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The moment we walk inside the bar, I immediately relax. The atmosphere is laid-back. A few couples are dancing around the small space with low lighting. Empty tables are sprinkled about,and a few patrons are sitting and chatting at the main bar. It’s definitely low-key and nothing like the boisterous place I was expecting.
“What do you want to drink, wife?” I ask Camila as we walk toward the bar.
“Let’s see if they have any fruity cocktails,” she answers.
I smile at my girl. I doubt they do, but it won’t hurt to ask. “Do you have any sweet cocktails?”
He gives me a knowing smile as he looks Camila up and down.
“Hey,” I growl. “Eyes off my wife.”
He has the decency to look away. “We don’t have anything sweet, but I can make a Margarita and rim the glass with sugar instead of salt,” he says, and Camila nods, excitedly.
“Good, give me a shot of tequila as well,” I add.
He gets busy preparing our drinks. Though his back is to us, I stare him down to make sure he doesn’t try to sneak more looks at my wife.
Camila moves in front of me, and my hands immediately wrap around her waist.
“Do you really have to be such a grumpy caveman all the time?” she teases.
I raise an eyebrow, confused.
“He was just looking at me. He didn’t proposition me, and he wasn’t disrespectful,” she explains, nodding at the bartender.
“But you’re mine, and if anyone dares to even look at you and think they can remotely flirt, they’re sorely mistaken.” I practically growl against her lips.
I’ve never been a possessive man, but the way I want to protect Camila from anything or anyone surely makes me look like a crazy arsehole.
“They can look all they want, husband. I’m yours and only yours,” Camila says against my lips.
I bite her plump bottom lip, and she hisses in pain. I nibble the spot to soften the sting.
“Besides, I only get this wet for you, Vicente,” my wife dares to whisper against my lips.
Fuck.
She knows exactly what to say.
I push back to take her in—her eyes are hooded, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, and the smile on her face is sexy as fuck. Camila looks downright edible when she’s this turned on for me.
I press my leg between her thighs, and she starts swaying to the rhythm of the music. My hands go to her arse, and Camila moans against my ear. I don’t think we’re going to last long in this bar.
The bartender clears his throat, breaking the moment.
“Do you want to open a tab?” he asks.
Instead of answering, I slap a wad of cash on the bar. “Keep them coming.”
I grab Camila’s hand and lead us to a dark, secluded table in the corner of the bar.
We spend the night kissing, dancing, and losing ourselves in each other. The bartender does an excellent job keeping our drinks fresh and bringing us water to stay hydrated.
I also got my first taste of something Camila callspicada. It’s a platter full of fried food: small potatoes, plantains, two or three different types of sausages, and pork skin. It’s the perfect appetizer to eat with our drinks, but nothing as tempting as the woman in my arms.
I lean in, my voice low and full of promise. “I can’t wait to peel this dress off and make you come with my tongue, then with my cock, wife.”
“Let’s go,” Camila says, grabbing my hand, and we make a beeline for the exit.