ejaculated, pumping his hips through the agony of release.
When she’d sucked him dry, Miguel got shakily to his feet and dragged her with him. Gripped by an unfamiliar emotion, he kissed her, hard. He planted his large hands on her generous bottom and massaged until her knees weakened so the only thing holding her upright was his hold on her. He pulled her up against him, up onto her toes, and ground his hips into hers, letting her feel how hard he was again. She shivered and grabbed his shoulders to maintain her balance.
“When you’re not at work, you’ll be with me.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. He kissed her again, taking her acquiescence. With his hands beneath her hips, he lifted her higher until her legs coiled around his waist.
He’d had enough of work. There were more important things to tend to. He marched toward the staircase with her wrapped around him.
They spent the rest of the afternoon in bed.
Chapter Eleven
Miguel sat on the wheeled stool downstairs in his studio. With controlled movements, he tapped the mallet to the top of the chisel and began the process of forming a head out of the block of plaster.
Over the past month, he and Samirah spent every moment they could together. Their comfortable routine consisted of fixing breakfast together on Saturday morning and then making love. Afterward, he worked in the studio and she took off to the market to buy groceries for their weekend meals.
Saturday evenings, they ate dinner at his house, went to the movies, or rode the motorcycle into town to listen to music at Parque Calderon. On Sundays, they returned to the park to people watch. Families dominated then, picnicking or playing games. In fact, from time to time, Samirah would join in a game of soccer, and no one ever refused her. Who could?
He thought back to the time he took her to one of the neighboring towns to purchase souvenirs for her family. She ended up also purchasing the traditional colorful skirts of one of the chola women for herself. When they arrived back at his place, she put on the two skirts, layered over each other the way the women did.
“Look at the colors!” she’d exclaimed with a twirl. “They’re so pretty. I couldn’t wait to put them on.”
Before he could stop himself, he’d whispered they were nowhere near as beautiful as she. With a mischievous grin, she’d told him to show her just how beautiful he thought she was, and he’d chased her up the stairs, her laughter trailing backward to curl around him and tighten his chest. He could never grow tired of that laugh.
Then there was the time when they’d returned one Saturday night and she stripped out of her clothes and jumped into the pool, screeching at the cold temperature of the water. At first, he’d protested against her invitation to follow suit.
“Come on, Miguel, join me,” she’d insisted.
He couldn’t resist as he watched her. The moonlight bathed her skin and reflected off the dark surface of the water. Within minutes, he tore out of his clothes and joined her. And within minutes, their slippery wet bodies were joined together as she straddled him on a patio chair.
He even found himself reaching for her hand in public, kissing her in public. Doing things normally reserved for the private moments alone. Like on Karaoke Night, he waited for her at the back of the bar. When she descended the stage and made her way back to him, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her for everyone to see that she was his. If he was fortunate enough to find a seat, he made sure she sat on his lap all night.
He didn’t even know himself anymore. He was changing, engaging in activities he normally didn’t. If he wasn’t careful, she’d soon have him on stage singing, too.
The mallet connected with the chisel with force, and he knocked off a piece that was too big. He swore in frustration. He should stop because he couldn’t concentrate.
Miguel rose from
When she’d sucked him dry, Miguel got shakily to his feet and dragged her with him. Gripped by an unfamiliar emotion, he kissed her, hard. He planted his large hands on her generous bottom and massaged until her knees weakened so the only thing holding her upright was his hold on her. He pulled her up against him, up onto her toes, and ground his hips into hers, letting her feel how hard he was again. She shivered and grabbed his shoulders to maintain her balance.
“When you’re not at work, you’ll be with me.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. He kissed her again, taking her acquiescence. With his hands beneath her hips, he lifted her higher until her legs coiled around his waist.
He’d had enough of work. There were more important things to tend to. He marched toward the staircase with her wrapped around him.
They spent the rest of the afternoon in bed.
Chapter Eleven
Miguel sat on the wheeled stool downstairs in his studio. With controlled movements, he tapped the mallet to the top of the chisel and began the process of forming a head out of the block of plaster.
Over the past month, he and Samirah spent every moment they could together. Their comfortable routine consisted of fixing breakfast together on Saturday morning and then making love. Afterward, he worked in the studio and she took off to the market to buy groceries for their weekend meals.
Saturday evenings, they ate dinner at his house, went to the movies, or rode the motorcycle into town to listen to music at Parque Calderon. On Sundays, they returned to the park to people watch. Families dominated then, picnicking or playing games. In fact, from time to time, Samirah would join in a game of soccer, and no one ever refused her. Who could?
He thought back to the time he took her to one of the neighboring towns to purchase souvenirs for her family. She ended up also purchasing the traditional colorful skirts of one of the chola women for herself. When they arrived back at his place, she put on the two skirts, layered over each other the way the women did.
“Look at the colors!” she’d exclaimed with a twirl. “They’re so pretty. I couldn’t wait to put them on.”
Before he could stop himself, he’d whispered they were nowhere near as beautiful as she. With a mischievous grin, she’d told him to show her just how beautiful he thought she was, and he’d chased her up the stairs, her laughter trailing backward to curl around him and tighten his chest. He could never grow tired of that laugh.
Then there was the time when they’d returned one Saturday night and she stripped out of her clothes and jumped into the pool, screeching at the cold temperature of the water. At first, he’d protested against her invitation to follow suit.
“Come on, Miguel, join me,” she’d insisted.
He couldn’t resist as he watched her. The moonlight bathed her skin and reflected off the dark surface of the water. Within minutes, he tore out of his clothes and joined her. And within minutes, their slippery wet bodies were joined together as she straddled him on a patio chair.
He even found himself reaching for her hand in public, kissing her in public. Doing things normally reserved for the private moments alone. Like on Karaoke Night, he waited for her at the back of the bar. When she descended the stage and made her way back to him, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her for everyone to see that she was his. If he was fortunate enough to find a seat, he made sure she sat on his lap all night.
He didn’t even know himself anymore. He was changing, engaging in activities he normally didn’t. If he wasn’t careful, she’d soon have him on stage singing, too.
The mallet connected with the chisel with force, and he knocked off a piece that was too big. He swore in frustration. He should stop because he couldn’t concentrate.
Miguel rose from
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