When he doesn’t reply, I mutter in Spanish. In some areas of life, my twin consents to being enabled. In others, the idiota is ornery.
“Aye, I’m considering reaching out to Carlotta for you. How would you like having her work for you again?”
Dario shoots me a quick glare, and I slap the frothy lather across his chin.
“Carlotta is muy bella y sofisticad.” I try to remind him how the live-in nurse brought the passion back to his eyes.
He says nothing as I grip the straight razor.
I add, “Remember when Carlotta was around, you had some slight feeling in your left leg?”
He blinks.
I smile to stop the tension in my jaw. Where is the passion behind your eyes, hermano? “You haven’t seen Carlotta in, what? Three years? I’ll give her a call, sí?”
Silence is my answer.
My hands weave into my brother’s hair. I clasp the back of his neck. “Talk to me, por favor!”
Again, another blink. It’s enough to make a man go mad. We had always been a close family, even with our parents forced to return to Cuba.
Then one day, Dario and I stopped finishing each other’s sentences. He left the soccer team in high school for a computer science club.
I could play soccer all weekend and meet a new girl every night, then skim a textbook to pass a class. Dario had to study. He had to bust his ass, but it paid off, way off. He was brilliant. Now, he’s a ghost of his former self.
I hold the razor blade up, and he slaps my hand down.
“What the fuck, Dario?”
He growls, “Go, Dominic.”
“I work all day into the night. If not reviewing documents, I’m out with one woman or another. This is one day in two weeks. You wanna shave your face?” I rub a hand over my growing whiskers. “You’re the clean-shaven one, Dario. What do you want to do? Looks like you’re losing weight again. I’m not fucking having it. So, I’ll call Carlotta, okay?”
He snatches the hand towel off the armrest and rubs the cream from his face.
I fold the straight razor, tossing it into the bucket. “Okay, let it grow a little. But if you think I’m going to allow you to have a bum beard and lose all that weight again, you’re mistaken.”
He starts to lift onto his forearms, but the distance from the barber seat to his wheelchair is too far. I start toward him, and his fist flies.
I catch the punch in my hand, squeezing it. “Mami’s looking down at us. She hates what she sees, hermano!”
The debriefing in my lap slides down onto the silk bedspread. I run my hands across my face. Stacks of paperwork are what I’ve taken to bed on this Friday night. Work instead of sex is new to me. Don’t get me wrong, I fuck at night, then escort the lovely woman out the door on the same night. Occasionally, day breaks first. But I’m up early the next day, work out, work always.
Not tonight.
I’ve found accommodations for the Colombiana while I wait for the DA to remove his head from his ass. My client may not be legal, but asylum from her country isn’t all she’s worth. With the Colombian cartel’s antics reported to the police, the DA needs to get moving.
I’ve reviewed new cases and documents in an attempt to keep my mind rolling, not in contemplation of Aria.
A few hours later, I’ve tucked away every assignment, and I’m wide awake. On the terrace, I glance across the pitch-black ocean. It’s late, but not too late for my pastime. I flip through my cellphone of numbers. Women’s names flash by. Sighing, I glance north. A few miles up the coast, Aria has the same view.
Is she asleep? Focusing on a new medium? The talented beauty has captivated my mind for the last couple of days, and I told the firm’s PI, Mitch, to keep an eye on her. The only person she’s to stalk is me.
“You have her number,” I tell myself, though Mitch is also the reason for this.
Leaning my forearms against the railing, I dial her up, prepared for a busy signal or voicemail. Two rings later, and I’m standing to my full height as she says hello.
“Aria, Dom here.”
“I never gave you my number, Mr. Alverez.”
I smile, appreciating the version of her on the phone. All the confidence I crave to teach her while tangled in the sheets seems to infuse in her spirit. Chuckling softly, I reply, “True. But I’ve got a tip for you. I’m on the balcony of my bedroom. You took photos of me leaving my home, so I take it you still know your way over.”
“Why would I,” she pauses to clear her throat, “come over?”
“Photos, of course. Of me on the balcony. I can undress too.”
“I’ve seen you undressed, Mr. Alverez.”
“Then call me Dom or Dominic. Unless you didn’t like what you saw.”
Silence passes.
“Yello.” My accent thickens.
I celebrate Aria’s soft laughter with a cocky grin. She quips, “I’m not stroking your ego, Dominic.”
You’ll be stroking my dick soon. I’m going to cum so hard once I snare you. I toss her banter back. “You just did—your voice calling my name, damn. Say my name again. That’s an order, Aria.”
“G-good,” she stutters. Entering my bedroom, I take pleasure in how I’ll be the reason for her confidence glow. “Goodb—goodnight, Mr. Alverez.”
As suspected, the call disconnects. But Aria became everything I ever desired in the few seconds it took me to get under her skin. She’s thinking about me, and as promised the second I laid eyes on her, I will choke the fuck out of my cock. I slide open the top drawer of my nightstand and settle onto the edge of the bed. I predict Aria’s luscious lips are tensed now. Her big browns are shaded in thought of how she stumbled over her words. With a lengthy stroke of my manhood, I envisage me ordering her to slide her legs wide. She’s tighter than I’ve ever had, but I’ll drink the nectar in her core, get her wetter than she ever thought fathomable.
I groan. My strokes increase in pace, my fist firm, tightening again. The depth of her is enough to strangle me, and I beckon her breast to my face—tongue flicking out to tease the chocolate peaks. I lie back, my hips lifting, thrusting harder. I’m gripping her hips, breasts bouncing, ass spilling all over.
Fuck. I tense. Aria’s begging me to stop battering her wet walls so harshly. But I can’t stop. I ejaculate hard. Her cries echo in my ears, breasts panting beneath me. I growl, and the strokes pick up. Instead of spilling all over my fists and fingers, my seed dives deep into her shuttering pussy.
I whisper, “I’m not touching another fucking woman. Not until I satiate this craving.”
Chapter Seventeen
Aria
A few days had passed before Dominic called me out of the blue. Now, another week has gone by. Even with Miranda arguing over another flower delivery, goosebumps flutter across my flesh at the thought of him.
For seven whole days, a dozen flawless red stem roses have arrived. My eyes roll away from my roommate’s snooty text message about today’s arrival. I glance into the lens of my camera to take a shot of fruit for an organic smoothie campaign. The On Demand client has a chain of healthy smoothie bars up and down the Florida coast. Once upon a time, still-life was my everything. There’s something to be said about taking a photo of an inanimate object.