Then I'm staring at him and licking my lips so as not to drool. Simple – those jeans were made for his ass. Strong biceps, with veins, glistening in the afternoon sunlight, and his back muscles are stacked just right in the simple white t-shirt. During our walk around the festival that night, Franco would stand behind me, almost claiming me closely as his. Now, with his back to me, I wonder what it would feel like to lay my head on his trapezoids and wrap my arms around his slender, taut waist.
Just as I'm reminding myself to breath, the imaginary magnetic pull compelling me to craving Franco falls flat. A sting prickles my skin as his hand caresses the small of her back. Her … I sift through my mind for a name of all the flirty females who've taken this course with me.
Laura, the Texan, who came with her significant other, Brandi – who let it be known on multiple occasions that it's Brandi with an I and not a Y. Just the mere act makes me wonder at her facial expression. Is she smiling? Flirting? Yes. No, she can't be. Her girlfriend is standing at the grill on the opposite side. YES. She's flirting. Laura's blond hair falls in cascades down her thin body as she leans back in a hearty laugh.
I'm green-eyed and envious as hell. Heart rate spiked. Cayenne pepper courses through my blood vessels, I'm just that upset. Lips taut. What the hell is wrong at me, I consider while my eyelid begins to twitch. The last time my eyelid twitched, Carlton was making me go dutch for a lobster I didn't even taste.
It's as if imaginary daggers are somersaulted toward them because Laura and Franco turn around. Maybe I'm being irrationally jealous because his eyes brighten when he sees me. Franco never takes his eyes off of me as he tells her something, both girls smile. And the women are wrapped in each other's arms as he heads toward us with a genuine smile.
"Angelique, glad you could make it." Beatriz says reaching us first. She extends a hand to Melody, "And let's see. You emailed about the classes earlier this week. You're … Mal … Melody, tell me I'm not getting old, no?"
"Correct," Melody nods, barely giving the sous chef's hand a shake as Franco has her star struck. It's as if those little brown orbs of hers are magnetizing as he heads our direction. Even though his hands are shoved in his pockets, he walks with the confidence of a king.
"Our last student has finally arrived," Franco says taking Melody's hand. "It's nice to meet you."
She nods; face sculpted by angels is spellbound. Melody didn't even fall over her husband, and Kiel is a celebrity in his own right. When he smiles, while attempting to gather his hand, she does this god-awful giggle snort that men far and wide find attractive. Now why do I believe this to be the first time Melody has intentionally used that annoying ass snort as arsenal.
Stop it, I tell myself, knowing that Melody is unaware of this hold Franco has on me. Yet jealousy is a frozen blanket and swaddling me to the point of suffocation. And then … Franco has successfully extracted his hand. And instead of the customary handshake, his burly body envelops me. The ice instantly melts around my heart.
"Angelique, we missed you yesterday," he grins as usual, yet that white row of teeth has never been brighter, not even for millions of television viewers. "We need to talk," his whisper is commanding in my ear.
I smile as he pulls away, but say nothing. What am I going to do about him? I want to see Franco before the girls and I leave in two days. Technically, we're hitting the road for a long drive to Madrid in the morning, so not even two full days. Time is sifting through my fingers.
"All right, lovely ladies, and the few men who could stomach my presence," he jokes, voice amplifying for the crowd as he steps toward the front of the bluff.
The salty sea breeze infuses into my nostrils.
"Jelly, did you close your eyes?"
"What?" My eyebrows crinkle as I show her to my station.
"When he hugged you, did your eyes close?" She asks, almost ecstatic about any juicy information I can provide. But I won't' be telling Melody about being in Franco's company nor his arms. At least, not any time soon …
~~~
I grit my teeth as my toes touch the cold wood floor. Melody is softly snoring besides me. It's past midnight and sleeping is the last thing on my mind. Tomorrow morning, we pick up the girls, and with the itinerary that Melody has, there will be no time for me to chat with Franco. All evening during dinner, a recording played in my brain starring the usual human phenomena of "what if."
What if I took Franco up on his request from class earlier? We really did need to talk. I just didn't want to come off as some sleazy "number one fan" and pursue him during the course.
In my favorite pair of fuzzy pajama pants and a red camisole, I second guess my attire. Don't want to look sloppy, but I don't want to try too hard where appearances are concerned. I slip into a pair of Capri's and keep on the shirt, since those are always my go-to.
It's so quiet in the room, that when a cell phone buzzes on the nightstand I damn near break my neck to stop it from clattering.
It's Mel's.
Part of a text message pops up. KIEL: ‘Stop ignoring me Mel...'
I shake my head and since I can't take the phone off vibrate, I place it onto the pillow beside her. Maybe she'll get the hint and call her damn husband back.
I slip on a pair of flip flops, and take the silk scarf from my hair. My tresses begin to unravel from the wrap on top of my head. With a bit of lip gloss, I step outside and slip the keycard into my pocket.
It's surprisingly active. Lights from the main inn are bright and a Spanish crooner makes me wrap my arms around myself in need. Yet, this self-comfort does nothing past making me crave Franco's strong arms even more.
When I make it up the cobble stairway to the veranda of the inn, there are people dancing. Some are just holding each other and whispering sweet nothings into their lover's ear, while others are really feeling the music. The patrons are dressed up in suits and little black dresses, to jeans and the occasional flare skirts.
There's one Latina in particular who has caught the eye of every man outside. A bright red flare dress is pasted to her hourglass shape, and Jennifer Lopez hips. The bottom portion begins to blaze outwards as she spins around at the speed of light. And the man twirling her … His hair is dark and curly. A suit made just for him is tailored at strong muscles. I can't breathe. I walk along the perimeter where buffet style tables are set, and a bar. My lungs almost concave until I notice that her mate, though handsome in his own right, is not Franco.
CHAPTER 20
Franco
The next night
STANDING AT ATTENTION, straining against my jeans. I shift in the wicker chair, wide legged and leaning back as the sweltering glow from the clay oven illuminates off the girls naked bodies twirling on the fur rug that they got from my living room and brought out back. My dick is ready to dive into Brandi's mouth as she moans or better yet, Laura's ass while she lies on her tummy. Laura's butt is tooted in the air for my incentive while she eats out her girlfriend. A sea breeze gusts across the garden of my villa. The moan is high. Unable to tear my gaze away from them, I reach over to grab the bottle of beer. Regardless, I'm not really in this moment. Its as if I'm the creepy kid, when it comes to oversexed middle schoolers and some imaginary jocks are forcing me to watch porn. Brandi and Laura are here to get my mind off one thing. The very thing my mind refuses to erase.
Brandi moans in ecstasy. While twerking her hips, and letting her pussy roll all over Laura's face, she catches my eye. "Franco... Join us."
There's only one problem with her request. And it's not the fact that they are my students, because they no longer are. It's a Saturday night, and the course has completed this evening. The problem? Angelique didn't attend this last class.
Yesterday right after class, I took a trip to meet with my parents for dinner, since my father finally had time in his busy schedule. So I didn't have time to seek her out yesterday. And I just knew Angelique would be here this evening.
Now I'm pissed. I don't want to fuck two very gorgeous, willing women, who by the way sound amazing as they continually cum for each other. I just want to hear one sound.
Angelique's.
And I don't have to bone her. I'm a grown ass man that would rather talk, or do whatever the fuck Jelly wants to do until she's ready. But she's leaving tomorrow morning as mentioned by Beatriz who wanted to give her a completion certificate/souvenir. Even though I already knew Angelique had to leave, hence my mentioning that we had to talk the day before. However, Beatriz voicing that tidbit of truth had me knocking on the door about an hour ago. To no avail. I don't have her number. I'll. Never. See her again. At that thought, I jump up from my seat.