Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

“Good. Because I fuck my hand at least once a day thinking about you. The way it feels when I hold you. The noises you make when you come. The sound of your laugh.” He takes my jaw in his hand and tips my chin up toward the mirror, but I keep my eyes closed. “The way you say my name when you’re turned on. The way you roll your eyes at me when I annoy you, but you think it’s cute anyway. Your tight pussy gripping my fingers. I can’t get enough of you. I don’t think I’ll ever have enough, Charlie.” He keeps his hold on my jaw, gentle but unrelenting. Just like his words. “Look at yourself. Look at us.”

I swallow and pull in a deep breath, and then I open my eyes. And I see it. I see what he sees. I look nothing like the woman I’ve always been told I am. I look free, blissful, sexy. My skin is flushed and glowing.

“I see it,” I whisper.

“That’s right. Now you see what I dream about. You see the woman I’ve seen all along. You see what you do to me. You see all of that?” The pace of his hand picks up to match mine, and I’ve never wished so badly that it was him inside me.

“Yes. I see all of that. And I see you, too. All of you.” Our eyes lock in the mirror, and Rafael’s body tightens beneath me. He doesn’t say anything as he comes, but our eyes remain locked on one another’s.

My orgasm hits me intensely, a tingling sensation that travels from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, like warm water being poured over me. I come, and I come, and I come until tears trickle down my cheeks and I gasp for breath.

I toss the vibrator aside and curl my legs up as my core still throbs. Rafael pulls me into him, my cheek resting on his chest, holding me close with one arm, his right hand wrapped around his still semi-hard cock.

“Here, lie down. I’ll be right back.” He covers me with the blanket at the foot of the bed and moves swiftly to the bathroom. When he comes back, he has tissues, which he offers to me, and I’m thankful he lets me do this on my own after having felt so exposed. Then, he climbs into the bed behind me, urging me to rest my head on his bicep. “Thank you for trusting me.” He kisses my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” I lock my leg between his muscular ones and rest my hand over his, linking our fingers. “Thank you for…” I don’t know what. How do I even begin to articulate this? “Thank you.” He nods a response into my skin, his lips kissing the same spot over and over.

I’ve never done anything as intimate as what we just did. I keep having that thought. And not only after every item we cross off the list, but anytime I’m with him for any reason. I find myself noticing that they’re the most intimate experiences I’ve shared with a person. And the more these encounters happen with him, the more I wonder if I could experience them this intensely with anyone else.

40/

i’m honestly going to lose my ever-loving mind.

charlie

By the time we start the drive to Siesta, I feel as if I’m floating. We got coffee on the way out of the city, and Rafael has been telling me a bit more about his siblings as he drives.

He’s mentioned his niece, Cecilia, a few times as well, but never with anything that highlighted her autism. I tuck away the bits of information he shares, like how she is in kindergarten and is fascinated with animals.

That his parents have been married for nearly forty years.

That Gabriel is the responsible one, Arthur is the eldest, Marcelo and Gustavo are the silliest, and Daniela is the youngest but probably more mature than all of them.

He speaks about them with so much love and affection that it nearly hurts my heart.

“I need to tell you something.” I break a brief lull in our conversation with the ominous words. He must feel it because he swallows, tipping his chin for me to continue. “I’m C.M. Howe.”

There, I said it.

“What do you mean?” He glances at me briefly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“I mean, I’m the author. C.M. Howe is my pen name. I’ve been writing romance novels since I was a teenager, then I self-published one a few years ago, and it sort of blew up, and now I have an agent and a multi-book deal and a movie deal and all that.” I’m rambling, but I’d really like to be very clear so he doesn’t hit me with any more ambiguous questions.

Seconds tick by, but they feel like minutes. Then, Rafael turns onto a quiet road and stops the car on the shoulder. He gets out of the car and walks to my side of it, pulling open the door. He reaches in slowly and unbuckles my seatbelt. Gosh, I love it when he does that. But I’m nervous about his reaction.

Holding out both hands silently, he beckons me to step out of his SUV, and I do as my insides practically vibrate with anxiety.

“I couldn’t say this in a moving vehicle, hence pulling over. I’m sorry if that made you nervous. I just had to tell you that I’ve always thought you were the smartest, most interesting person in any room. In every room. But now? Damn, carrot cake. You’ve been writing books while running a whole-ass finance department? Fuck, I—” He takes my hand and brings it to his chest, pressing down so I can feel his ferocious heartbeat. “That’s what that does to me. I’m so fucking amazed by that beautiful mind of yours. By the fact that you created some of my favorite book characters ever.” I bring a hand to his cheek, running my thumb over his lower lip for no other reason than simply needing to touch him. His hands come to rest on the car as if he’s holding himself up, caging me in the process and my hand on his chest lowers to his abdomen, slipping under his shirt. I don’t mean for it to be sexual, but I can’t help my moan when his muscles flex beneath my fingers. The low groan that comes out of him has me tipping my chin up to see his face. I love seeing how his lids lower and his lips part, as if his always-expressive face completely relaxes when he’s under this lusty haze.

“So, you’re not angry, then.” It’s not a question; the answer is very obvious. “Because I kept a secret, and we promised honesty.”

“Not angry. Never angry at you. But I’m honestly going to lose my ever-loving mind and any semblance of gentlemanliness or self-control if you keep touching me like that.” He rests his forehead on mine, and when I pull my hands away, he lets out a slow breath. “You’ve told me now. That is being honest.” Lifting his head, he places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Is there anything you can’t do?” He asks, almost to himself.

“I don’t know how to whistle.” It’s a fact. I just can’t make my lips twist the right way, and all that comes out is air, no whistling sound.

He rears back. “What, like…” He whistles a tune so easily that it’s almost annoying. I want to hate it. I want to hate the way that his lips pursed like that makes my stomach do a little backflip. I want to hate that Rafael whistling is both somehow adorable and sexy all wrapped into one hot, muscular package. I want to hate that I’m now thinking about his package. But I’m very much thinking about it and how much I don’t seem to hate anything about him anymore. Quite the contrary, actually.

“Red? You okay?” He cups my cheeks in his hands, his thumb caressing the spots where I am most certainly blushing.