Heavy Love(24)

     



 

Angelique is eyeing me eyeing her. She's at my mercy. I smile. Her  cheeks burn a honeyed peach color. Her heartbeat skips, breathing  hitched as I spin Angelique around. And she calls my name in question as  I tongue her down once more. Her hands skim underneath my polo,  sensually soft fingers rubbing up my eight pack. I pull my shirt over my  head.

I take her hand in mine. Holding her gaze, I lift her arms high above  her head. Next, I thread my fingers through hers, and then my body  invades the space between us. My dick is solid as a rock in my jeans.  But her soft tits and hard nipples feel good against my chest. Mind over  matter, or mind over the quick fuck my cock has been begging for.

My hands gently move from hers, and caress down Angelique's wrists,  skimming her forearms, and further down. When my hands slide from her  arms to her sides, my thumbs briefly brush over the silk sides of her  breasts. It's the same manner that I did earlier when we danced at the  club. She had to see it in my eyes, the pure lust, and need to take her  down even then. We'd moved in sync. Every step I took, her glorious body  accommodated mine.

Those brown melons rise and fall as she takes a deep breath. Again, I  commence with torturing her body like I did while we danced, except this  is a thousand times worse. She's wet now. So fucking wet for me, even  though Angelique is still wearing her thong, I know desire has pooled  like liquid sugar between her thighs. I can almost scent it. My hand  grips one of her large tits. All the while, I hold her gaze,  calculating, measuring her reaction. Then I grab her hand once more and  lift it up. In one fluid motion, Angelique twirls before me. Her ass  slams back against my jeans as I pull her close to me. Kissing her  roughly on the neck, my hand again surveys the front of her body.  Slipping down the soft skin of her stomach, my fingers disappear into  her lace thong, toiling around silky coils of hair. As I get closer to  my goal, my cock, ever the beggar, thumps against her bottom.

"Franco," Angelique moans. Her hips arch more, making her ass roll over  the front of my jeans, providing me with added incentive and access. My  finger begins to strum her clit.

An upbeat, girls anthem, a Mary J Blige song blares from Angelique's  iPhone on the wood floor. So loud that the phone clatters around.

Angelique spins around. The passion exits her eyes. Her cheeks flame as  one hand covers her breasts and the other pulls up her thong. "Oh shit,  what's today?"

"Thursday, why?"

"But I don't want it to be Thursday," she all but whimpers in the same manner as when we got off the boat and back to reality.

"Thursday is like any other day of the week," I step close to Angelique. "Talk to me, Angelique. What's up?"

"The ringtone is a reminder. I've gotta go. My friend Mel is at the airport."

"Your friend? I thought this was a self-seeking vacation for you." Fuck,  I've made too many assumptions about how this could go. I'm gonna end  up with blue balls waiting for this girl.

"Something like that, she just had to wait closer to the weekend to  come. I'm sorry, Franco." Angelique gives a weak smile then tells me she  has to get dressed.

Rubbing my face, I nod, attempting to hide my disappointment.

I step out of the room, blame it on chivalry, to allow Angelique to get  dressed in peace. I can hear the water running and her rushing around.

How motherfucking ironic. My MO is to leave before the going gets rough  or more likely awkward. I start for the front door but come to terms  with the fact that Angelique isn't a throw away. She deserves better  than a one night, or a weekend, fling. But I'm not the one trying to  rush out on her. The situation has reversed. Rubbing the back of my  neck, I stalk over the wood floors in the living room for a few minutes.  This is my sorry ass attempt to stall, to see where this leaves us.

I step onto the front porch, close the door. Something urged me to stop,  not the fact that it will be difficult seeing Angelique at the course  this afternoon if she decides to show up. I've known this woman for less  than a week, even still, she's the closest thing I have to a female  friend. So I lean against the wall and wait.

When Angelique opens the door in a pair of baggy jeans and a camisole,  she looks refreshed and gorgeous as ever. A whiff of fresh soap floats  in my direction.

"Franco?" There's a melancholy overlay on that baby doll face of hers as  she glances down the passageway. And then the left side of her plush  mouth begins to arise as her gaze collides with me. "Oh I thought you'd  left."

I shake my head no. "Nope, not I."

"So, uh..." She points back and forth from herself and I as we make our  way up the trail and toward the farthest part of the inn where guests  park.         

     



 

"Look, you've already said I'm just coping with being overworked. The  truth has sunk in, Eduard has worked himself and I to the bone. And  you..." My voice trails off as a couple holding hands and dressed for  the beach pass by. What the fuck am I saying? It's as if I'm coming down  from the high of her. A rare addiction, and attempting to make excuses  for Angelique's brushing off the powerful moment we had yet to share.

"And I'm dealing with the heartbreak of placing myself into a  situation," She murmurs, tone leveling out from hesitance to assurance,  to the silver lining of this entire situation. We silently meander  toward the parking lot where Angelique's rental is. Now for the awkward  part.

"All right, Angelique."

"Class is this afternoon," she mentions.

"Yeah, but you should get some rest after you pick up your friend."

"Oh," she starts to get in the rental car. And I realize I may have just  put my foot in my mouth. Did she think I'm trying to get out of seeing  her again?

My gaze sweeps over the lot, packed with cars. How the fuck did my aunt  trick me into thinking the Inn needed help? No good has come out of  this, I've only been placed into a position to catch feelings.

I watch the light blue rental back out of the spot, Angelique waves to  me. I wave back before turning around to head along the trail that leads  to the main building.

"Da Lion! Da Lion!" I stop dead in my tracks. The chipper tone resembles  Eduard's daughter. Since most people go by my last name, Kyra has  always thought it funny to call me "da lion" even after she learned how  to pronounce de León.

"Stop running in the street, Kyra!" That's definitely my friend's voice.

When I turn around, hair, shaggy like her father's and platinum blond  like her mother's is bouncing in the wind as Kyra bounds toward me. She  jumps onto the side walkway. The four-year-old is in my arms before I  can glare at her father.

Tori, Eduard's wife has her hands on her hips. Reprimanding Kyra, but  the tot is telling me how much she misses me, in an attempt to bribe me  to make her favorite cupcakes.

George, the eleven-year-old, with a pale face swallowed in a ton of baby  fat, barely acknowledges anyone with thumbs that are constantly tapping  on the screen of his new cell phone.

"Tori," I smile at her first as she steps up to take Kyra.

"Hola, Franco, I guess brushing up on my Spanish will have to do, since  this doesn't appear to be Disneyland, or any of its successors."

"Oh, c'mon honey, lighten up." Eduard pats her back. "You wanted to see  the Eiffel Tower, this is on the way. We're gonna choo choo our way up  Europe."

Tori's listless gaze returns to her husband. "Seeing is believing."

My eyes lock onto Eduard's so he's aware that popping up is a step in  the wrong direction for him with regard to having me return to the  network. My manager sends rainbows of happiness to his contrite wife as  he smiles. Either he's an undiscovered great actor, or Eduard has been  feigning innocence since the beginning of time.

"May I?" I gesture toward Tori, while roughly gripping the nonchalant Ed's shoulder.

"Give it your best," she mumbles.

He's grimacing. I apply more pressure, a tad more than necessary, but  I'm sexually frustrated not to mention just got bombarded with an  unwanted guest. I pull him off the path and onto the grass.

"How fucking long are you staying?" I ask words cut for clarity.

His accent mellows to the pain in his shoulder. "You're my friend, you need me."

"Not my question, and fuck that, I don't need shit. How long are you  staying?" I squeeze harder, and then let him go, almost with a shove  hard enough for Eduard to trip over his feet a little. My eyes sweep  left, Tori is grinning at his blunder. With a quick nod and smile in her  direction I turn back to her husband.

Edward rolls his shoulders while frowning, "Just a couple days."

I glance at his son. Still working at a quest for arthritis. Kyra has  become her mother's third limb. I step closer to him, and whisper, "Man,  this is bullshit. This isn't the vacation your family wanted. You make  Kyra cupcakes, you take your scrawny ass and play tea and fucking  crumpets, whatever she wants. You need to force George into playing a  sport, or whatever the hell he might enjoy that would be equated as an  exercise as opposed to working out those fat little thumbs. And if you  honestly need a man other than yourself to tell you about how to please  your wife – "