Authors: Charity Pineiro
Victor strolled to the living room and sat on the sill of the window that faced 11th Street. He could see a sliver of ocean and some of the neon from a hotel on Ocean Drive. From here they would also be able to see most of the sunset before the sun dipped below the line of skyscrapers that marked downtown Miami.
He set the bottle with the remaining wine and glasses on a bookcase by the window, sat, and leaned against the frame. It was a little more quiet at this time of day. The beach crowd had left. They and the rest of the party crowd had yet to come out to play again.
For now there was only the occasional sound of a passing car and the faint music from one of the restaurants down the street on Ocean Drive. Behind him came a quiet footfall. He raised his head and had to shield his eyes against the glare of the sunset. “Connie?”
“Just me,” she responded and as she approached, her silhouette grew defined, and he could make out her features.
He smiled, held out his hand, and helped her sit on his lap, the large open window giving them a fairly comfortable perch to view the outside world.
Victor reached over, poured the last of the wine into the glasses, and offered it to her. As Connie took it, he slipped his arm behind her, securing her against his side. She settled her slight weight against him.
There was silence between them as they sat and the sunset painted the surface of the ocean with its myriad colors. Occasionally they sipped on the wine and after a few minutes, Connie took a deep breath, and let out a long, husky sigh.
“This is perfect, isn’t it?” she said.
Victor glanced down at her. Her features were in profile, but he could detect the smile on her face and her clear contentment. It warmed him inside that he could provide her that one small gift. “Perfect,” he replied, but his attention was riveted to her expressive face as it was bathed in gold and orange by the sun as it slipped toward the horizon west of the apartment.
“Don’t you wish you could take times like this and bottle them up? Take them out whenever you’re down.”
“Hmm, for sure,” he replied. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He wished he could bottle her up. Keep her close to him for always.
It was only minutes later that the sun slipped behind the Miami skyline to the west, but the sky above remained blood-colored, reflecting the dying rays of the sun. Still they stayed on the sill and sipped more wine until all color was gone from the sky and nighttime dusted the heavens with a sprinkling of stars and a full vanilla-colored moon.
“Beautiful,” she said with a sigh again, put her wineglass down, and turned to face him.
Victor looked into her gaze and smiled. “Definitely beautiful,” he husked.
“No, I’m not,” she protested, her blush so deep that even in the near dark of the night he could see the difference as the color painted her skin.
“Yes, you are beautiful.” Victor chuckled, leaned close and nuzzled her with his nose. “I can imagine you as a little girl,” he said, took hold of a lock of her hair, and twirled it around a finger. “Standing in front of a mirror, playing dress up, or making believe you were a princess.”
Connie took a deep breath. His nearness, the low, intimate tone of his voice was weaving a spell around her, making her want to lean into his strength and believe in the fantasy he created. But it was just that — a fantasy. And a dangerous one. She scooted away from him, turned and braced her back against the opposite frame of the window. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to hold in her emotions as she explained.
“In Cuba,” she began softly, “I dreamed of being free. Of being in America with all my cousins.”
Victor shook his head. “Ah, ever practical Connie.” Looking out over the deep blue of the night sky, he asked, “Just once, didn’t you picture yourself in one of those pretty little party dresses your Miami cousins had? Didn’t you make believe it was on and do a little twirl? Watch in your mind as the ruffles on the skirt danced high in the air?”
His words, surprisingly poetic, brought back a vague memory. One of those memories of wanting and hoping she had long sought to hide away. As a child in Castro’s Cuba, there had been so many of them. As a teenager in a Miami that had been so foreign at first, there had been even more.
“Maybe,” she admitted grudgingly.
He looked at her, reached out, and ran a finger along the line of her jaw. “What else did you wish for, Connie? Back then in Cuba. Here in Miami.”
The path of his finger along her cheek left a trail of warmth. She reached for his hand to move it away, but when her fingers touched his, they twined with his instead, and he brought their joined hands to rest on his knee. Connie looked down and hid her face from him as she answered. “I wanted for
everything
in Cuba.”
“And here?”
“I wanted to be accepted. More than anything.” She snapped her head up, met his gaze. “I wanted to not be a little raft person that would amount to nothing. I wanted to be someone. To be special.”
He reached out with his free hand and cupped her cheek. “And you’ve succeeded.”
Connie leaned into his palm, needing his caress like nothing before. She knew then. The wanting never stopped. “And you, Victor? There must have been things in your life you’ve longed for.”
Victor smiled, a bittersweet kind of smile, surprising her with its wistfulness. “A few months ago, I might have said there was nothing I didn’t have. I had my life and on the outside ….” His voice trailed off and he dropped his hand from her face, running his fingers through his hair as he looked out onto the dark. “It seemed perfect. My career was doing well. I earned more than a decent living. The women I dated were what you would expect. Rich, pampered, and beautiful.”
Connie laughed, squeezing his hand. “Cuban-American-Princesses each and every one, I assume.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Each and everyone a CAP, chosen for their suitability by my matchmaker mother.” He faced her then, his features serious. “Not one of them held a candle to you, Con.”
A blush crept to her face again. “Thanks, Victor, but do go on. What happened to your perfect life?”
He shrugged. “Life happened. Suddenly things weren’t going so smoothly. But to be honest, even before then, it was as if I was only going through the motions of living. I just hadn’t noticed it. I got up at six, jogged, went to either the hospital or the office,” he said, emphasizing the points with his free hand, counting off each thing on a finger. “The day would end and I’d either go out with one of the CAPs, attend something my parents were involved in, or go home and sleep. I’d wake up the next morning and start the same thing all over.”
“Sounds dull as shit,” Connie blurted out, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so —”
“Judgmental?” he interrupted.
“Do you always do that?”
“What?”
“Finish what someone else is saying,” she kidded, repeating what her sister had told her about her first encounter with Victor.
He tugged at her hand playfully and ran his fingers along the edge of the cast. “I’ll get even, trust me. But you were right. One day I realized my life was as boring as it could be. Yolanda’s leaving broke that boring cycle, but it left me in a lurch.”
“And then Carmen showed up.”
He nodded and gave her a warning glance beneath hooded lids. “Whose story is this anyway?”
She demurred. “Go on.”
“From the first time Carmen came into the office, she had me laughing. I hadn’t done that in months. It made me feel good. Then she brought in a patient I normally wouldn’t have seen. I realized how far away I had gotten from what I had originally wanted to do.” He waited for her to interrupt and when she didn’t, he continued. “I wanted to help people. All people, but especially those who couldn’t afford it. You see, you and I are similar in some ways.”
“How?” Connie asked this time.
“You were made to be ashamed of what you were, so you decided to prove people wrong. I was also ashamed of what I was — too rich. I wanted to help those who didn’t have what I did.”
“And have you?” she said carefully, not wanting to challenge.
“Not for a long time. Not until your sister. But I will from now on.”
He said nothing else for awhile, just sat holding her hand. Connie wondered what else he was thinking. Wondered what else he thought was lacking from his life. Gently she asked, “Victor?”
He turned and looked at her, and the heat from his gaze sent her heart skittering in her chest. “Tell me what you still want, Con.”
“For you to call me Connie or Consuelo. Anything besides Con,” she replied shakily.
“Why?” He leaned closer until his knees rested against her side and his arm wrapped around her waist. He loomed next to her, making his very physical presence known.
She copped out. “Because.”
He grinned. “Carmen calls you that.”
“We’re sisters. It’s something between the two of us.”
“And no one else.”
“It’s too —” she began, but he cut her off by placing a finger against her lips.
“Intimate?” he husked. “Do you know what I want, Connie?”
She shook her head and the motion rubbed his finger back and forth across her lips as if in a caress. “No,” she said with what little breath she had left in her body.
“I want you, Connie. I want to wake up next to you. I want to lie down at night and go to sleep beside you.”
“Victor,” she stammered.
“I want to touch you.” He moved his finger, traced the outline of her lips, and her mouth went dry. When she went to wet her lips, her tongue tasted the pad of his finger and its slightly salty taste filled her mouth, making her want to taste more.
“Please, Victor.”
“Please more?” he asked, but didn’t stop to hear her answer. “I want to slip beside you and pull you close and feel every inch of that small beautiful body press into mine.”
He took the hand that now held his in a death grip, eased her fingers from his, and brought them to his mouth. He kissed each one, turned her hand, and pressed a kiss into her palm. “In time, Connie. When you want as much as I do. When you’re certain this is the right thing to do.”
She cradled the curve of his jaw and the sandpaper bristle of his evening beard abraded her palm. “How can you be so sure of yourself? Of what you want?”
Victor took hold of the hand on his face and tenderly grasped her other hand as well. “As a man of science, I analyze, rely on fact and reality to make decisions. But sometimes my intuition tells me something that defies everything that the logical side of me says is true.”
Connie twined her fingers with his and regretted the cast that made total contact impossible. “It happens to me as well.”
“And what do you listen to then, Connie. Reason or intuition?”
She met his gaze directly. “Intuition.”
His grin broadened and he leaned toward her, his lips barely touching hers. His warm intimate breath bathed the side of her face as he whispered, “Intuition tells me it’s right. And that it’s forever, Connie. That it’s for now and for always.”
Connie closed her eyes, knowing deep within her that he was right. Whatever logic might say, from the moment she had seen him something inside had told her something else. When she opened her eyes, his face filled her vision. His eyes, the blue darker than the night sea, were wide with emotion. His lips, a man’s lips. Strong and hard, they split into a sexy grin. There was a slight shadow of beard across his jaw. She wanted to feel that against her. Against her body.
She threw her arms around his neck, careful not to bang him with the cast, and dragged those lips close, tracing their outline with her tongue. Nipping at their full contours with her teeth before he opened his mouth, joined it with hers, drinking of her lips, tasting of the passion she kept buried deep within her.
She moved between his splayed legs and he wrapped his arms around her even tighter, deepening the kiss. He stroked his tongue against hers until she moaned a protest.
“Victor,” she said breathlessly as his mouth left hers, started a trail across her jaw and down to the side of her neck.
“Yes, love,” he replied as he took a quick bite, causing her to shudder in his arms.
“I want … I want to take this slow, Victor.”
He chuckled against her neck. “Slow is always better.” He licked her neck with his tongue and shifted her shirt away to expose the line of her collarbone. He placed a kiss there and she couldn’t contain the groan he tore from her with the suckling of his mouth.
His head popped up then, surprise in every line of his body. “Whenever you say stop, I will.”
But she didn’t want to stop. Heat rushed to Connie’s face and she covered it with her hands and sighed. “I’m not sure I want you to stop.”
Victor could barely hear the words, muffled as they were by her hands and part of the cast. Gently, he pried her hands away from her face, laid them on his chest. “I want to touch you. But only when you’re ready.”
She nodded and he could see the battle waging within her. Then she took his hand and pulled him toward the sofa. She urged him to sit and then slipped onto his lap. For a second she hesitated, then reached down and took hold of his hand as it rested on her thigh. She cradled it in hers for a moment, as if growing familiar with its weight and feel, then brought it to her breast, cupped it against her as she closed her eyes. “Please, Victor. I’m ready.”
His breath caught somewhere in the middle of his chest from the surprise and he moaned as her nipple crested against his palm. He looked down. Her smaller hand held his, looking so fragile against the broad width of the back of his hand. As delicate as this tenuous moment between them. He shifted his hand, as did she, grasping his wrist as he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, caressed it, and brought it to an even tighter peak. He worried the nipple with his fingers and her uneven soughing breath came against his face. Her hand shook on his wrist.
“Tell me if you like it,” he said.
“I do,” she murmured and shuddered, and he shifted her so that she was straddling his lap, his legs between hers, her thighs nearly around his waist.