Love Turns With Twisted Fates 2 (5 page)

“Can you really do that?” his concern never diminishes the
craving I can see in his eyes, but he averts them from mine to look at the book
resting on my belly.

I struggle to not let his unasked question break the
lust-filled tension between us. “Lover, I don’t think this book is going to
have the information on whether or not spanking your pregnant wife is okay.
However, a little bit of common sense tells me you smacking my ass won’t have
any effect on our less than peanut sized bundle of joy.”

With a lift of his eyebrows and a tilt of his head, he’s
silently questioning me, “Are you sure?”

I offer him only an eager nod as my answer.

Setting me down, I take in the ridiculously large master
bedroom. Why, it’s large enough to be a decent loft in the heart of Manhattan.
I’m spinning toward the large glass windows that make up the wall separating us
from the outside.

I feel Diego come up behind me. His heat radiating off of
him in waves sends a chill down my spine and back up causing me to shudder at
the top. “Strip.” It’s all he says.

Without a second thought, I’ve shed my top and am unhooking
my bra. I can feel his stare, but refuse to look. His tone told me how this was
going to play out. Tonight, right now, I’ve got Mr. Dominant and as usual, I’m
eager to play his submissive. I consider making quick work of removing my yoga
pants, but I’m not always a very good sub and teasing Dominant Diego is so much
fun.

Hooking my pant with my thumbs, I use minimal force to push
my pants down; instead, I use the shaking of my ass to do most of the work.
With the waistband past the swell of my butt, I continue at the torturous speed
and slowly work my way down, bending at the waist and giving Diego more than an
eyeful. As slowly as I bent over, I righted myself, stepping out of the bunched
up pants.

“Put your hands on the glass,” he demands. His command
shocking, I whip my head around to meet his stare.

“Izzy.” It’s just my name, but I know what it means. When we
assume these roles, it’s do as he says, no questions asked. Trust is everything
and I have to trust that he’s thinking of everything I might be thinking that
could make me uncomfortable or feel unsafe. Years of this and his commands can
still shock me.

Peeling my eyes from his, I turn around and make my way to
the window. The pooling moisture at the
v
of my thighs says the shock
was just in my head, the rest of me ready for what he has in store. Staring at
the expanse of this new city before me, I wonder if anyone can see in. It’s a
silly thought. It’s probably after midnight and the closest building to us is
over a block and a half away. Perhaps, if they had a telesco—

Diego clears his throat. So lost in my thoughts of an
audience, I forgot to do the task at hand. The glass isn’t as cold as expected
when I set my hands in place, but the anticipation has created a slickness to
my palms, causing me to slip a little. Pressing the length of him against me, Diego
lifts each of my hands and wipes them and the glass beneath them with his
t-shirt. Tapping my thigh, he whispers, “Open,” the softness in his voice no
less dominating than if he had shouted the word.

Placing his left hand next to mine on the glass, Diego positions
himself behind me and slightly off to the left. With his right hand, he trails
his fingers lightly up and down my spine. The pool of moisture is no longer
pooling with my legs spread open. I can feel the evidence of my arousal
trickling down my thigh. Diego’s hand makes slow circles over the globes of my
ass, prepping them for my punishment. A low moan escapes when he moves to my
front and he dips his hand lower, grazing my clit. The sudden intake of air by
him tells me he’s now acutely aware of how ready I am.

With the loss of his touch, I whimper, but my displeasure is
silenced when I hear him sucking at his fingertips. “If it’s possible, Izzy,
you taste sweeter now than when I had you in the limo.” His words cause my
knees to give, but I catch myself, not wanting him to hesitate for fear of
something being wrong.

He’s back to rubbing circles, “No noise, Izzy, or I’ll
stop,” he pauses. “Everything,” he whispers at my ear.

His repetitive ministrations on my backside continue on and
with every loss of his touch, I steel myself for the slap that I know is
coming. But it never does. I further relax into his soothing touch.

Smack.

His palm strikes the right side. The sting barely
registering on the pain scale, instead it’s a jolt of energy and lust zipping
straight to my core. It takes everything I can to keep from clinching and
rubbing my thighs together.

“One,” he says into my ear. I stifle the groan knowing if I
make so much as a peep, he’ll stop and I’ll be left here needing. “Those
twinkling lights can’t hold a candle to you Izzy, but with you in front of it,
it’s a site everyone should see but only I’m allowed to. Do you know how fucking
hot you look up against that skyline?  Waiting there, like you need
this
.”
He delivers the next smack.

I bite my lip to resist the urge to move, to rub this need
out, to keep from releasing the moan lodged in the back of my throat. He’s at
my ear, repeating his previous question, “Do you know, Izzy?”

Opening my mouth to answer, I quickly snap it shut. I’m
speechless as much from remembering Diego’s only rule as my ability to answer
his question. My wordless answer a shake of my head. Body trembling from his
heated words, pussy dripping from his punishing hand, my head falls to the cool
glass in front of me.

“One more,” he says, delivering what would be the final
smack. I stifle yet another groan. Biting into my cheek, my tongue is tinged
with a coppery taste.

“Fuck, Izzy,” he kisses my shoulder where neck meets back.
“You’re so fucking perfect.” He’s cocooning me with his large frame, his hands
framing mine on the glass, my back to his front, I can feel his erection.
Unable to control the urge, I push back and circle my hips into him, rubbing my
ass against his rigid cock. “I need to bury myself in you, but there’s still
one question unanswered.”

My mind starts racing.
What question did he ask that I
didn’t answer?
The mix of want and need cloud my memories. He pulls up and
back from me.

I feel him moving behind me, but I’m fixated on my barely
perceptible reflection in the glass. Even through the darkness of the room and
the night sky, I can see the lust-filled haze clouding my stare…
and Diego
not behind me?

I’m made aware that he’s positioned himself between my
spread legs and underneath me, when his hot breath caresses my aching clit and
pulsating pussy. In one long drawn out swipe from bottom to top, Diego runs his
tongue the length of my seam, plunging his tongue into my core and stilling it
as I ride out the orgasm the welcomed invasion causes. He’s lapping up the
juices he’s spilled from me, humming his approval. I steal a glance at his face
peering up at me from his spot between my thighs. The desire in his eyes is
unmistakable. His name is a plea from my lips barely a whisper.

Diego positions himself back against the glass and pulls me
down to him. Straddling his hips, I lower myself onto his jutting cock. It’s a
slow process, a sweet torture for the both of us. When I feel him bottom out, I
start with a slow grind and a swirl of my hips. The friction against my clit
nearly unbearable, it elicits a groan from him.

I can feel my next orgasm building with each grind and
swirl. My nails digging into Diego’s shoulders, I mentally ready myself for the
impending climax. Diego’s hands are all over me. Laving my pebbled nipples with
soft swipes of his tongue, he combines it with the tugging and pinching of his
fingers, the contrasting attention a heady combination. When he bucks his hips,
my rein on my release is severed and I dig my nails in riding out the
mind-blowing orgasm. Whimpering when Diego shakes his hips, he draws out my
climax with every shudder.

I collapse against Diego’s chiseled chest, panting. Diego
nuzzles the space behind the lobe of my ear. “My turn,” he says. I can hear the
smile in his voice. He fists his hand in my hair pulling me up to look at him
and crushing my mouth with his determined lips. Plying my lips open with his
tongue, I can taste myself on him.

Pushing up with his other hand against the glass, Diego
lifts us from the floor. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the
action causing me to clench my pussy around his buried cock and creating a
hitch in his step.

Diego lowers us to the bed and effectively removes himself
from me. I whimper at the loss, but I’m quickly assuaged when he sucks in a
taut nipple between his lips and simultaneously plunges a finger into my still
wanting pussy. He switches between each breast, kneading and massaging one
while he orally fixates on the other.

I’m breathless when the bed dips and his body is no longer
on mine. I look up to find the man grinning like a kid in a candy story,
pleased with his spot at my apex. He quirks an eyebrow before diving in lapping
up and drawing out my juices. His relentless tongue builds a resurged need for
release.

On the precipice of what could be described as the mother of
all climaxes, Diego is up and over me in a flash. His eyes are asking me for
the permission he doesn’t need. My own eyes tell him to take me, all of me.

Without hesitation, Diego is buried deep, pumping in and out
of me, chasing his finish. His pace is punishing. I can feel the throbbing in
my pussy as he drives me towards another orgasm. Determined to make him come
undone, I match the pump and swirl of his hips into me. The added action makes
my pussy clench harder around his delirium inducing cock.

I keep Diego’s gaze as he closes in on his climax. Ready to
make the man let go, I reach down between our sweat-slicked bodies for my clit.
I begin to rub slowly, increasing the speed as he does his pace. I see the
moment Diego is about to crack, I clinch harder. In the next, he’s shouting his
release with my name.

We lay there, in the middle of the bed with him hovering
over me and both of us thoroughly sated. I close my eyes to steady my pulse and
catch my breath. He has a knack for robbing me of it. I relax into the bed.

Just as I’m slipping into dreamland, Diego slips out and off
of me. “Let’s go,
bella
.” He’s lifting me, cradling me as he did before.
This time I’m too spent to argue. He places me on the counter in the bathroom,
so he can turn on the water for a bath. Satisfied with the temperature of the
flowing water, he adds an obscene amount of bubble bath soap.

Returning to the counter, he lifts me up and carries me to
the tub, careful to let me adjust to the water with my feet first. I lower
myself the rest of the way in and wait for Diego before I settle back into the
steaming water.

With Diego at my back, I shift to lie on my side against his
chest, snuggling into the place beneath his chin.

“Hey, D,” I say through my post-sex haze.

“Yeah, Iz?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Not as much as I love you,
mi bella preciosa.
”

September 1998

That should do it
. I finish combing out the chunks of
mascara in my lashes. I’m dressing for a soccer game not a night on the town.
Can’t say I’ve been to a game before, so I’m not sure what the proper attire
and makeup is for such an event. Diego was no help. “You could where nothing
and you’d be dressed perfectly,” he’d say with that glimmer in his eyes that
says he’s all kinds of serious with a whole lot of ‘come fuck me.’

Since wearing nothing wasn’t an actual option, I decided on
some khaki capris with a pair of layered spaghetti strapped tank tops in navy
blue and gold underneath one of my many attempts to make rock apparel work for
me. This time it’s a yellow (gold if you will) cropped, over-sized Beatles
t-shirt with the neck cut out so that it hangs off my shoulder. There’s a
little bit of the eighties in all my ensembles, just like my everyday fashion
includes band t-shirts, especially the ones of the re-imagined vintage variety
where scissors, appliques, and creativity turn the often drab into fab.

I went the less is more route on the makeup with light
eyeliner and a swipe of mascara on the top lashes. The benefit of having short
hair is that it’s usually the easiest part of getting ready. I used my favorite
hair-sculpting product to muss my tiny tresses into spiky peaks.

Diego and I have been dating for about three weeks now. I’ve
yet to go to any of Diego’s games. His game schedule always conflicts with my
time in the recording studio or some school project. It’s not as if I planned
for this, for us. So, our busy schedules have us squeezing time in when we can.
Most of the time that equals late evenings turned mornings. I’m not
complaining. I can’t get enough of him.

“Ground control to Major Izzy.”

I’m laughing my ass off as the words break through my Diego
induced trance. “Okay, Ground Control,” I chuckle out, “how long have you been
standing there and what do you need?” Turning to face a very naked Mazzy
standing in my doorway, I can feel the flush of embarrassment heating my
cheeks. Because we’re practically sisters separated at birth and we’ve been the
best of friends since the first week of freshman year, her toplessness isn’t
the cause of my embarrassment. She’s caught me, yet again, in another love
struck daydream.

“Wow,” she deadpans, “I never thought I’d see the day that
my Iz daydreamed.”

“Oh, whatever,” I roll my eyes and return my attention to my
reflection in the full-length mirror.

“And to think, if you hadn’t said yes to Sebastian, you
would never have met Diego,” she clicks her tongue inside her mouth stepping
further into my room. “I’d say you owe the man a gift basket.”

“Yessss, I can see it now,” I retort. “’Dear Sebastian,
please accept this gift basket as a token of my appreciation for making it so
that I may cross paths with someone I could bone. Sincerely and forever
grateful, your date from a few weeks ago, Izzy.”

“Perfect. Now, can I wear your rhinestone Rolling Stones
t-shirt?” That’s my Mazzy.
Who am I kidding?
That would be me, too, but today,
I’ve got this inexplicable desire to blend with the masses, Izzy-style. The
barely-there t-shirt she wants is hanging on the outside of my closet. I point
in its general direction with my free hand as I apply the tinted lip gloss to
my lips.

“You really going braless to the game?” I quirk up an
eyebrow at her in the mirror with my question. She shrugs her answer.

“With the back cut up all pretty-like, I hate to ruin the
vision with an unsightly bra.” Her choice of adjective is laughable. Her
lingerie drawers look like she bought one of everything from Victoria’s Secret
and
Frederick’s of Hollywood.

I open the top drawer and grab what looks to be a red
bandage wrap. “Here,” I toss it to her.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

“Wrap up your junk,” I laugh out. “It matches the shirt. You
can wrap it under the girls or across them. Just depends on how you want the
ladies to look.

She’s struggling with the band right in the middle of my
room. “Let me help,” taking the band from her. “Under or across?”

“Across? I don’t see how this doesn’t ruin the vision,” she
pouts out.

“Hush. Now turn.” I’m wrapping the band around her and into
place. “Grab the shirt and I’ll show you how this ‘doesn’t ruin the vision.’ ”

With the shirt in place, I adjust the band by separating the
layers and rolling them to imitate the cutouts in the shirt in a crisscross
pattern, effectively creating an almost woven look.

“Holy shit, Iz! That’s hot!” Mazzy’s checking herself out in
my full-length mirror.

I give her a nod, slipping on my white low cut Chucks.
They’re as close to athletic as I’ve got. With all the things, I don’t know
about game attire etiquette, I do know that my preference for heels is highly
frowned upon.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I declare, giving myself one
last inspection in the mirror as Mazzy leaves the room.

“Let me put on my Chucks and we can go.” Our shoe game is
the same. Between the two of us, we have fifteen to twenty pairs of Chucks in
different colors and styles. Tragically, she wears a size eight and I’m a tiny
size six. We can borrow and share our clothes, but the shoes are a no go. I remember
our dorm freshman year, we looked like we bought an entire shoe department with
walls of shoes because the tiny closet wasn’t enough to contain our shoe
obsession. Fate really does work in mysterious ways. Mazzy would not have been
someone I picked out of the crowd to be friends with, but the fates knew
better.

“Again, Izzy?”

“Be quiet, you. I was actually thinking about how much I
love you.”

She’s traded her white short shorts for some skintight blood
red denim capris. I quirk up my eyebrow at her in question. As part of her
typical answer, she shrugs, “I wasn’t feeling the shorts. And you were thinking
about how much you loved me?”

I nod, giving her a smile.

"How much do you love me, Izzy?"

"More than my shoes!"

The confession has us throwing our heads back and laughing.
"Well, seems like Diego's fate is already decided if you love me more than
your shoes. Can't imagine you loving him more than me."

"Sheesh. What's with the talk about love and fate?
That's a bit premature, Mazz."

Okay, that shrug is getting old right now. She's clearly
trying to push some buttons. Probably thinks she's holding a mirror to
something I'm not ready to admit to myself. "I see those wheels turning,
Izzy."

"For fuck's sake, Mazzy," shaking my head as if it
can remove me from the path my thoughts are travelling down. "I wasn't
thinking about love. It's been a few weeks..."

"Izabella, I know you. And while I've never seen you in
love, it's practically written all over you face. You're lost in daydreams. You
go gooey," she says the word like it's 'icky,’ "when you see his
number pop up on the caller id. Hell," she gestures to my outfit,
"you're even wearing school colors? Babe, you've got it bad."

"Whatever. Can we go now?"

She chuckles at me. I know there's some validity to what
she's saying, but I'm not ready to go there. Since, Mom and Dad died, love is
the furthest thing from my mind. They loved each other with every ounce of
their beings and that didn't save them from fate ripping both of them from me
just days after Dad was declared cancer free. I'm not jaded, but I can no
longer subscribe to the notion that everything happens for a reason. I can't
see the reason behind me losing one parent. Losing both has me wondering if
love is worth losing everything. Okay. So I'm a little jaded. Who wouldn't be?

"Izzy," I can hear the sternness in Mazzy's voice,
"snap out of it, babe. We've got some hot soccer players to ogle."
The look on her face says she knows I've gone to the dark side and she's not
having it. She's been down all these roads with me. She was there when I got
the news of their death. She nursed me when my normal routine of immersion
broke and all I could do was wallow. She knows me better than anyone does.
She's ready to bust out the tough love. Her sternness and distraction
techniques say she's giving me a chance with an easy way out.

"All right, all right. You're driving," I toss her
my keys. "Diego is taking me somewhere after the game."

"Yeah, he is. Poundtown."

"He said somewhere new. We've already been there,"
I deadpan.

"Oh, yes. I've heard," she quips. She's giving me
that look. She knows how embarrassed I was to discover she was home during one
of Diego's and my 'naked wrestling matches' as she not so eloquently put it.

The drive to the school stadium wasn't bad. Traffic is light
for Southern California on the weekends. The surrounding area is a different
story and parking would have been a bitch, but Diego scored us a parking pass
to the players and staff lot. You'd figure the game was about to start with the
crowd and not the whole hour until game time there actually is.

As Diego instructed, we drove to the part of the lot closest
to the small building off to the side of the stadium. Once Mazzy had us parked,
I could feel my nerves racing with my pulse. I wish I could pinpoint the reason
for my nervousness. "Izabella, stop chewing on your nail and look over
there," she points off to the passenger side of the car in the direction
of the small standalone building.

Following her finger, I discover what could be the source of
my shot nerves. There leaning on the side of the building like a Latin James
Dean in a soccer uniform is Diego. Looking all sex on a stick, the mischievous
smirk on his face makes a mess of my hormones. I fumble with the door handle as
Mazzy grabs her bag from the back. "You okay there, Izzy?" she's
laughing at my frazzled state of being. "The struggle is real. I get it.
That man makes my knees weak."

Either I’m taking too long to get out of the car or he's
just as anxious to see me as I am him, but he's pushed himself off the side of
the building and headed in my direction. Before I could successfully remove
myself from the car, Diego is opening my door. My attempt to get out is impeded
by the fact that I'm still strapped in by the seat belt. I can hear Mazzy
chuckling at my absent-minded action as she closes the driver side door, but I
can't remove my stare from Diego. He reaches across me, grazing my chest and
unstraps the seat belt. "Hey pretty girl," he greets me. "What's
got you so distracted?" he asks, giving me a knowing look.

Normally, I'd have a witty comeback, but the man has stolen
my breath and robbed me of my vocabulary. I couldn't string two words together
right now if my life depended on it. So my only answer is a nervous giggle and
a squeaky hi.

"I got you and Mazzy seats as close to the bench as
possible. It's actually the section set aside for family." He gives me a
sheepish look, "So, you'll be meeting Lito."

"Lito?" I can't hide the concern in my voice.

"My grandfather," he says nonchalantly. "He's
excited to meet you."

Whaaat? What in the fuck? He wants me to meet his
grandfather?

"You want me meet your grandfather? No, I'll just sit
where normal people sit. It's fine." I ramble on about special treatment
not being necessary and that we would be perfectly suited to sit with the
general audience of the stadium.

"Breathe, Izzy. He doesn't bite."

All I can do is stare. I'm speechless, but I manage to catch
my breath.

"Diego," my voice barely above a whisper,
"don't you think it's a bit too soon to be meeting your only living
relative? I mean..."

I can't get my words out. They're there, but the moment I
try to deliver them, my tongue is twisted.

He gives me a quizzical look. "Izabella, I just told
him that I had a couple of friends joining him and Baz for the game."

"Baz? You mean Sebastian?"
Shit.
Sebastian
and I haven't talked since before Diego and I went on our first date. I can
feel my pulse racing and my breaths shallow. "Maybe this is a bad idea. I
could just meet you back here after the game."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Izzy," I hear Mazzy say some
distance behind Diego. "He's not proposing. Get out of the fucking car and
let's go."

There's that tough love. The bitch. But she's right. If
Diego is okay with me meeting his grandfather and he's still cool with
Sebastian after...
hmm...after what?
It's not as if Sebastian and I were
anything more than a first (and only) date. I shrug off the uneasy feeling, but
recognize the small knot in my stomach over meeting Diego's grandfather.

"Okay," it's the only word I can muster up as I
climb out of my seat. Diego, clearly has no qualms with public displays of
affection as he wraps me in what can only be described as a bear hug and spins
us around. When he's done, he's dipping me low to the ground and plants a kiss
on me that literally takes my breath away. I gasp when he's done, holding me in
place just above the ground staring at me like he's trying to find the answers
to life's greatest mysteries in my eyes.

"Get a room, you two."

"Who needs a room?" asks Diego with a raise of an
eyebrow and a smirk that asks if I'm game.

My eyes bug out and he sets me on unstable feet. "It
would seem that Izzy isn't quite ready for something like that, D," Mazzy
says using the nickname I’ve grown accustomed to using that consists of only his
first initial. "But I'm game."

That snaps me out of my haze and stupor. "Hey! I'm not
done with him yet." There's my wit. The feral look it earns me from Diego
is my reward and it's Mazzy's turn to be stupefied.

"We'll pick up this conversation later, but now I need
to get you to your seats," he trails off. "Unless you want to skip
the introductions and fit in a quickie?" he whispers the question into my
ear.