Heavy Love(32)

"Right there!" Angelique exclaims what I already know. My thrusting  quickens and I grab Angelique's ass to gain more leverage and momentum.  She explodes all over my cock just as my hot cum pulses deep inside of  her, and our bodies locked in this instant.

We go at it until our muscles are heavy with fatigue. Sleep welcomes me  as Angelique's body softens against mine. She's asleep in my arms so I  breathe her in and follow suit.

~~~

A seagull squawking by awakens me. There are a few embers burning. The  fire has virtually died out. I unwrap myself from Angelique's cozy  physique, and before arising, make sure that the blankets are doing  their best to keep her warm as I've done all night long. Reality floods  through. Ensuring that she's sleeping peacefully is just another  blinding effect of caring for her.

In the beginning, it was all sex and bedroom hopping as a famous chef.  As I walk to the water's edge, I know that the future I want is laying  less than thirty yards from me. Angelique has her life on the west  coast, while on the east I've got some sort of a future waiting at the  network.

I glance over my shoulder and almost smile. Hell, she gave me that. A  future. When I arrived in Cabo de Blanco less than a week ago, my  passion had evaporated to ash. She was always right. I was exhausted.  And a part of me worked so hard to prove my father wrong. I didn't waste  my brains on slaving over a motherfucking stove. I was always in love  with cooking. So I gotta go back and take siege of my first love. And  I've gotta do it right this time. No bullheaded, forced exhaustion.

A seagull swoops down, beak skimming the water and soars back into the  sky at the very instant I realize, how hard it will be this time. Not  due to subconsciously hoping my father will one day be proud of my work.  But …  What. About. Her. How can I have Angelique, too?

Taking a deep breath, I place my hands on top of my head.

"Are you thinking about what to make me for breakfast before I head back  to my girls?" Angelique's pleasing voice pervades my thoughts. "Since  you can't cook and all, Mr. Maintenance Man."

"Shots to my ego," I ask turning around after placing a charismatic  smile on my face. "And I'm only able to guess that you forgot about  those various courses I cooked for you."

She smiles through a yawn. "Can't say that I forgot." Then she bites her  lip in curiosity. "Look, I'm just trying to figure out what you're  thinking about, Franco. You're tense … "

I rub the scruff on my chin. Shit, the therapist cap is on, and no  amount of learned entertaining on my part is going to sidetrack her. But  I bitch up anyway, redirecting the question, "You think my cooking is  so-so."

"Hmmm," she pauses for a moment. "Nope, you, oh, excuse me, Eduardo,  told me his cooking was so-so when we first meet. But as I recall we  discussed this issue last night. Any who, maybe I was wondering, either  you want to feed me, or you want to wrangle that shark you've told me  about."

"First of all, I brought you here, I will provide you with breakfast prior to taking you back. Second, I've got proof … "         

     



 

Angelique's laughter is heaven to my ears. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, you've got proof of taking out a shark at age five."

"Seven." I correct, trudging through the sand toward her.

She nods, eyes sparkling with laughter as she looks up at me. "Humph, so you keep tabs on the stories you tell."

I reach down and scoop her into my arms. My lips grab at her neck,  amplifying that boisterous laughter of hers. I begin to tickle under her  ribcage, then say, "One day, I will show you said proof. For now, I  want to love your body one more time – "

That chestnut radiant gaze of hers seems to deflate momentarily. The  enchantment of last night is gone to us. I stand up, unsure of how to  proceed.

She sits Indian style, murmuring, "One more time … "

"I didn't mean it like that, Angelique."

"Oh, I know. Franco …  It's just," she pauses, allowing those pearly white  teeth to graze over pink succulent flesh. I want to kiss her mouth, and  shut out any doubt. But Angelique finally allows for eye contact.  "Franco, this  …  whatever we're doing, it just doesn't happen every day.  Not even every friggen vacation."

"Bueno, Angelique. That is very good. What we've got going isn't just  some vacation romance. You are special to me, so I wouldn't have it any  other way. Besides, I have never been so giving," My hard gaze trails  down at her panties, and she wraps even tighter into her cardigan, when I  was the one who warmed her last night. It seems like the start of us is  already the dissolution, at least, in her eyes.

"You're mad at me."

"I'm not. Mad. At. You." The words extract themselves in a clipped,  forceful manner even though being an ass isn't my intention. I could  blame the hard passion in my tone on my dialect.

"You are," she holds up a hand as truce, "but you've got it wrong,  Franco. I wasn't implying that we can't try to work our way up, into a  relationship. But … "

"But, yeah, that's the kicker," I chime in since her voice has drowned  out. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Angelique wanted me to respond to  what she's just said but on the other hand, she just sounded as if she  were brushing me off.

Legs pressed to her chest, with her arms wrapped around herself,  Angelique lingers, "Like I just said, Franco, but. It will be hard. And  much time will be spent away from each other …  Damn it, Franco, you are  angry with me, when all I'm doing is addressing the foundation for how  these things go."

"Perdóneme, Jelly, but I am all in," I state, matter-of-factly, face  devoid of doubt. "Yes, I understand that long distance relationships  take their toll. Yes, it will be hard. The day I determined to be an  Iron Chef, I worked my damndest to get there." I pause before I tell her  my motivation. And fuck it, I continue with exactly how I feel, "Yes,  my quest was passion and an internal need to amount to something. But  I've shoved the success in my father's face and he still doesn't give a  damn. Now for us! The day you chose to drag me into your room, I saw  your worth. You have a good heart, and your fucking beautiful from that  mind of yours, to your hair's unwillingness to stay settled while out in  the wind. Your gorgeous, Angelique. So, please, forgive me if I'm being  a little hard – and these goddamn cuss words come easy with truth. I  couldn't give a damn about other people failing in long-distance  relationships. If we fail, it's because we allow it." And yes, I give it  to her real while adding the last part, "Let me know if the idea of  ‘we' doesn't work for you."

She sits there, self-comforting while I'm left by the wayside. The other  night in my villa, I knew she wanted to discuss the dynamics of my  relationship with my dad. Until now, that part of my life has never been  on the table, not with any other woman or any of my friends.

But here I am, having divulged so much. Heart beating in my ears, I wait  for Angelique's response. When she looks up, her eyes are glossed but  no tears are flowing down her flawless cheeks. I fucking hate myself for  moving her in such an adverse way.

"Franco, I've only held my position for a few years," she begins,  climbing to her feet. As she stands before me, I can already see where  the discussion is headed. Work before love, shit it's a line I gave to a  slew of women. It was one of my mottos. A drill. We're both still young  enough to continue dishing this mundane shit, so why be mad if she  chooses to do so?

"And even in that time, I have rarely seen a man or a woman, willing to  work hard at a relationship. A relationship where they've seen ups,  they've seen downs and already know how to push each other's buttons, or  conjure up a simple smile. But you," she shakes her head, "I have this  feeling that when you're all in, Franco, there's this power to it."         

     



 

Angelique breaths out the words, "I think I'd like to be loved by you one day."

"One day," I tell her as Angelique molds into my arms. But something in me already does love her...



HEAVYlove: His Melody Spring 2016

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Philophobia (Gr phillia, love + phobia, fear)

A fear of emotional attachment; fear of being in, or falling in love.





Prologue

Luxury Whitson

I met Victor twenty-eight days ago. If it were February, then I could at  least say that we knew each other for an entire month before I fell in  love with him. Nope, it's October.

Even before I could stop myself, I had become lost to Victor's  mesmerizing ways. It all had to do with his eyes. But this evening  instead of a pair of hypnotic aquas, Victor's pale, blue pupils reach  into my soul as we stand outside of a row of arty shops in Harlem. It's  one of those nights, where the cold chills you to the core, and the full  moon provides warning. If only I had taken heed to the dreariness of  the evening, before I decided to leave my loft.