HONESTY
Carla and I decided to name the new restaurant after my mother. Instead of Comida porno it was now La Cuchara de Mamá.
Simply put Mom's Spoon.
Carla's marketing expertise came in handy and I was excited about working with her. We came up with a solid business plan and defined the concept of what the restaurant was truly about.
Now that I had gotten all the licenses and the location was secured, it felt weird not having my sister, Annabella, there with me. The thought of hiring strangers to work the bar and serve the food, and help with the food prep made my stomach uneasy.
There was so much of my mother in the recipes that I was afraid that an outsider would want to do things differently. The simple act of adding or removing a spice could fuck the whole thing up.
My mother's recipes weren't just a list of food put together; they were memories and tactile moments of love and delicious nourishment.
She had traveled the world, gathering and perfecting her recipes. Every one of them had a story, most of which were memorable in joyful and sometimes disastrous ways.
Sometimes I believed she preferred to live in the faraway worlds of her travels instead of the one where my father was a mafia Don and her son was a trained assassin. With every new recipe, she would escape on a journey, talking about the people she met and how they had impacted her life.
My father would listen, nodding when needed, and if my mother talked too much about a particular cook who so happened to be a male, he would grunt in disapproval.
I remembered the time she came back from her trip to India, tanned as a loaf of bread, her fingertips stained yellow-orange from the spices she'd been using.
I greeted her at the gate and she swooped me up in a big hug, her long skirt billowing around her sandaled
feet. On her hands, she wore rings made of beautiful stones that I hadn't seen before.
She smelled different. More homely. The scent that clung to her clothes was a sweet combination of incense and earthy spices.
Her black hair was parted in the middle, the top half tied together at the back of her head while the bottom half fell to her waist. It was a new hairstyle, something she'd certainly picked up while hanging out with the many Indian women she'd met on her trip, and who I was fated to hear all about.
"My sweet boy," she said, smiling broadly. "I've missed you, mi corazón. I can't wait to show you the new spices I've discovered."
"I missed you too, mom."
"The people were so friendly. Whenever I go back, you're coming with me. You have to experience the culture and meet the people to understand the food and the history behind every dish." She pinched my cheek and then ran her hand through my thick hair. "But it feels good to be home. Where is your sister?"
I held her hand as we walked toward the door where my father stood waiting, his face harder than a hammer.
"She's asleep. Thank God because she plays too much."
"Well, Dante, she's eight. She's allowed to play. And you should play with her and stop trying to be tough all the time."
"Dad says I have to be tough if I want to run the clan someday. I must learn to keep you and Annabella safe."
"No." She stopped and held my shoulders. Worry scattered in her exuberant eyes as she held my gaze. "You're ten. The only thing you need to worry about is your schoolwork and cooking. Your clan duties can wait. I want you to develop other skills. Skills and characteristics that will help you in the future when you get a family of your own."
"Like what? Knowing how to use a gun like my dad and uncle will help my family. It will protect them from all the bad men out there."
"There are bad women out there too, remember that." She smiled sadly.
"I've never thought of that. All the bad people I know are men." At the time, I couldn't have known that my little sister or even my future girlfriend would be capable of murder.
My mother released my shoulder. "You're still young."
We started walking toward my father once more. Our house was a giant monstrosity near the ocean, surrounded by hundreds of acres of land. I loved running and hiding in between the dense trees with my cousin Mateo. It felt freeing, something my mother never experienced while living there. She said my father built the house larger than a fortress to keep her busy inside of it and away from his enemies.
"What are the skills I must learn to be a good husband?"
Her gaze flickered to my father who stood patiently, watching us approach with intense eyes. A smile spread across her face and she lifted her hand in a small wave. My father took a step forward and continued to stare at her. A gesture that almost resembled a smile flitted on his lips.
"Honesty."
I frowned. "I don't understand."
"It means don't lie to your wife. Don't hide your feelings from her. Communicate your desires in truth. Tell her what you need and why you need it. Give her time to think about your request, and don't get upset when she can't provide it."
"Is dad an honest man?"
"Yes. He doesn't like me traveling the way I do. He asked me to stop. I refused. Instead of getting upset, he made a compromise. I'm allowed to travel with a bodyguard. One he chooses. I've had a different bodyguard in every country I've traveled to."
"Why not hire just one bodyguard?"
She laughed. "Because your father is a man and he doesn't want me to spend more time with another man than I do with him."
"I think that makes sense."
"Of course, you do. You're a lot like him and you'll make a fine husband. I will make sure of it."
I beamed, delighted at the thought of being a good husband to my wife someday.
"A woman likes a patient man, loyal by default. You should always let her know your intentions upfront. If you want just sex, tell her, and don't play with her heart. If you want her, show her that she's your everything. Marry her and cherish her. She needs to trust that you have her best interest at heart."
"Dad cherishes you."
"Yes, he does. In private. He doesn't want the world to know I'm his weakness."
"Cariño, you're my weakness and a torn at my side," my father spoke in a low voice when we were within earshot. He held his arms open and my mother flew into them, wrapping her wings around him in a tight hug. "I fucking missed you, woman."
The two embraced and I looked on in awe. We walked into the house and our housekeeper, Antonia, was there to help my mother out of her coat and rid her of her belongings.
"The pink bag full of spices needs to go in the kitchen."
"Yes, señora, as you wish."
My father took my mother's hand as they walked toward the kitchen. I trailed behind them, eager to hear all the adventure stories from India.
"What kind of wisdom are you filling my son's head with so early in the morning?" My father wanted to know.
"How to be a good husband, of course."
My father stopped and then turned to examine my face. I stared up at him expectantly.
His serious eyes bored into mine when he spoke. "It's simple. Listen to her. Let her do whatever the fuck she wants. Fuck her good. Always fuck her good, and then do whatever the fuck you want."
"Julio! He's ten. He doesn't need to know about-"
"Of course he does."
I looked between the two of them with a serious expression on my face. "What do you mean by fucking? Sex?"
My mother glared at my father. "Oh Julio, look at what you've done. Don't listen to your father, Dante. He's joking."
"I am not."
"He says he's not joking, mom. What's the difference between fucking and sex?"
She placed a hand on her hip as she glared at her husband, her face full of attitude. "Care to explain? To a ten-year-old?"
"Sex is clinical," he said. "It's what you learn in your textbook at school. Fucking on the other hand is, well... It's lovemaking and sex combined, but then on steroids."
I didn't fully get it then, but looking back, I now understood where both of my parents were coming from. Communication, trust, and good dick were the basis of a good marriage.
Right now, I needed Carla to trust that I was capable of keeping her safe. I wanted to tell her about the note, but the timing wasn't right. Honeymoons were meant for fucking, not trying to figure out who our note-toting enemy was.
I huffed in frustration.
Dammit, I knew that keeping this from her was going to come back and bite me in the ass but I couldn't bring myself to tell her.
I walked into the bedroom and saw her sprawled naked on the bed, her radiant brown skin shiny from her trustworthy cocoa butter lotion.
Fuck, I loved the way she had followed my instructions to the T. Her legs were open, her bare pussy glistening with her arousal. I licked my lips, hungry for her taste. She spread herself open for me, her fingers dipping deep, revealing wet pink flesh that contrasted with her dark skin.
You have a perfect little cunt, baby. And it's all mine now.
My resolve snapped and without uttering a word, I climbed on the bed. My body settled between her legs where it belonged. Her heady scent always drove me mad with lust. With a low groan, I dragged her closer to me and fastened my lips to her sensitive core. Her rich taste flooded my mouth and I lost myself between her folds.
She ran her hand through my hair and I held back a shudder. I pulled on her clit with my mouth. She moaned and I decided that right now more than anything, she needed a good fucking.
A good tongue-fucking, followed hopefully by a good ass-fucking. I had waited a long time to tear that ass up, and tonight was the perfect time to make that happen.
We were comfortable with each other sexually and building on that would only strengthen our relationship.
I circled her puckered hole with a wet finger and then dipped inside. Her muscles tensed around me and I looked up at her face, urging her to relax. She did and I pushed a little deeper. With slow pumping motions, I started fucking her ass.
"Oh," she said in a high unsteady voice. "Oh, damn."
She looked amazing from this angle, her soft stomach rising and falling, the enticing underside of her full breasts begging me to suck them.
"Baby?"
"Yes, my love." She raised her head and her lust-filled eyes opened to look at me.
"You look fucking gorgeous with my finger up your ass."
"Thank you."
"Do you think you can handle something bigger?" I dipped a second finger in, stretching her some more. Her pussy was so wet, her juices started leaking toward her anus, acting like a lubricant, allowing me to slide in and out of her more easily.
Her eyes widened. "Bigger?"
"A great deal bigger."
"You want to try anal sex?"
"Yes."
She bit her lip and then proceeded to stare at the bulge in my pants. Loving the attention, my cock swelled to an enormous size, pushing mercilessly against the zipper of my suit pants.
Her eyes met mine, almost timidly. "I want to, but shouldn't we try with something bigger than your fingers but smaller than your dick?"
"Maybe, but I don't think it's necessary."
"Okay. Yes. Let's try."
I grinned like a fool.
"But if I say stop, you stop."
"Always."
I licked her pussy and then slowly withdrew my fingers. They came back out soiled. "Come. I'm going to help you douche. I promise it's going to feel so good once you're all cleaned out."
She covered her face with her hand. "This is so weird."
"You'll get used to it."
I went into the bathroom and she followed. At the sink, I washed my hands and then proceeded to help her with the douche.
My dick stayed painfully hard the entire time. Once she was clean, I took her into my arms and kissed her, appreciating the feel of her supple naked body pressed firmly against mine.
I undressed quickly and we fell into the bed. After sucking on her breasts and fingering her until she came, I gently rubbed the head of my erection over her lubed-up anus, teasing her, torturing myself.
She arched her back and I groaned. The anticipation was fucking killing me. Slowly, agonizingly even, I pushed the tip inside of her. She gripped me tightly.
"Fuck, cariño. I fucking love you. How does that feel?"
"Go deeper," she said, arching her back even more.
My cock throbbed and I obliged.
Listen to her. Fuck her good. Always fuck her good.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was fucking. I took her hard, the only thought in my head as my hips slammed against her ass was how much pleasure I could give and take from her. All those talks with my mother over the years had been for naught. I had learned nothing. I was truly my father's son.
=|=
I think Dante has more in common with his mom than he believes.
Your thoughts so far?