Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (46 page)

             
‘How was your lesson?’ I ask feigning nonchalance.

             
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Let’s go to dinner.’

             
That’s it? That’s all I get after stressing for hours? Doesn’t he realise just how much of ice-cream and chocolate sauce I’ve consumed in his absence?

             
The calories – all adds up, you know.

I’m loitering in the courtyard after dinner when Diago rocks up behind me and grabs me. 

             
I chuckle and turn my face to look at him. 

             
He kisses me slowly, deeply causing my knees to buckle. His sex education lessons with Senor Vito have really paid off and I’m benefiting big time.

             
We neck and Canoodle as his hands disappear under my sweater to gently knead my breasts. Unable to stop him, I sigh and lean my head back onto his chest. Encouraged by this, his hands travel slowly down my stomach and towards my thighs, disappearing between them briefly. Then he stops.

             
I want more, lots more. Why did he have to stop?
             

             
He wants more too, I can tell by his quick breaths and his erection pressing against me.

             
When we hear voices we quickly jerk apart.

             
He looks at me with glazed eyes. ‘Ask me.’ 

             
I look at him and close one eye.

             
‘Ask me! Ask me!’

             
Smiling, I take his hand. ‘Let’s go to my place,’ I whisper as I walk backwards.

             
He beams and I cha-cha to my room.

             
After a while, turn and sprint to my room and collapse on the bed where we resume our foreplay.

             
Slowly, he removes my top and tosses it aside. I smile. He caresses my shoulders before he  unhooks my bra and my breasts spill into his gigantic hands.

             
Our foreplay really began a week ago and our bodies’ reaction to each other is feral. I rip off his shirt and kiss his tattooed chest. 

             
He tugs off my skirt as I help him out of his pants.

             
We lie on the bed for a moment, noses touching. Then he kisses my
l
ips, my neck, which is already angling
.
His lips are travelling towards my erect nipples. Gently he takes one in his mouth and sucks on it and I sigh.
Then the other.
My sighs get louder as his lips
move away and kisses the insides of my thighs. ‘Diago,’ I whisper.

             
His face
disappear
s
between my thighs. Suddenly I’m writhing and clutching his head
.
             
I’ve never done that before. Such loss of control
–
that’s not me.

             
His tongue is
hieroglyph
ing
my core so intensely that my body threatens to combust.

             
‘Diago, I want you inside me,’ I plead.

             
But he ignores my pleas and increases the intensity of my
delightful
torture.

             
When I can bear it no more, he sweeps towards me and in one amazing motion, kisses me hard, at the same time, thrusting his rock-hard erection into me with a force that only deep passion permits.

             
We rock hard and long, but
I don’t want him to stop, to end things. I want Diago to exist inside me, to live as one.

             
‘Payton,’ he murmurs, ‘Payton …Senor Vito …
is going to be angry at me, but I can’t
…
wait
.
’

             
Before I can respond, my clammy body shudders over and over again and I cling to him, my nails digging into his back.

             
Then I hear his deep grown and I feel his explosion too. 

             
Outside me.
   

             
L
ucky he did that, I tell myself. W
e
’re
practicing unsafe sex. Totally irresponsible.

             
As we lie in the afterglow of our lovemaking, he kisses my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, then my lips. I’m contented and I don’t ever want to leave his arms. I’ve never felt like this before – so wanted, so loved, so cherished and for the first time in my life, I feel whole. Yet, at the same time, I also feel out of control, unhinged, drugged.

             
He’s deep in thought. I turn to look up at him. ‘Think out aloud.’ I whisper.

             
He
stares at me for a while
. ‘
T
e amo,’
he finally says and places my hand across his heart. ‘With all of this.’

             
I’m taken aback with this. Didn’t expect him to say those words and I just don’t know how to react. Do I love him? But then, what about
Austin
? I love
him
, don’t I? Suddenly, I’m so confused.

             
He’s kisses me and I get the impression he doesn’t expect an answer. Thank God!
             

Our happiness is noticeable and we have trouble hiding it. Especially me, I’m ashamed that I like Diago and that I want him. I’m supposed to find him repulsive but I don’t anymore. I want to be with him all the time. I feel his love in his touch – even long after he has removed his hand from mine - like a residual jolt. I feel it in his kiss, the way he looks at me, the way his eyes light up when I enter a room, the way his voice changes
when he talks to me – it’s always
soft
er
, caressing.
             

             
I’m
may be falling in love with him, but it doesn’t feel like
falling
. It feels more like lifting, floating, right. 

             
I walk around smiling and thinking about him all the time, my head in the clouds.

Christa is eyeballing me, making me flinch under her penetrating gaze. I avoid her eyes and try t
o focus on my task at hand but I can’t.
Diago and I can’t keep our eyes off each other even though we try.

             
At night, we make love again and this time it’s unhurried and beautiful. Senor Vito is a master
.
He took a ruthless barbarian and turned him into a suave, generous lover.

             
The next evening, we’re at the dinner table when Christa zooms in on me. ‘Why you call him “Diago” Gringa?’

             
‘That’s his real name,’ I reply, flashing Diago a smile. ‘And I like it.’ 

             
He cocks his head to one side and looks at me with that gaga look he’s sporting these days.

             
‘Really?’ Christa snaps. ‘That’s not what you say here, gringa.’

             
I tear my eyes away from Diago to look at the book she’s waving in the air and gasp.

             
‘M
y diary!
’ I cry. Oh God!
It has stuff about Diago and Austin and how much I hate Diago and how much I love …Oh God! Bad stuff - destructive.

             
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

             
‘Christa!’ I cry, bolting out of my seat. ‘Give that back to me, now!’

    
             
She laughs and flips through the pages. The smug look on her face scares me – it’s knowing, determined, as if she won a lottery.

             
I look at Diago, a feeling of panic overwhelming me. ‘Diago,’ I rasp, ‘make her give it back. That’s my diary.  It’s private ... ’

    
             
Christa laughs. ‘
Si
, is very private from what I read. Diablo, you want to know
who
she is writing about in her diary, eh? It might be you or ...  it might be ’
nother
man.
You
should
know Diablo. It is your right, eh?’

    
             
Diablo’s fork is suspended
in
mid-air
. H
e glances at Christa, then me, then
at
Christa
again
. Slowly, he lowers his fork
.

             
When his
expectant
gaze rests on Christa
,
I groan inwardly and s
ink into my chair.

             
I’m fucked.

             
Christa beams and
runs the tip of her tongue over her lips.
Bitch!

             
There’s n
othing I can do expect
brace myself for the wreckage hurtling my way.

    
             
I really don’t want to hurt Diago now. I care about him and the thought of him hearing my private, innermost and morbid thoughts during my darkest hours makes me
ill
.

             
Christa begins to read from my diary with so much expression, it tells me she has read and re-read my diary.

             
“’Diablo is a monster. Wait! Make that an ugly, hideous, disgusting, revolting mother of a monster. Hate him! Hate his guts. Hate his stupid, barbaric, ruthless family. Especially
his miserable alcoholic mother.”’

             
She stops and stares at me, slack-jawed ‘That me, Gringa?
Ay yay yay
!
’