One with You (Crossfire 5)

Eva separated from me as we descended to the lobby, reaching behind her to grab the handrail and showing off her sexy legs. It was a full-body flirt, with her eyes playing the game, too. They sparkled at me as she licked her bottom lip. “You look super sexy.”

I glanced down at the white V-neck T-shirt and khakis I’d changed into before leaving work.

“You usually wear dark colors,” she pointed out.

“Too hot for that where we’re going.”

“You’re too hot.” She lifted one foot off the elevator floor and slowly rubbed her thighs together.

Amused and feeling the slow heat of building arousal, I settled back and enjoyed the show.

Once we’d reached the lobby, I gestured her out in front of me, catching up to her in two strides so I could place my hand at the small of her back.

She tossed me a smile over her shoulder. “There’s going to be traffic.”

“Damn.” Traffic—and the time it would add to the commute—was what I was counting on.

“You sound sooo disappointed,” she teased, before smiling at the doorman, who opened the door for her.

Raúl waited outside by the limo. In moments, we were on our way, merging into the sea of cars battling their way across Manhattan.

Eva took the bench seat that spanned the length of the vehicle, while I settled on the seat in the back. “Want a drink?” she asked, looking at the bar across from her.

“Do you?”

“I’m not sure.” Her lips pursed. “I wanted one earlier.”

I waited for her to make up her mind, my gaze sliding over her. She was my joy, the light in my world. I would do anything to keep her carefree and content for the rest of her life. It weighed on me to think I might have to hurt her. She’d been through so much already.

If we found out that Monica was not who Eva thought she was at all, how would I break that news? My wife had been crushed when she realized her mother was tracking her via her mobile phone, her watch, and a compact mirror in her purse. A false identity was a much worse betrayal.

And what did that fake identity hide?

“I can’t find a dress,” she said abruptly, her lush mouth turned down in a frown.

It took me a beat to snap out of my thoughts and register what she was saying. “For the wedding?”

She nodded, looking so despondent I wanted to pull her close and press kisses all over her beautiful face.

“Want me to help, angel?”

“You can’t. The groom isn’t supposed to see the wedding dress before the big day.” Her eyes widened with shock and horror. “You saw the dress I wore when we got married the first time!”

I had. I’d picked it out. “It was only a dress when I saw it,” I soothed. “It wasn’t a wedding dress until you wore it.”

“Oh.” The smile came back. She peeled off her sandals and joined me, lying down with her head in my lap, her hair a silvery gold fan across my thighs.

Running my fingers through the thick silk strands, I took a deep breath, relishing the smell of her perfume.

“What are you going to wear?” she asked, her eyes closing.

“Are you picturing something in particular?”

Her mouth curved. Her answer came out slow and dreamy. “A tux. You’re always gorgeous. But in a tuxedo, you’re something else.”

I brushed my fingertips over her lips. There had been times when I hated my face, hated that my looks attracted intense sexual interest at a time when being lusted after made my skin crawl. Eventually, I got used to the attention, but not until Eva did I begin to value who I was for my own sake.

She took so much pleasure in looking at me. Clothed. Unclothed. In the shower. Wrapped in a towel. On top of her. Underneath her. About the only time her eyes weren’t on me was when she was asleep. Which was when I often took the most pleasure in looking at her, lusciously naked, wearing nothing but the jewelry I’d given her.

“A tux it is, then.”

Her eyes opened, revealing the soft gray I adored. “But it’s a beach wedding.”

“I’ll make it work.”

“Yes, I bet you can.”

Turning her head, she nuzzled her nose against my cock. The heat of her breath drifted through the khakis to my sensitive skin. I hardened for her.

I played with her hair. “What do you want, angel?”

“This.” She ran her fingers along the length of my erection.

“How do you want it?”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “In my mouth,” she breathed, already freeing the button of my waistband.

My eyes closed for a moment on a deep inhalation. The sound of my zipper lowering, the release of pressure as she carefully freed my cock …

I steeled myself for the wet heat of her mouth, but it was pointless. I jerked hard when she pulled me in with easy suction, hunger and need tingling down my spine. I knew her moods and how they translated to sex. She planned to take her time, to enjoy me and drive me out of my mind.

“Eva.” I groaned as she stroked me with gentle fingers, her mouth working softly. She tongued the head of my dick with slow, savoring licks.

Opening my eyes, I looked down at her. The sight of her, so perfectly presentable, her focus entirely on the feel of my cock in her mouth was both searingly erotic and achingly tender.

“God, that’s good,” I said hoarsely, cupping the back of her head in one hand. “Take it deeper … yes, like that …”

My head fell back as my thighs tensed, straining with the need to thrust. I fought the urge, letting her take what she wanted.

“I won’t finish like this,” I warned her, knowing that was her goal.

She hummed a protest and fisted me, pumping my cock in her soft, firm grip. Challenging me to resist her.

“I’ll be riding your perfect cunt, Eva. My cum is going to be deep inside you while you spend the weekend away from me.”

My eyes closed as I imagined her in Ibiza, a city famous for its wild nightlife, dancing with her friends in a crush of bodies. Men would covet her, dream of fucking her. All the while she’d be marked by me in the most primitive way possible. Possessed, even though I wasn’t there.

I felt her moan vibrate along the length of my dick.

She pulled back, her lips already red and plump. “That’s not fair,” she pouted.

I caught her wrist and lifted her hand to my chest, pressing it against my pounding heart. “You’ll be right here, angel. Always.”

“Mano, you can’t be working right now,” Manuel complained, dropping into the lounger beside me. “You’re missing the view.”

I glanced up from my phone, the ocean breeze rifling through my hair. We’d remained in Barra today, directly across Avenida Lúcio Costa from the hotel we were staying in. Recreio Beach was more laid-back than Copacabana, less touristy and crowded. All along the shore, women in bikinis frolicked in the surf, breasts bouncing as they jumped waves, nearly-bare asses glistening with tanning oil. On the white sand in front of them, Arash and Arnoldo continued tossing a Frisbee back and forth. I’d bowed out when I felt my phone buzz in the pocket of my board shorts.

I looked at Manuel, finding him flushed and glistening with sweat. He’d disappeared about an hour ago and it was obvious why, even without knowing him as well as I did.

“My view is better.” I turned my phone to show him the selfie Eva had just sent me. She was lying out on the beach, too, stretched across a lounger not much different from the one I occupied. Her bikini was white, her skin already lightly tanned. A thin chain hooked around her neck, nestled between her plump tits, then wrapped around her trim waist. Sunglasses shielded her eyes and bright red gloss stained the lips she’d puckered in a kiss.

Wish you were here … she’d texted.

So did I. I was counting down the several hours remaining until we’d get on the plane home. Saturday had been enjoyable enough, a blur of alcohol and music, but Sunday was a day too long.

Manuel whistled. “Hot damn.”

I grinned, as that about summed up my thoughts on my wife’s photo.

“Don’t you worry that things will change after you say I do?” he asked, leaning back with his hands tucked behind his head. “Wives don’t look like that. They don’t send selfies like that.”