Pretty Hurts Page 7

  I come to and find him still between my legs lapping me gently. I push up onto my elbows. He glances up at me and smiles. His full lips glisten with my juice. The erotic vision makes me whimper.

  “I’m nowhere near finished with you.” He thrusts a finger inside of me. I flex my muscles, eager to be filled with more than his tongue.

  “So tight and ready for me.” He pumps and I match his rhythm. “That’s it, fuck my hand, pretty girl,” he praises, adding another finger. He angles his fingers, hitting a spot that makes me buck.

  “Oh, God. I’m going to come, Edgar,” I rasp.

  “So do it for me, darling.” He moves faster, and the pressure builds in my belly. I contract around his thick digits, gripping the edge of the table as I come hard. Spent, I fall back on the table. His thumb strokes my asshole, and I gasp, shocked by the pleasure it brings.

  “Eventually, I’m going to take you here, too.”

  The thought of the taboo act is tempting.

  “I can see in your eyes you’re interested. I have so much to show you, darling.”

  I’m drowning in the dark promise his voice holds. In his crisp, white, button-down rolled up to his elbows he’s the picture of masculinity. I lower my trembling limbs, and he stands, bending down for a kiss. When our tongues tangle, I whimper as I taste myself. He moves back, and I follow him, sitting up. I run my hand down his chest and cup his cock through his pants. I stroke down his length, impressed and anxious to return the favor.

  “Now it’s your turn.” As I pop his top button and unbuckle his belt, he watches me through lowered lids and passion dark eyes. I admire the happy trail of dark hair as I push down his jeans and black boxers. His cock springs up to greet me; thick, long, and curved slightly to the right it makes my mouth water. I grip his base and run my thumb over the large vein that runs on the underside of his shaft. His cock twitches and I pump once, twice, and his broad red tip yields a white bead of pre-come. Swiping it with my thumb, I bring it to my lips and smear it on like lipstick.

  “So damn sexy.”

  I lick my lips, tasting his salty flavor. I slide off the table, tug his pants down around his ankles, and run my nails down his thighs. Gripping his base, I take him into my mouth, keeping our gazes connected as I take him deep and hollow my cheeks.

  “That’s it, darling. Just … like … that.”

  He thrusts forward slowly. When I hum, he slams home. I gag, but quickly adjust. He reaches down and grabs the hand I placed on his thigh; the intimate gesture turns me into a porn star. I take him so deep I swear I feel him in my chest. Humming and sucking I bring him over the edge, yelling my name. After taking everything he has to offer, I move back to sit on my heels to catch my breath. Our still connected fingers means more than any of the pleasure we’ve brought one another. I rest my head against his hip, and he cups my neck. This is so much more than two people who have a mutual attraction.

  ***

  Edgar

  I wake to the feel of a body beside me. Rolling onto my side, I study the sleeping form beside me. She’s stunning in the early morning light filtering through the window. Her skin all but glows. Relaxed in sleep, the tension around her eyes and mouth are gone. I skim my hand over her smooth head. Exhausted from our play in the workshop, I convinced her to stay. The problem is, now I don’t want her to go. It felt right drifting to sleep with her in my arms. Waking up with her is even better. I kiss my way down to her neck and nibble at her pulse point.

  “Mmm. Best way to wake up,” she murmurs groggily. I nuzzle her neck.

  “Good morning, darling.”

  I lay on my side, and she curls up, facing me with a slow, sleepy smile.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, tracing her cheekbone with my finger.

  “More relaxed than I’ve been in a long time,” she replies.

  I check her face for any signs of regret. “So we’re good?”

  “More than good, Edgar.” She cups my face and pulls me to her. It’s the first time she’s initiated a kiss. When she snakes her tongue in my mouth, I moan as I deepen the kiss and grip her curvy hip, kneading her flesh. We separate and she sighs.

  “You want breakfast?” I ask.

  “Yes, but I think it’s my turn to cook.”

  “You won’t hear me protest. I like the thought of my woman cooking for me.”

  “Your woman?”

  “Yes.” I pull her to me and roll us over. Straddling her hips, I tickle her sides. Her laughter echoes in the room, light and musical.

  She kicks her legs. “I give. I give.”

  I plop down onto the bed beside her and place my hands under my head.

  “All right. You hosted last night, so you chill, shower, and by the time you come down breakfast should be close to being ready.” She slides out of bed, and I admire the way my shirt clings to her breasts and skims her upper thighs. I admire the bounce of her ass as she pads out of my room.

  I follow a few seconds later, rising and walking into the adjoining bathroom. I strip down, toss my clothes into the hamper, and get into the warm shower. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the spray on my skin. I wasn’t sure I’d be here again with another woman, not after being ditched out of the blue.

  Past

  I unlock the door and freeze. There are boxes in the living room, the pictures have been taken down from the wall.

  “Mar,” I call, walking inside. Closing the door behind me, I step farther into the house. “What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t want to be here when you came home.”

  I glance up and find her dressed in a pair of form-fitting, shiny, black Capri pants and a black T-shirt that says Barbie in curvy pink lettering. She looks good enough to eat.

  “What are you doing? Where are our things?”

  “They’re packed up. I’ll leave them in storage until I make more permanent arrangements.”

  I run my hands through my hair, completely floored. “What are you talking about? Why are you leaving? I know we’ve had a rough time the past few months, but this is insanely rash.”

  Pursing her pouty pink lips, she shakes her head. “No, staying together any longer would be a mistake. We don’t want the same things.”

  “Since when? We’re engaged to be married for Pete’s sake! We’ve got a venue booked, a date set, and invitations being made.”

  “Those things can be canceled, Edgar. A lifetime of unhappiness cannot be.”

  “Where is this coming from?”

  “You don’t want children, Edgar. I do.”

  “Since when? I’m still trying to understand where this came from.”

  “Does it matter? You aren’t willing to bend on that.”

  “You know why.”

  “I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not able to compromise on this. I thought I could. But now I see I was wrong. I love you. I wanted to be the woman you needed. It’s clear to me now, however, I can never be that.”

  “Yes, you are.” I rush forward, desperate to get her to give us time so I can change her opinion. I grab her hands. “Haven’t we been happy the past five years?”

  “Yes.”

  “You agreed to marry me because you saw us being together forever. Why let a sudden desire that will probably fade ruin the life we’ve spent so many years building?”

  “Because it won’t pass. I thought long and hard about it. I wouldn’t do something this drastic if I weren’t sure.”

  “So you waited until I was gone?”

  “I wanted to make it as painless as possible.”

  “You failed,” I growl.

  “You’re too good at convincing me to stay. This is best for both of us, trust me.”

  “Marilyn, I refuse to believe that.” I clench my fists as I struggle to wade through the avalanche of emotions tumbling over me. “This is fucking bullshit. If you wanted to leave, you should have said so.”

  “I didn’t … I wanted you to bend.”

  “There’s no bending w
hen it comes to kids. You’re on board, or you’re not.”

  She shakes her head, sending her blonde locks tumbling about her heart-shaped face. “I’m done fighting with you, Eddie. I’m going to go now. We’ll figure out the money invested in the house and some of the bigger appliances later.”

  “It’s that easy to just walk?” My voice breaks.

  “It’s not.” Her blue eyes well with tears. It’s the first real emotion I’ve seen other than anger.

  “I’m going to go. I’ll be back tomorrow while you’re at work for the rest. I-I’m staying with my mom and dad until I get things sorted out.”

  She steps back from me, and I watch as the woman I thought I’d grow old with walks out of my life. I could chase her, but I know it’d be useless. This isn’t a spontaneous decision. She methodically planned, calculated, and executed it. How could I not have seen this coming? My stomach rolls. Shame and anger mix to form an explosive cocktail.

  I walk over and kick the box lingering in the center of the room. The sound of glass shattering fortifies me. I stomp down, crushing what lies beneath and destroying the box. Panting, I stop when the crunching ends and let the tears fall.

  ***

  Present

  I shove the memory away. Things with Efia and I are different. She’s older. At thirty-five, she knows if she wants children or not. We’re taking our time, and things are developing nicely. I refuse to let Marilyn ruin this for me. Chilled, I step from the shower, towel off, and get dressed. As I near the kitchen, the smell of baked batter reaches me.

  “Something smells good.” I walk behind her at the stove and wrap my arms around her waist as she stirs eggs.

  “I hope you like waffles.”

  “Love them.”

  “Excellent. Waffles, eggs, and bacon will be served shortly, sir.”

  I slap her ass and move to set two places at the breakfast island.

  Five minutes later we’re settled, and I’m eating heaven on a plate. Not many people know how to make waffles from scratch anymore. I study her from the corner of my eye. She’s my ideal woman, and I’m going to make sure she stays exactly where she should be, by my side.

  ***

  I knock on the door and beam when my mother answers and hold out her arms. I bend to hug her slender frame. She’s spry at sixty-five, but I’m very aware that she’s getting older.

  “Hi, Mami.”

  “Hello, mijo. Please, come in. It’s an unexpected surprise to see you here on a weekday.”

  “I was on my way home from work and realized it’d been over a week since I saw you.”

  “Such a sweet boy, my son,” she says, guiding me inside. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  “Come, I was just finishing a bag of tamales. The grands are coming over for dinner later, and you know that’s one of their favorites.”

  “I can’t blame them. They’re good.” I follow her inside the house I grew up in. Between my siblings and I, we’ve kept the place up nicely and made minor upgrades when necessary.

  “Now tell me, what brings you to see your madre on such short notice?”

  I sit down at the table as she pulls the tamales out of the silver pot I swear we’ve had since forever. “I’ve met someone.”

  “Madre Dios, my prayers have been answered.” She makes the sign of the cross, and I shake my head, amused by her fervor.

  “It’s new, but I have a feeling about her, Madre. She’s special.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Her name is Efia, and she’s a stylist and a make-up artist.”

  My mother frowns.

  I click my tongue. “No, don’t look like that, Ma. She’s a good woman. She volunteers with cancer survivors to do their make-up for photo shoots to boost their self-esteem. She’s a wonderful friend, intelligent, and beautiful.”

  “Ahh, finally we’ve come to the good stuff. Is she as conceited as that last one? Couldn’t find her too far from a mirror or without her face on.”

  “No.” I shake my head and clear throat. “She actually has something called Alopecia.”

  “Where they lose their hair?”

  “Si.”

  “Oh, poor thing.”

  “Yes, it was a shock, but she’s dealing with it well. We met when Houston brought her into my shop to cut off her hair.”

  Her brow furrows. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been.”

  “She’s had a hard time, but she’s regrouping now.”

  “And you were there to help her through this?”

  “I was a friend, and yes, I’ll still be here, too. I know this is a lifetime battle.”

  “You speak so easily about being in her life.”

  “You don’t let a woman like this go, Ma.” I shake my head.

  She places a plate down in front of me. “I like the sound of this Efia. But I worry about you, mijo.”

  I know without asking she’s thinking about how badly I handled my breakup with Marilyn. “Efia is very different. Her beauty comes from the inside. She has a smile that can light up a room, a big heart, and a clever mind. I think you’ll like her, and I want to bring her by.” His mother had never really liked Marilyn. Mom played nice with her, but a fiancée who had no interest in a family, cooking, or cleaning didn’t earn any brownie points with her.

  “You’ve talked her up so much. I can tell you feel strongly about her. We’ll welcome her with open arms here.”

  I smile as I take a healthy bite of my tamales. The spiced bite dances on my taste buds and I close my eyes. This reminds me of dinners with the entire family back when my father was alive. It was his favorite meal.

  I chew slowly, savoring the taste before I swallow. “Thank you, Ma.”

  “Always, mijo. I worried for you, but now I see a sparkle in your eyes that wasn’t there. Perhaps this woman, Efia, will be good for you. Certainly, she must be strong to deal with this disease so courageously.”

  “It does nothing to dim her beauty,” I say, feeling protective.

  Mom smiles. “I never said it did, mijo. The beauty of one resides within the soul.”

  As always I’m comforted by her words. No one can love or communicate like one’s mother. It’s something I learned fast once my father passed. People spend their youth taking their parents for granted, never realizing as they grow up their parents are growing older. I’ve no problems being called a mama’s boy because I know the bleakness that’ll enter my life once she’s gone. It was always a bone of contention between Marilyn and I. She never understood the sense of duty I felt in regards to my family. My mother, especially. If she needed something, as the eldest male it was my duty to provide it. We’d been through hell and back together. Our bond is a strong one.

  “Next Sunday we have mass with the family and then lunch. Bring your young lady.”

  I wash down the tamales with water before I speak. “I think I will. Now, tell me, how have you been?” I ask, studying her face. She looks well rested, and in high spirits.

  “Good. I keep busy with my Red Hats and the grandkids.”

  I can’t say how grateful I am for the Red Hat Society and their numerous outings. They keep my mother connected with friends and out and about in the city. She’d seen plays, gone to costume parties during Halloween, and played card games regularly.

  “And your job?”

  “Good. But you already know this.”

  I shrug. She works part time at a local corner store to keep herself busy and put spending change in her pocket. I check in from time to time with the manager. It’s good to let them know she has someone looking out for her. It keeps them from trying to take advantage. My siblings and I pitch in to pay the bills for the home. It’s the least we can do as hard as she worked to keep us clothed and happy growing up. In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from being a stay-at-home mother to working two or three jobs to make ends meet. We’ll never forget that.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Ma,
” I say.

  “Mmm hmm. You’ll stay and visit with the others?”

  “Yeah, I have time to do that.”

  “Good, you work too hard, mijo. You have to take time away from the shop.”

  “I know. I’m working on it.”

  “Oh, this woman she’s been very good for you.”

  I laugh. “No. I’ve just gotten the business in a place where I feel safe to take a small step away.”

  “Always remember, never get to busy working that you forget to have a life.” I see the pain in her eyes, and I know she’s thinking about my father. He was a kind, compassionate, and giving man, but he worked himself into an early grave providing for us.

  I reach across the table, grab her hand, and squeeze. “I promise I won’t, Ma.”

  “Then I can ask for nothing more.” She blinks and gives me a smile. “I’ll get the rice started for dinner tonight now.”

  I watch her walk to the white cabinets we’ve repainted more times than I can count and smile. We did the best we could with the hand we were dealt, and I think we did well.

  Chapter Six

  Efia

  I run my hand over my head. Today is the day … I’m going out hatless. I landed the job at the Boudoir Photography studio, Pink, a couple of months prior. I love it. Every day is something new, and it’s been amazing for my confidence. I’ve seen women of all walks of life taking time out to celebrate their personal beauty. From women meeting fitness goals to those who had a big birthday like thirty, forty, and even fifty. Being surrounded by the body-positive crew and hearing their stories has helped me continue to work my way through my own self-esteem issues. It’s rare that I keep my head covered when I’m there. Now I’m taking that courage and stepping into the world with it.

  “You ready?” Edgar asks, walking up behind me.

  “I think so. Did you put the gift in the car?” I ask. Today is Liv and Houston’s gender reveal party.