I’m pounding almonds in the kitchen to make almendra cookies. Mari Carmen bustles about preparing chorizo for dinner, while Tavo’s aunt Valeria deveins shrimp. Tavo and his brothers kick a soccer ball outside. His mom is nowhere to be seen, although I have my suspicions she’s with that mystery man, since I saw him another time in the hall when I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

Tavo snuck into my room once or twice, but there are too many people living in the main house, so we go to his place. I have no idea how many times his mom’s late night visitor has come.

The October air has a chill in it. A sharpness. One that’s softened when I’m with Tavo and warmed by cooking. I’m loving all the instruction I’m receiving in Spanish cuisine.

As Mari Carmen slices the sausage, she talks about her counseling with the priest before she and Jorge get married. Since she’s speaking in Spanish, I don’t understand all of it, but I understand more than I did a month ago. I know she’s saying that the priest made her talk out her issues with Jorge.

And as she talks about Jorge, I think about Shane. It’s been two weeks since we’ve communicated, and it feels so … unresolved. I’ve stopped checking my laptop days ago, because nothing comes and I’m tired of waiting for him.

I hope we can still be friends. That said, I’m sure he’s not the love of my life.

Is Tavo?

Is this trip just a wild-oat-sowing time of breaking free? Or is he the all-encompassing love of my life?

My conscious mind tells me that I’m too young to know, this is first love, and first love doesn’t last. That my postpubescent hormones are acting up, and I’ve merely latched onto the first attractive person I found when I had the barest hint of freedom.

My subconscious tells me that Tavo and I are bonded like nothing I’ve ever felt before. We’ve created something bigger than the two of us combined, and it can’t be split apart without serious damage. I’m in a dreamlike state of shock that I’m allowed to touch him. That he really wants me the way I want him. The way we fit together so tightly. The way we explore each other.

But there are consequences. I haven’t told my parents anything, since Shane needs to know first. But he won’t respond, so they still think I’m coming home to a wedding, which makes me want to hurl.

I have no one else to talk to. Maggie’s been out of cell phone service on a backpacking trip, so I have to wait until she gets back to civilization.

So right now, I just think of how much I enjoy the scratchy feel of Tavo’s face on my cheek while he kisses and cuddles me. Count how many times he makes goosebumps rise on my arm. Bask in the feeling that I’m safe and secure with him, always.

I look at the almond cookie recipe. It’s in Spanish, but I’m getting better at working with recipes. At least I know the words for flour, sugar, and eggs. Using the metric measuring cup, I make the dough. I shape the cookies, place them on a tray, and slide them in the oven. Then I go over and help Valeria with the shrimp.

Thank God Sonia’s not here. Tavo’s mom still invites her for dinner every Sunday. I can’t really tell what’s going on with her. She barely says a word to Tavo and mostly talks to Guillermo. Somehow, though, her ignoring Tavo is worse than her coming on to him. I just don’t trust her. I don’t know why. She gives me a bad feeling. If I were the violent type, I’d come up with a few choice fantasies for getting her out of here, because whenever she’s around, Tavo’s jumpier.

The timer goes off for the cookies. I pull the tray out of the oven and call the boys. “¡Tavo! ¡Antonio! ¡Guillermo! ¿Quiereis café y galletas?”

Whenever I talk in Spanish, I get a warm feeling of pride in my chest. More than a month here, and I’ve learned so much.

I wish I were staying longer.

The boys—really, men—run in, panting hard from playing soccer.

Antonio sniffs at the kitchen. “¿Qué tienes para nosotros? Huele muy bien.”

Gesturing at the cookies cooling on the rack with the rich scent filling the air, I say, “Galletas de almendra. Son calientes.”

They all wash their hands, grab glasses of water, and sit at the table. I gaze at them, these handsome young Spanish men. They’re pretty freaking adorable. Guillermo with his new haircut. Antonio’s hair is longer, too. And Tavo?

Happy sigh.

Placing a plate of warm cookies in the middle of the table, I hand them each napkins and pour cups of coffee. Antonio and Guillermo scarf down the cookies like they’ve never eaten a single thing ever in their lives. Mari Carmen picks up one carefully and takes a delicate bite.

“Kim, ¡Es delicioso!”

I don’t really care if it’s Spanish overstatement or not. I’m going to let in the compliment. “Gracias,” I say, and take one for myself.

Tavo polishes off three, and then his coffee-colored eyes lock on mine.

It’s really difficult being in the same room with him and his family because he always turns me on wildly, and I have to hide it. Thankfully, I have an easier time than him.

We spend way too much time stealing kisses and sneaking glances and passing notes. I wish it were different, but I’m accepting it for now.

“¿Cómo qué tal hablando el español ahora, Kim?” Guillermo asks. “Como pasa un mes, ¿es más fácil hoy? ¿Entiendes más? Me pareces que te has mejorada.”

“Un poco.” I pause. “No. Todavía es dificíl hablar, pero entiendo mucho más que antes.”

And I have gotten better at Spanish. Between classes and practicing with Tavo and just being steeped in the atmosphere, I’ve learned more in the weeks here than I did in all four years of Spanish class.

When he’s finished, Tavo rises and brushes off his hands. “These were really wonderful,” he says. I know he wants to say more, but he glances around and doesn’t. “Guillermo, go bring cookies to our grandparents.”

“De acuerdo.” Guillermo and Antonio each kiss my cheek and take off with the plate of cookies.

I’m pretty sure that’s the last I’ll ever see of it.

“I’m so glad they liked my baking!”

Tavo gives me his shy smile. “You have a gift, Kim.”

“And that’s one of the things you wanted to learn here,” says Mari Carmen.

“Yes! Exactly!”

Mari Carmen takes the dishes off the table and sets them in the sink. “What else did you want to learn?”

“Besides everything and anything?” I joke.

“The guitar,” Tavo says. “It’s time for you to learn.”

I clap my hands. “Yay!” Wiping off my hands and removing my apron, I walk with him back to his casita. I resist the urge to hold Tavo’s hand. I know he wants to hold mine, too. But we don’t need any questions since as far as everyone else knows, I’m engaged and he’s promised.

When we get to his place, he goes inside, picks up his guitar, and we sit outside on the stoop. He pauses for a moment, then hands me the guitar. “First you need to learn how to hold it.”

I can tell this means something to him. Gingerly, I arrange the guitar so my arm drapes over it on the one side, and I hold the neck with my other hand.

“Muy bien.”

My hands tighten around it while he sits next to me and arranges my fingers on the strings. My hands are all wrong. The first time I strum, a dog howls in the distance, and not because it’s happy.

He arranges my fingers yet again, and this time it sounds … well, I can’t say it sounds good, but it’s less bad.

“This is harder than it looks. You make it look easy.”

His easy smile reassures me. “I have years of practice. Let’s try it again.”

I press my fingers hard on the strings and strum again. It sounds like a bad banjo. He and I look at each other and laugh. “Is it supposed to sound like that?”

Tavo stands and rearranges himself sitting behind me, his legs on either side, and putting his hands over mine. “Let’s try it this way.” Moving my fingers, he gently presses his skilled ones over mine, shaping them into the chord. “Now,” he murmurs, and sucks on my neck.

I gasp, bending my head back toward the sky, because it feels so good, and bring my other hand down the strings, making a semi-decent sound. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

I keep playing the same chord, getting excited that it sounds right. “Pretty soon, I’ll be playing along with you,” I say. “We’ll have to get me my own guitar.”

He traces his finger along my jaw. “I’d love that.”

We sit, and I pick at the guitar for a long time, so pleased with the one chord and two notes I learn, and loving the way he feels around me. I can’t play a song, but at least I didn’t break any glass with the off-notes. The days are getting shorter, and the sun goes down earlier.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” I say, leaning back into him. “We should go inside.”

“Sometimes I think it’s better in the dark.” His voice is distant, as if he's talking to himself.

I turn around. “Yes, it is.” A sexy thrill runs through my body.

Looking to make sure the coast is clear, he kisses me. “I like it when you’re with me, whether it’s in the sun or the shadow. But I’m most interested in those parts of you that you don’t show anyone else.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that you come alive when I’m inside you. Your body is so beautifully expressive. Your eyes show me your soul. I want to draw you. But I’d never share all these secret parts of you that you never showed anyone. It’s a great gift to me.”

I nod. “Yeah, I shoved those parts in the corner. Didn’t pay any attention to them. Just tried to make the sunny parts of me good enough for everyone else. But I really had to make the dark parts acceptable to me. And to you.”

He takes the guitar from me. “I think that sometimes we get scared our darkness is too much for the other person to handle, so we don’t show it to anyone. But maybe it’s too much for us to handle.”

“You mean, what we’re most scared about in ourselves is what we’re deathly afraid of showing someone else?”

He nods.

“Is there something you’re scared about yourself that you don’t want to share with me?” I blurt out. “Forget I asked that.”

“It’s okay. Yes. There are lots of things I don’t want you to know about.” He gives me an indecent grin. “An example? Some of the things I want to do to you would absolutely ruin you.”

A shiver runs through my body. “Really?”

“Yes.” His lips are on my ear, and he bathes me with his warm breath and tongue. “I want every part of you to know my cock. I want to tell you the filthiest things. I want you to submit to me.”

“Do you want me to try it?” As I say those words, a tingle rises through my stomach. Because this means trusting this man to do whatever he wants to do to me. Sexually.

But there’s nothing sexual that he could do to me that I wouldn’t like. I trust him. Simple.

His finger slips down my neck. “I don’t know how you came to me. Maybe it was a benevolent Dios sending you to me. But you are mine, and we are meant to be together. I swear it.”

I nod. I can’t say anything else, because I know he’s right.

“After dinner, then,” he whispers. And it’s a promise.

At dinner, I sit across from him rather than next to him, because we’re still trying not to give away what’s happening between us. I’m pretty sure we’re failing miserably, but I’d rather it not be too obvious. I’m counting on everyone distracting each other with the lively conversations on all sides.

It’s hard to overlook the sexy beast across from me, though, because I light up just being in his presence. He draws me to him.

Somehow we make it through dinner, wash dishes, and put them away. When everyone has scattered to watch television or sleep, I walk with Tavo hand-in-hand back to his casita.

When we get to the door, he pauses. “Wait here.” After he steps inside, I hear the striking of a match. And then his low voice. “Kim. Come in.” He extends a hand. Behind his burning eyes, I see his shadows, but I don’t fear them.

I’m welcome in the dark.

He’s left the lights off and filled the room with candlelight. It smells like incense, and it’s arousing, like the incense is an aphrodisiac, although I don’t need one when I’m around Tavo. He closes the door and locks it.

I stand in the foyer, uncertain, but he takes charge immediately. Standing behind me, pulling a tendril of my hair behind my ear, he asks, “Do you want to try this, amor?”

“I do,” I whisper. “Do I need a safe word?”

“Do you want one?”

I run through possible words in my head. Cheeseburger. Novocaine. Palm tree. Frigorífico. “Can I just say stop?”

His smile is reassuring. “Yes. And I immediately will.”

Messing with his phone for a moment, he turns it to music and then plugs it into speakers. Deeply sexy music—Spanish guitar with a beat plays quietly. The perfect representation of the thumping intensity of Spain.

Gesturing to the speaker, I say, “I love this.” I’m still whispering.

His voice drips with honey. “Good.” He walks in front of me, and his dark eyes meet mine. “Ready?”

I nod.

“Strip. Slowly. But keep your panties on.” Tavo walks over to a chair in front of me and sits.

My shoulders shiver. Goosebumps erupt, but it’s not a cold room. I’m just freaking excited.

And nervous. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never tried to seduce a man. I’ve just been kind of … meh. But now? I want to drive him wild. I’m not totally sure how to do it, but I’ll follow his directions and strip, very slowly.

Tavo’s sprawled on an armchair, watching me. The look on his face is one of absolute heat. He wants me, and he knows he’s going to have me. Tavo’s so magnetic he doesn’t have to say anything to seduce me. He can do it from across the room.

My hair falls in my face as I raise my hands—fumbling a bit—to unbutton my blouse. I’m cognizant of my breathing, which seems louder than usual, although the music covers some of it. Even though I’m concentrating on my shirt, I’m aware of his eyes. I bite my lip and take my time. Undoing one. Button. At. A. Time.

When I’ve unbuttoned the last button at the bottom, I let my shirt fall from my shoulders, down my arms, to the floor, and I wait.

“Now your pants,” he growls, with a raise of one finger on the armrest.

With a flick, I unbutton my jeans and unzip them. My hands slide down my sides to ease my pants over my hips and push them down my legs, and I step out of them.

When I reach behind me to take off my bra, I catch his eye and reconsider. Perhaps if he’s in control of this play, I should let him tell me what to do. Seemingly pleased that I’m doing this right, he nods. I unhook it, so the straps loosen and drop down my shoulders and my arms, to the floor.

While I like the new feeling of being in charge of my own self and my own body, being told what to do by Tavo is really fucking hot, especially when it’s my choice. I stand before him wearing sheer pale pink cheeky panties and nothing else. My nipples tighten and perk up, and my belly moves along with my inhalation and exhalation. I’m not used to my naked body being on display. My thighs are bigger than I’d like, and I have cellulite on my ass.

He doesn’t seem to care.

“Stand there. Let me look at you.”

For a very long time he doesn’t move, he just gazes at me with a supremely satisfied look on his face. “You are so lovely, Kim, it’s almost indescribable. You are any man’s ideal. Supple, strong, soft, and so, so sexy.”

Shifting on my feet, keeping myself from crossing my arms over my chest, I stare him down, but there’s a smile behind my eyes.

I’m loving this.

Tavo does a little twirly motion with his finger. “Giro de vuelta,” he orders. “Despacio. Despacito.”

A flame crackles on the wick of a candle.

I turn slowly, as slowly as I can. My hair falls in my face, and I peer at him through it. I can’t help but mutter, “This is weirdly erotic, Tavo.”

“Yes, it’s erotic, but it’s not weird. You have to understand what I see when I look at you. I see the poetic sway of your ass. The pretty little dimple under your butt cheek. The musical way your hips flare from your waist. So beautiful. I see your succulent thighs. All of you, Kim. All of you.”

Nodding, I don’t say anything. I just let the compliments seep into me. Allowing him—anyone—to compliment and enjoy the way I look is another new and decadent feeling.

“Enough with my pleasure. Now it’s time for yours.”

A noise leaves my mouth. I think it’s the sound of my innocence joyfully fleeing, never to return.

With a languid movement, he stands, strides to a drawer, and removes two pairs of handcuffs with soft lining.

“You said no to these in class.” He shows me the key. “Are they acceptable now?”

My pulse roars, and I nod. He sets the key on a dresser.

“Give me your wrists.”

Palms pointed up, I hold out my hands, and he slaps the end of a set of handcuffs on my right wrist, letting it click into place and the other end dangle down. It’s not too tight and not too loose, and it makes another thrill run through me.

“Okay?” He’s looking in my eyes, searching, making sure I’m not freaking out.

I’m so into this, he has no idea. It’s risky and naughty and fun. “Okay,” I whisper.

Taking the other pair of handcuffs, he repeats the action, securing an end to my left wrist and letting the other side of that one hang down as well. Then he guides me with the pressure of his hand on my lower back to the waist-high table at the foot of his bed. He’s placed a pillow on it—I hadn’t noticed it before—and he points to it. “Bend over this, amor.”

Now my pulse and my stomach are really going. I know I said I trust him, and I do, but what is this? What’s he going to do?

“You can always stop,” he whispers.

“It’s okay.” I’m not trembling, am I?

“Then come here. Bend over this.”

I lean down and press my breasts to the pillow, my ass bent over and sticking out for him, one-half of each set of handcuffs hanging off me. He takes one wrist and connects the other end of the handcuff to the iron bed and repeats on the other side. My arms are now spread wide. Grabbing other pillows from his bed, he wedges them under me so that I’m supported and comfortable except that my ass is exposed.

As he walks by, he gives it a swat. I yip.

“Silencio.”

My head nods assent into the pillow. I turn my head to the side so I can see him in the candlelight.

Standing behind me a moment, he pauses, and then slaps my other butt cheek, hard enough to sting. It feels good. Strange that a little slap would feel good, but it’s in an area where I have padding, and it doesn’t hurt. It just makes me feel. As he keeps doing it, I find myself loving the sound, too. It’s amazing. Sexual. Sensual. He slaps the low part of my cheek, where there’s no fabric. The sound of skin slapping on skin on the most intimate part of me. Even while he’s still fully dressed.

Wetness seeps between my legs. I strain against the handcuffs, but that makes me claustrophobic, so I relax and let him do this. I let out a breath.

I’m loving the attention.

Kneeling behind me, he puts his strong hands on my ankles, and then slowly brings them up my legs until he reaches my pink undies.

“Let’s take these off.” With a finger on either side, he peels them off my body. I step out of them, and he gets a good look. “You’re bare.”

“I showered. I shaved.”

“Joder. I need to taste you. I will. But first.” He stands, pads away, and returns. While he’s gone, I’m wondering what he’s getting. It could be anything from a whip to whipped cream. “Your skin is burning, Kim. Are you okay?”

“I’m just fucking turned on, Tavo. I need you to move.”

He chuckles. “I think you like the pause. I think that’s what your dream on the white fur means.”

I don’t answer.

“Suck on this.” He holds an ice cube against my lips, and I take it in my mouth. The cold feels refreshing, and I drool a little, the water dripping down my jaw. The warm room with candles and Tavo made me decompress, but this wakes me up immediately.

He pulls the ice cube out of my mouth and draws it along my jaw. Then traces it in a winding pattern down my back until he gets to my ass. And he presses it between my ass cheeks and down into my pussy.

I don’t think I’ve ever used the word pussy before.

The cold only makes me hotter. The wet only makes me wetter. The waiting only makes my desire come alive.

I’ve never been more vulnerable than I am right now with him touching every part of me and me unable to move—but I’ve never felt more wanted. It’s messing with my head, being restrained like this for his viewing, and I think that’s the point—this is what ceding control looks like when it’s done voluntarily. I want him to read my body, which is what he wants as well. It’s the ultimate exercise in trust, but I realize he’s trusting me, too. By showing me what he does behind closed doors, he’s showing me his shadow side, the part he’d never admit in Bar Marueco surrounded by his friends. It’s something he’d never discuss with anyone else close to him, but it’s part of him nonetheless.

And I fall for him even more. It’s not logical, but I adore that he’s doing this. That he’s showing me himself. That he’s restraining me and spanking me.

He smacks my butt, and I feel and hear his hand hitting my ass again. Slap. I gasp. Again. Slap. It stings. The other side. Crack. I wince and recover. The pain is minor, and the pleasure so much more. Each time, my flesh reverberates like the waves that form when a stone’s thrown in a pond. I’m wiggling. I’m now testing the limits. Straining on the handcuffs. I’d succumbed to them before, but now I’m pulling on them.

Do I want out?

His breath meets my back and what was once an ice cube is now his tongue.

Hell no, I don’t want out. I want in. I want him in me.

Tavo caresses my back, exploring, licking and kissing his way down my body. Taking his time. I feel he’s watching me and paying attention to the flickers of my body, because when I like something, he stays.

“While dinner was wonderful, you taste better,” he murmurs.

I’ve never felt more attended to. His fingers are light but have an intentional pressure. He’s feeling his way down my body, around, getting to know it better. As he makes his way down my spine and across my back with his mouth, he spreads my cheeks and licks the part of me that no one ever has.

And fuck, it feels good. Intimate. Amazing. He swirls his tongue around and I writhe. I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or not, but I’m loving it. His tongue moves down until he’s kneeling with his face between my thighs, licking my newly bare bits. The tension builds. The feeling gets better and better.

I lean into his face. I’m getting into it. I’m feeling the swelling between my legs, the blood rushing, the sensations heightening—

And he pulls away.