“You keep using that upper hand this way and you’ll find out what it’s like when the tables are turned. Lucky for you, I happen to enjoy this position,” he says, eyeing my naked breasts.
“Oh,” I say, lifting up on my knees so I’m hovering just above the head of his dick. “How about this one?”
I lower just enough for my slit to slide across the tip. I’m not sure which of us is getting the most pleasure out of this. I lean forward for him to take the bait, his mouth latching onto one of the hardened nipples so he can tease it with his tongue and lips. It’s almost enough for me, this bit of foreplay, our bodies still slick with bathwater and soapy suds.
But not enough for Enrique.
His mouth slides across my chest and up to my throat where his teeth graze across the skin until he reaches my ear.
“Bastante,” he growls.
In a flash, he lifts me and twists both of us around so I’m down on the bed underneath him.
“My turn,” he says just before entering me.
I groan with pleasure, my legs obediently coming up around his waist as he sinks into me. I thought by now I would have become used to the way he feels inside of me. While there’s no longer that same pain from the first time, it definitely still feels like I’m being invaded in the most enjoyably obscene way.
Enrique’s lips whisper filth against my ears, a mix of Spanish and English that add a deviant coat of icing to this cake of pleasure.
When I come, it’s with all the force of an earthquake, one that shakes me to my core and leaves me nothing but a pile of rubble. Enrique follows, the muscles underneath my palms and in between my thighs going taut before he shudders his release.
I hold onto him, enjoying this last night of peace. This week with him has settled me into a warm comfortable feeling about him, something that I don’t want to let go of. Even in these passionate moments where I feel an overwhelming lust for him, there’s that foundation of…home.
I really don’t want it to end.
I don’t want us to end.
But tomorrow, we head back to Barcelona and the shit hits the fan.
Enrique disentangles himself from me and rolls onto his back beside me. I curl into his side, placing my head on his shoulder as I trace the lines of his pecs and abs.
“Maybe we don’t have to go back tomorrow,” I suggest.
“No,” he says, turning to look at me his face taut with seriousness. “This needs to end.”
“What if it’s Richard Coleman?” I say, hating the man enough to avoid referring to him as Enrique’s father. Although I still don’t know what the connection is, I’m almost certain that he’s the one who killed my mother and sisters.
“Then I’ll kill him.”
As much as the words give me a surge of righteous satisfaction, I can’t help but imagine David going against Goliath, this time with a more realistic outcome. Still, I’m tactful enough to stay silent.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “We have to leave early in the morning to make it back by noon. I want to get there early.” Hi grins toward the ceiling. “All the better to have the upper hand.”
I chuckle against him, feeling a little bit better.
At least for tonight, we can rest easy about it. Tomorrow may be a different story.
Chapter Forty-Five Enrique
“So this person you are meeting with, be careful, yes?” Sebastián says, clapping me on the shoulder as we stand in the yard in front of the house.
“I will,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile.
The sun hasn’t yet broken into the sky past the mountains but there is enough light to see the beginnings of the day. Leira and I are saying our goodbyes to him before we drive back to Barcelona.
“And when you’ve done what you need to do, I would like to see you again.” He gives me a level gaze as a silent understanding passes between us. He breaks it to smile at Leira. “Both of you.”
“I’d like that,” Leira says. She’s wearing the white dress I picked out for her, freshly laundered and looking spectacular as ever.
“Good, good,” Sebastián says, clapping his hands together.
We hug our last goodbyes and Leira and I get in the car to go. The trip is mostly quiet, filled with the occasional small talk and Leira taking naps. We reach Barcelona with two hours to spare and decide to pass the time getting something to eat at a cafe near the marina.
“I think I need something stronger than beer,” Leira says, her brow wrinkling with worry.
I’ve tried to maintain a calm facade mostly to put her at ease, but as the time has clicked closer and closer to noon, she’s been fretting more and more.
“One week at a vineyard and you’re a heavyweight.”
“How am I supposed to just sit here when any moment one of Richard’s men could come out of nowhere and…well, I don’t know. Kill us?”
“First of all we don’t know if it’s him. Second, like I said, if they wanted me dead, we’d both be long dead by now.” My mind races back to Ibiza and the woman in the car. They certainly seemed capable enough and me sussing them out seemed to be their intent all along. Whoever it is I’m meeting isn’t afraid of me, but definitely needs or wants something from me.
“When this is all over, I’ll buy you an entire pitcher of sangria. I think there’s a cafe near the nude beach,” I say with a grin.
Leira twists her lips at me, but eventually breaks out with a smile. “You aren’t scared?”
I mull that question over. “I’m more curious than anything. Mostly I just want this over with so at least I know what’s going on.”
She looks around as though searching for
