By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.
NOVEMBER 28, 2011
genre: multicultural contemporary romance
“Are you crazy?” She gasped.
Damned near close, Paolo thought but said, “Perfectly sane.”
Why did she have to be so exasperating? He’d tried to soften the circumstances around their arrangement, but she’d thrown everything in his face.
Paolo wanted to release her from their bargain. He’d thought about doing just that over a dozen times during the past week and every time he talked himself out of it by putting the situation into perspective. He wanted to hurt Robbie Gutierrez for causing João’s death. Even to his own ears, his excuse was getting weaker and weaker by the day. Fact was Yvonne Floyd had become more than a way to even a score, she’d become an obsession.
He’d meant to only seduce her, have a few pictures taken by Malfi, who would then leak them to the press. His game plan should have been simple as a wall pass. Of course, like any play the execution turned out to be damn near impossible because he hadn’t anticipated on the strength of the defense or taken into account his own weaknesses. And above all he was consistently breaking the cardinal rule: never take your eye off the goal.
Paolo frowned. Competitive, even in his sleep, the idea of being out played by a woman stumped him. How did this happen and so fast? They’d always been as interchangeable as cleat socks. And that was saying a lot! Extremely superstitious he wore a new pair every single game for luck.
Yvonne Floyd and his involvement with her were complicated at best. Paolo found it harder and harder to remain detached. Every single emotion he’d never associated with a woman came into play: anxiety, aggression, jealousy and even neediness.
Even now when she sat so rigid and distant, he suffered this insatiable need to wring some kind of emotion from her until she lay raw and vulnerable beneath him. No time like the present.
Snatching up one of the table chairs, Paolo plopped down in front of her. He grabbed hold of her booted feet and pulled her toward him, while hiking up her knee-length skirt.
She’d come dressed like a librarian or a school teacher in a camel-colored sweater set, matching skirt, dark brown boots and a high ponytail. Paolo almost nutted on himself. She smelled like a combination of crisp wool, brand new leather and vanilla scented lotion.
Sure she’d chosen the outfit to appear unappealing, Paolo smiled. Her plan had backfired. Big time. She was his biggest fantasy come to life. With a certified I.Q. of one hundred and forty-seven, he’d spent just as much time in the reference section as he did on the pitch.
“Since you’ve already eaten I hope you don’t mind if I do.” Paulo reached inside her skirt and latched his thumbs around the band of her panties. He pulled them down her thighs and over her booted feet. They were black and silky to the touch! Rocking forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and inhaled. Paolo’s eyes fluttered to half mast. Her pussy smelled better than he’d imagined!
“What are you d-doing?” She asked, glaring down at him between her legs. If it was remotely possible, Paolo thought she couldn’t look more beautiful if she tried even with that tiny frown marring her brow.
“I’m smelling your panties. What does it look like?”
“Umm, why?” She’d said, as if talking to an imbecile.
Paolo didn’t care. He’d play the part of an idiot savant if it afforded him a pair of her panties. Affording himself one last sniff, Paolo stuffed them in the pocket of his jeans.
“Because I can,” he replied, bunching her skirt over her knees.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Paolo tried to ignore her trembling thighs by zeroing in on the sweet pie between her thighs, but he failed. He glanced up and caught her gaze. Her brown eyes contained a hint of vulnerability, and something else he’d seen many times over the years. Lust. She desired him, but was fighting it. Admiring her tenacity, he decided to entertain her, at least for the moment.
“Wondering if I’m hard as a rock right now?”
“No!” She gasped.
“Want to know how long I plan on making love to you?”
Thoroughly exasperated, she sighed and poked out her bottom lip. Paolo resisted the urge to take it in his mouth and suck on it until she begged him to kiss her.
“You want to know why I have these beautiful Japanese features, even though I’m a third generation Brazilian.”
He must have caught her off guard because she frowned. “Actually that wasn’t my question, but since you brought up the subject.”
Now it was Paolo’s turn to be caught off guard. Every single woman he’d met had wondered about his heritage. Usually when people imagined Brazilians, they didn’t picture them with Asian features.
“Brazil has the second largest Japanese population outside of Japan. My great, great grandfather migrated in 1912 in hopes of becoming rich. He ended up working for less to nothing in a coffee plantation. He survived, married my grandmother and the rest is history or me.”
Paolo watched her eyes widen. And for some reason he experienced a feeling of affinity.
“So what was your real question?”
“It sounds sort of corny now.”
“Nothing is corny when it comes from your lips.” She rolled her eyes and Paolo chuckled. He should have known by now she didn’t buy his bullshit. It was one of the things he liked about her. He squeezed her ankle as he said, “go ahead and ask.”
She stared at him for the several seconds, then lifted her shoulders and sighed. “I was wondering what you like to do for fun.”
How random! “I like making love to a beautiful woman.” Her brown eyes narrowed and for some reason Paolo knew if he didn’t come clean, things might not go so well later. “I like playing football…and I love working the earth. The garden. I designed and planted all of it by hand.”
She turned her head and gazed out at the five or so acres behind his estate. During her silence, time stood still. Paolo suddenly realized he actually anticipated her feedback to his hard work. So much so, he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.
“It’s beautiful,” she gushed.
Paolo couldn’t prevent the smile forming on his lips even if he tried. “Do you have any interests or hobbies?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Cooking and traveling, you know the usual, but also doodling, especially when I’m stressed out.”
Paolo frowned. Doodling? Was that some kind of fetish? Dio, he hoped so! “What’s doodling?”
“Doodling is like sketching or drawing. I’ve always wanted to learn how to paint. What about you? Anything of interest you’ve wanted to learn for some time now?”
Paolo answered automatically, “you.”
Tipping her head back, she laughed. Infectious and slightly husky, her amusement had to be the sexiest thing he’d heard since…well, Paolo couldn’t quite remember. Her laughter made him think of rumpled sheets and half-smoked cigarettes.
Turned on, Paolo scooted forward. He ran his nose against the inside of her leg and she trembled. Good, his insides weren’t any better.
“Damn, you smell so sweet. I bet you taste even better.” Paolo heard the slight inhalation as if she was about to protest. Before she could utter a word, he dove in and tongued the lips of her…
Interested in more interracial romance, visit my bookshelf for my entire booklist!
Last Updated (Monday, 21 November 2011 18:24)