Alex
Emma is not shy. I’ve seen shy.
Emma is broken.
Every time she starts to open up and show me the bits and pieces of her I am so desperate to know, something clicks behind those gorgeous brown eyes, and she shuts back down. I’ve seen this more than I care to admit. Women like Emma are why I decided to add self-defense classes to my roster. I love helping them find their confidence again. There’s no greater feeling than witnessing the butterfly emerge from the cocoon and knowing you had a hand in the transformation. I’ve helped dozens of them over the past ten years, but Emma is different. It’s not fear or self-doubt keeping her where she is. It’s something else, something I haven’t been able to put my finger on yet. But I will.
I love when I catch her flirting with me. I love watching her reaction when I take the bait. If she expects me to sit back and let her fly under the radar, she’s dead wrong. I like seeing her squirm, seeing the heat spread to her cheeks when she doesn’t quite know how to reply. There’s a confident, sexy woman in there aching to get out, and I’m not going to stop until I find her.
This is definitely not downtown Miami. It’s alive with culture. The colorful art splattered along the walls and displayed up and down the streets brings life to the neighborhood. Emma takes my hand and guides me from our paid parking spot to the heartbeat of culture. Settled within the brick paved sidewalk are black framed “stars” reminiscent of those you’d find in Hollywood. Greeting us as soon as we turn the corner is the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. Made of some sort of metal and displayed as art, the orange rooster is “clothed” in red, white, and blue as he welcomes visitors. The more we walk, the more I realize this must be a thing here, colorful, oversized roosters perched outside storefronts and along sidewalks. Live music spills from inside a nearby restaurant out onto the street.
I wonder how many times she’s been here. I’ve lived in Miami over a year and have never heard of this place. To be fair, though, I don’t venture much further than my own little bubble of work, gym, and home. Was she raised here? Is this the city she calls home? It can’t be. She isn’t like the rest of the people here. She’s not closed off and distant. There are so many things I want to learn about this mystery woman. Like, if I take her inside that restaurant, will she watch me with that sexy smile of hers and sway her hips with mine as we dance?
Emma stops walking as we approach our apparent destination, breaking my train of thought. Thank fuck for Rosetta Stone. Otherwise, I’d never be able to read any of the signs or menus. I’ve even managed to pick up on a few of the conversations as we walk by. Chase suggested I learn the language a few months back, insisting it will help improve my client relationships. I haven’t used it until now, but I’m starting to see his point.
She stands just beside the entrance and turns to face me, her already radiant features illuminated with a smile. She’s excited about this moment, proud. Her eyes grow wide and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as if she’s been keeping the secret of life, and she can’t hold it in a second longer. She squeezes my hand and pops up on her tiptoes. She could feed me horseradish and rotten eggs right now and it wouldn’t put a damper on my sheer delight in seeing her so happy.
“If this isn’t one of the best things you’ve ever put in your mouth, I’ll let you feed me,” she averts her eyes, looking off into the distance then down at the ground while she thinks, “anything you want,” she says with a shrug.
Oh, love, I’m not sure that’s a deal you want to make. I’ve got the perfect thing for that perfect mouth. She must have caught the glimmer of mischief in my eye because she swallows hard and sinks back down onto her heels. There are so many directions I could go with this conversation, but I choose to be a gentleman and let her off the hook. “Anything worth this much excitement is bound to be delicious.”
The smile returns then she gives my hand a tug, pulling me inside. There are very few tables inside, and all of them are occupied. The woman behind the counter smiles as we walk in but watches us with careful consideration as we wait in line. Emma leans over the counter when it’s finally our turn, never letting go of my hand. The gesture makes me feel needed, wanted- something I haven’t felt in a long time. After she orders our meal, she leads me to the other end of the counter where we wait to be served.
“I hope you don’t mind that I got it to go,” she says, leaning her ass against the counter behind her and peering up at me with eager eyes.
“Ready to get rid of me so soon?” I tease.
Her face falls, along with the hand that’s been religiously holding mine since we stepped onto the sidewalk. I’d give anything for her to stay out of her own head for longer than a few minutes at a time. I’m determined this is a battle I will win. I reach forward, inviting her to take it again, then take a step toward her. The bustle of the crowd around us comes to a halt. The clanking and banging in the kitchen behind her goes completely silent. No one exists other than Emma in this moment. I take another step, and she takes my hand. I scoot her feet apart with mine, inching myself in between her legs. We’re standing so close I can feel her chest heave against mine every time she takes a breath. I take her other hand and bring it to my lips, praying she doesn’t think I’m out of line. She’s just begun to open up to me, to show me glimpses of who she really is. I don’t want her to feel rushed or pushed to do anything she’s not comfortable with. But I need to taste her, even if it’s like this- with the back of her hand against my mouth. The gesture is brief, just long enough to breathe her in. I keep it that way on purpose.
“I was only kidding, sweetheart. Like it or not, I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her.
A short, round man with a thick mustache interrupts us with the loud rustle of a tiny paper bag.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” she whispers, and I’m not sure if she’s talking about the food or something else. Either way, I’m as ready as I’ve ever been. Whatever monsters she has hiding under her bed, she is no longer fighting them alone.
Emma guides us down the street to a park where old timers rest at small tables under gazebos. They proudly display their vintage hats while they play dominos with a cigar hanging from one corner of their mouth. She bounces off to the side of one of the covered gaming areas and plops down on a green, metal park bench.
“Now, this, is Cuban food,” she boasts, unable to hide her grin as she unfolds the brown paper bag and pulls out its contents. She hands me a sandwich no bigger than a McDonald’s hamburger, only it’s stacked high and overflowing with tiny shoestring potatoes and a spicy red sauce.
“This is a mess,” I counter.
She pulls out a handful of white napkins from the bottom of the bag and wiggles her eyebrows.
“Good thing I’ve got that covered,” she proudly declares, the cheerful smile once again gracing her face. “Can’t have you ruining your favorite shirt, now can we?” she teases.
“I happen to like pink.” I feign offense, but I can tell by her tone she’s joking.
“Oh, me too,” she says with playful enthusiasm as she pulls the white wax paper away from her sandwich, “I have one just like it.”
She peeks up at me beneath long lashes as she brings the burger to her mouth. I peel back the rest of the paper from my sandwich and do the same. “On three?” I ask, trying to ease her mind about eating in front of me. It’s obvious you have to open wide and dig right in. There’s no way around it. It’s gonna be messy, and utterly seductive, on her end at least. My mind immediately replays all the ridiculously erotic Hardee’s commercials it’s seen in the past. I figure as a woman, sitting less than a foot away from a hot-blooded male, and knowing what’s most likely going through his mind, that can’t be a comfortable situation.
“On three,” she agrees.
“One,” I watch as the sparkle of anticipation lights up her eyes. She’s hoping she’s right about the food. She’s praying she’s done the right thing in bringing me here, to this little corner of the city that I’ve never been to. She’s excited about showing me something new, about being in charge. I’d bet my left nut she doesn’t have a say in much of what goes on in her daily routine. She doesn’t have the luxury of simple things like picking where she eats. The very thought of it almost makes me lose my appetite. She hasn’t said any of this, but it’s all right there in that sparkle. I don’t care if this is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten, she’ll never know. Because this moment isn’t about me or my tastes. This is about letting her be… her.
“Two,” I continue, bringing the sandwich right against my lips. She does the same. “Three.”
I never take my eyes off her as she opens her mouth wide and sinks her teeth into the burger, her own eyes falling shut as the flavor envelopes her senses. She moans and I nearly drop my sandwich. The combination of the medley of spice and paprika blended with the delicious sound of her sweet voice moaning its praises, has me coming undone. She was right, though. This is fucking fantastic. A few of the fried potatoes fall to the ground, quickly retrieved by resident birds.
“Well, what do you think?” Emma asks once she’s done chewing and wiping a corner of her mouth.
I wash my first bite down with a sip of the best chocolate milkshake I’ve ever had. “What do you call this thing, anyway?”
“This,” she replies, holding her sandwich in the air, “Is a frita.”
“Well, love, this has got to be the best fucking frita outside of Havana.”
An accomplished grin spreads across her face. “So, you like it?”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
She bites her bottom lip and leans back against the bench, as if she can finally relax now that she knows I’m pleased. We finish our meal in silence, watching the people around us and relaxing in the moment. Every now and again, she picks off a few fried strings and tosses them to the birds. She crumples up the wax paper and tosses it in the paper bag then shifts her body to face me. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now.
Her bright brown eyes grow dark as she studies my face. She reaches on her thigh for a napkin.
“You, um...” She holds the tip of the napkin in the air inches from my mouth. “Do you mind if I…”
I’m not objecting to anything she wants to do to me. But, I’m assuming I have something on my face, so I just shake my head. “No.”
She carefully brings her hand to my lips, her eyes locked with mine. My heart pounds against my ribs. I hold my breath as she wipes the corner of my mouth. Her movements are so calculated and delicate. Don’t think, love. Just do. I can tell by the way her eyes fall to my lips, the throbbing pulse in her neck, and the rise and fall of her breasts as her breath comes shorter and faster that she’s curious. It takes everything in me not to grab her by the wrist and pull her on my lap and kiss her like nobody’s watching.
“There,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, as she puts the napkin in the paper bag.
“Thanks.” I’m still debating on the kissing thing.
Emma didn’t give me a chance to dwell on seducing her for long. As soon as she took the last sip of her strawberry shake, she was up and leading me to one of the terra cotta tile roofed gazebos. The scent of Cuban cigars fills the air as we walk past tables of old timers playing dominos. About halfway through, one of them stops us and asks her name.
He pats the top of his thigh, “Have a seat, young lady. I could use a bit of luck,” he flirts.
Emma laughs and pats his shoulder as she takes a look at the board then the dominos displayed before him. “You’re gonna need more than luck,” she teases with a chuckle. I could get used to this side of her. It reminds me of the woman I first met at the coffee shop who cracked jokes about my wife and the pool guy.
The older man laughs with her. “I like a gal with spunk,” he says with a wink.
One of the other gentleman across from him pulls his cigar from his mouth and focuses his attention on Emma. “You know what women and noodles have in common?” he asks, his eyes laughing as Emma throws her head back and rolls her eyes.”Don’t tell me you’ve heard this one,” he adds, disappointed.
She shakes her head and laughs, encouraging him to continue with his joke.
“They both wiggle when you eat ‘em.”
His buddies laugh as if this is the first time they’ve heard it, even though I’m sure it’s a daily routine. Emma is obviously familiar with their banter because she doesn’t even blush at the inappropriate content.
“Oh you’re good,” she flatters, “But do you know which one of these birds gives the best head?” She’s playing along. The quiet woman who blushes when I touch her is standing in front of me sharing dirty jokes with a table full of strangers. She’s an enigma, and I am completely mesmerized by her. The old men appear to be just as enraptured by her as I am right now. She’s got everyone at the table’s attention. When no one answers, she pipes back in. “A swallow,” she says, without flinching.
“You better hold tight onto this one,” the original jokester tells me, shifting his eyes from me back to Emma. “Someone’s gonna steal her.”
This time she blushes. Of all the comments, this is the one that embarrasses her.
Trust me, sir. I plan on it. I’m just waiting for the right time.