He had time and money and a hotel room to relax in before Joa took them to the charming ranch house that was beginning to be more and more like home with every visit. His own place in Brazil was strange and awkward now, and his place in Texas seemed sterile. Joa’s family gave him joy, and the animals and bizarre improvements made him laugh out loud. The “she shed” Joa’s mama had put in so she had a quiet place to watch soap operas was the latest addition, apparently, and Balta couldn’t wait to see it.
He even had a room in Joa’s house—a place of his own with a huge recliner and a TV for when he needed his space, his own thoughts. The recliner went so far back it was like his inversion table, almost. That was in Brazil with his ex-wife.
The hotel came into view, and Balta nodded in approval. Yes, this would be classy enough to have all the things they wanted.
“Park in valet,namorado.”
“Sim, Balta.” Such a good man, his Joa.
They coasted to a stop, and the valet opened his door for him. There was a whirlwind of activity, and a few tips later they were settled in their room with their bags, a room service menu and the TV on, tuned to some police forensics show Joa loved.
Joa was undone like he’d just ridden—shirt tails out, belt unbuckled and loose, lounging on the bed beside him, one stockinged foot dangling off the edge. He had propped up pillows for Balta, then dug through the bags for Balta’s TENS unit, the tiny electric shocks now bubbling against Balta’s lower back.
“You want a steak, Balta? Or there’s pasta, a bunch of sammiches.”
“What kind of pasta?” He could say he wanted cheesecake or pizza and five minutes later be tempted by something else. He was very tired of sandwiches and the salad bar.
“Chicken and broccoli with white sauce. Spaghetti with red. Something with chicken and olives and capers.”
“Oh, that sounds tasty. The last one. With garlic bread?” Balta asked, hoping for something buttery and yummy.
“Sim. Salad?” Joa grabbed the phone and ordered the pasta and a steak, salads, cheesecakes, coffees and waters, fried cheese and an order of French fries. Someone was as empty as could be. Joa would groan and pat his belly after sucking down half the food, and Balta would wake at six when Joa slipped out to go to the fitness room…
Sweaty Joa. He reached out, snagging Joa’s hand and drawing him close.
Joa rolled close, one hand on his bare belly, fingers curling through the heavy mat of hair there. “Baltazar.”
“Hello,doce. Kiss me?” He rarely took such a passive role, but it felt very nice to lie there and let Joa pamper him.
“Of course.” He loved the way Joa’s dark eyes moved over his face, exploring him as if he was a lovely surprise, still.
Balta licked his lips, waiting, and Joa finally lowered down, kissing him so gently, like a feather brushing his mouth. Balta groaned, sliding a hand behind Joa’s head to hold him there because he needed a firmer, deeper contact.
Joa laughed for him, then settled to give him what he asked for, exploring his lips, his mouth as if his needy lover never wanted anything else.
He stroked Joa’s neck, then his back so he could pull up Joa’s shirt and get to the smooth, tanned skin beneath. He traced the lines of a scar that marred Joa’s ribs, proof that his love was strong. Fierce.
Joa chuckled and wiggled against him. “Tickles, Balta.”
“Oh? You mean here?” He dug in with his fingers, knowing Joa would shout and struggle and not mean any of it for a moment.
“Balta!” The laughter soothed more than the electricity, the ease in Joa’s face sorely missed, now that he could see it.
They all feared an injury such as Sam Bell’s. They all crossed themselves and said ‘please God, not me’. Getting away from that would be better.
It had to be. Balta was too tired to have it be otherwise.
Joa collapsed against him, drawing a grunt, but Balta had to laugh at the goofy bliss on Joa’s face.
“You are something else,Doce.”
“Something good, I hope.”
“Very good. I couldn’t make it without you.” Balta tried to say what was in his heart, because he knew he didn’t show it sometimes. Often.
“Of course you could, Balta. You’re…Baltazar Silva. Of course you could.”
“Mmm.” Balta grinned and stroked Joa’s back. The shirt had come off and all that golden skin beckoned him. They had no time for anything strenuous before the food came, but he had much to admire.
