My orgasm slams into me and I buck against him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. He fucks me through it, never ceasing his relentless thrusts until he spills his seed inside me and pulls me close, his hot breath brushing my ear.
“Fuck. I meant to pull out. I am sorry.”
I pull him closer with my whole body, hugging him tightly. My voice is tight with emotion and I’m fighting back stupid tears of guilt and euphoria as I whisper, “It’s okay.”
Since I had a hysterectomy after Axl’s traumatic birth, I can no longer get pregnant, but guilt still sinks its razor-sharp teeth into my heart and chews as I sit on table nine in a pool of our collective juices, with Arturo’s dick inside me. I see my ex-husband’s face in my mind’s eye.God. We’ve been over for six years. I deserve to be happy. I know that, but this will destroy Gabe, so he can never know.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Lo
Iwake with a jolt and take in my surroundings with bleary, tequila-addled vision. A bright throw covers me, a white couch cushion is propped under my head—I’m definitely not at home then because no one in their right mind has white furniture with a six-year-old—and a toned, masculine arm is draped over my waist. I narrow my eyes on the beautiful brown skin peppered with dark hair and just the right amount of thick veins to be droolworthy. Brown skin that’s attached to my boss.
Holy shit. I slept with Arturo, and I’m pretty sure that’s not a sombrero digging into my ass.
Oh god.
This is not good. This is not how I wanted to wake up today. I mean, not that waking up next to a gorgeous man isn’t on my list of things to do again before I die, but ... Arturo? This is so not good.
Okay, Lo, just breathe.
Just breathe and slowly ease out of his embrace. I have to get home. Gabe and Axl will be wondering why I’m not at the house. It’s Sunday. We always have breakfast on Sunday.
I shift and Arturo’s hand comes up and cups my breast. Oh god, my boss’s hand is on my breast. My naked breast, and it’s a very skilled and talented hand. Gently, I pry his fingers off one by one. I don’t breathe as I ease out from the space between him and the sofa. The sofa we had sex on. The sofa in his apartment, just upstairs from the restaurant where we work, a sofa that he’ll likely have to have professionally cleaned after all of the dirty, dirty things we did on it last night.
I rise and carefully step over him, but my focus is on his face, so I don’t see the empty bottle of tequila we’d gone back for afterwe finished fucking until I’m stepping on it and it’s rolling out from under me.
“Ow, fuck!” I land partly on him and partly on the woven rug. Arturo’s eyes spring open, of course, because you’d have to be a bear to sleep through my graceless descent into humiliation.
Our faces are somehow just inches from one another though my legs are splayed out in front of me and my head is twisted back at some very unnatural angle.
“Good morning,” Arturo says. His accent is even more delicious when it’s husky with sleep.
“Er ... hi,” I say, turning my face away at the last second because I realize I have death breath from hell and though I’m drowning in my own mortification here, I also don’t want my hot boss to die. That might get kind of awkward when they ask me how he passed away. “Well, officer, I killed him with morning-after breath.”
“Sorry,” I say and ease up off the floor. My head pounds. It swims a bit too, and nausea rolls through me. Just when I thought the humiliation couldn’t get any worse ... surprise ... I have to pee.
“Where are you going, mi corazón?”
“Um ... bathroom.”
“Well hurry back. I want to trace the tattoos on your body with my tongue again.”
I blanch. I don’t mean to, it’s just that, well this is Arturo, and it’s the morning after, and he just rolled onto his back and his lovely dick is hard and up for round ... four?
“You’re not going to the bathroom, are you?”
“I ... er ... no. I wasn’t.”
“You are running out on me.”
“Okay, don’t ... say it like that. I don’t ... I had a great time last night, it’s just ...”
“Complicated.”Point one to Arturo. How many times has he heard me say this very thing to describe my relationship with Gabe.Oh, Gabe. If I don’t get home soon, he’s going to know. “Get dressed. I’ll run you home.”
“No!” I say quickly and grimace at the expression on his face. “Arturo, last night was—”
“Don’t say it,” he warns. “If you have any sense of kindness toward me at all then don’t say that.” He shakes his head. “Not that.”