Maya’s mouth was so hot on his cock that he had to lock his knees to keep from them from buckling. Ever since he saw her again, for longer if he was being honest with himself, he’d been imagining what her smart, sarcastic mouth could do if she really put it to work on him.
Nothing except fucking her was sweeter. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but he couldn’t help looking down at her taking him in. So good. So good he lost it down her throat in minutes.
And she swallowed it all up.
It took a few minutes until he felt weird standing in his kitchen with his sweats around his ankles and his softening dick out and proud. As if she sensed his vulnerability, she pulled up his pants, tucked him away, and stood up gloriously naked.
She grabbed his hand and something shifted in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he felt something more than momentary lust. He felt hope and warmth.
He stared at her for long moments, as if she had grown a second head.
“What? You look shocked. Do I have come dripping down my chin?”
He shook out the cobwebs. “No. Nothing. I just want—”
She tugged on his arm and tilted her head toward his bathroom. “I want a shower.”
* * * *
Javi wasn’t surprised that she didn’t stay until morning. Maya meant was she said. Always had. He loved that about her. He’d always loved and liked so much about her, but he couldn’t give up the sneaking suspicion that there was something fundamentally wrong with them together. And he hated himself for feeling like that.
For feeling like he needed something else after waking up from a night of sex that felt like home.
He flopped back on his bed. His entire body ached. She’d wrung him out and he relished it. His skin still smelled like her. After their shower, they’d taken the festivities to his bed. He’d tried to tire her out—hoped that she’d sleep until morning—but still he woke up alone.
And he found that he didn’t like it.
Instead of dwelling, like he wanted to, like he would have after one of his and Karrie’s non-fights, he got up to shower the smell of their fucking off of his skin.
He checked the lone nightstand for a note, and, when he didn’t find one, walked into the kitchen stark naked to see if she’d left one on the island. He found a lone sticky note on the floor, piled right on top of his dress shirt, the one she’d used to cushion her knees when she’d taken him all the way down her throat.
He didn’t want to bend down for it. Partially because he was afraid of what the note had said. The other problem was the rapidly growing hard on the image of her on her knees had inspired.
Shit.
He grabbed the note from the floor, wincing. It said, Thank you for the night I’ve been imagining for years. You didn’t disappoint. Smell ya later.—M
He crumpled the slip of paper in one hand and tossed it on the counter. Something kept him from throwing it away. He marched to the bathroom and put the water on full blast. He didn’t even know why he was mad. She’d promised him one night and it had totally rocked. It was kind of sensory and emotional overload that he would feel her phantom touch on his skin for days—weeks even.
He soaped his body and rinsed off with violent efficiency. A cold blast at the end killed his hard on so that he didn’t have to jack off in the shower thinking about a girl who didn’t want him.
He rolled into the office about five minutes late because he stopped to get himself and Alana a cafecito. Their father was out of the office this week as part of his plan to pass off the business to Javi and Alana—mostly Alana now, but he was trying to change that.
Javi wasn’t above admitting that he was buttering his sister up. He’d screwed up by letting her shoulder all of the burdens of their family while blowing shit-tons of money at clubs. And she hadn’t even gotten mad the first few months. No, it took him punching the love of her life in the face and accusing him—wrongly—of cheating on her for her to tell on him.
He still felt like a failure every time he looked at her. He tried to protect her from harm, the one thing that his father had always counted on him to do. And he’d failed. He’d interfered where he wasn’t wanted or needed and he hadn’t done what his sister had really needed.
Still, when he walked in with coffee, she smiled at him gratefully. “You look almost happy. What happened? Did Karrie get engaged? Did she die—tragically?”
Javi laughed. “No. I feel like it’s a new day.”
“What brought this on?”
“Nothing.” That was a whopper of a lie, but he didn’t want to tell his sister that Maya’s pussy had cured him of his malaise. Not unless or until he could make Maya a more permanent part of his life. He shrugged. “Time, I guess.”
Alana nodded and handed him a stack of folders. “Can you look these over and make sure I did it right?”
He flipped open the first folder, presentations for a potential new client that was coming in next week. He was surprised by his sister asking for his help. She was the resident i-dotter and t-crosser. “Sure.”
He flipped through the pages of the proposal. It was perfect. She’d only asked for his help because she wanted to make him feel important and part of things. She really didn’t need his help.
“Looks really good. You’ll do great in the presentation.”
She nodded again. “You mean you’ll do great, right?”
“You want me to take point? What brought this on?” On the one hand, this might be the opportunity to prove to his sister that he could pull through for the family. But he’d done enough taking her spotlight. She’d done all the work, she should get the credit.
“Listen, they’re a conservative company.” She shook her head. “I just don’t see them taking investment advice from a girl.”
Javi tapped the folders on the edge of her desk. Their offices were the same size, but his was neat as a pin and hers was covered on every surface. A testament to how hard she’d been working for the last few years. “They’d be stupid not to take advice from you. You’re the smartest person I know.”
Alana took a sip of coffee. “You mean that?”
Javi said, “Yes.” No bullshit, it was the truth. In the past couple of months, he’d been looking through some of the paperwork on deals he’d missed while facedown in a pile of models. She’d kept them afloat and improved their portfolio. All without credit from him or their dad and all behind the scenes.
“Still, I want you to do the presentation. Daddy can’t punish you forever, and we’re going to be partners in this business after he retires. We have to figure out how to make that work regardless.”
“Fine.”
Javi picked up the pile of documents and walked into his office. He hadn’t done the work, but he would know the ins and outs if he was going to be the face of his company. At the very least, it would keep his mind off of last night.
* * * *
Maya hadn’t even showered before getting to work in the makeshift studio in her brother’s garage. The smell of Javi on her skin seemed important to the experience. She worked through lunch and her stomach was protesting by the time her brother crossed the lawn to find her.
Maya had two reasons for creeping out of Javi’s bed before he woke up. For one, she didn’t want to do that mushy morning shit with him. Her heart couldn’t take it. Whether he’d tried to break her down to get her to commit to more time with him or acted like he wanted her gone, she wouldn’t have been able to weather it without cracking and showing him that she was still vulnerable to him.
The second reason was that she’d needed to paint. Everything that Javi had woken up inside her—visceral lust and longing for connection—had to come out somewhere. Canvas was a safe place for that.
He whistled and leaned on the doorjamb. “You did all this today? The dick was that good? I don’t think I’ve ever had dick that good.”
Maya snort-laughed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it was so much the dick but the guy attached to it.”
Felix stuck up his index fingers with about three inches between them. “That small, huh? From what I remember, his personality wasn’t enough to make up for it.”
“The dick was fine, better than fine, phenomenal.” Maya painted a broad orange stripe over some of the acrylic paint that had dried. Her work was abstract. At its best, it was emotional and evocative. At its worst, it was oversentimental and maudlin.
Today, her work felt vivid and deep. The giant canvas in front of her had been gestating in her mind for weeks. She’d needed last night in order to get out of her head enough to make it real. Luckily, she’d had a couple of commissions to work on while this piece made its way to the surface.
Maya shrugged. “Today seemed to be as good as any to get this party started. Isn’t that what I’m here for? To make all my dreams come true?”
Her brother scoffed. “Seems to me that you’ve mostly been waitressing and binge-watching weird shit on my Netflix since you got down here. And now Javi Hernandez bangs your brains out one night and you go all Beautiful Mind on a painting. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I think he dicked you back to life.”
Maya shrugged. “Maybe. I hope it lasts long enough for me to put together enough pieces for a show.”
“Speaking of, I have a friend on the board of Art Basel who wants to have a drink with you. He owns a gallery and liked what I showed him on my phone.”
Maya was shocked and a little bit pissed. Nothing she’d made since she moved to Miami had been anything to write home about. “Did you have to blow him?”
“Not that I would have minded—he’s hot—but no.” He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. He motioned towards the canvas. “When are you going to get it? You’re crazy talented, and you deserve to win.”
Felix knew as well as she did why she expected to eat a shit sandwich instead of succeed. Their father had told them, almost since they were toddlers, that they were nothing and would never be anything. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about because he’d ended up in prison. The fact that she and Felix were the products of a years-long affair, or that he’d treated his legitimate children a whole lot better didn’t make his words hurt any less.
Every time someone asked about what her parents did, it stuck the knife in a little bit deeper. How did you answer when the truth was that your mom was a mouse and your dad was a drunk sociopath?
And her experiences trying to get a foothold in New York hadn’t taught anything different. She’d always felt like she was being passed over. And, strangely, it dug the knife of Javi’s rejection in a little deeper every time it had happened. She’d actually wondered, for a time, if Javi would have loved her had she been more successful. Stupid, really.
She didn’t have to say any of this to her brother. Instead she said, “This one is pretty good. When it’s done, I’ll show it to your guy.”