6. Carmen

CHAPTER 6

CARMEN

Breaking and entering.

Trespassing.

Those were just a few of the laws I was about to break.

I didn’t know why, but I was going to do it. I’d left work early with one sole goal in mind, and I’d done it during my lunchtime. I couldn’t have done it at any other time. The man walked me home. And now we had somehow started walking together in the mornings, too.

There was no way he would know what I was up to if I left early. I’d return to the library before my shift was supposed to be over and act like I had been there the whole day. He wouldn’t know. He hadn’t figured out a thing the day before, and I had dared to go to the athletics building, where his office was.

It had been a week since he’d showed up with breakfast. A week of walking together, feeling like we started and ended our days together with the late-night chats that continued in our backyards. Neither of us suggesting one go over to the others place. Has he friend-zoned me? Am I his new buddy? If I was, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I didn’t want to be a buddy. I wanted to be more than that. I just didn’t know how to say it.

Liar, a vice perked up. You know the words; you just don’t have the guts, my blunt inner voice chided, and she wasn’t wrong.

Andres seemed like he was an open book.

Sharing all sorts of things. Good and bad.

Even his rocky relationship with his parents before they passed. He’d been an arrogant twenty-something living the high life of a division one football player, hopeful about going pro. Cocky arrogance and youth had made him a pain in the ass to deal with. His words. Then later, when his parents had died and he hadn’t been drafted to the NFL, he had to scramble and come up with a way to help raise his kid sister. Arrogance had turned into bitterness that had slowly eaten away at him.

He’d tried to be there for Betty, who sounded like an awesome young woman, but no matter what he did, he found a way to fuck things up. Again, his words. He didn’t shy away from telling me about all his screw-ups. Then, the year before, he’d really screwed up by trying to teach her a lesson about life when really, it was her who had taught him one.

One he hadn’t realized she had learned along with him. Life isn’t easy . Andres shared where bitterness and anger had filled him with rage and negativity, it’d done something different for her. She always tried to help others, looking for a way to make a difference because she knew just how short life was. He admired Betty and took complete responsibility for the way things turned out. Regretted and hoped he was working to change their relationship.

He knew there was no way to fix the stuff with his parents. It was too late. But he was working hard to connect with his sister, to be the family she deserved even if sometimes he felt like it was too late. Especially when she had a man of her own and with him came a big family.

Where many would have judged him and written him off as a walking, breathing red flag, I thought it was commendable. It was hard to admit when you messed up. But then to try and right that wrong? As a man? I’d met men who had done less and would never admit their errors. Or who had done worse.

The curiosity and pull toward Andres had grown. A lot.

I kept thinking about him. Wondering and wanting to know more. My thoughts had grown darker, too. When I slipped into bed after our late-night chats, my body felt hot. My skin pulled tight as the sound of his voice filled my head. And when my hands slipped under the sheets and between my legs, Andres was all I could think about and see when my eyes shut, and I found my way over the edge of bliss over and over.

Not only did I want to feel those big, rough calloused hands up and down my body, I wanted to be the keeper of all his secrets. Know every dark corner of him and let him do the same with me.

Then yesterday, right before lunch, I’d come up with an idea. One I couldn’t ignore. I left during lunch and walked around the building where his office was just to get a glimpse of him in his natural habitat. It was only fair since he had seen where I worked. Or at least that’s what I talked myself into believing.

Was I stalking him? Yes. No. Yes! I didn’t recognize myself. I’d sworn off men and dating. I’d been great at pushing possible interested ones away. But I was overcome with obsession. Throwing caution along with common sense out the window.

At lunch, I’d headed home and went straight to the corner of the garage where I kept the ladder my dad had given me as a housewarming present. One my mom had chastised him about giving me because when would I ever need a ladder? Seems like this time, Dad knew best.

I leaned it carefully between two cacti, climbed over to the other side, and jumped, landing perfectly. It’s stupid. Really damn stupid.

“You could lose your job over this,” I muttered under my breath. Stitch barked from my backyard, probably telling me it was a terrible idea. I didn’t know what I had expected I would find in Andres’ backyard. “Well, at least it’s not dead bodies or shallow graves,” I said to myself.

Artificial grass. An oversized folding chair, the kind you took camping or to your cousin’s kid’s soccer game, folded up neatly against the fence. It was where he sat and talked to me.

I tried to remember a lull in the conversation that first night where maybe he would have had time to grab it and set it up but couldn’t think of any. Not when the conversation had flowed easily. Even the silent moments were easy.

Too easy. I shook my head. Is that even a thing? Too easy? Getting along with a man too well. A man who makes me hot and ache for things I didn’t think I’d ever want from a man again? A man I couldn’t stop thinking about? A man I was falling in love with?

I walked the perimeter of his yard while my heart pounded against my ribcage. Part of me was terrified I’d turn a corner and find something. Maybe the man himself standing right there waiting and knowing. He always seemed to know where I was. Or maybe a lover. A girlfriend or wife I’d somehow missed. My fingers skimmed the fence line. Had he done this? Touched the fence like I did? Had his fingers been where mine were? Why was the thought so tantalizing to me? I shook it away and focused on the space.

It was tidy and manicured nicely.

A tree off to the side the old owners had put in. A dwarf palm tree in a huge ceramic planter painted the school’s signature blue shade off to the other. That’s when it hit me, and I froze. What if he has some of those Ring cameras everyone seems to love? I squinted and looked at the walls of the house and the covered porch line. It didn’t seem like he had anything like that. When I made my way closer to the patio area, I noticed small differences in the yard compared to mine. He had a big outdoor ceiling fan, the blades shaped like huge tropical leaves. I smiled. I liked that. Instead of the French doors I had that looked out to my yard, he had a slider door, one that by the looks of it was unlocked.

Don’t do it! a voice perked up. The temptation to enter his place and snoop prickled at every one of my nerve endings. No! Do not go in there! It’s one thing to go into his yard; it’s another to invade his space! Go back the other way and… Shit! How the hell was I going to climb back over? I’d hopped down from the other side.

“Crap,” I mumbled and chewed on my bottom lip, and I came up with a couple of plans.

My options were limited. It was obvious I hadn’t thought this out. Which, that alone was unlike me. I could set his folded chair to the edge and hope it was strong enough to hold my weight and high enough for me to be able to lunge myself back up and over. But all I could see was me landing on my cactus like some kind of Looney Tunes character, my body filled with a bunch of stickers. If that happened, how would I explain it?

I glanced to the side of the yard. There would be a gate. One that would hopefully open easily. But what if I walked out from the side and someone saw me? My gaze skated right back to the slider door. It was unlocked. I could leave through the front door. Leaving from there would be less suspicious, right? Less burglar-ish?

No one would suspect a woman leaving a man like Andres’ home of breaking and entering. His neighbors would expect it. He probably had a slew of them coming and going for all I knew. We know that’s a lie, the cynical voice that was usually on my side chimed in. I had no idea how I knew that, but I did. For some reason, I trusted my gut when it came to Andres Montoya. For however hot and sexy he was, I was positive he wasn’t talking to anyone. I knew that like I knew the sun would rise tomorrow.

My gaze bounced from the side gate to the slider door. “Just go in and walk out the front door.” Who cares if a professor or two or their spouses see you?

“You’re a woman. A healthy red-blooded woman who could have easily been seduced by the recruiter slash new athletics whatever,” I muttered under my breath. It wasn’t a lie. I’d been seduced and was somehow semi-stalking him now.

Too bad whatever interest he had in me seemed to have disappeared the moment he realized I had issues. That’s not true either , that voice perked up again. If he wasn’t interested, would he have talked with you all night this whole week? Or bring you breakfast on your workdays? That voice was annoying.

I slowly opened the slider door and stepped inside. The air was cool, like he had left his AC running, and I appreciated it. I’d been sweating outside. I froze for a moment. What if he has a dog? He never mentioned having a pet, but he never mentioned not having one either. I braced, waiting for an animal to attack, but nothing happened.

Nothing but silence filled the small but tidy home that had pretty much the same floorplan as my own. My eyes were pinned on the front door. All I had to do was walk right out, leave the door locked behind me.

Or… that voice perked up. Look around. See what you can find out and then walk out. Two birds, one stone?

“That would make an interesting defense if I get tossed in jail! I was already in his house, officer…” I rolled my eyes at myself but didn’t move toward the front door like I should have.

Instead, my feet had a mind of their own, and I walked around his kitchen. Checked out his pantry and fridge. Nothing seemed to be too weird or crazy. Other than the fact the man had like three tubs of different-flavored protein drinks and didn’t seem to have anything that had more than five grams of sugar in it. Who didn’t have ice cream waiting for them in the freezer? A couple of dishes sat dirty in his sink. All very normal.

“Of course, it’s normal,” I muttered to myself. “I’m the one who’s not normal.”

I made my way down the hall and peeked into the bathroom. You’re going through a man’s space, a man who has been nothing but nice to you! I kept talking to myself. His bathroom smelled like whatever body wash he used. Like pine mixed with man and spice. His towel hung on a hook, and again, nothing looked out of the ordinary. He wasn’t your typical guy, though, and I grinned as I took in how many different products he kept on the vanity and in the actual shower.

“If we lived together, I think I’d have less toiletries than him.” I giggled. Oddly enough, the idea of living with him, sharing space, didn’t scare me. Not like it would have just a week or two ago.

I picked up a bottle of moisturizer off the countertop and brought it to my nose. With a dreamy sigh after a long inhale, I set it down. The thing smelled so good. Everything did. I wasn’t sure why it surprised me. He always smelled good. No matter how hot or long the day was, every time he walked me home, a light breeze picked up his scent and made my mouth water. I lifted the designer cologne to my nose and moaned softly. All the other products I’d smelled had hinted at his scent, but the cologne was it. It’s him. Without thinking, I spritzed it on my wrist then set the bottle down.

I moved through his place and what looked like a spare room. A bed made with a frame on a nightstand. A guestroom, I assumed. Probably a space he’d set up in case his sister wanted to visit. It was sweet if you thought about it. The little things he’d thought about I was almost positive she had no clue about because knowing him, he wouldn’t share. I walked out leaving the door slightly ajar as I’d found it and stared at the other door down the hall.

His room. The door was shut. My hand hovered over the doorknob. I’d already crossed lines of inappropriate behavior, but if I walked into his bedroom, there would be no explaining it or even trying to justify it. I’d have gone into the deep end and probably right into calling me a stalker.

My teeth bit down on my lower lip.

Stalker. That’s what I was. Leaving work when I knew he wouldn’t be home to look through his place. It might not have been my intent at the beginning but… who was I kidding? Of course I’d planned on coming in here. I might have not realized it when I’d left work, but what was I going to find out in his backyard? Subconsciously, I had to know what I had been about to do.

What would it be like for him to watch me? I wondered. To creep around my empty room and touch my things? What would it be like if he needed to know more about me like I felt the need to know about him? A simple curiosity that grew out of control.

Like a small brushfire that turned wild, I had a feeling this thing inside me, this unsatiable hunger, would only grow, not caring about the consequences or the fact it was burning down the world around it. My hand tightened around the knob. The thoughts were supposed to talk me out of wanting to go inside.

Why didn’t it help? Why did the thought of his eyes on me when I didn’t know he was around, going through my things, make me want to press my thighs together? My hand turned around the knob, and when I looked inside, I knew I’d made a choice I could never turn back from.

Wet heat pooled between my thighs as a need grew with every step I took inside his bedroom. I shut the door behind me and looked around. On bated breath, I took in his space. It was tidy, even with his bed unmade. I breathed in, and my eyes fluttered shut. His scent, so potent and real in his room, filled my lungs in a way I knew it was engraved into my memory.

I could picture him here.

Almost feel him.

My skin tightened around my body, and my hand moved up to my neck as I tried but failed to steady my breath. He’d stand behind me. Andres’ large muscular body would hover over mine because of our height difference. But he wouldn’t press his body against mine. Not yet at least. He’d give me a moment, a second in time I’d never take because that was what I wanted. Needed.

His body heat would be a whisper against my oversensitive skin. His big strong hands would caress their way up my arms and hold my neck carefully. Steadily. Not in a threatening way, but in the kind of way that would excite instead of frighten. The thought had my body covered in goose bumps, and my nipples tightened into almost painful buds behind my lacy bra.

I trembled with white-hot need.

I needed more.

My eyes opened and landed on his bed. My free hand touched the sheets. They were soft and cool. I glanced over my shoulder even though I knew the door was shut. I looked at his bed and sat down on the edge. It was comfortable. Firm without being hard and just enough softness. Before I knew it, I was laying my head down on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling fan. His bed was really comfy. My hands rested on my belly as I lay there.

It was wrong, so, so wrong! And the only thing I wanted to do next was worse.

“What am I doing?” I whispered to myself, but when the empty room didn’t respond, I knew it was my call. I should get up. But I didn’t. Instead, I rolled to my side, way too comfortable in his bed to get up. My eyes caught sight of his closet, and my lips quirked up. He had a lot of clothes. Great pieces. From suits to casual wear, he had a great sense of style. But one piece in particular caught my eye.

A black leather motorcycle jacket that looked buttery soft and worn in. Like he’d had it for a long time. It made me wonder if he rode. Not that I actually knew anything about motorcycles other than Harley Davidsons were a popular brand. If I walked into his garage, would there be a motorcycle in there?

I could picture him on one.

In control and dominating, he’d be bossy. Make me hold him around the waist tight. My breasts pressed against his back, my legs wrapped around him. A thrill shot through me. The idea of riding on the back his bike, holding on to him tight while he drove us through lonely desert roads made me hot.

Or hotter than I was already feeling.

Who am I? What had being around Andres brought to life? It had taken me a while after my divorce to get my head on right. The things I’d always been into but told were wrong. I might have had a partner or two in the last two years, but that had been it. Usually, I took care of my own needs. I’d played with myself to the thought of him over and over again the past week more than I’d made myself come in the last six months, maybe a year.

All to him.

I’d tried to steer my dirty thoughts in a different direction, a faceless man or a handsome actor, but it never worked. My late-night fantasies and X-rated daydreams always featured him. At the end, it was always him who I imagined being the one who touched me. Kissed me. Fucked me. Dominated me.

Andres Montoya was always the one and only man I submitted to.

My hand slipped between my jeans, and I skimmed my pussy over my panties. I was soaked and swollen. So turned on I couldn’t think straight. All I could think about was getting off. The need inside of me intensified. My breath hitched in the middle of my throat while I rubbed my sensitive clit.

This was wrong.

Playing with myself in his bed when he had no clue about how I felt or that I was even in his home. But something about that forbidden element turned me on in a way I’d never experienced. I was always the good girl. Doing the right thing. When anyone needed me, I was there.

But with Andres? Something felt different.

He didn’t need me to be anyone but myself. He accepted me for me. Even when I was snappy and bitchy. He likes me. He really, really likes me. The fact swept through me, making me purr against his pillow. I buried my face into the soft material and breathed him in, taking things a lot further than I had ever intended.

I hadn’t snuck over for this.

I’d wanted to see his place.

Make sure he wasn’t some kind of weirdo.

My finger hooked into the gusset of my panties, and I moaned against his pillowcase. Dewy wetness coated my pussy lips. I am the weirdo.

The stalker crossing boundaries I knew I would never come back from.

Too far gone to stop, I let my imagination run wild. With my eyes shut, I writhed on his bed, wishing I’d taken my pants off. My head filled with him. Andres. He’d walk in, and I wouldn’t have noticed. He’d watch me. I was still clothed, with my hand between my legs, but he’d know exactly what I was doing. I’d jump and freeze the moment I caught a hint of his eyes on me.

“Don’t stop now, gorgeous. You’re just getting started,” he would challenge. And I’d be his good girl and do as he asked.

I kept playing, letting the pads of my fingers saw between my sodden lips, bumping and rubbing against my clit, making me get so close. But I didn’t let myself go over the edge. There was no way that’s what a man like Andres would want.

He’d want control.

And in my head, or maybe even in reality—who was I kidding? Most definitely in reality—I would trust him. I did trust him. Enough to hand over control because everything was so different with him . I am different with him.

“I’ve been watching you, too, little girl,” he’d say as he neared the edge of the bed. “I come again and again thinking about you right where you’re lying down.” His words would send a shiver down my spine, and my skin would fill with goose bumps.

“You have any idea how many times I’ve groaned your name into that pillow you’re resting that pretty little head of yours?” The mattress would dip with his weight. I’d turn off my side and with my free hand, cup my breast.

“Show me those pretty tits,” Andres would order. His gaze intense, he’d lick his lips. Make me want his mouth on mine. That square jaw clenched tightly like he was holding on by a thin thread, and it would only spur on my need to please him.

To give him everything because I know he will give it right back.

“Show me how fucking pretty you are.” And I’d do as he asked. Deep in my fantasy, my inhibitions dropped, and I took my top off, setting it on his pillows. My breath shuddered the moment my skin touched his cool sheets.

This is wrong. So wrong.

I was basically topless, in the bed of a man who I hadn’t even kissed yet. I was a stalker. A creeper. But nothing mattered in that moment. God, his bed was comfortable! It smelled like him. I writhed and squirmed wishing I’d taken my clothes off completely. I pulled on my rigid nipple, feeling the tug all though my body. My clit pulsed.

“Play, pretty girl,” he’d demand. “Show me how you get off.” His lips would hover over mine, and our breaths would mingle and fuse into one. I swallowed as my toes curled. “Show me how you want me to get you off.”

The fantasy was too real in my head. I couldn’t get myself to stop. My fingers sawed between my lips as I rubbed my clit, teasing my entrance.

“Such a good girl,” Andres’ voice rasped in my imagination.

His praise was everything to me.

He’d say all sorts of filthy, dirty things.

I had a feeling Andres Montoya would be a great dirty talker, goading me on, tipping me closer and closer to the edge, making my toes curl. Before I knew it, my skin was slick with sweat, the sound of my fingers working in and out of my body until I was panting echoing in the room. Riding higher and higher until I was breathless and everything inside of me coiled up tightly. My thumb pressed down on my clit with just enough pressure it tipped me over the edge.

I gasped, crying out Andres’ name, and my eyes shut as fireworks blasted in beautiful colors behind my eyes and pleasure wracked through every inch of me. I trembled when I slowly came down from the bliss I’d just experienced and slowly caught my breath. My eyes felt heavy and my body almost boneless.

I was about to drift off when I heard it. The front door opened and closed.

“Shit,” I whispered to myself, then quickly grabbed the shirt and tossed it on. I could hear Andres on the phone. His deep voice echoed through the quiet house, and I went and slipped into his closet.

The bed! I should have hid under his bed. I stayed quiet, wondering if my heart could be heard with how hard it pounded inside my chest. It wasn’t until I heard him go to the bathroom that I slipped out of his room and his house.

Somehow, miraculously, never being seen by him.

It wasn’t until I got home that I looked down and realized I didn’t have my own T-shirt on.

Nope. In the rush of getting out unnoticed, I’d grabbed his!

Well, shit!