give me a little bit at a time.”
“If I gave you a morsel of fucked-up shit every day for the rest of my life, we’ll be so old that it doesn’t matter whether or not I trust you to keep it a secret. Everyone we know will be dead.”
He slid his hand up her thigh, under her dress. Bordering on indecent. She would have looked around to make sure that no one could see them, but she was caught up. Her breath stopped because his fingers were rubbing softly, so fucking softly over her inner thigh.
“Then give me a big bite.” She shivered at his words even though it was as hot as balls outside.
“My father’s in prison.” The words rushed out of her, and she pulled back to see what would do. She was expecting him to recoil in horror, push back from the table and leave.
But his face softened, his eyes were glassy, as though he was actually about to cry. She’d said too much. And now she would just be the sad girl with the rough upbringing. She never told anyone about her father. It was bad enough that Felix had to know and they had to know that each other knew.
She jerked back in her chair, but Javi stopped her by putting his hands on her face and pulling her towards him. She expected him to ask probing questions. Someone with good sense would ask more questions.
Instead, he kissed her. And she sobbed into his mouth. A ball of tension she didn’t realize she’d been holding in dissipated as soon as she let him in.
He didn’t take it too far, probably conscious of the show they were putting on for the regulars. He pulled back after less than a minute and kissed her cheekbones and each side of her jaw.
Finally, he pulled back and said, “I don’t care.” When she wrinkled her brow, he said, “I mean, it doesn’t make any difference to me that your father’s in prison. I care about how it affects you. If he did something to you, I’ll figure out how to get him killed in prison. Know that. I care if he hurt you. But the mere fact that he’s a criminal doesn’t make me want you any less.”
“It doesn’t? Who are you and what have you done with Javier Hernandez?”
He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. The sensation and the feeling thrumming through her body from his acceptance made her dizzy. She could bottle this and sell it as a street drug.
“What have you done with me?” he asked. “Can I take you home for a nooner now?”
She smiled at him.
* * * *
Maya followed Javi back to his apartment, but not before he wedged her against her car and kissed her until she melted. She was surprised she knew which pedal was the gas and which was the brake. But, somehow, she found herself parked in the visitor space in his garage.
He came to get her at her car and led her to the elevators. A perfect gentleman. Like she wasn’t a sure thing after he was so there for her and didn’t ask any questions. She’d wanted to beg him to fuck her senseless in the parking lot.
He gripped her hand on the elevator, so tightly that it should hurt, but she didn’t say anything. She just loved having him so close to her, in public with his hands touching her.
Once they were alone in his apartment, he tugged her into the bedroom.
“I need you to take that tiny fucking dress off.” His words came out as a growl. And they were unnecessary; he had her dress over her head and her bra unhooked before his message traversed the synapses that made her hands move.
Her bra flew across the room and his mouth was on her nipples just as fast. “Holy shit.”
His teeth grazed her skin, and he bracketed her ribs with his hands. She felt hemmed in, normally something that would terrify her, she didn’t mind it with him. She trusted him; he would keep her safe.
He came up for air, pressed his face into the valley between her breasts, and said, “You taste more delicious every single time.”
“I do?”
His deep voice vibrated through her whole body. “Yes. The way you smell, I can’t take it.” He pushed her panties down and licked the underside of one breast. “I could eat you whole.”
She grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled. “You have too many clothes on.” Being naked while he was still fully clothed made her feel too vulnerable. She wanted him bared to her, too.
When she got the T-shirt over his head, he devoured her mouth in a kiss. It burned away every unsure thought she had about them. This was why she’d thought they would be perfect together from the day that they’d met. This was everything.