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He follows me, and I offer him a beer. He turns it down and asks for water. I make him wait near the pool while I get dressed. He resists but agrees to wait. I take all of five minutes to dress. Jeans, a top, and I’m ready to rock.
When I join him again, Eric draws me to him and kisses me in a very proprietary way. His kisses me and tells me he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him, and I like that (although he still has about a thousand things to explain). Between kisses, we step back into the kitchen. Eric sits me on the table and squeezes me to him.
I’m hot ... especially when he lowers his head and bites my breasts through my top. Longing has brought us both to life, and it finally consumes us. Forgetful of where I am and oblivious to my father and the Virgin of Triana who overlooks the kitchen, I unzip his jeans and shove my hands into his briefs to touch him. But I need more.
Eric undoes my jeans, pulls them down, and takes them off me. He pulls off my panties too, and I feel the cold of the table under my butt. I wait, still sitting on the table, while he hurries to put on a condom. I see my tattoo, but he doesn’t, not yet.
He brings me to him. Our breathing rapid, he guides his penis to the threshold of my vagina and pushes it in just a little. Then he grabs me by the ass, and with one sure movement, he slams all the way inside me. I notice he’s biting his lip.
Yes ... yes ... yes ... I needed to feel Eric.
Without a word, he picks me up so we’re both at the same height, and he leans me up against the fridge. I kiss him ... He kisses me back with a certain desperation as his deep, hard strokes make me want to scream. My skin burns, my sex throbs, and I gasp and come in his arms. I’m happy now, and I don’t want to think about anything else while he’s taking me.
After several powerful lunges that make me feel like I’m going to shatter, Eric leans back and grunts. He lets his head fall on my shoulder, and for a few minutes, we both stay like that.
“What are you doing here, Eric?”
“I was dying to see you again.”
I close my eyes when I hear that. I love hearing it, but I don’t understand why he didn’t come earlier. He finally kisses me, puts me down, and then we step into the bathroom to clean up. We leave my father’s house between kisses and laughter. He asks if we can go somewhere for a bite to eat.
“Is it yours?” I ask when we reach that spectacular motorcycle he rode in on.
He doesn’t respond, just shrugs and hands me another helmet.
“Are you afraid?”
I put on the helmet.
“Afraid, no. I just really respect these things.”
He grins. Then he climbs on and turns the ignition.
“Better hang on tight. If at any moment you get scared, you tell me, OK?”
I nod and we take off.
I tell him where to go as we ride through the streets of Jerez. We have lunch at Pachuca’s restaurant (she’s a friend of my dad’s). When we arrive and she sees my companion, she winks at me and gives us the best table in the place. Later, as she smooches me and scolds me because I visit so rarely, Eric texts something on his cell. It’s only after the kisses and the scolding that Pachuca lets us see the menu.
“Girl, you should have the salmorejo; today’s is scandalously good.”
I look over at Eric. “Do you like salmorejo?”
“What is it?”
“Look, it’s a kind of gazpacho,” explains Pachuca, “but more concentrated. If you like vegetables, I promise you’ll like Pachuca’s salmorejo.”
“Salmorejo for two!” we say in unison.
When Pachuca leaves us, Eric extends his hands across the table to take mine. We don’t speak. We just enjoy each other.
“Iama dickhead,” he finally says.
“Indeed. You are.”
“I just want you to know, I almost lost my mind when I got that last email.”
I let go of his hands.