Love At First Bite Part 18

"You serious?" he whispered, the words catching thickly in his throat.

"I swear it," she replied, staring at him without blinking. "The thing I can't understand is... how I know you?"

She pulled out of his embrace and wrapped her arms around herself. "I have to just say this, because my mind won't let it go."

He nodded and gave her s.p.a.ce.

"I've never been so afraid in all my life." Her eyes sought his for confirmation and found it. "I didn't know you, had never seen you, had no reason to trust you." She looked away, shame glittering in her eyes made dazzling by the sunlight. "I don't just meet men in the street, jump on a motorcycle with them, and do the wild thing on a bathroom floor in their grandparents' house, of all places, for chrissakes." She covered her face with her hands and breathed in deeply. "I'm not like that, Jose. I have some pride and some decency, no matter what you might think. And yet I'm here in a borrowed nightgown, half-naked. I've just given my body to a man for the first time, and I don't even know his last name."

He went to her quickly and enfolded her in his arms. "Ciponte. My last name is Ciponte. And I know that you've never been with a guy like that, have to be freaked out, and have never done it before. That's why I was so angry at myself for going there with you; you aren't that type of... I mean-"

"I'm not," she said, huge tears spilling. "I have to get dressed and go home to my momma."

"I know, baby. We'll get dressed right now and I'll take you home. But I don't want you to think that all this was the norm for me, either. It's been a really long time since I had what you could call a girlfriend, or something. Years, and that's no bull." He raked his hair and kept his gaze on her, forcing her eyes to stay with his. "Guys get a bad rap for always being dawgs, but I swear on my father's grave, I've never had an experience like what we just shared. So, don't make it out to be dirty, in your mind. It was pure pa.s.sion, from my point of view."

When she looked away, he returned her gaze to his with a gentle finger beneath her chin. "No, look at me-dead in the eyes so you can see the truth or a lie." He let out a long breath filled with emotion. " 'Nita... No one has ever believed in me, treated me like I was their hero, given themselves to me without games. You think men don't have feelings? You don't think we ever dream of finding the one?"

He released his hold on her and went back to his desk, yanked out a drawer, and selected a pad. "Look at this one," he said, shoving the book toward her. "Every page owns my secret lover."

She cautiously accepted the book and he came closer.

"Look at her," he said, his voice becoming strident as he finally saw the eerie similarity between the woman standing in the room and the one gracing every page.

Growing more unnerved by the discovery, he led Juanita to the mirror that hung over the dresser and took the book from her to hold it up beside her face. "Same body, same hair. Every pose is you-same eyes, I just didn't have the rest of the face. The hero is standing in front of her, guns blazing, trying to keep demons at bay." Jose flipped another page and forced her to stare more deeply into the mirror. "Got her on his bike, rough-riding out of h.e.l.lfire."

He flipped another page quickly, growing more urgent that she see into his heart. "Then he was so grateful to be alive that he made love to her in a tangle of pa.s.sion in the mist-place to be determined, location unknown." He slammed the book shut and flung it on the dresser, bracing a hand against the furniture on either side of her body.

They both stared at each other's reflection in the mirror.

"Operative words-he made love to her, didn't screw her," Jose murmured, his eyes never leaving the mirror. "Would die for her, would take a bullet for her, would battle the darkness, just for her. Fell in love with her somewhere in the mist, I guess when he was losing his mind. I don't know when that happened, or how. I'm just the artist that draws them. All I know is, for years, he couldn't wait to go to sleep so she'd come to him in a dream. Years of wanting someone to see that he was a hero deep inside, and to have someone to call his own, someone who had his back, someone who could see what he saw and had vision. Artist by day, superhero by night... Years, 'Nita, that's how long he'd been waiting for her to step across the threshold of a dream and be made flesh, and be real."

She nodded, tears now streaming down her face while she stared at his pain-filled expression. "Years of running through the darkness in dreams," she whispered. "Years of feeling different, and knowing she was... years of waiting for that voice she knew by heart in her head. Years of waiting for those right eyes that saw her as more than a booty call, some chica airhead to use and then throw away... hoping, believing, knowing there was only one man in the world who could chase the demons away. Only one who made her feel like a princess and special... who would make her body yield and then burn and give her all... and then feeling so foolish for having to bite her lip to keep from saying that she was falling in love with him the moment he took her in the steam on a bathroom floor."

His ardent kiss on the side of her neck caused a hard s.h.i.+ver at the same time his hands swiftly traced up her arms to produce a gasp.

"I can't explain this," he said in a hot whisper, aggressively nuzzling her neck. "I can't explain what we saw out there, or how I can be feeling this so strong with everything that just went down." He delivered mind-stunning kisses against her jawline and then shoulder. "I can't explain why I can't keep my hands off you, or can even think about something like that after what we just went through." He dragged his nose up the side of her neck and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, breathing her in. "I'll take you home, if that's where you wanna go. But don't ask me to stop feeling like this about you, okay?"

"I can't explain it, either," she said, her breaths coming out with the words in short, staccato pants. Her body moved against his and her voice became strangled as she tried to speak. "It doesn't make sense. After what we just saw we should both be so wigged out right now that... it doesn't make sense."

"Does it have to?" he said in a low rush, his hands covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, gently kneading her flesh while capturing her nipples between his forefingers and thumbs. "All I know is you looked at my drawings like you were looking into my soul, 'Nita."

His voice fractured as he began to slowly pump against her backside through her nightgown. "All I know is that it's like I found you from somewhere in my mind, like some weird and wonderful out-of-body experience," he murmured, ending the statement on a deep, sensual moan. "And, baby, if you came to life from my sketches, I'm not ready for you to disappear yet... can't bear the thought of you being black-and-white, two-dimensional, anymore." He kissed the nape of her neck when her head dropped forward and her hands braced on the dresser. "Oh, s.h.i.+t, I need you in three-D right now."

Unable to withstand his impa.s.sioned outburst, common sense fled her as she reached back and yanked at the sides of his sweatpants, pulling them down over his hips. They both looked up into the mirror at the same time.

"Go 'head," she said on a hard exhale. "I've been waiting for you to step out of my dreams and become real, too."

For a second he didn't move; she didn't move. Then suddenly his hands raced up her sides, lifting her gown. He kept his eyes on her through their reflection and entered her tender, wet valley hard, sinking against her with an agonized groan. The new sensation lit her spine with fluid motion as her hands gripped the dresser's edge. She watched his eyes slide shut with an expression of pure torture.

"Oh, Jesus, if I don't reach into that top drawer right now... I'll get you pregnant today."

No words would form as he gathered her around the waist with one arm and yanked the drawer open by several inches. She didn't care what he did or that there was something hidden in there, as long as it would allow him to continue to be inside her.

Through half-closed eyes she watched him fumble with a brown bag, then a box, ripping and tearing away the cellophane covering like a madman, moving against her with insane thrusts that made her belly repeatedly collide with the furniture. Pleasure like she'd never known tore through her while she watched him struggle with the small foil wrapper, and she held on to the dresser, arms extended, head down, gasping.

The guttural sound he released deep within his throat fused with the sting of cold air against her back. Near weeping for his return, she arched into him, taking him in sheathed with latex. Instantly, strong arms gripped her waist, his hot cheek pressed against hers. She was blinded by the new sensation, and her legs threatened to go out from under her as he slammed pleasure into the tender place he'd so gently deflowered before.

Her hair swept the top of the bureau, swinging back and forth like a maddened feather duster. Tears blotted the surface, rolling down her cheeks to land in ecstasy-driven splotches. Her voice was not her own as it blended with his deep, grunting exhales, a unified chant till her nails raked wood severely enough to almost draw splinters. If this was what it was like, don't stop. If this was the next level, keep moving! If this was just the beginning, por dios, she would die and didn't care.

"Girl, I love you," Jose said on a hard shudder, then convulsed in waves of jerking thrusts.

Her body slammed against the dresser, the wind knocked out of her on a wail: "Jose!" Then wave after wave of womb-deep tremors consumed her, releasing bands of color behind her tightly shut lids.

The dresser held them both up, panting. She could feel his kisses pelt her shoulder blades. He was still rock hard inside her; a sob crested, and then she utterly broke down and wept in earnest. What was this sweet madness? No one had ever told her it could be like this. She'd practically been speaking in tongues, lost to reality. Strong arms were holding her; she could feel Jose extracting himself, breaking the connection to divine insanity. Reflex dug her nails into his hips.

"Don't move," she whispered between her teeth. "Not yet."

He nodded against her back, gulping air. "Tell me when. Did I hurt you?"

"No... it just feels so good. Don't take it out."

"Jesus," he said against her shoulders. "I've gotta put another one on."

Their eyes met in the mirror.

"What time will they come home?" Her glance went to the bed and then sought his again in the reflection.

"In three days," he said, swallowing hard and still gulping air.

"You sure?"

He nodded and stroked her hair. "Wanna go lie down in bed?"

She nodded but couldn't move.

Every previous night of denied access took his mind, bent and snapped it, with her now under him in the flesh. Every touch she delivered against his skin made him insane... just like her voice, her scent, her seeking eyes as the sun began to wane. They had petted and fondled each other under the old Indian blanket until sweat stripped the linens and the arid desert air stripped their lungs. What was left on the bed was sticky and wet with spent love. His sweatpants were a ruined heap flung across the room to a vacant chair, just like her gown was a damp mess on the floor. The scent of pungent brand-new s.e.x hung thickly in the room, growing denser with each encounter.

Time of day was lost. Thoughts of food went neglected. No matter how many times they had each other, their bodies still craved more. The need to make love seemed infinite, but the box had a finite count that brought sure panic.

"Just one more time," he whispered, his fingers lodged deep inside her. The scent of her in his sheets, in his hair, on his skin, was making him delirious as the sun went down. It felt like he was living his last twenty-four hours on earth before dying. But he couldn't care less as she straddled him, her lovely mound poised for his kisses as she went down on him and made him see stars.

No latex to dull the sensation of her tongue. No barrier to block the softness inside her mouth. No advance warning to prepare himself for the hard pull of her lips over the head. Nothing on this side of heaven to make him ready for the grip of her fist at his base. No way to keep from drowning in her sweet juices as he lapped them. Nothing rational left of his jellied mind as her sucking became more insistent. Impossible to stop the slow, hard implosion that sat him up in hard arches, made his hands grip the halves of her a.s.s to open her wider for his tongue.

If there was something in the shadows coming for him, then it had better kill him quick. If his people doubled back and came home early, so be it; he'd beg their pardon later. Because right now the only thing that registered was her tongue, followed by a lightning arc of current that ran down his spine, created epileptic seizures, made spasms dance through his limbs and stab his groin.

Near hysteria, he found himself sobbing against her wetness, breathing it in, almost choking on her sweet essence, and coming so hard he thought he'd go blind.

All he could do was collapse with her body a heap on his. Disoriented for several moments, he had to remember where he was, what time it was, feeling along her supple backside for confirmation that it had all been real.

"You want some water?" she whispered against his thigh.

He just gasped in air but didn't have the strength left to answer. His palm rubbed her hip as an immediate reply. "In a minute," he finally said, eyes still closed.

"We should get up and get a shower," she said, giggling. "The box is empty."

"This all started in the shower," he said, breaths ragged, and intermittently chuckling. "I'm scared of that room. Has powerful medicine in it."

"Our clothes are dry-the dryer stopped hours ago."

"You wanna ride into town before the drugstore closes, maybe stop at the diner to eat?" The thought of being in the house with

her for two days and no way to make love to her brought instant clarity.

She kissed his thigh close to his sac. "I don't care if we stop at the diner, but we have got to go to the drugstore before it's full dark."

The feel of her hot breath against his inner thigh made him sit up and get focused.

Chapter Six.

The only rational thing to do, so they could get out of the house, was let the woman go into the bathroom alone.

"Open the window," he said as he walked down the hall with a rifle. "It's not dark yet, got a few hours, and I'm gonna go check on the bike-see how much gas is left to get us to town."

He didn't wait for her to argue. He was on a mission. He needed to score latex like a junkie needed to get crack.

Out the back door, down the steps, Jose went to his bike and groaned. d.a.m.n! His black beauty was running on fumes. Okay, new plan. The toolshed caught his eye. Maybe, just maybe, if there was mercy in heaven, his grandfather might have an old red gas can with a spit of fuel in it.

Jose jogged across the backyard, scattering angry hens. Resting the rifle against the outside wall of the dilapidated structure, he pulled the rusty door open with both hands. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he squinted, searching for a light. But soon the low afternoon sun and opened door allowed his eyes to scan the interior. However, what he saw gave him pause.

It was a veritable artillery shed. Medicine wheels and amulets with eagle feathers covered the walls, along with silver stakes, crossbows, and bowie knives in varying degrees of blade length. He stepped inside, his curiosity dragging him over the threshold. In the center of the floor were strange circles and symbols, bones and stones, as though a hex or a ward against evil.

His gaze went to a litter of sh.e.l.ls and dirt on the small wooden table by the wall. Jose approached it with care, peering down at the gleaming silver bullets and dark soil that had an incense fragrance. Jugs of water with war paint etchings from a time long gone sat beside the sh.e.l.ls. He looked up at the crossbows and the long stakes plumed with eagle feathers.

They knew. Not just empathized or believed but knew.

Jose stared harder at the walls as dust motes danced and played in the murky stream of low sunlight. The interior had been whitewashed with war paint. The scent of white sagebrush hung heavily in the air, stinging his nose. A sense of calm, safety, spiritual fortress emanated from everything around him. Sagebrush and silver, chicken blood and burnt wood, all of it crawled over his skin in an odd sense of knowing. He was standing in the middle of a spiritual bomb shelter. If his people had built this, then what was coming?

Suddenly getting into town had less urgency. But finding gas to ride out a storm was still the thing to do. Jose walked through the shed with new reverence, only to be disappointed. He grabbed the rifle and jogged back to his bike, determined to rinse the demon gook off it before Juanita saw it again.

Hurrying with the task, he got the backyard hose and quickly blasted off the muck-this time more careful with the water that was scarce where his grandparents lived. Respect for them, what they knew, what they calmly accepted, what they'd built, entered him as he dropped the hose and ran up the back steps.

He pa.s.sed Juanita in the hallway. "I'll be in and out in a few seconds." He knew he sounded panicked; he was panicked. But she didn't need to know why.

When he got out of the shower and raced to the bedroom, she had on her jeans and broken spike heels in her hands and was covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with her arm.

"Can I wear one of your T-s.h.i.+rts?" She gazed at him, chewing her lip for a moment. "My mother said the red halter made me look like a wh.o.r.e... and I don't want to look like that when I'm with you."

"You don't look like that to me, no matter what you wear." He pulled on his jeans and nodded toward the dresser. "You can have one of my T-s.h.i.+rts, and Nana left you some dresses in there, too."

"How did she know I was coming, Jose?"

They both stopped dressing and stared at each other.

"She's a seer," he said quietly. "Don't ask me how they do it; all I know is, that's what she is. Abuela knows things. So does Pops."

"I know things like that sometimes," Juanita said, going to the drawer to get a T-s.h.i.+rt. "That's why I know I don't want to wear this red halter right now."

He stared at her back for a moment and then found his sneakers and a T-s.h.i.+rt and she began to finger-comb her hair.

"When we go to the store, I'll get you a brush, too, and get us some toothbrushes-I need a razor," he said, rubbing his chin and trying to distract himself from the eerie feeling that had come over him. "But one thing's for sure; we've gotta get you some flip-flops, or something, until we can get you some sneakers."

Juanita bent without speaking and opened the bottom drawer. She slowly lowered herself to a squat, her hand stroking the doeskin dress. "There's moccasins in here with this dress."

Jose rushed to her side and stooped down to look, then snapped his glance to her quickly. "Full ceremonial outfit-how'd you know it was in there? 'Cause I d.a.m.ned sure didn't."

Juanita shrugged. "Can I wear the shoes, until I get some slides or flip-flops?"

He nodded and walked away, pacing in front of the bedroom door. "Let's make this a quick run. I think we should hang close to the house till my people get back."

Worry clung to him as Juanita kept a firm grasp around his waist. Dust stung his eyes and nose as they roared down the deserted strip of road, and he told her to keep her face pressed to his back to s.h.i.+eld it from airborne debris.

Her wet hair whipped and slapped his neck, and the rose-orange hue of the setting sun made him push his bike to the limit. He had just enough in his wallet to put a couple of gallons in his tank, buy her some flip-flops, maybe a burger or two, a comb-but latex was king. If he'd known he was going on a serious road trip like this, he would have... done what? His a.s.s was flat busted.

Jose almost cheered when he made it to the gas station and the old brave who ran it simply smiled and waved away his payment. He and Juanita shared a glance, and Jose walked over to the sun-blistered wicker rocker where the gas station owner sat calmly whittling down a stick. Even though he was nearly broke, Jose knew that the people in the town were poorer than that. He kept a respectful gaze on the gaunt, elderly silver-haired man who sat in the desert heat in a white sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of mechanic's uniform pants and worn leather slippers.

"Sir, it's cool," Jose said, extending a five-dollar bill.

"Your grandfather and I go way back. You're family." The elderly man glimpsed Juanita and kept whittling the stick into a sharp point. "We had a meeting, young Thunderbird. That which is within is about to come to the fore. You need everything you've got. The ancient spirits are dancing."

Jose folded up the bill and shoved it into his jeans. He hadn't a clue about what the old dude meant but also knew enough to know that once the elderly started talking in riddles, there was no arguing with them.

"Thanks," Jose said, quickly going to his bike and mounting it so Juanita could climb back on.