Alejandro straightened, and she wrapped an arm around his waist to help him hop around the piece of furniture. Once he sat down, leaving his left leg dangling off to the side of the cushion and out of the way, she gently pushed on his shoulders, encouraging him to lie back.
“Wanna play doctor with me?” she suggested, waggling her eyebrows playfully.
A laugh burst from him at her unexpected but welcome question.
She paused, fingers on the button of his shorts, actually waiting for him to give her the okay. As if the erection straining for release wasn’t enough of a sign that he was more than okay with her ministrations.
He brushed her fingers aside and quickly unbuttoned his cargo shorts in answer.
She helped him elevate his hips to tug down the material; then he extracted his right leg, leaving the shorts to dangle from his other thigh. Her ponytail braid slipped over her shoulder, the ends tickling his stomach when she bent to kiss his knee above the top ring.
“You okay?” she asked softly, glancing up at him from under her lashes.
“Never better.”
He brushed his fingers along the juncture of her neck and shoulder, marveling at her soft skin.
“We have to be careful,” she told him. Her gaze cut down to his injured leg again before coming back up to meet his.
“It’s fine. I’m good. Or I will be as soon as you stop worrying and get back to playing doctor. I’m waiting for my house call.” He pressed his wrist to his forehead and grimaced as if in torment. “Hey, Doc, I think I have a fever. You really need to check me out.”
She laughed at his antics but quickly sobered. “You tell me if something hurts. If you’re uncomfortable or—”
“Anamaría, I’m good. We’re good.” He caressed her forearm hoping to soothe her fears. Acknowledging, privately, that her concern for his well-being touched him in a place no one else had ever been able to reach.
“I promise,” he assured her when that tiny worry groove appeared between her brows. “But I can assure you I’ll be a helluva lot better when there’s a little less talk and a lot more action.”
He winked and she dropped her head back to groan up at the ceiling. “Ay Dios mío, that was so cheesy.”
But the worry eased from her beautiful face and the tension relaxed from her shoulders when she glanced down at him again.
“Come here.” He beckoned her with a jerk of his head. Wanting her closer.
Instead, she surprised him by crossing her arms and deftly peeling off her sports bra. The scrap of material landed on the tile floor as she grinned and straddled him.
Damn, she was hot.
He cupped her breasts in his palms, moving them in slow, languid circles. Her eyelids drifted closed as a moan of pleasure escaped her kiss-swollen lips. She put her hands over his, guiding his fingers to play with her nipples. Showing him what she liked. His erection pulsed with need. She ground against him, bold and confident. Something neither of them had been in their youthful explorations together.
He marveled at this new side of her. Silently promised to cherish her the way she deserved. A sense of rightness, of finally being whole again, seeped into the dark, lonely recesses of his heart.
“Ay, Princesa, me vuelves loco,” he murmured, certain if he didn’t get inside her soon, she would indeed drive him crazy.
He stretched up to lap at the curve of her breast with his tongue, desperate to satisfy his longing to taste her. It wasn’t enough.
“I don’t know about you, Doc,” he told her as he trailed his tongue from one of her breasts to the other. “But this patient is ready and willing to undergo a full body work up.”
She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that was sweet music to his lonely soul. “Ay, papito, show me where it hurts, and I’ll kiss it all better.”
Chapter 16
Seated next to Luis at the round kitchen table in the nook overlooking their mami and papi’s backyard and canal, Anamaría handed her brother the salad bowl. He dug in, refilling his plate with more of the fresh spinach leaves and mix of raw veggies she insisted her mom add to their regular dinner menu.
Outside, the early-evening sky held a loose grasp on the day’s orange sherbet and cherry red sunset colors while the night’s dark blue and violets descended. Lights flickered on in their neighbors’ homes up and down the canal. The yellowish glows shone out of windows and off screened-in porches to shimmer on the surface of the deep water.
Tonight, she and Luis were the only two siblings in attendance because José’s T-ball team had practice, which meant Carlos and Enrique were at the baseball field coaching, while little Ramón tagged along picking up pointers and serving as batboy. Sara had driven up to Miami for meetings about her clothing line and South Beach boutique, while Gina relished a few hours of well-earned solitude at home.
But come this weekend, the Navarros would all be seated around the larger dining room table, breaking bread, catching up, and granting their matriarch’s wish to have all her children and grandchildren together at least once a week, outside of mass. Anamaría readily admitted their weekly meals were something she and the rest of her familia looked forward to as well.
“Ay, nena!” her mom exclaimed, scooping up a bite of mashed potatoes with her fork. “I cannot believe how many new peoplers you have since those pictures Alejandro took for you y ese nene. ¿Cuando fue eso, ha? Two, three weeks ago now?”
Anamaría shared a grin with her brother. “Sí, it was a little over two weeks ago. Pero they’re called ‘followers,’ Mami. Not ‘peoplers.’”
Lydia waved off the correction like a pesky mosquito, the faint lines crossing her brow deepening with a whatever frown she would have told little José was rude to make. “Gente, people, followers. You know what I mean. Anyway, today I joined Elena for lunch at Miranda’s and she showed me the Instagram app. She’s one of your people—ay, followers, sí? And Sara’s, too. It’s very nice of you to help Elena with her Instagram wall.”
Instagram feed.
Anamaría silently made the correction, her exasperated gaze meeting Luis’s. Wise man that he was, her brother shoveled more pork roast in his mouth. His way of telling her not to bother, it was a hopeless endeavor, trying to teach their mami about social media apps. Luis, who preferred his privacy and chose to stay off social media, leaving that domain to his successful fiancée, knew there was a good reason why their mami didn’t own an Instagram or Twitter account.
Lydia Quintana de Navarro could successfully chair the committee for a St. Mary’s event hundreds would attend. Had done so for years. She’d managed their familia budget and household, raised four fantastic kids—as she was fond of saying—and mentored countless others in the church teen program.
But when it came to technology, challenged did not even begin to describe their mami. She struggled mightily to find her way around her personal profile on The Facebook, as she referred to it. And even with that single social media account, there were times one or more of the Navarro siblings cringed when they read a comment their mami made on a familia member’s or friend’s post. Nothing like waving the digital chancla at someone in front of their thousands of “friends.”