StripperwithSpice, page 22
“Let’s give a big congratulations to Janice Sullivan, our new manager of analysis and reporting.”
After almost dropping my fork on the floor, I stand, wishing everyone would stop staring at me and clapping. I smile, nod and try my best to look both grateful and professional, but the thought of the new responsibility swamps my body with a wave of nausea. What had Carlos said before about how work is supposed to be fun? My new position will be anything but. What if I can’t handle it?
“Thank you all so much,” I say, clenching a handful of my dress skirt in a death grip. “I’m going to give my new position everything I have and then some.”
“I bet you are,” Tiffin mutters after I sit down. By the suggestive look she gives Carlos, I can tell what she means by position.
I concentrate on my smile, trying my best not to faint headfirst onto my dinner plate.
The CEO smiles. “I’m done talking now. Let’s dance.”
“Yes, Carlos,” Tiffin pipes up while the audience is still quiet. “Give us a table dance.”
My temples throb. All I want to do is plead a headache and leave early, but that would only draw more attention to us. I sneak a glance at Carlos. His face is almost as pale as the white tablecloth. To my relief, he pretends he hasn’t heard it. Everyone else has though. Tiffin’s date adjusts his tie in annoyance and my boss exchanges a confused look with her husband.
Without a word, he takes my hand like the gentleman he is and escorts me to the dance floor. As soon as we start dancing, I’m back in his brother’s restaurant doing the tango with him while his family watches.
I’d much rather be there relaxing instead of here, having my every move observed.
“We should go,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “If we run out of here now, everyone will wonder if there’s any truth in her words. Don’t give that little bitch the satisfaction.”
“You’re right.” Despite everything that’s happened, I still melt into his arms as he spins me around.
“You’re dancing too well,” I tell him after a complex spin. “People are staring at us.”
He grins at me. “Sorry. I got carried away. I’ll try to dance as if I’m a stiff-legged nerd.”
When he jerks and moves in robotic motions, I laugh into his shoulder. “Not that stiff. Now people are staring because they think you’re weird.”
“Picky. Picky. Then how about if I practice my new routine for the club? The high jumps ought to get their attention.”
I shoot him the fiercest glare I can muster. “Are you trying to give me an anxiety attack?”
“No, but you’d better make me come at least twice after putting up with this,” he groans into my ear.
“Three times,” I promise as anticipatory heat builds under my evening gown.
While the music shifts to a slow number, he removes his jacket. At first, I don’t think anything of it. I’m just glad he’s not flinging it in circles over his head.
I grab it. “No, you can’t take that off.”
“I’m hot,” he complains. “I don’t want to sweat up my only tux. I might want to wear it to a wedding sometime.”
Remembering the look on his face in the jewelry store near the engagement rings twists a hot knife of guilt into my ribs.
My hand covers his arm. “But your tattoos are showing through your shirtsleeves.”
“So?” Disappointment cools his warm eyes as he puts the jacket back on. “I get it. You’re ashamed of me.”
“No! It’s just—”
He puts up a hand. “You don’t need to say it. This isn’t my scene anyway. Let’s get out of here.”
Damn Tiffin for ruining this evening and possibly my job, but part of me knows this isn’t entirely her fault. Usually Carlos’ tattoos make me hot. The one of the eagle melts my heart every time I look at it. He risked his job for me, making love to me in a public place, and I can’t even let him take off his jacket.
I feel like the world’s biggest bitch, but I can’t seem to help myself. What’s wrong with me? It’s as if I’m seeing him through the eyes of Trendler Trust now instead of my own. I’ve become my job.
After we say our goodbyes to everyone, we head outside and wait for the valet to bring his car around. The stiff breeze chills me inside my thin evening jacket.
“It’s funny, Janice. You used to be so worried you didn’t fit into my world. Now I don’t fit into yours.”
Although he sounds calm, the way he rubs his cheek tells me otherwise. I stare at the ground, feeling chilled to the core. At this rate, we’ll never have sex again, let alone hot sex. I want to explain, apologize…something, but my jaw is frozen with confusion.
Why did I think I could keep the two things that matter most to me separate? What will I do if I’m forced to choose between them?
* * * * *
Over a week later on Sunday afternoon, I pace in my kitchen as I wait for Carlos to arrive. The heat has been running all day, battling the fall chill. We haven’t seen or contacted each other for over a week because we agreed I needed some time to settle into my new promotion.
Although I’d sweated buckets Monday morning, nothing resulted from bringing him as my date except a few compliments from the staff about how handsome he was. For the moment, anyway, I would not have to choose between my man and my job.
But what if Tiffin decides to tell everyone about Carlos’ profession and causes big problems for me? Would I still be willing to continue my relationship with him? I hate the fact I can’t answer that.
Despite being busy at work, I couldn’t stop seeing the hurt on his face after the gala and each time I did it pierced me with guilt. How could I treat him like that? It would serve me right if he never spoke to me again. Why haven’t I called him to try to repair our relationship? Part of me figures it’s no use because he’s probably fed up with me. The other part hesitates because of my job. This limbo can’t last forever, but for now it spares me the pain of an ending.
A knock on the door sends my heart lurching into my throat. After he enters, we stand there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. He’s wearing a blue cotton shirt, unbuttoned enough to show a tempting glimpse of sculpted chest and a simple gold chain.
My breath stalls in my chest. Seeing him in person reminds me of all the joy and excitement he’s brought into my life. Hell no, I don’t want to lose this man! But what if it’s already too late? Did he come here to end it?
“I missed you.” I mouth the words but no sound comes out.
His arms enclose me. “I missed you too, querida.”
We stand there for a long time, squeezing the breath out of each other. We have a powerful connection. At least that much is clear.
He lets go of me. “I left some bags in the hall. I’ll go get them.”
Bags? Is he moving in? I never know what to expect with Carlos.
“I thought we could make some chicken fajitas,” he says after carrying in the first bag.
“Sounds good to me.”
Food? He must not be planning to break up with me after all. My tense shoulders drop with relief. How did he know how much I need to cook right now? I didn’t even realize it. I’m also grateful the activity will keep us busy and, hopefully, slice through the awkwardness between us.
He hasn’t kissed me yet, I realize as I help him bring in the rest of the bags. While I pull out the pans we’ll need from my cabinets, he lays out the ingredients in his usual methodical way. Maybe he plans to break up with me or assumes I’ll break up with him. The thought burns my eyes.
“I snagged some marinated chicken and tortillas from the restaurant.” He hands me an empty tortilla warmer. “I took this too, in case you didn’t already have one.”
It’s time for me to apologize. Why can’t I? I’m so ashamed I hardly know where to begin. Maybe I’ll wait until after we eat so we can focus on cooking now. Hopefully doing my favorite activity will give me strength.
We both cut vegetables. He does the jalapeño and green peppers while I do the onions and red bell peppers. Before long, the pungent scents of raw pepper and onion juices fill the kitchen.
“How was work last week?” he asks.
“Very busy.” Slice. Slice. Slice. I can’t think of anything else to say.
“I’m glad to see your hair is back to normal. Any problems after the gala?”
My heart thuds and my fingers twitch around the knife handle. Apologize, Janice!
“No. Tiffin just asked me how much I paid you to be my escort.”
He laughs. “Maybe that should be my new career. What did you tell her?”
“That you’re my friend.”
The humor dies on his face. Chop. Chop. Chop. “Is that what we are now? Just friends?”
I drop my knife on the cutting board. “You tell me. You’ve been here for twenty minutes and you haven’t even kissed me.”
He drops his knife too. “Well, we can take care of that right now.”
“You’re crazy,” I mutter, shaking my head when Carlos pops a small slice of jalapeño into his mouth then chews and swallows it.
“Taste me, Janice.”
I hold up my hand. “I’d rather not now.”
But he doesn’t listen. Instead he clasps both sides of my head and presses his mouth to mine—opening my lips with his scorching tongue and sharing his heat with me. Within seconds, my entire mouth is aflame with the essence of fiery pepper juice and need. The onslaught of sensations catches me so off guard my arms dangle, forgotten, at my sides.
It’s the best kiss we’ve ever had—tentative and sweet, then desperate and demanding. Every confusing feeling and unanswered question passes between our lips in unintelligible moans and sighs. I ignore the little voice that tells me he’s wrong for me and that we argue too much. The peppery heat of our breaths ignites the air around us, making our eventual joining a foregone conclusion.
“Carlos, I-I’m sorry…about the gala…about a lot of things.” But he merely swallows my words with another kiss.
His restless hands travel down my face, through my hair and over my clothes. I cling to his shoulders with both hands as a need so strong it forces tears to my eyes rips through me.
My feet leave the ground as Carlos carries me to my faux-antique couch. Despite our urgency, he lays me on it with surprising gentleness and kneels beside it, pressing a series of small kisses to the base of my throat.
“Wh-what about dinner?” I ask, arching my back when his fevered tongue swipes the side of my neck.
“It can wait,” he mutters as he pulls off my shoes and jeans and lifts my sweater and bra high enough to expose my bare breasts.
He palms the mounds, dragging across the aching nipples and hardening them even more. My panties have never become so drenched so fast. Clenching the damp cotton with my inner thighs, I writhe on the couch, needing him to fill me. While he pulls a condom from his pocket, slides off his own jeans and straddles me with one foot on the floor, I fumble with his shirt buttons.
Answering my cry of frustration, he puts the condom packet on the couch beside me and helps me with the shirt until he’s completely unbuttoned. I whimper with joy as a child would after wrestling open a box of candy. My fingers toy with the chain around his neck before dipping to the satiny skin of his bronze chest.
Every touch joins us. Whatever came between us before—his job, my job and stuff I can’t even remember now—evaporates from the heat of our rapture. Never let this moment end. Let us always feel as close as we do right now.
After sliding my wet panties off, he nudges my left foot to rest on the floor, opening me to his hungry gaze. Never taking his eyes off me, he yanks off his own underwear, releasing his musky, aroused scent and the eager angle of his erection.
He wants me so much—as much as I want him.
Balanced over me with a knee on the inside of the couch, he palms my swollen cunt and inserts two fingers so quickly I gasp. Within seconds, unexplainable heat burns inside me, consuming my entire belly and heightening my lust.
“I-I seem to be on fire,” I gasp.
“So am I.”
When I shift against his fingers, the movement only fuels the inferno raging inside me. “No, it must be the peppers.”
“¿Caliente?” He grins, tearing open the condom packet and sheathing his erect shaft. “Oops. I forgot to wash my hands after cutting those jalapeños. Genitals are mucous membranes like the mouth.”
Beads of sweat form on my upper lip. “No kidding.”
Bending low over me, he whispers in my ear. “Have you ever been fucked with hot pepper juice saturating your cunt?”
The words themselves almost bring me to orgasm. “No. Just do it before I combust.”
To urge him, I kiss the base of his neck, sucking the taut skin hard between my lips. His deep moan resonates through both our chests. The mesquite-spicy scent of him, which has always enticed me, is doubly intoxicating today.
I need to feel the bare skin of your pussy with nothing between us.
His words from our gym date come back to me. Why not? After all, it would only be fair to share this fiery pepper juice with him… But for that level of intimacy to happen, there must be nothing standing between us.
He lifts my left thigh, which hangs off the couch, to rest on his so he can penetrate me. I grip his shoulders and gaze into his eyes as he slides into me. Bliss and a feeling of rightness enter my bloodstream, rushing to every finger and toe. The torrid flames engulfing my cunt burn low, momentarily quenched, and blossom again when he glides back out. Cool Hand Carlos is a big glass of water and I’m dying of thirst.
“Carlos…” I can’t finish the sentence but I don’t need to. Our bodies have the conversation our words can’t.
Each sweet, loving stroke tells us how much we missed each other and how hard we have to work to make this right.
His strong hips are gentle but expert, guiding me to greater and greater levels of pleasure. I touch his face and hair as if rediscovering him all over again. Every ounce of work stress from the past week melts away. We kiss, latching on to each other with lips, tongue and even teeth.
Each having a foot on the floor gives us extra leverage to push into each other. I press my cheek against his, feeling the quick, warm breaths of his passion against my skin. We press and press—cheek-to-cheek, pelvis-to-pelvis, bone-to-bone, shattering one barrier after another.
While sweet sensations thrum from my core to my entire being, I remember the first time we had sex. The passion we had then has only intensified. Now there’s something else too, something stronger—an unbreakable bond.
With his belly arched and flexing between the sides of his open shirt, he reaches between us and rubs my clit with one finger. He knows just how much force to use on my body, pressing hard on the sensitive bud of flesh. Reality drifts away as lightning bolts of sensation zap through me.
Our legs are now completely on the couch, tangled together, and I don’t remember how they got there. All I can do is thrust my hips with complete abandon until the heavy fabric of the couch cushion rubs my buttocks raw.
Carlos grips the wood framing the top of the couch to keep us from falling out of it as my pussy convulses and splits apart under him. Unable to control myself, I shriek his name.
“Carlos! Carlos! Don’t go,” I call out, my voice shaking. “Please don’t go.”
“I’m right here, querida,” he croons. “Right here. Always.”
“We have to stay together,” I whisper, “no matter what.”
“We will.”
His thrusts slow and deepen, penetrating so far I—for once in my life—feel completely filled. A sheen of sweat blossoms across his face as he grits his teeth. The old couch shakes on its legs from the straining of his powerful muscles.
A breathy whimper escapes his parted lips, as if he feels just as vulnerable as I do, before he shouts his climax. His yell is wordless, one male bellow that reverberates against the living room walls.
Finally he collapses on me, languid and spent. Never wanting to let him go, I wrap my legs around his hot, heavy body.
I wipe the damp hair back from his forehead. “We needed that.”
He grins. “You aren’t kidding. I hate to say it, but I think the best sex we have is this plain vanilla kind.”
“That felt much more than vanilla to me.”
“You’re right, querida. Vanilla isn’t the right word. How about spicy?”
My sated cunt, which has finally recovered from the hot pepper juice, would certainly agree, but the love we just made was both sweet and spicy. Our relationship has many flavors too. What could be better for a woman who loves to cook?
“How about multi-flavored?” I trace my finger down his chain, the metal links slippery from the sweat of our lovemaking. “Thanks for giving me the time I needed.”
He pulls out of my body and curls up beside me, pulling the afghan over us. “I’m sorry I acted like a prick about your promotion.”
Sighing, I stare at the ceiling. “I almost wish I hadn’t gotten promoted. There’s so much more pressure.”
His fingers, featherlight, explore my face from eyes to chin. “You look really tired but not in a good way. You don’t have that glow you had after cooking at my brother’s restaurant.”
He’s right about the glow. My job makes me feel as if I’m a light bulb that might burn out at any moment. After our wonderful lovemaking, it’s the last thing I want to talk about.
I glance toward the kitchen. “Speaking of cooking, we’d better get back to it.”
After taking turns cleaning up in the bathroom, we go back to the kitchen. Once we finish slicing the ingredients, we fry them in oil. Closing my eyes, I inhale the aroma. Finally my kitchen smells like something good instead of nothing. We each hold spatulas as we stand side by side in front of the oven.
What could be better than this—doing what I love with the man I love?
Carlos arranges the tortillas in a casserole pan, covers it and puts it in the oven. “After the gala, I was sure you wouldn’t want me anymore.”
A pang of guilt shoots through me, but my indecisiveness is history now. I want this man.
