My therapist had told me I’d shut everything out the night of my mother’s murder and before it to cope. He’d said it was a normal thing to do having post-traumatic stress disorder.
Now I knew what my next question would be.
“When was the last time you saw me and my family?” Not that I had much family around anymore. They’d all died, except for Miguel.
He swallowed thickly. “It was your fifth birthday. I stood beside you while you rode a pony.”
“I rode a pony?”
“Yeah, you don’t remember?” He looked at me surprised.
“No, my childhood memories are fuzzy.” I didn’t know why I just didn’t tell him I had PTSD. It would probably clear up a lot of stuff about me, but I was a little embarrassed about it. It had been seventeen years since my mom’s death. Shouldn’t I have gotten over it by now?
He cradled my cheek and turned my face to see him. “You really don’t remember me?”
“I’m sorry, no. But that doesn’t make your deception okay. You should have told me before we had sex.”
“You’re right. I should have, but I’m telling you now.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry, baby. Will you forgive me?” The sincerity in his voice melted me.
“There’s nothing to forgive. I don’t remember you. And to be fair, I was trying to seduce you into having sex with me, so I’d be spoiled. I guess we’re even.”
He let out a deep chuckle. “Feel my heart.” He moved my hand onto his chest.
“Wow, I don’t think your heart is supposed to race that fast. Should we call a doctor?” I was serious. He could have a heart attack.
“No, I’m fine. I want you to feel what you do to me. Nobody does this to my heart.” He kissed me, then scooped me out of the bed.
“What are you doing? I’m dripping!”
“I’m going to clean you up, take a shower, then eat you for breakfast.”
“Excuse me?” My face flushed and I felt a tingling between my thighs. My lady parts appeared to be in favor of himeating me.
“Aww, are you embarrassed, Chiquita? You don’t need to be with me. I love pussy, and yours might be my favorite.”
Mine might be his favorite?I should probably be offended, but I wasn’t. He was the president of a biker club and not in a relationship with me or anyone else. He lived the single life doing what he wanted whenever he wanted. I wouldn’t judge him for it.
“Don’t you think we need to talk more about our mutual pasts before your face goes between my legs?” I asked him. It was a reasonable idea, or so I thought.
“You can talk, and I’ll eat.”
“How about you join me in the shower, and we can get to know each other better. Or refamiliarize ourselves with each other.”
“Sure, anything you want.” He pecked my lips. “I’m all for familiarizing myself with your body.”
“You’re too much.” I shook my head as my face heated.
Was I letting him off the hook too easily?
I wasn’t sure how I should act. What would other women do? I didn’t like conflict. Although, I could hold my own when push came to shove, just not with my brothers.
From the moment I met himyesterday, El Jefe treated me better than my brother Miguel. I sensed a protective side behind his grumpy exterior. I’d say he was a kindhearted man, but I hadn’t seen him treat the club girls the same way he did me.
He set me on my feet. “There are extra toothbrushes in the drawer. Hold tight for a second.”
Guess I should brush my teeth since he brought it up. My mouth was disgusting after all the alcohol I drank. I picked a pink brush. I wouldn’t even ask him why he had that color in his bathroom.
He returned with his phone in hand. “Needed to check my messages and order us breakfast. Saw you ate the menudo. When did you do that?”
