Then he climaxed with a harsh bellow, the force of his release slicking her feminine walls.Once he withdrew, she turned and wrapped her arms around him.The smug, sated smile on his face quickened her already skittering pulse.
“Three times now, you didn’t use a condom,” she chastised, though no heat laced her words.
“Princess, I got news for you—I don’t have any condoms, and I’m not buying any.”
She wasn’t surprised, and despite everything, she didn’t care.“Let’s go to bed.Come morning, we’ll have to sleep in.I’m sorry about all this, that I woke you.”
“No apologies.You needed that spanking as much as I wanted to give it.”He tasted her lips with a gentle pluck of his.“Besides, I’d bury myself in your tight pussy at any hour of the night or day.”
Heat stirred in her middle, his dirty words a powerful aphrodisiac.Mother Mary preserve her for whatever he came up with next.
Chapter Seven
After lunch the followingday, Enrique shifted the wide strap of his canvas bag from one shoulder to the other and led Lourdes down a narrow, barely visible path in the woods.His stomach twisted, the words he had to say burning a hole in his gut.With every breath he dragged in through his nose, the aroma of pine sap and rich soil stirred up vague memories he longed to touch.Leaves crunched under his dirt-stained boots, each crackle pushing him closer to the truth.
“It’s warmer out here than I expected.”Lourdes rolled up her shirtsleeves and veered off the path to stroke a thick woody vine that dangled from the canopy.“I’ve lived my whole life in the city.The few times I ever vacationed in the mountains, I never wanted to leave.”
“That’s how I feel about all this.”He swept his arm toward the forest.The trees stretched as far as he could see with the burnished golds and rusty reds of October sweeping through the vegetation, masking the few spots of green not yet faded with the season.Birds trilled a peaceful melody as two squirrels played chase across a fallen, moss-covered log and up into the leafy branches of a white-wood poplar.The ancient land was his sanctuary, his home away from home.His only avenue of freedom from the weight of responsibility.
Back on the path, Lourdes walked ahead of him.The sunlight filtering through the canopy of towering sentinels illuminated the chestnut strands in her dark, flowing hair and cast shifting patterns of light and shadow over the forest floor.As she marveled at the beauty, touching this tree and that, she glided across the carpet of pine needles, crinkly brown leaves, and patches of damp moss like a fairy princess come to life.
As if their love really did come from a storybook.
Cristo.What was with this poetic nonsense?His life was dark enough for any Grimm tale; his obsession with Lourdes more dangerous than breathing in hellfire.
He straightened his loose button-down over his T-shirt and forced his words through his constricting throat.“Some of my earliest memories are playing in these woods.The specific memories are fuzzy, but I distinctly remember the feel of this place.The wild, untamed land.The fresh scent.My excitement at being here and never wanting to go.”He stalled and flattened his hand on the roughened bark of an old oak, one that he had passed dozens of times in his youth, though he couldn’t quite recall the actual event.
“The picture on the mantel,” he continued, letting his hand drop as Lourdes returned to his side, “my mother took it the last time we were here.It was in April for my tenth birthday.My father and I fished.Mamá foraged for flowers and wild herbs.At night, Papá would tell stories about the Rarámuri tribe, who live in this area, and how they were the most amazing endurance runners.They could win the Olympic gold if they participated in the modern world.He was a runner himself and followed track sports religiously.”
“It sounds like you had a wonderful time.”Tension creased her eyes.She reached for him, then turned and plucked a few golden leaves from a branch.“What happened next?”
Enrique blew out a harsh breath and stepped back in case she lost her restraint and tried to touch him again.“At the end of the weekend, I begged to stay as I always did, but it wasn’t possible.Both my parents worked, and I had school.They were adamant that I not miss a single day.A week later, they were murdered at a restaurant during their monthly date night.A madman shot up the place, taking half a dozen lives and then his own.”
She gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth.
He closed his eyes, piecing the scattered fragments of his memory back together.“It’s all a blur.A neighbor was babysitting me when we saw the shoot-out on the news.I stayed with her for a few days until a social worker came to take me to an orphanage.I ran away, too scared to trust anyone.Too shocked and angry.Had I gone, who knows where I would be now.”He could’ve finished school, though more likely, he would’ve had to quit to earn a living, all the while wasting away in a boring existence—the complete antithesis of what and who he was now.Even though he’d learned how to survive on the street and earned an education through unconventional means, the fact that he only had a fifth-grade education on his record still grated.
