Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Solange

After a delicious buffet-style dinner courtesy of the tias, the family’s sitting around the dinner table drinking cafezinhos and eating Tia Mariana’s house-famous flan.

Cousin Cláudia lifts her plate to her nose and sniffs the dessert before trying it. “Do you serve the pudim at the store?”

By “kids,” she means Lina, Rey, Natalia, and me, and I never realized until now that she kept her flan off the menu because she didn’t want to share it with anyone else. I feel a pang in my chest remembering the many ways the tias have showered us with affection over the years.

Jesus, Cláudia needs better manners. If she makes one more judgy comment tonight, I’ll slap a muzzle on her myself. It’s not even that she’s said any one jaw-dropping thing. No, she’s doing that shit I despise: dishing out insults by a thousand tiny paper cuts. I relax the muscles of my face into a blank expression and look across the table at Lina. She’s in neutral mode too, her head tilted as she stares back at me.

Are you hearing this? I ask with my eyes.

Lina shakes her head ever so slightly, as if to warn me to let it go. She knows the tias wouldn’t want to start a squabble, so she’s not inclined to engage. Natalia, the person most likely to raise a ruckus, is resting at home. Tia Viviane, the second most likely person to raise a ruckus, is spending the night there to help the new parents. The upshot: I’m seething alone.

Max and Rey, meanwhile, can’t seem to get enough of the flan; Max is hunched over his plate as if he’s feeding from a trough, and Rey’s licking the caramel sauce off his spoon.

Beside me, Dean squeezes my hand, then leans over to whisper in my ear. “We’re almost done here. You’re doing great.”

Those few words say so much. He’s not oblivious to Cláudia’s occasional jabs, and he recognizes that I’m trying not to make a scene. I can’t recall any other boyfriend being this attuned to me, and Dean’s only faking the role. I squeeze his hand back. “From your lips . . .”

Unfortunately, our brief exchange catches Cláudia’s attention, and she turns her body in our direction. “Tell me, Solange, how did you two meet?”

Oh shit. Dean and I never bothered to work out a story. Must tread carefully here. “We met at a wedding.”

Dean snorts. “Seems so long ago.”

I gaze at him tenderly. “Feels like it was yesterday.”

Cláudia nods. “And you’re living together, but you don’t want to get married. What about kids?”

I want to counter with my own questions: Why do you care? How is this your business? But I tamp down the urge to cause a clash. “As far as I know, getting married isn’t a prerequisite for having kids.”

She snaps her brows together. “But wouldn’t you want to get married before you have a baby?” She glances over at Ana and Carlos. “Like they’re planning to do.”

This feels like a setup. As if she’s gearing up to insult my mother in a roundabout way. Dean throws an arm around my chair, probably to remind me that he’s here—or to hold me back if I suddenly lunge across the table.

I shrug. “I haven’t given it a lot of thought. I’m only twenty-eight. But anyway, I don’t think you need to be married to have kids. And I don’t think you even need a partner to have a child.”

Her eyes grow wide as saucers. “But your mother didn’t choose to be a single mother, you know. Even she knows a baby needs his mother and his father.”

Rodrigo scowls at his wife. “Cláudia, não fala mais sobre isso.”

Bless his heart; he should get a medal for trying to get her to pipe down. But it’s too late; I’m done letting her take potshots at my mother. I breathe in through my nose and count down in my head. Five, four, three . . .

Dean clears his throat. “Forgive me for butting in, but I was raised by a single mother too, so I have thought about this a lot. The way I see it, a baby needs someone to care for them. Someone to give them food. To provide them with a safe place to rest their head. Someone who’ll encourage their dreams. But most of all, a baby needs love. And all kinds of families can raise a child.” He gestures with his hands. “I mean, look around us. Families come in different shapes and sizes. The ones you’re born into; the ones you find later in life. They may have one parent, or two, or a bunch of people who pitch in like the tias did here. There may be two mothers or two fathers, two grandparents, whatever works. But being a single parent? That’s a challenge all its own. I never gave my mother enough credit for doing it alone, and I should have. Now these women? I’m in awe of what they did. Coming from Brazil to an unfamiliar place and raising their kids together. Giving their children the guidance to become the wonderful people they’ve become. Building a thriving business. Could you imagine doing that? Could you imagine the strength and devotion they had to have to accomplish those things? So, yeah, since Solange is Izabel’s daughter, I don’t doubt for a minute that all that strength and devotion will be second nature to her too. Solange will be fine, whatever she decides.”

Cláudia purses her lips, a nod the only indication she’s at all moved by what Dean said.

I sneak a glance at my mother. She looks like one of those cartoon characters with flashing hearts doubling in size and popping out of her eyes. Well, Dean can plan on a lifetime’s supply of free food from Rio de Wheaton after that monologue.

Ana throws her clasped hands on the table. “That is so nice.” She looks over at me. “I’m happy for you, prima. You found a good man.”

My ears are burning, and my face must be flushed. Am I going to hyperventilate? Yeah, I think I’m going to hyperventilate. I blink back tears. Dean didn’t just defend me. He defended my mother. My heart’s pumping hard in my chest, asking for direction: It’s this guy, right? We want him, yes? Please tell me he’s the one. Except Dean doesn’t want to fall in love, so I need to tell my heart it’s a false alarm. And God, it would be so easy to meet him where he needs to be. To tell him that he doesn’t need to love me. That being with him would be enough. But I know doing so would be a mistake. I can feel it in my gut.

Desperately needing air and space, I jump to my feet. “Dean and I should get going. We have . . . stuff to do.”

Dean stands as well. “Yeah, she’s right. Always working, you know. Um, Tia Izabel, do you think we could get some food to go? The picanha, especially?”

Seriously? Asking a Brazilian elder if you can take home seconds is like asking them if the Earth’s round. The answer’s yes. Always yes. Is he trying to ingratiate himself with my family? Has he no shame?

Ana appears at my side. “Hey, we’re going to stay here for a little bit more, okay? Rey said he would drop us off at your place later. And since we’re leaving for New York very early, you should give me a hug now.”

I pull her into my arms for a tight embrace. Her mother may be a pain, but Ana’s a gentle soul—who just so happens to be super vocal during sex. I’m a big fan of her energy. “Take care, prima.”

After Dean and I say our goodbyes to everyone (Cláudia only gets a lukewarm wave), we leave the family home and climb into my car. Dean’s packed into the front passenger seat so tightly his knees nearly touch his chin, but he’s kind enough not to complain about it, probably because there are two plastic bags filled with food in the backseat.

I throw up a weak fist. “Yay.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m not going to let you kill my buzz. This is an accomplishment, and we should celebrate it.”

Because putting our relationship in proper perspective seems crucial to my self-preservation, I give him a saucy grin. “Have sex too?”

He surveys me with a heated gaze that electrifies me from head to toe. “If that’s what you want.”

It’s the least of what I want, but I’m not ashamed to say I still want it. “I do.”

Dean’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out, grimacing at the interruption. “Huh,” he says on a chuckle a few seconds later.

Shrugging, he says, “Maybe.” He draws in a long breath, then reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “Anyway, just think, Solange. We’re done pretending. And by tomorrow morning, we’ll be home free.”

Well, no, that’s not precisely true. He’ll be home free. As for me? Considering that I’m starting to fall for this man, I’m still facing a high probability of heartbreak.

* * *

Lina calls as I’m heading to Dean’s Saturday night. Because parking is always at a premium in both of our neighborhoods, I’m opting to take a Lyft there.

I pick up on the first ring. “Hey, hang on. I’m getting a ride.” I throw my overnight bag in the backseat, greet the driver, then confirm Dean’s address. Once I’m settled, I get back to Lina. “What’s up, mulher?”

She sucks her teeth. “Really, Solange? You’re trying this with me?”

She’s right. There’s no point in being evasive with Lina. She’ll hound me until she gets the answers she’s looking for. “In my defense, I truly was busy. I helped Dean clean up his place after Ana and Carlos left this morning, and then I hung out with Brandon. But, uh, I’m headed back to Dean’s now.”

When she doesn’t immediately respond, I tease her instead. “What’s the matter? Max got your tongue?”

Lina clears her throat. “So . . .”

I wish it were that simple. I really do. But if a summer fling is all I can expect from Dean, what other choice do I have than to enjoy it for what it is? “One thing, though. I may not be leaving DC.”

Lina’s voice goes up several octaves. “What?!? When did you decide that?”

That applies to Dean too. I can’t let my feelings for him steer me in the wrong direction when it comes to my career. If I’m going to make this choice, I need to make it independently, free of his influence, and without regard for what I wish would happen between us if I were to stay, especially when all signs point to my never getting my wish in any case.

* * *

Dean opens the door to his condo, and his eyes go wide. “Wow.”

Exactly the reaction I’d hoped for. Wanting to bask in his appreciation a bit, I twirl so he can see the tight black dress I’m wearing from every angle.

Dean grunts as he lifts it. “Are you moving in? What the hell’s in here?”

I use my fingers to tick off a list of the goodies inside. “Gummy bears, kettle chips, ingredients for caipirinhas—enough for several, actually—sweatpants and fluffy socks for later. You know, movie-watching essentials.”

I wink at him. “Not really, no. I’m ready for just about anything.”

He looks down at his own clothing. “I’m sorry I didn’t dress up for the occasion.”

He’s wearing a heather-gray T-shirt and a pair of black sweat shorts, the latter sitting low on his trim hips. This outfit is just as appealing as the three-piece suits he wears to work every day, maybe even more, because it’s a peek around the curtain of perfection he’s so fond of hiding behind. Instead of telling him all of that, I relax into a sultry expression. “The important point is that we’re both dressed for easy access.”

Honestly, I’m not sure I know what my deal is either. In my head, I’m chanting, Summer fling, summer fling, summer fling. But I’m being ridiculous. I don’t need a personality transplant to keep things casual between us. I just need to remember not to fall for him.

Dean drops my bag next to his entryway table and takes my hand, pulling me into the living room. “I made lasagna. And a salad. There’s wine too.” He snakes a hand around my waist and draws me close, his head dipping so he’s at my eye level. “I’d like to feed you. Listen to your beautiful voice as we talk. Where it goes from there is your choice.”

There’s a beeping noise, then Dean rounds the counter, throwing on an oven mitt as he rushes to the stove. “Perfect timing. You hungry?”

He hip-bumps me out of the way. “I thought you knew me better by now. Just for that, I’m depriving you of seconds.”

We talk through dinner (delicious, thanks to Dean) and the kitchen cleanup (meticulous, also thanks to Dean), and then I enlist his help juicing the limes for the caipirinhas. Lots of limes. Dean puts his whole body into the task, giving my eyes a lot of surface area to study. I’m particularly drawn to the way the corded muscles in his forearms strain against his skin as he twists the limes along the reamer. I’m tempted to keep handing him citrus all night.

He stops twisting the lime and stares at me.

I give him a teasing grin and put out my hand. “My turn.”

We switch off. Rather than sitting at the counter as I did, Dean remains behind me, inches away from touching my back, giving off a wall of heat that makes it difficult to concentrate on the relatively simple job before me.

He slides a finger under the spaghetti strap that’s fallen off my shoulder and slowly drags it back into place. “I’d like to.”

He makes a noise—a deep-throated moan that ends in a soft hiss—then the cool air kisses my skin as he grasps the fabric and slides it upward, his warm fingers skimming the backs of my thighs. “Fuck.”

It’s a game, of course. I know exactly what he’s going to say: The limes can wait for us to have sex—or something else in that vein. And I couldn’t agree more. But when he finally speaks, Dean says, “For me to make love to you like my next breath depends on it. Because honestly, Solange, I think it does.”

He grinds his dick against my ass. “Just barely, though.”

Oh God. This man is dangerous any day. But now? With his desire for me at a fever pitch? He’s downright lethal. I’d make all kinds of deals with unsavory characters to keep him in this altered state. “Let’s move this into the bedroom, then.”

I try to tug Dean in that direction, but he resists.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, his nostrils flaring a touch as he breathes through his nose.

He grasps the hem of my dress and tugs me back a step. “I’d like you to keep this above your waist and walk ahead of me. Would you do that for me?”

In answer, I lift the skirt of my dress to my waist and saunter toward his bedroom, staring at him over my shoulder as I go. “You coming?”

For good measure, he does the scraping-his-teeth-over-his-bottom-lip thing.

Oh boy. I’m going to rock this man’s world tonight. Doing so will put me fully in my element. All the other stuff—cozying up together, watching movies together, eating together—is secondary to sex. It has to be.

When we reach his room, Dean sits on the bed and pulls me between his legs. He trails his fingers across my collarbones and slips them under the straps of my dress. “They’ve been falling down all evening. It’s been such a distraction.” He meets my stare, his eyes blazing with need. “May I?”

He coaxes the straps down, and the bodice of the dress falls to my waist. “Damn, Solange. You’re beautiful. It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time.” He grunts his approval, then leans forward and brushes his lips against my belly, caressing my breasts so lightly that I press into his touch, aching for more.

It’s a vague request, sure, but he has to know I’m dying here.

Goose bumps dot my arms. Dean likes to be bossy in the bedroom. Knowing this about him is a huge turn-on. Still, I can’t have him thinking I’m a pushover. “Can we move this along?”

I shimmy the fabric to my ankles and kick it off. “Done.”

Now I’m naked and horny, and this gorgeous man is just staring at me.

Slowly—far too slowly for my taste—he rises off the bed, then shucks off his own clothing in three easy steps. Instead of touching me, he sits back down and strokes himself, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world or a bare woman at the ready.

I refuse to respond. The more I engage, the longer he’ll draw this out.

I can’t help staring at the way his big hand grips his cock. The way he slides his fingers down to the root, draws on his balls, and tightens his hold as he meanders back up to the crown. God, I want him in my mouth. “May I taste it?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and widens his legs. “Fuck, yes.”

I drop to my knees and rest one hand on his thigh.

Once my curls tumble to my shoulders, I draw him inside my mouth.

I lick my way up his length and slide my tongue over the head. Dean grabs a section of his comforter and clutches it as if it’ll help him remain grounded. With the other hand, he pushes my hair to the side, ensuring himself a clear view of my ministrations.

I’m just as greedy to see the evidence of his pleasure, so I catalog his features and note that each time I apply a tiny bit of pressure at the base, he clenches his jaw and flinches.

He caresses my cheek and watches me with an intensity that drives me to take him deeper, to suck him harder. “Fuck, Solange, your lips sliding over my dick is the most amazing thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Those words travel to my sex and settle there, a steady throb that makes me squirm in frustration.

Dean notices. “You need my tongue too, don’t you?” He pats the bed. “Come on up here.”

I release him and climb onto the bed.

I stop midcrawl and wait—but not for long. Soon, Dean’s massaging my ass, and not long after that, he gently pushes my torso down so my face is resting on the bed. When he licks my pussy from behind, I nearly jump out of my skin. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Other words follow, but I’m not making any sense. My muscles tighten, as if doing so will help me isolate and heighten the sensations between my thighs.

His mouth leaves me, and I whimper a soft protest.

As far as I’m concerned, he could bury his face between my legs for eternity and it wouldn’t be enough.

I do.

I do that too.

Dean then lies on the bed and settles his face against my thighs. “You’re so plump and pretty down here.” He grazes my clit with his thumb. “It’s swollen. So deliciously swollen. And I can’t wait to lick you here.”

I’m undulating on the bed now, shamelessly trying to draw his mouth closer to my core. “Please, Dean.”

What follows is a riot of sensation that’s both dizzying and disorienting. Dean’s hands and mouth seem to be everywhere—stroking, sucking, kneading. My brain can’t process everything he’s doing, but my body registers the pleasure just fine. At one point he raises his head. “Tell me when you’re close.”

After putting on a condom, he crawls up the bed and coaxes me onto my side, positioning himself behind me. “Can I fuck you this way?”

In response, he grips my hip and nudges against my ass until he finds my sex and slowly guides himself inside. We’re so close, I can feel his heat, inhale our mingled scents, and hear his ragged breathing.

His declaration sounds almost like a promise. Almost. But I know better. I don’t just want his cock. I want his heart too. I grind my ass against him in frustration, meeting his thrusts, until he snakes an arm around my waist and centers two fingers over my clit.

He fucks me and strokes me in tandem, and I don’t know which way is up, or whether I’ll ever stop wanting to claim Dean as my person. Minutes later, we come together, our bodies freezing and shuddering as we shout our release. Once my breathing evens out, I turn over to face him, and he pins me with a questioning gaze.

In fact, it’s so not that it’s disconcerting. I can’t remember the last time a man asked me what I needed in bed—and gave it to me so eagerly. Dean didn’t assume he had the answers; instead, he asked the questions. And shared what he needed for his own pleasure too.

I know he’s teasing, but as my eyes grow heavy, I’m struck by how close to perfect that truly was. Worse, I’m forced to face the inescapable truth: I planned to rock his world; instead, Dean’s steadily upending mine.