No shame.
Just a man letting me see all the parts of him. Eager to please and love me more than anyone ever has.
“Say it again,” he pleads.
“I love you, Efren Nevarez.”
“I love you too, Kitten.”
Chapter 39
Efren
“Ay! Not the stache, Kitten!”
“This is why I told you to do it yourself,” Alma fires back, dropping the razor into the sink.
I grab her by the waist before she can leave and pull her back into me. There’s still shaving cream on my face when I kiss her cheek.
“Efren! Eww.” She moves again, and I pull her back.
“¿Qué te pasa, Almita?”
“Estás loco.” she laughs.
“Por ti.”
She smiles the way she always does when I remind her that I am crazy but for her. Turning the water on, she rinses the razor then lifts it back to my face.
“Lift your chin,” she murmurs.
Her touch is soft, her hand steady as she glides the razor against my skin. Each stroke scrapes softly, the sound impossibly intimate in the quiet room. I watch her focused eyes. Her shaving me like this feels sacred. Each stroke is like a quiet spell that beckons me to her will.
“Hold still.” Her thumb tilts my face toward her.
I hold still. I’d stop breathing if she asked. She leanscloser, her breath warm against my cheek as she clears the last bit of stubble under my jaw. The world narrows to the warm weight of her knee brushing mine, her palm anchoring my chin, the subtle pull of the razor.
When she finally wipes my face clean with the towel, her fingers linger at my jawline. She examines her work with a tiny, satisfied smile.
“I’ve been feeling really emotional lately,” she says, looking up at me. I notice her eyes glistening with moisture.
“What is it? Are you regretting our decision to leave?” My voice comes out softer than I intended. She’s been quiet since sunrise, and I don’t think I can take her deciding at the last minute to stay here.
“No. Of course not. It’s not that.” She shakes her head.
It’s our last morning in Houston. After today, Mireya and Adrian will be married, and Alma and I will finally be free. She turns away, fussing with her hair in the mirror, pretending it needs fixing before ours eyes catch in the reflection. Her shoulders lift, then fall with a steadying breath.
“I wanted to tell you something last night,” she says.
“Tell me now.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
A soft laugh escapes me. “Darling… you literally had your friend peg me last night while you watched. Andnowyou’re embarrassed?”
Her laugh breaks through—quiet, warm, a little shaky.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not that.” She hesitates. “It’s just… my fantasies were already unhinged, and now I think my hormones might actually destroy me.”
