I always waited up for him when he worked late.
Being a valet at that swanky South Beach hotel meant he was out until three, sometimes four, in the morning on Saturday nights.
"I can't wait till I'm done with this job. I hate that you're home alone this late at night," he told me when he called during a slow moment. "Please lock the door and try to sleep, okay?"
I reassured him that I was safe, that I was studying for exams, that I wasn't worried sick about him. But I was. Because of what happened to my mother and brother and because I read the newspaper every day, I knew everything that could go wrong for him in Miami.
Every night when he came home, I flung myself into his arms.
"I missed you," I whispered. "I made that frozen pizza you like."
We sat on the sofa, and I watched him eat. Laughed at his stories about the rich people's cars and his goofy coworkers. We put on a movie, and when I fell asleep next to him, he carried me into our futon bed and undressed me.
"Are you too tired to make love to me?" I murmured.
"Never," he said, devouring my soft and sleepy mouth. Our coupling was slow, safe, erotic. In the dark, he trailed his index finger around each taut nipple; down my stomach; and, bit by bit, entered into my wetness. His thumb grazed my clit, and an orgasm rolled through my body.
"Such a good girl, Justi," he whispered in my ear as I trembled in his arms.
The next morning—early afternoon, really—we were still in bed, sleeping. Naked and intertwined. Sundays were for us and bed, a bliss I never knew existed. I heard a knock and a man's voice and sat up.
"Oh shit, Rafa, it's my dad," I hissed, shaking his bare chest with my hand.
"Answer it, baby." He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.
My heart pounded. This could be a disaster. I forgot my father was coming for a visit. I hadn't told my father that Rafa and I were basically living together in my apartment. The apartment my dad paid for.
"Rafa. He doesn't know you stay here a lot."
He rolled over and opened his eyes. I was half-dressed and pulled a UM sweatshirt over my head.
"You mean, he doesn't know I live here? Are you ashamed of me, Justine?"
My father knocked on the door with more force, calling my name. I couldn't deal with this now.
"No. Of course not. I can't... We'll have this conversation later. For now, get dressed and we'll tell him we were studying. He just drove five hours to see me and I've forgotten. Shit."
YOU ARE READING
Constant Craving: The Complete SeriesRomance
To save her business, she'll trade every last inch of her body... * * * Justine's passion is journalism, and she's trying to beat the odds and save her family's newspaper. With the company on the edge of collapse, she begs a private equity group fo...