40
The next morning, I’m alone again when I wake up. Quickly, images from the previous night play like a slide show in my mind, and I flush. I’m also undeniably aroused.
Eric’s world is seducing me, and I like it more and more each time. Suddenly, the door pops open. It’s Eric with a breakfast tray.
“Good morning, little girl.”
That greeting, which is so my father, makes me smile. I sit up. Eric puts down the tray, gives me a sweet peck, and sits by my side.
“I’ve brought you orange juice, cold cuts, toast, plum cake, and two cafés con leche. How’s that for a good breakfast?”
“The best,” I say.
For about ten minutes, we eat and laugh, and when we finish off the tray, he puts it on the floor and sits back down next to me. He is incredibly handsome in a white T-shirt and camo shorts.
“How are you doing?” he asks as he takes my face in his hands.
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
His brow arches.
“If you’re checking in because of yesterday, relax, I’m good. I had a good time, and I did it because I wanted to.”
Eric nods. I can see from his expression that he needed to hear that.
“I loved experiencing that with you. It was incredible,” he says.
“For me, it was strange. Different. But also curious. And I saw how much you liked it when Andrés and Frida touched me.”
“Mmm . . . I get off watching your face, sweet thing! I love how you open your mouth and then twist and arch . . . Drives me loco.”
We both laugh.
“Listen, about the party tonight . . . if you don’t want to go . . .”
“Oh, I want to go.”
“Sure?”
“Totally.”
My decision seems to have caught him off guard.
“You don’t want to go?”
“No, it’s not that . . .”
“Is there another woman I should worry about?”
Eric laughs. “Not a one. I’ve just played with them and . . .”
“Have you played with a lot of them?”
“Yes.”
That’s unsettling.
“Played a lot? A lot a lot?”
“A lot a lot. I’ve known some of these women about ten years, sweetness. But you have nothing to worry about. I, on the other hand, have much to worry about. You’ll be new, and I’m sure a lot of men will be watching you and hoping you’ll choose them.”
“You think?”
Eric nods, and his eyes darken. He suddenly seems wary, and that alarms me. Is he jealous?
“Yes, I think so. But don’t forget, love, that . . .”
“We’ll only do it with who I want to do it. Or am I wrong about that?”
“No,” he says as he pushes a lock of hair away from my face.
I swallow some of my coffee.
“Are you going to offer me to another man?”
My question surprises him again. As usual, he thinks about it and finally responds with his own question. “Would you like me to?”
“Yes . . . I was excited to feel I belonged to you. It really turned me on last night.”
He laughs aloud and gives me a kiss on the lips.
“Miss Flores, are you talking about having a master? Didn’t you say you didn’t like S and M?”
“I don’t,” I stress. “But I like feeling like I belong to you.”
Eric nods. “I won’t forget that when I offer you tonight,” he says, his eyes drilling into me.
It’s clear he’s only going to do what I want. I lie back down on the bed and beckon him with my finger.
“You’re the expert. I’m in your hands.”
Eric grins and kisses me again.
“Love . . . you surprise me more each day.”
“I like it when you call me ‘love.’ Have you noticed the way you affect me when you use such sweet words?”
“You’re starting to scare me.”
That makes me laugh.
“I scare you?”
Eric starts tickling me.
“Yes, Miss Flores . . . I think you’re going to be dangerous.”
After dinner, Frida and Andrés go to bed to get some rest. Eric suggests we do the same, but I’d rather read for a while in the shade. Eric accompanies me, and we lie in the comfy hammocks near the pool, sharing music on my iPod while we read.
But the truth is, I hardly read. And though I enjoy Eric’s company, my mind can’t help but go over all the things that might happen later. Having him here by my side, calm and relaxed as he reads the paper, is sublime. Suddenly, a song comes on my iPod, and Eric starts to sing along. I’m utterly floored.
He’s singing along to Malú’s “Black and White.” He knows all the words!
Stunned, I don’t dare move a muscle. I go on pretending I’m reading my book. Listening to Eric sing that song—which always reminds me of him—gives me goose bumps. When the song ends, I realize he’s just looking at me.
“I still remember the day I first heard you sing that.”
“Yes, and you were so sweet—you told me how terrible my singing was, remember? So, how is it that you know that song? That day, you asked me for the name of the song and the singer.”
“I looked it up.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because listening to that song reminds me of you.”
I’m speechless. Eric keeps reading, and I keep pretending to be reading. I’m pretty emotional because, without words, sweet or otherwise, he’s told me, “I love you.”