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The King's Queen - chapter 1

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness, cancer. Summary: Javi is given some unexpected and unwelcome news from his father - meanwhile you receive the phone call that you have been waiting for for your entire life. Notes: As always, we do our best to infuse some Spanish into the dialogue when our stories call for it, but neither Keri nor I are fluent by any means. If you see an error let us know, but kindness counts!

The day began, as so many do, with a knock on the door. The palace had stirred to life hours ago, bustling staff all going about their business and, breakfast served and cleared away again, appointments kept, and meetings held. Business, as they say, booms this morning at Castel del Ocaso. The only person not yet risen, it seems, is the crowned prince.

And so his day begins with a knock. A gentle one. There is no need to jar the man into reality cruelly. His valet has a tray with his breakfast so that the kitchen could move on with their duties for the day, and an urgent message from the prince's father. Which is, if one was to ask the valet, the only reason for waking the prince at what is already a late hour. When he stirs at the opening of the windows, the valet clears his throat and sets the tray down on the broad bedside table. “There is a message this morning, your Highness.” The valet tells the bleary-eyed prince quietly. “His Majesty would like to see you in his chambers after you are dressed.”

Groaning, Javi looks over at the clock, well aware that the staff knew that he was to sleep in. It’s a rare night that he is up until the early morning hours and today had been blocked out of his schedule as a recovery day. “What is going on?”

“I only know that your father has asked for you.” Sometimes the king’s staff would impart more details or relay why his Majesty needed a particular thing or requested a particular presence, but this was not one of those times. Indicating the tray laden with croissants, marmalade, yoghurt, and fresh fruit alongside a strong cortado, the prince’s valet offers an apologetic smile. “Would you prefer to take breakfast before dressing?”

“No—” Javi sits up and groans, closing his eyes again at the throbbing in his skull. “Yes.”

The man says nothing at first, but hides a private smile as he hands the prince his coffee before going to his closet to choose clothing for the day. “Was your evening enjoyable, sire?” He asks, always preferring to have the temperature - so to speak - of the royal family each day. There had been shouting from the king’s chambers this morning.

“Too much so.” Javi is desperately grateful for the coffee and he takes a sip with a sigh before reaching for his bottle of aspirin from the bedside table. He had anticipated celebrating too hard and wanted to be prepared. “I am getting too old for all night parties.”

“Then we will simply begin celebrations earlier in the day, I expect.” The prince’s birthday is always a series of extravagances, and this year had been no exception.

“Yes.” Hissing, Javi gingerly crawls out of the bed. “I will shower first.”

“Very good, your Highness.” With a nod, the valet lays out clothes for the day and is gone again, leaving the prince to ready himself to see his father.

******

It takes Javi an hour to shower, dress and make his way to his father’s quarters, frowning slightly as he knocks on the door at the raised voices inside.

“¿Quién es esto?” The king’s deep voice grumbles from inside, obviously irritable. When the doors open a moment later to admit the new arrival, the king is fairly growling and ousts the others from the room. The last to leave is the doctor, sparing a last glance at the king before excusing him to say good morning to the prince as he retreats.

“Javier.” Gruff as he can be, the bedraggling king sighs and waves his son inside. “Come in.”

“You wished to see me?” There is a tenuous relationship between the king and his only son but Javi loves the gruffer man, even if he does not always understand him.

“I wish to speak with you.” He glances at the footman standing near the door. “Alone.” As soon as his son steps inside the door is shut securely behind him and the king smothers a deeper sigh. Standing is quite painful this morning, but since lying down and sitting are, too, he does not move yet. “I sent for the doctor last week. About the pain in my stomach.” Which no one, save extremely close family members, knows about. “He came back to me with answers this morning.”

“Sí?” Javi strides closer to his father, a worried frown creasing his brow. It is not good news if his father is asking to speak to him privately. It is rare that at least his cousin Lucas is not in attendance. Fear and dread coils in his own stomach and the breakfast he had threatens to make a reappearance.

There is no other way to do this, for a man of King Miguel’s temperament, than to do as the Americans say and rip the Band-Aid off. “Javier,” he motions for his son to come closer, not wanting to have to raise his voice and be heard by someone passing in the hall of the drafty medieval palace. “It is cancer.” Which was his worst fear. His fear as a ruler and his fear as the father of a son he is not certain is ready to take his place. “It came on quickly, and spread just as fast.” He tries to hide a wince as best he can, pressing a hand over his aching side as though the disease can hear him speak of it. Laying down may not be any less painful than standing, but it does relieve a bit of pressure, so he lies down again gingerly. “They have given me a few months at most.”

“No.” Javi shakes his head and gives a nervous chuckle. His father is king. He is invincible, always seeming so large to Javi, even now. “No, they are wrong. They have to be wrong.” He blinks, fighting the tears that would be ‘unbecoming’ a future ruler.

“It is always possible for doctors to be wrong.” He would be a fool and a liar to claim otherwise, but Miguel shakes his head. “However, the pain I feel is not a lie. And we must act as though they are correct, in case they are.” He sighs again, clearing his throat to hide pain from his face. Despite the characterization of their relationship as adversarial by the European press at points in Javier’s life, Miguel truly does want the best for his son. It is why he has done what he has done. Made the arrangements that he has made. “Thirty-five is a good age for a king, Javier. Old enough to have some sense but young enough to make the people feel the invigoration of youth.”

The age-old argument of not wanting to be king doesn’t even slip out of his mouth like it normally would. He can’t. Not when his father is lying in a bed looking much older than he had just the day before. Javi realizes how much pain the older man has been hiding from the world. “Sí.” Javi nods. “You have been a good king papá, the people will miss your guidance.”

Surprised at the lack of protest from his only child, the king pats the mattress beside him, hoping for this conversation to go smoothly. He knows Javier would not choose this life if he had the option - but there is no option. Second in line to the throne is his odious nephew Lucas and if that remained his only option, he would sooner find a way to pass the throne directly to Lucas’s new wife. Gabriela may not have royal blood but at least she has a decent mind behind that lovely face. “Steps will have to be taken, mijo. I will have to abdicate. You will have your coronation. And you will also need a queen.”

Javi frowns sadly, aware that the one woman he had wanted his for queen was now married to his cousin. “You took away my queen when you allowed Lucas to marry her.” He reminds his father bitterly. The woman who he loved had just married two years prior and Lucas was always taunting him that she will be pregnant soon.

“When I told you that you could not marry Gabriela, it was not to be cruel or obtuse.” If he had ever hoped that his son could forgive him over that refusal, apparently the hope was in vain. “A bride was selected for you long ago, mijo. So that you would not have to bear the burden of choice yourself.” He looks to his son with interest, hoping this will not begin a shouting match. “It was your mamá’s dying wish that I secure your future. And it is mine that you honour the promises we have made.”

Javi swears he chokes on air. Gasping and stuttering for a moment, eyes widening in shock. “An arranged marriage?” He huffs, swearing if it were anyone but his father it would be a joke. “No. No.” He shakes his head. “My future has been set from the day I drew breath but now my choice of a wife is taken from me?”

“Choosing a queen is more complex than choosing a wife.” There is the objection Miguel anticipated, even if he must admit to being disappointed by it. “The monarchy’s survival means more than simply whose figure you like the most in an evening gown.”

“My queen.” Javi stresses. “So it should be my choice.” He shakes his head. “I have done what you asked but I want to love the person I take as my queen.”

“How do you know you will not love the girl who has been chosen?” The pain of an arrangement is not exactly unknown to the king. After all, his own match was arranged and so was his father’s. Every crowned prince in their family has had their wife chosen from eligible candidates on their behalf - it was perhaps only that Javier’s match was chosen when he was a bit younger than most.

“How do you know I will?” Javi imagines a woman steeped in tradition and molded by pomp and ceremony. Someone who is rigid, only caring about the legacy she leaves behind. “Just because you came to love mamá doesn’t mean the woman you have chosen to be queen is right for me. Or were you only thinking of the crown?” He asks bitterly.

“I was thinking of finding you a partner.” He admits, knowing that his son’s disgust with the idea will not do well if it lasts. “Someone to help you. To stand beside you and to be your support as you find your footing as king.” The tax of sitting up is too much on an injured body and the king lays his head back down again to continue speaking. “Good breeding is done differently in America, but her family is wealthy and prominent, and the photographs I have seen make her out to be quite beautiful.” When he earns a scoff in return, Miguel sighs. “There is a contract in place, Javier. It is legally binding. And— and she has already been sent for. So there is no use fighting with me about it.”

“You arranged a marriage with an American?” The surprise and wistfulness of the statement catches him off guard, even as he shuffles closer to his ailing father. Miguel Gutierrez has never claimed to understand Javi’s affection with America or American Cinema, although they have shared an affinity for Nick Cage. He reaches out and takes his father’s hand, knowing he won’t fight his papá in his last days. “I hope you have chosen well.” He murmurs softly, wondering what this woman is like. His future queen.

“Her mother was friends with your mother at university.” His son’s affection for American pop culture was something he had attributed to his late wife’s own affection that she gained at university. He never understood it for the life of him, but it made her happy to share it with their young son, so he let it pass. “She will be here tomorrow, provided that she is able to travel quickly. The flight from New York is not too tiresome.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?” Javi shakes his head, reeling from the changes that are happening so quickly. “When— when do I have to marry her?” He asks quietly.

“Before the year is out.” The terms of the agreement with the Senator over the marriage of their children was exacting, to say the least. “Seven months is ample time to know her before you walk down the aisle, Javier. But it is more time than I have. So if you wish me to be present when you wed, it must be sooner.”

Javi closes his eyes, wanting to scream and cry and refuse his father. He cannot. He cannot let down the king, the man who has intimidated him and been his idol for his entire life. “We will be married in two months.” He decides, his voice flat. Certainly not happy about the circumstances, but he wants his father at his wedding, he will already miss his mother. “We will get to know each other later.”

Again it’s surprise that crosses the king’s expression first, but a lifetime of schooling his emotions away means it is gone in the blink of an eye. “Your mother and I tried to do what we thought would be best for you,” he tells his son, seeing the frown that forms on Javier’s lips. “This is the daughter of her most precious friend.” Knowing his penchant for the creative, and trying to provide him with a happy distraction, Miguel reaches and pats his son’s arm. “Would you like to choose the suite she will stay in until the wedding?”

The pout that he hadn’t quite ever grown out of nearly comes to the surface. Instead he just nods, not really caring where the American woman who would be his queen would stay but he knows his father is trying. “I will make sure she is afforded every comfort the palace can offer her.” He tells his father, noticing how tired the old man is. “You should rest.” He urges, covering his father’s surprisingly cold hand with his warmer one.

“Not a word to the staff, mijo.” The king warns, though he does lay back again on his pillows. “Only my private secretary knows who she truly is to you. The rest of the staff are preparing for a close friend.”

“They will figure it out when we have a royal wedding in two months.” Javi snorts, reaching out to cover his father up. “Rest.” He urges softly, his heart breaking but he can’t let the king see that. “I will make sure you are not embarrassed.”

“Javier.” It will be the last thing he says in the subject for now, but he does wish to say one last thing before his son leaves the room. “Try to keep an open mind. An arranged marriage is not the worst fate in the world.”

Instead of answering him, Javi just nods, standing quickly and swallowing. “Get some rest, papá.” He murmurs softly, “I have a guest to prepare for.”

******

There is something to be said for a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, those things cannot be said for you at the moment. Curled up in the apartment you share with your brother, watching a late-night movie with a bottle of wine and a seemingly bottomless bowl of popcorn, you know you ought to be sleeping before your father’s re-election fundraiser tomorrow but you just can’t seem to quiet your mind. Today - yesterday in Mallorca - was his birthday. Another year gone by and another year closer to the impending details of the contract that has dictated your entire life.

You wonder how he celebrated. What sort of party he had, if any. If birthday cake is the same in the Balearic Islands as it is here. The internet doesn’t really have answers to these questions and you never had the courage to ask your mother for details of her lost friend’s life. You should have. But you didn’t.

The things you know about Prince Javier are finite, and you have studied them for decades. Which should be proven by the fact that you’re up late tonight watching National Treasure for the umpteenth time. When your cell phone rings halfway through the film, you mute the television and pick it up immediately. No one calls in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency.

Private. Mallorca reads the caller ID. “Oh shit…” You murmur to yourself before sitting up straight on the couch and sliding your thumb across the screen to accept the call.

“Hello?”

Your name is spoken in a clear, Spanish accent, “Please hold for the King of the Balearic Islands, His Majesty, King Miguel.” The private secretary of the king announces him before muting the phone so she can pass it to the king.

“Uh—” Dumbstruck, you nearly spill your wine trying to set it down on the coffee table as though it were a video call or the king himself were right in front of you. He has only called you twice before - when you turned eighteen and then when you graduated college - and the last was several years ago. It sort of feels like suffocating, honestly, waiting for him to pick up the line, but you manage to breathe evenly until you hear a voice on the other end again.

“Hello?” Miguel says your name and waits for you to acknowledge him.

“Good morning, your Majesty.” Glancing at the clock, you quickly calculate it to be half past seven in Mallorca. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

Miguel takes a moment, composing himself after another brief flare of pain. “I hope you are doing well.” He offers. “The time has come for you to join the royal family in Mallorca. How soon can you be here if we send the jet?”

The time has come. The words seem to drown you, swallowing you up in duty and anticipation. “I will need a day to pack my things,” you tell him as politely as you can, hoping that you don’t sound as scared as you feel. The anticipation of an abrupt call like this one is why nothing in your life truly belongs to you - your apartment, your car, and all of your bills are under your father’s name so he can sell everything after you are called away to fulfill your duty. You’ll have to quit your job with no notice, but that’s a separate issue. “But one day should be sufficient.” Just one day to pack up your whole life.

“I shall have the jet sent first thing in the morning. It will be a direct flight so it should not be too long.” Miguel keeps his voice as steady as he can manage it. “My son will be informed of your impending arrival as soon as we disconnect.”

“As your Majesty sees fit.” It’s an odd thing, to speak to the man who holds an iron fist on your future, but you’ve grown up your entire life knowing that one day this would happen. To be honest you’re surprised it has taken so long.

“We will speak again soon.” Miguel promises, disconnecting the phone and then shouting for the doctor to come back into the room. The pain is worse and he needs him to manage it. There is another; more difficult conversation ahead with his son.

You exhale deeply, staring at your phone as the disconnecting line beeps and goes blank, bringing back your home screen with the background photo of the last beach that you went to with friends from college. Everyone is spread out over the blankets with picnic baskets and umbrellas while they laugh in the summer sun. It had been an amazing time – and now as you look at it you wonder if you'll ever be able to have days like that again. If your freedom, such as it ever was, has just been plucked away with one phone call. Still, despite the time, you have a call of your own to make. Opening your contacts, you select the entry for your father and stepmother's landline and hope that the ringing doesn't wake up your little sister. The preteen is a nightmare if she doesn't get enough sleep, and you don't blame her one bit.

The call is picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” The austere voice of your father comes down the line. “What is going on?” He knows you don’t call at late hours unless it is an emergency. “What do you need?”

"I need to come by the house tomorrow and pick up my trunks." Although you can feel your voice waver, you hope your father is too disoriented from being woken up to hear it. He raised you to be strong and to take on responsibility headfirst. "And I can't come to the fundraiser tomorrow." Deep breath, you remind yourself. "I've finally been summoned."

Silence fills the air between you for a good thirty seconds before the senator answers. “That is very good. It is past time.” The bedsheets rustle and he pulls the phone away from his ear to murmur to his wife. “We will draft a press release as soon as you are in Mallorca.”

"I only have one day to pack." Which means, you know yourself well enough to realize, that you'll be starting immediately. There's no way you'll be able to sleep. "So I was thinking I could drive out to Scarsdale to have breakfast with you and come home with the trunks to make sure I have enough time. Is that okay?"

Sighing, your father mentally files through his schedule. “That will be fine, I have a meeting at 9:30 though.”

"Okay. I'll be punctual." It never would have crossed your mind to be anything else. Not with the way your family operates. Scheduling is everything when your father is a senator. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I thought it was important for you to know right away."

“I appreciate the call.” Your father sighs softly and there’s another small pause. “Go on and start working on your packing list, I know you want to get organized.”

"There's a lot to do." That may be an understatement, but you're nodding as though he were standing in front of you. "I'll see you in a few hours for breakfast."

“See you then sweetheart.” The phone disconnects and your father sighs again before he climbs out of the bed. He will need to draft a press release and start working on the PR for his campaign. This announcement couldn’t come at a better time for him, and he intends to use it to his advantage. Perhaps it might even put him in the running for President.

******

It took every second of the time that you had to get things ready to leave even with your brother’s help, but in the end you drove to the private airstrip at JFK airport with an SUV full of your things and left behind an apartment that barely had a single trace of you left in it. What little you have left behind would be kept by your brother, sold, or saved for your half-sister depending on what you father saw fit.

The crew of the jet was very kind in loading your things on board and seemed to expect you to have much more, but you had kept things contained for exactly this purpose. At any point in your life you would be expected to pick up and move your entire existence across an ocean, so you had kept things contained.

The eight-hour flight would put you in Palma, Mallorca in time for dinner and you know that between not sleeping for the last two days and the jet lag, you'll desperately need to sleep on the jet. Hopefully you won't be too anxious to sleep. That would just make things that much worse.

******

“I am meeting her at the airport.” Javi isn’t shouting, but his voice has pitched up to match the same inflection as his father. Met with resistance when he announced that he would take the boat over to the private air strip to meet the woman who is to become his bride without the fan fair or pomp and circumstance that normally surrounds these affairs. “You wanted to keep people from knowing, it will be suspicious if I am in my formal royal uniform.”

"Why can you not let someone from staff fetch her and meet her properly here?" Miguel is exasperated beyond measure, having had both of his suggestions met with rejection from his son. Javier refuses to be in uniform to meet his intended and he refuses to receive the girl in the throne room. He insists on dressing down in a veritable disguise and going to the airport quietly himself. "I understand that you wish to meet her quickly and I commend that, but your position matters, Javier."

“Of course my position matters.” Javi huffs. “That is all that matters. But I am meeting her casually. I want to know what she thinks of this, of me, without any pretense or need for propriety.” He’s worried that you might be dreading this, resenting him once he had learned of the details of this arrangement. He would like to know if he is to be sentenced to a life of passive aggressive comments and resentment.

The king purses his lips, seeing from the clock on his bedside that time is running short to make this decision. "Fine." He concedes shortly. "But take enough staff with you to have her things brought to the palace separately. If you wish to have a conversation with her then you can bring her back to the palace and show her her rooms properly dressed. If not in uniform, then at least not looking like you've just come out of the pool." Clearly indicating he means that he disapproves of what his son is currently wearing, Miguel nods and sits up a little more in his bed. "Something that would be appropriate to wear at the dinner table, since you will be escorting her directly after showing her to her new home."

Javi sighs and nods. “I will even wear a sports jacket, your majesty.” He huffs sarcastically, annoyed that even meeting you is turning into an argument. He doesn’t want to be so stiff and formal all the time. Royals need to relax as well.

"Good." Glancing at the clock again, the king waves him off. "Go and change, then. You should be on your way."

Rolling his eyes again, Javi turns around and stalks out of his father’s bedchamber. Annoyed with himself and the king. Why must their relationship be so strained? Why is he so different from the man who had sired him? He wonders what this woman will think of him, already deciding he’s going to dress causally chic for the meeting.

******

The chance to wash and change and touch up your makeup on the flight after waking up from a six-hour nap was something you hadn’t expected and are grateful for. The simple but well-tailored white sundress you had chosen to make your first impression on the prince could be put on just thirty minutes before landing instead of being thrown on in the airport bathroom so that it wouldn’t wrinkle after hours on the plane. Everyone on board was so kind and so formal that you have to wonder if any of them knew who you were or if that was simply how they were trained. Either way, when you exit the jet’s cabin to come down the stairs with your travel bag in hand, there is just one person waiting for you. In a powder blue sport coat and linen shirt with perfectly tousled hair, he looks like he ought to be a model and not - you assume - palace staff. Sunglasses shield his eyes but he stands straight and watches you expectantly, suddenly making you question if you even know how to walk down stairs at all.

You are…beautiful. He expected his parents to have chosen someone with all the right characteristics and the right schooling, but the sheer force of your beauty nearly takes his breath away. His father will approve of your outfit, the white dress both prim and proper enough to be considered appropriate and yet Javi likes that you are showing some skin. The length of your arms on display and the legs both making him smile at the idea that maybe you are not as stuffy as he might have feared. “Welcome to las Islas Baleares.” He offers as you stride close. The staff rush to get your luggage and he gestures towards the boat swaying gracefully at the dock. “We have a short boat ride to the palace.”

“Muchas gracias.” As hard as you’re trying not to smile, this man that has been sent to receive you is incredibly handsome. His hair and stature remind you of the very few pictures you’ve seen of the prince, and you wonder if perhaps this man is a cousin. Some lower-level royal sent to be a one-man welcoming committee. “Everyone has been so very kind. I’m grateful to have such a personal welcome.”

He cannot tell if you are being sarcastic or not, figuring that you have recognized him. “Sí.” He simply nods his head and gestures for you to precede him. He will need to help you into the boat and then cast off the lines, preferring to operate the speeder himself.

The man’s silence is surprising but you try not to read into it too much as he walks you to a nearby ramp that leads down to a small boat dock with an elegant speeder moored at the tip. The crystal-clear ocean spreads out around you like its own kind of welcoming and you smile. “The evenings are very beautiful here.” Weather. Weather is safe small talk. “Are the days just as gorgeous?”

“Better.” Javi promises, holding out his hand when you stop next to the boat so he can assist you inside. “Not too hot, not too cold, just right.” He smirks slightly, remembering the childhood story about porridge.

“I have to admit, I won’t miss winter.” Putting your hand in his to accept help into the boat gives you a nearly electric shock that you beg your body to ignore. There is no room to be attracted to anyone but Prince Javier. It’s impossible, you remind yourself harshly.

Javi ignores how warm and soft your hands are, quickly bending down to untie the boat before jumping in beside you. Occupying himself with starting the engines and pulling away from the dock, he knows the staff will ferry your luggage over on the other tender. For now, he wants the race the boat over the waters to calm down his own rattled nerves.

His continued silence signals that the weather isn’t worth talking about, and you fall into an uneasy quiet as the boat speeds out into open water. You have about three million questions but know that you can’t ask them of just anyone. It wouldn’t be proper or ladylike to ramble on, and from the moment you stepped onto that jet at JFK you have done your utmost to be perfectly ladylike. Without knowing who knows what or what is truly expected of you beyond marrying a total stranger to produce royal heirs, you feel like the water might be in your lungs instead of under the boat. Your palms are sweaty and you twist the decorative ring on your finger nervously. At least it’s beautiful here - it would have been cruel if you had to spend the rest of your life someplace frozen when you notoriously dislike snow.

He looks back at you a few times, gauging if you like the water. Finding you looking pensive so he doesn’t speak. Not wanting to make you even more nervous if you aren’t impressed with his boating skills. Or him. Instead he throttles down as the palace comes into view, aware that everyone, even him, likes to take in the majestic site of the Balearic Islands seat of power.

When you first take in the sight of the palace standing high on the cliffside, you gasp audibly before you can stop yourself or muffle the sound. It’s truly remarkable - this medieval edifice that has survived through hundreds of years and countless occupants, and you can’t help but stare. No photograph could ever do it justice, and you’ve seen every single photograph. That is where you live now. That’s home. Unless you fuck up spectacularly and he sends you away in disgrace. Oh god. Don’t fuck up like that. “It’s…amazing,” you murmur, realizing that your escort has turned to see your reaction.

“Castel de Ocaso. The royal palace of Mallorca.” Javi announces. “Home of King Miguel Gutierrez and the crowned Prince Javier. Soon to be king along with you, his queen.” He offers before he throttles up slightly to guide the boat into the Royal docks.

“Soon to be?” You startle at that news, feeling your eyes go wide behind your sunglasses. The king had certainly failed to mention that when he called. “I—I did not think…You know who I am?”

Javi laughs for a moment but then he stops, realizing that you don’t know who he is. “Sí.” He nods, turning back around to ease the boat alongside the stone dock. “I know who you are.”

“Forgive me, I just…” It’s like your mouth has run dry and your head is spinning, except you know it’s only nerves. “I was under the impression it was not common knowledge. That only the king and Prince Javier knew.”

He hums, cutting the engine and letting the boat float up next to the dock expertly. Moving to toss the lines to the staff waiting on the pier to tie off. “Come.” He offers, stepping up off the boat and holding his hand down to you. “The king is waiting.”

“May I ask you about him?” Those innumerable questions are all bubbling to the surface as he helps you out of the boat, and you now feel even more sure that his must be a trusted family member that was sent to fetch you. “The prince, I mean?”

“What do you wish to know?” He asks, raising a brow in interest. Curious to know what questions burn in your mind about him.

“Is he a kind man?” You’ve seen official photos and been told what he likes – practically every birthday gift that you’ve ever received from King Miguel was something that Javier liked – but the question of his temperament is completely unknown to you.

“I would say so.” He offers, wanting you to open up more. “Shall we go up to the palace?”

“Thank you.” You nod politely and try to ignore the tingling in your skin at the small touch of hands. Once you’re up the stone steps built in to the cliffside, you look up at the palace again and remind yourself to smile. “Is the prince…” The curiosity is overwhelming. “Is he…shy? Outgoing? Is he a very social man?”

“Ask the questions you really want to ask.” Javi urges you, knowing that there are only a few more moments before propriety will be deemed necessary.

“It’s just…” This man is offering you just enough of a lingering lifeline that your curiosity just can’t say no to it. “It’s just that I’ve never seen photographs of him with friends o-or girlfriends.” You swallow. Hard. “Or boyfriends. And I just…I wondered if…if he…prefers women?” That might be one of the things that terrifies you most. The idea that this marriage was arranged to force him to be with a woman when he’s actually gay.

Javi chuckles. “Women.” He promises. “There is much emphasis on not causing a scandal for the crown.”

“I understand that entirely.” There was plenty of emphasis on that for you growing up as well. “Forgive me if that’s too personal. I just would never want to make him uncomfortable.” An awkward laugh passes your lips and you shrug slightly. “Hopefully just the fact of me doesn’t make him uncomfortable.”

“You care about the Prince’s comfort?” That surprises him, and it’s rather sweet. It is rare that someone cares about someone they’ve never met before, not even someone who was going to marry. You are guaranteed a crown, why would you care about the man placing it on your head?

"Of course." The idea that you wouldn't is fairly shocking to you, if you're honest. "Everyone deserves to be happy, don't they? Especially with the people closest to them. I mean...this arrangement...it's not something either of us chose. What good would it do for us to hate each other?"

“And you?” Javi turns to face you. “You would choose another without a crown? A woman?” The idea that you might be repulsed by men is one that flashes in his mind and it would be a miserably cold marriage if that were the case.

"No." The idea of having a choice is almost incomprehensible if you're honest, but you can only shake your head now. It's not as though you weren't allowed to date, it was just that no one you ever went out with was ever going to last. And if you had been found out to have slept with any of them, your father probably would have disowned you. "I mean I'm interested in men and from all the photos I've seen of the prince he's very attractive, I just...this arrangement was made on our behalf. And I would hate to think that he is dreading my arrival when I'm actually excited to finally meet him." Excited and terrified, but the terror will be kept private. This man does not need to know about your anxiety or your fear.

“Excited?” He tilts his head curiously and smirks. “Why are you excited? You are not worried? I would be.”

"Excitement and worry are two sides of the same coin." That's honest, at least, and very true. You're definitely both. "It's hard to be excited to meet the person you're supposed to spend your life with without also being at least a little worried about disappointing them. That...I guess that's why I'm so curious about him."

“No other questions?” He asks playfully. “Nothing at all?”

"I wouldn't want to be inappropriate." For all you know, you've already overstepped and offended this man or even the prince by accident by asking anything at all.

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “Of course.” He murmurs, slightly disappointed by the way you seemingly cling to propriety.

"It's just...there are personal things that I would prefer to ask him in privacy." Probably your imagination, is what it is, but when he pouts slightly you have the almost unhinged urge to hug him. "I'm so sorry. I never even asked your name and here I am asking questions about someone else entirely."

Javi had turned away, prepared to climb the stairs carved into the cliff to enter the palace but you give him the opening that he wants. Turning around, he pulls off his sunglasses and gives you a small smile. “I am Javi.”

"Oh shit." The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and your eyes widen even more, with your entire body burning in embarrassment. Dropping down into possibly the least elegant curtsy of all time, you thankfully manage not to fall over but secretly wish you'd just topple right back over the edge of the cliff behind you. "I—I mean...I'm sorry, your Highness. I...apparently didn't recognize you." And went and made an idiot out of yourself in the process. Fucking hell...

“Obviously.” He smothers the grin and returns your curtsy with a formal bow and looks back up at you. “Now, what questions may I answer for you? Anything at all, since we are to be married.”

"How long have you known about me?" It slips out of you before you can think of anything more articulate or more interesting to ask not that you're standing face to face with him. At least you have the presence of mind to take off your own sunglasses and tuck them away in your bag.

“Two days.” Javi frowns, shaking his head slightly. “My father decided that I would learn of you the day he sent for you so I apologize that I do not know more than you are American and your name.”

"Two days?" It makes your heart sink in a way that you hadn't expected, and you can feel your shoulders roll in on themselves slightly before you push them back again. Ladies don't slouch says your father's voice in your head. "I've known about you almost my entire life."

“And you are…disappointed?” He asks softly. His entire life he had been compared to his father and been found wanting, why would the woman he was supposed to marry think any better of him?

"What? No!" When you look up again he's frowning so deeply that you have that overwhelming urge again to just wrap your arms around him and squeeze. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately for propriety - you're frozen on the spot. "I just can't believe that your father didn't tell you. Our parents made the arrangement when I was so little that I've just...always known this would happen one day."

“My father- it’s complicated.” He sighs softly, slightly relieved that you aren’t disappointed. “I am sorry, I meant to just meet you casually, not mislead you as to who I was. It was very nice to realize you didn’t recognize me.”

"I thought you might have been your own cousin or something," you admit sheepishly, instantly wishing you hadn't said anything at all. "You have...very nice hair. I thought it might be a family trait."

“You like my hair?” Javi’s eyes widen slightly and he almost reaches up. “I like that you are wearing a dress that is not stuffy.” He admits.

"It's one of my favourites." That's why you chose it, really. To really look and feel like yourself the first time you met him. "You like it? I—I have more like it."

He nods. “It’s very nice. Perfect for an evening in Mallorca.”

"Is there anything you want to know about me?" Since he hasn't known about you for long, that means that anything about you that might have been communicated between your fathers is probably unknown to him.

“Endless questions.” Javi admits with a grin. “But the king is waiting for your arrival.” He bites his lip and decides to be honest. “My father is sick. So he will only meet with you for a few minutes.”

"I'm so sorry to hear that." The unconscious step you take toward him is like the pull of a magnet. "That's why you said soon to be king when we met, isn't it?"

“We – my father is stepping down.” Javi confesses. “And we will be married in two months’ time. I want— he needs—” Javi swallows, unable to speak the words that his father needed it to be quick. “He has few months left.”

"I see." Vivid flashes of your own mother's funeral burst in your mind but you swallow and reach out to touch his arm gently. "If two months is too long for him, just name the day." This is a commitment that you've been preparing yourself for, for your whole life. If it happens fast, then it happens fast.

“We will discuss it with him.” Javi is grateful that you understand and he covers your hand with his for a brief moment.

This time when his touch makes your skin prick, you accept it wholeheartedly. It's a giddiness in the pit of your stomach that feels a bit shallow but at the same time you can't help but be grateful for. He's incredibly attractive in person, now that you see his whole face, and you fluster a little as the two of you turn to continue walking to the palace together. "So...do you prefer to be called Javi?" You ask after a moment, remembering that he hadn't used his full name when he revealed himself to you.

“I do, Javier is too formal.” He makes a face before he frowns. “My father feels as if I am too relaxed for the throne, that I need to be more rigid, but I do not think it must be so serious all the time.”

"It's good to have someone that you can let down your guard with." That frown makes him look a bit like a sweet, discontented puppy, but at the same time you can't help hoping that you don't see it too often. "I hope that...in time...you might feel that you can be yourself with me."

“You have known about me your entire life?” He asks curiously. “And you agreed to marry a stranger?” There’s no judgement, but he finds it odd that someone so beautiful would agree to this.

"I think we must be a few years apart in age." It seems odd to tell him that you know his exact birthday and secretly always have a little cupcake that day in his honor. "You were a preteen when our parents made the contract. I was in pre-school." The slight shrug you offer says that it doesn't bother you anymore. It is simply a fact. "So I grew up knowing that one day - any day - I might get a phone call to come here and marry you."

“You have never…wanted more?” He asks, wishing that you weren’t so close to the doors. “For yourself?”

"More?" More than being royalty? That would make you about the most demanding and highest reaching person in the world, you think. Certainly it would be a rather extreme expectation. "More than what? I mean, I liked my job and all, but I tend to think I could do a lot more good here than just being an organizer for a non-profit back in New York." Or did he mean more than him? That actually makes you frown instead. "If you mean...personally? All I want is someone who loves me. And if that can't be you...well, you'll be king soon. You can make whatever decision you want."

“There— there is no divorce for the royal family.” Javi reveals, relieved, that it’s not the crown that you wished for, but love. “Once we are married, that’s it.” He might not agree with arranged marriages but he respected the crown and tradition enough that he would not make a mockery of it.

This particular fact has never been related to you so cleanly, but always sort of hinted at. And now that you’re hearing it directly from him, it seems almost foreboding. Like he is trying to see if you can be warned off. “The only expectation I have had for my life is to come here to marry you,” you tell him, fingers twisting around each other nervously. “I am prepared to do it. But if you decide that you don’t like me for some reason…” The possibility is surprisingly devastating to you, now that you’ve met him and feel strings of actual attraction for the man. He seems genuinely sweet. And is incredibly handsome. “If you decide you do not like me, then it is up to you what happens afterward. But I hope that that is not something we will have to think about.”

Javi shakes his head, no longer as resistant to the idea now that he had seen you in person. “My father has assured me that the contract is binding and it would be dishonorable for me to back out of this.” He gives you a nervous smile. “I just— I hope that I do not disappoint you. Our monarchy isn’t like England’s. We are the government and our people are very much our interest. We are small on the world stage.”

“That sounds vastly preferable, if I’m honest.” You’ve lingered outside one of the many palace doors for a few minutes now, and though you’re still nervous it’s slightly different than when you first arrived. “I hope that we can at least be friends? I would hate to be a disappointment to you, either. And I know that you did not ask for this.”

“We will have more time to get to know one another very well.” Javi acknowledges, opening the door for you to enter the palace. “Welcome home, Princess.”

______

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PLS SHARE LOVE TO THIS CREATOR BECAUSE SHE DESERVES ALL THE LOVE FOR HER AMAZING WORK THAT SHE WORKS SO HARD ON! 🩷🩷🩷🩷( even she gave me a heart attack with her cliff hanger last chapter 😭) Pls read and reshare to SHARE JAVI AND CELITO TO THE COMMUNITY 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Learning to Live Part 24

summary: It’s just a regular Friday, until someone from Javier’s past comes to your work to reveal secrets he’s kept from you—it’s a lot to hear about the terrible things your boyfriend allegedly did in Colombia.

rating: E (18+! Age gap (about ten years), Soft Javier Peña, Switch Javier Peña (He goes from very subby to very dommy), explicit smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), deepthroating, a dash of mutual masturbation, light bondage (the tie is used again but on Javier), vaginal fingering, teasing, safe word usage, body worship (f and m receiving), dirty talk, praise kink (there’s a good boy), spit mention, begging, (1) spank, anal mention, angst with a happy ending, arguing, miscommunication, confessions, PTSD, nightmare (nothing graphic), emotional hurt/comfort, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Javier breaking down, some medical talk (nothing graphic), talks of the future, Javier quoting Gomez Addams)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (reader is a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 19.1k (Buckle up, everyone)

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the love and support for this story, it means the world to me! I am very proud of myself for getting this done in less than two weeks. I might take a tiny break before the next chapter just so I don’t burn myself out. Big thanks to @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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Friday, November 6th, 11:23 AM

Laredo’s hospital wasn’t even half the size of the one you worked at as a nurse in Dallas, which meant not all of the specialties they had doctors for had separate wings. This translated to your post-operation department getting the majority of the patients from the various surgeries done. Someone had a double-bypass performed on their heart? You were the one taking care of them. Hip replacement? They’d be under your supervision. An appendectomy? Another of yours. Basically, as long as they weren’t a child or having a child, they were coming to your unit to recuperate.

Compared to your last job as an emergency room nurse, this one was a breeze. The people you cared for were usually so hopped up on pain medication they either slept, watched television, or zoned out. The hospital wasn’t too busy, so you got to work regular hours with weekends off, compared to the multiple twelve-hour shifts you worked before, plus overtime. As an added bonus, the nurse who shared the shift with you had become your best friend.

Honestly, you were thrilled you moved to this small border town.

Well, except for all of the gossip.

After the first time Javier had shown up at your work to take you to lunch, you’d been the talk of the hospital as the woman he was dating, and you didn’t care. Still, it gave you unwanted flashbacks to the messy end of your last relationship years ago when you caught your ex, a cardiothoracic surgeon, banging another nurse in his office and having to deal with everyone whispering about it, learning they all knew it’d been going on for months—you’d sworn off dating anyone in your workplace after that, much to your parents chagrin.

At least here, it was people mostly shocked that your future husband was actually dating someone, making them curious about why you were so special.

It’d been months now since your relationship began, and the fascination had dulled down a little. Unfortunately, though, Javier would always be a hot topic of discussion amongst the townspeople, whether it be about him leaving Lorraine at the altar, helping take down Pablo Escobar, eliminating the Cali Cartel, dating you, or his work with the Sheriff’s office—he was basically a local celebrity, and he hated it, which was completely understandable.

It was almost lunchtime, and a new patient had been brought to your wing as he recovered from a minor heart surgery. Reading his chart, he was seventy-two and had a history of cardiovascular issues, seeing one other major surgery had been performed a couple years prior. He was still sleeping while you set him up in his room, his wife having gone to the cafeteria for food.

The sound of footsteps alerted you someone had entered the open door.

“Knock, knock,” Robyn, your co-worker and best friend, greeted in her Texan accent. You’d already gotten your patient connected to his IV that was currently pumping saline through the line and were now clipping the heart monitor onto his finger, the steady beeping of his heartbeat suddenly filling the air.

“What’s up?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at her.

The other woman’s long, chestnut brown hair was up in a high ponytail, her lips painted in wine-red lipstick, and she looked nervous, which was odd.

“Are you almost done in here? You’ve got a visitor…”

That had your eyebrows furrowing; not expecting to see anyone today.

“That isn’t Javi…?” you clarified.

He was the only one who came to see you at lunch.

“No...” She shook her head. “This man ain’t from around here… He said his name was Bill?”

That confused you even more; no one was coming to mind by that name.

“Did he give you a last name?”

“I didn’t ask.” She winced.

You snorted, shaking your head while turning your attention back to your patient as you double-checked your work to ensure everything was set up correctly. “I thought you learned your lesson about not asking men for their last names.”

The busty brunette walked closer to stand at your side as she whispered, “First of all, Seb is hotter than hell, and I only cared about knowin’ the name he wanted me screamin’.” Sebastián was Javi’s cousin whom Robyn took home the previous Friday from the bar, having no idea he was a Peña until he’d come by your work Tuesday to take her to lunch, and you had way too much fun revealing his identity. “Second,” she continued, “I usually don’t bother gettin’ last names ‘cause they’re just one-night stands.” She shrugged.

“He was at your place for literal days before you found out, which is crazy.”

“With the things he was doin’ to me, it really wasn’t important,” she replied with a smirk.

“Mhmm, it didn’t matter, but now that you know, it fills you with insane amounts of joy that you found yourself a Peña.”

She playfully slapped your arm. “Shut up. He is pretty great and stayin’ at mine for the weekend.” Her eyebrows wagged.

“He’s been staying at yours for the last week…”

“And how long has Javi been stayin’ at yours? That man came over on your third date and never left.”

“Touché. Aren’t Peña boys the best?”

“They really are.” Her voice went quiet, “Anyways, there’s somethin’ off about the man out there. He was askin’ if I knew where you were from and stuff about your family. Just odd things to ask a stranger, you know? So, I want you to talk to him in the hallway in case I need to call security and Javi, okay?”

Her concern had your hackles rising, wondering who this person could be.

“Yeah, of course.”

After finishing what you were doing, the patient settled in and was being monitored, Robyn told you she would do her rounds to check up on her own patients and listen for any signs of trouble from you.

Taking a deep breath, you readied yourself for whatever was about to happen, walking out of the room toward the end of the hall where the nurse’s station was. You noticed the man you’d never seen before leaning against the tall counter, looking your way with a smile.

The top of his head was bald, his face featuring a long, raggedy salt and pepper beard, dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal grey button-up under a dark green denim jacket.

“Hi,” you said as you approached, offering him your name, “—I heard you wanted to see me. How can I help you?”

He straightened, standing to his full height. “It’s more of how I can help you,” he replied, holding out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Bill Stechner, an old friend of Javier Peña’s.”

“Okay…?” This guy was too old to have gone to college with him, and it was weird he used Javi’s full name if he was supposedly a ‘friend.’ Robyn was right. There was definitely something off about him, and add in you’ve never heard of him before; this all seemed a bit fishy. Quickly, you shook his hand. “What exactly are you helping me with…?” you asked.

The smile on his face was almost predatory, and you didn’t like it one bit, unconsciously wiping your hand on your blue scrub pants.

“We’ll get to that in a minute.” He waved away your question. “Javier and I used to work together, and since I’m in town on business, I was dying to meet the woman who managed to tie him down.”

So, he tracked you down? Found out where you worked and came here? That was a little much to go through in order to meet a former co-worker’s new significant other… This guy had warning bells going off in your head because something wasn’t right.

“Okay…?” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “You met me.”

“That I have, and I’m a little surprised.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyebrow rose.

“Well, based on the many, many women he had relations with in South America, I just wouldn’t expect you to be his type...”

Your eyes narrowed. Who the fuck was this guy? He really hunted you down to imply you weren’t as pretty as the other women Javi’s been with—what an asshole.

“Did you come here just to insult me? Because if that’s the case, you can fuck right off.”

“No, it’s great he ‘fell,’” he said the word sarcastically, making your jaw clench, “for you, and it’s wonderful you’re looking past all of the prostitutes he used for sex and information.”

It was weird this man felt the need to mention that, knowing a lot of your boyfriend’s informants had been sex workers he fucked, and it didn’t bother you—it had been a coping mechanism for the shit he was dealing with while down there, and he treated them well.

“Why are you bringing that up? Why are you even talking to me alone? You’re really not giving me a great first impression here, pal.”

He pressed a hand over his heart in faux concern. “I’m just looking out for your best interests and want to make sure you actually know the man you’re living with.”

“Right, my best interests…” you replied, sounding doubtful and doing your best not to roll your eyes. “So, what is my boyfriend apparently hiding from me that you felt it necessary to bother me at work?”

There was a tiny nervous fluttering in your belly over what this could be about, hoping it wasn’t anything serious, but having a feeling it was going to be about the one topic Javi avoided talking about:

Colombia.

“Javier and I go way back—I’ve known him for years, and we worked kind of closely while he was down in South America.” Your suspicion was correct, and you wouldn’t lie, you were curious about what he had to say. “I was wondering, did he tell you why he wasn’t there to catch Pablo Escobar?”

All you knew was Javi fucked up badly and got sent home before they got the drug lord.

“Please, enlighten me.”

“I get why he’d hide it from you in shame. I think if he ‘loved’ you, he would’ve told you all about what he’d done in Colombia and the crimes he committed working with Los Pepes.”

That was a low blow, and what crimes?

“Los Pepes?”

“Los Perseguidos por Pablo Escobar—The Persecuted by Pablo Escobar or Los Pepes were a paramilitary vigilante group created by opposing cartel members trying to kill Escobar, oh, five or six years ago. That boyfriend you share a bed with fed them classified information like locations of Escobar’s men and their family members, and boy, were they notorious for killing innocent civilians indiscriminately. They’d go after Pablo’s sicarios and kill anyone who had a connection to him or just happened to be there—wrong place, wrong time.” He shrugged the fucker. “Javier’s intel ended up starting a war between the Medellín cartel and Los Pepes, both sides murdering many innocent men, women, and children, and that’s why he was sent home before they caught Escobar. Did you ever hear about the bombing down there at a shopping center the week before school was about to start?”

It took you a second to answer as you processed what he told you. “Vaguely,” you answered.

“Killed a bunch of kids and their families while they were getting school supplies and clothes—we know it was Escobar who planted it, and it wouldn’t have happened if things hadn’t gotten so out of hand with the leaked information. If you don’t believe me,” he continued, “I brought this interview by one of the leaders of Los Pepes so you can read about it yourself.” That’s when you saw him holding a rolled-up newspaper in one of his hands, the header reading The Miami Herald. “It talks about Javier’s role in it all and how big it was—if he hadn’t given the intel, a lot of lives would’ve been saved.”

It was a lot to take in, hearing about what Javi had supposedly done, and it was harder to imagine him doing such things because he was a caring, kind, honorable, and good man—there was no way in your mind he would’ve condoned so many innocents dying, and with how odd this whole visit was, you were taking what Bill was saying with a grain of salt. There were probably some truths in there, but definitely not all because it made zero sense with the fact your boyfriend was twenty minutes away at his office, and not locked up in a prison cell.

Fuck ‘looking out for your best interest,’ this man was trying to turn you against Javi by telling you these terrible things, making it clear he absolutely was not a friend of his—he did not come here with good intentions; it was crazy he even came here at all. What you were assuming with all of the effort he put into this was there was bad blood between the two men, and this was Bill’s way of getting back at him—what pissed him off so much he was keeping tabs on your boyfriend? If he found you and your place of employment, it looked like he was keeping tabs on you, too, which was a little scary. He said he worked with Javi, which made you think he was a part of an alphabet agency, maybe DEA? CIA? FBI? Whichever it was, he had the resources to be a fucking creep, and you hated what he was trying to do to your boyfriend, so you’d give him a taste of his own medicine and fuck with him a little.

“No,” you gasped in pretend shock, covering your mouth with your hands. “My Javi, really did these horrible things you’ve told me about?”

Stechner tried to make his face look somber, but his gaze told you he was happy by your reaction.

“Unfortunately, he did,” he replied, nodding his head.

“He really did these horrible things that would’ve definitely landed him in prison had he actually done them?”

Again, you knew there had to be some truth since he did get sent home.

Bill frowned. “He got lucky...”

Uncovering your mouth, you said, “Let me get this straight. Due to the classified intelligence Javi gave to this vigilante group, he started a war, and a lot of innocent people were murdered, but he ‘got lucky’ and avoided any and all jail time? Not only that, he was given a promotion to take down the Cali cartel… Something isn’t adding up here, Bob—”

“It’s Bill.”

“You lost name privileges when you basically called me ugly, Dick. Now, as I was saying, something isn’t adding up here, Brad, and it’s the bullshit you’re trying to feed me since Javi already told me everything.” That was a lie, but this asshole didn’t need to know. “Was this how you were going to ‘help me’—” You made air quotes with your fingers. “Tell me some fucked up shit you thought I didn’t already know, and hope I’d what, break up with him? Were you just hoping to ruin his happiness? He hasn’t worked for the DEA in almost two years. Why are you so obsessed with him? Wait—” A look came over your face like you had a realization. “—are you in love with him?” you loudly whispered. “Are you trying to get me out of the picture so you can take him for yourself?”

He looked disgusted. “What? No. That’s ridiculous.”

“And you keeping up to date on Javi’s personal life and trying to sabotage his relationship, isn’t ridiculous? Ballsack, this is fucking insane!” You threw up your hands. “You’ve got a screw or two loose in your head. So—” You jabbed him in the chest with your finger as you glared. “Listen here, you greasy-haired fuck. I don’t know who the fuck you are or who you think you are, but you’re not going to scare me away with shit I’m all too aware of from his past. Now get the fuck out of here before I make you, and pray I don’t tell Javi about this ‘cause I don’t think he’d appreciate whatever this fucking game is you’re playing.”

The plan was to call your boyfriend immediately to tell him everything.

Stechner scoffed, your arm falling as he set the newspaper onto the counter so he could slowly clap his hands.

“Aren’t you a little firecracker,” he said, his arms crossing in front of him. “I see why Javier likes you. You’re smart, too—maybe too smart for your own good.”

“That doesn’t sound threatening at all…” Your eyes rolled.

“No, no, it’s not. You’re spunky and smart. Definitely too good for him. Does he know all of your secrets, too? Like the one you’ve kept from your family of how you failed the MCAT—” That was the Medical College Admissions Test. “—and couldn’t get into medical school, so you went into nursing instead? I’m sure your parents loved that.” You ground your teeth. “Do you hate not continuing the family legacy?”

The answer was no because you didn’t give a single fuck about it and never had an interest in becoming a doctor—failing the test made you happy. It felt like a sign you were meant to do what you wanted and not what was expected of you.

Glaring, you replied, “It’s honestly none of your fucking business. I’ve got work to do as a nurse, so if you’ll see your way out.” You started walking around the desk.

“You may not have continued the legacy, but you’re still reaping the benefits of it. Just remember Javier likes using women—sex, information, money. You have something he wants, and once he’s gotten it, he’ll discard you just like the rest of them. I’ve known him for a long time, and he’s not a relationship kind of guy.”

Anger was bubbling in your belly at the audacity of this fucker.

There wasn’t a chance to respond when an alarm sounded from the computer on the desk monitoring patient vitals, seeing the one just brought in had gone into cardiac arrest.

“Fuck,” you whispered, picking up the desk phone and quickly hitting the numbers to page the on-call doctor about the emergency before turning to get the crash cart against the wall behind you, rolling it down the hallway as quickly as possible.

Robyn came out of a room.

“We’ve got a Code Blue!” you told her as you passed. “Man the desk and get rid of that guy!”

“On it!” She bolted in the opposite direction.

This job was something you’d been doing for so long that you expected the unexpected and were intimately aware things could change in a split second. A calmness came over you in situations like this, focusing on remembering your training and doing everything in your power to save the person’s life.

Time became a tricky thing because it felt like it stopped, yet it was also speeding by—you were doing chest compressions with gloved hands while trying to calm the frantic wife when the doctor finally arrived with another nurse, who escorted the crying woman out into the hall.

Five minutes had passed since the alarm sounded, and it only felt like one.

Assisting the doctor, you handed him items from the cart and did everything he said—the patient’s heart was beating, but he wasn’t completely stable.

A glance at your watch told you twenty more minutes were gone that you hadn’t felt slip by.

The call was made that a minor emergency procedure needed to be done with no time to get to an operating room. The doctor relied on local anesthesia while you and the other nurse helped.

When it was finished, forty-five minutes had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and the patient was finally on the mend.

The doctor spoke to the wife in the hallway while you and your colleague cleaned the room, letting her in once you were done and wheeling the crash cart to the storage room to restock it—the cart itself was small enough that it was easy to maneuver down the hallways and into the tiny rooms, colored fire engine red with many different sized drawers full of supplies you’d need in an emergency.

There was a sheen of sweat on your forehead, the adrenaline making your heart pound, and you couldn’t wait to drink some water when you returned to the desk, knowing your water bottle was there waiting for you.

Your back was to the door while you stuffed gauze into a drawer, hearing it open and close and someone stepping inside.

“So, my patient is okay,” you told Robyn. “A little impromptu surgery had to happen, and let me just say, I do not miss emergency medicine. I think I’ve been spoiled here with how chill things usually are.” Moving to a locked cabinet close by, you pressed a code on the keypad to resupply some medications in another cart drawer. “Today has been insane, though,” you said. Pausing, you remembered. “Oh god, I need to call Javi!”

“I’m here,” he said, making you squeak in surprise as you spun around to find your boyfriend standing just inside the room.

“Jesus, Javi, I thought you were Ro…” Your sentence trailed off as you took in his red-rimmed eyes and disheveled hair, his tie loosened around his neck with a clear look of upset on his face. “What happened, baby?” you asked. Quickly, you were closing the distance, cupping his jaw when you were within reach. “What’s going on, Javi? Is your dad okay?”

It had you thinking the worst, with him appearing unexpectedly looking like this.

“My dad’s fine.” His lower lip was trembling. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

“About what?” You pushed your fingers into his hair. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

“Stechner talked to you.” His eyes were tearing up. “He told you about Los Pepes before I had a chance to tell you the truth, and he gave you a copy of the interview. You must hate me now.”

Your brows dipped together. “Babe, before I say anything else, you need to know I don’t hate you. Not even a little bit—I love you a lot.”

A tear rolled down his cheek, his arms pulling you into him, crushing you against him in a hug, feeling his body shaking as he sobbed. “Oh, baby,” you soothed, rubbing your hands over the back of his grey suit jacket, hugging him back. “That creepy motherfucker came here trying to scare me, but I clocked his bullshit the moment he said I wasn’t your type. I didn’t really take much of what he said to heart because it was obvious he was trying to make you look bad, but I would like to go over things with you to know what was true. Everything’s okay, Javi, baby. I still love you—I’ll always love you.”

His head came up with wet cheeks and reddened eyes. “The interview in the newspaper is bullshit,” he said. “Stechner’s with the CIA, and they were supplying Los Pepes with weapons and made her a deal to keep them out of it if she put everything on me. I gave them locations to a handful of Escobar’s men and fucking told them no civilians were to be harmed—I hated that shit.”

It was a relief to hear the truth.

Nodding your head, you replied, “This is why I called him out on his obvious lies. I knew you didn’t do all the stuff he said you did, and if you had, your ass would be in jail, and they definitely wouldn’t have made you the head bitch in charge to take down Cali.”

He huffed out an amused breath. “Fuck,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I was so fucking scared I’d lost you.”

“Absolutely not.” Your palms skimmed up his front to rest on his shoulders. “You definitely still have me.”

Looking you in the eyes, he replied, “I’m gonna tell you everything today. Everything. I need you to know so this doesn’t happen to me again.”

He held your hips.

“Only if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Okay.” You smiled at him, using your thumbs to wipe away the wetness on his face. “It’s exciting that I get to leave work early for our first family emergency.”

He was frowning. “You don’t have to leave early… I can wait for you at home…”

“And spend hours stressing yourself out? Nope, not happening. The night nurse still owes me for covering those three days for her—she’ll come in if I ask. So, give me a little bit to finish here, and I’ll meet you at home. Can you drive, or do you want to wait for me?” Your fingers worked to fix his hair.

“I can drive.”

“Then go to the apartment, take off these clothes—” You pulled on his jacket sleeves. “—get comfy on the couch and hang out until I get there. Can you do that, babe?”

Softly smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges, he answered, “Yes, mi amor (my love).”

“Good. Now hurry and kiss me before Robyn comes in here to see if we’re fucking,” you said, puckering your lips.

He chuckled, his big hands gently cradling your face, like he was afraid you’d break, leaning in to kiss you tenderly. He melted into you, his body relaxing, his shoulders sagging—all of the tension in his body releasing, the relief evident that you were kissing him, that you still loved him, that he didn’t lose you. With your mouths fused, you imbued upon him your love, telling him with every caress of your lips that you were there, that everything was okay, that no one could ever get between you two.

Things began to get more fervent, Javi losing himself in desperation when he deepened the kiss—his arms wrapped around you, turning you both so he could press your back into the hardened surface of the door, pushing his slack-covered thigh between your legs while his tongue plundered your mouth.

This was something he needed—the intimacy, the closeness; he found comfort in your words, your touch, your body; knowing what you were doing soothed him and gave him peace.

You had to wonder how long he’d been sick with worry.

Had Stechner gone to his office right after seeing you?

You suspected he had and probably knew Javi was in a meeting until noon, the creepy fucker.

Threading your fingers in his hair, Javi was kissing you passionately, his thigh pressing into your clothed pussy and gently moving it side to side—the friction against your clit had sparks igniting in your center, grinding yourself on him for more pressure while he pushed harder, it feeling so good.

A knock sounded behind you. “Y’all better not be doin’ what I think you’re doin’,” Robyn said, loud enough for you both to hear.

Everything paused, and you detached your mouth from his, ignoring the pout on his kiss-swollen lips. “We’re not,” you answered her. “Things have stayed PG-13.”

“Dirty Dancin’ is PG-13, and that shit is horny as hell.”

You snorted. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“Is Javi okay?”

Sliding your fingers into the hair above his ears, you pecked him on the tip of the nose, making him smile. “He’ll be okay.”

“Good. I called Carla—” She was the nurse who owed you a favor. “—and she’s comin’ in to cover for you.”

“You’re a fucking lifesaver, Robyn,” you said. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Just make sure to bring back the crash cart before you go.”

“Will do.” Her retreating footsteps could be heard, and your attention focused on the man in front of you, his big chocolate-colored eyes on yours, seeing in his gaze that he didn’t want to leave without you. If you had to guess, he would be exceptionally clingy for the next couple of days, and that was okay. “Do you wanna keep me company while I finish restocking the cart?” you asked him.

“Can I?”

“Yeah, just don’t distract me.”

“I won’t.”

That was hard to believe and made you smile.

“Uh-huh, okay, quick kiss, then I’m gonna finish my work.”

Slotting your lips against his, you kissed him momentarily, a sad sound leaving him when you broke apart.

Lightly pressing on his chest, you said, “May I please pass?” He had you caged in with your back to the door.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, taking a step away.

Getting back to what you were doing, the task was easy enough—check each drawer and replenish what had been used. You moved about the room grabbing things, and Javi was your silent guardian who’d touch you when you were within reach—a hand to your lower back, your shoulder, a soft grab of your ass. When you were done, he was hot on your heels as you returned to the nurse’s station, putting the cart back where it belonged, and getting your water bottle from the desk, taking a few long, refreshing drinks.

Robyn was in her seat, writing notes on a chart, Javi standing on the other side of the desk, patiently waiting.

Her head turned toward you, waving you to her so you crouched down while she whispered quietly enough so your boyfriend wouldn’t hear, “Hey, what do you want me to do with that newspaper?”

“Did you read it?” you asked just as softly.

“Yeah, I hope you don't mind. I didn’t know what it was.”

“It’s fine,” you reassured. “Be real with me. How bad was it?”

“Bad. Like, if what she’s sayin’ is true, it’s really surprisin’ he’s not locked up.”

“Yeah, not all of it is. That guy who brought it was a real piece of work. If he shows up again, call security immediately. He’s not welcome here.”

“Will do, and the paper…?”

“Just throw it out. I don’t want to read it.”

“I can do that. Now get goin’. I was real worried when poor Javi showed up lookin’ like an absolute wreck.”

“Yeah, I’ll explain later. Thank you!”

It was time to leave, your water bottle in one hand and Javi’s in your other. A quick stop had to be made at the locker room where you got your purse, your cell phone tucked inside, and showing the missed calls from Javi that made you frown.

He was quiet, the kind of quiet where he was lost in his thoughts, letting his worries and fears consume him—something he hasn’t done in quite some time with how well therapy has been working for him.

Stepping outside of the hospital, he paused, his eyes squinting in the sunlight as he looked over at you, scratching his mustache with his free hand. “Will you, uh, ride with me?”

This was why you needed to leave work early—he wouldn’t want to be alone. He needed you with him.

Smiling in reassurance, you replied, “Of course. We’ll come get my car tomorrow.”

A little smile appeared on his lips. “Thank you,” he said, ducking his head and leading you to where he parked.

His truck was taking up two spaces, cutting across them diagonally.

You were about to comment.

“Don’t,” Javi said, unlocking the driver’s side door, it squealing as he pulled it open for you. “I know I parked like an asshole.”

Smiling, you patted his cheek as you moved to get in. “At least you’re aware.”

He loudly sighed, following you into the cab, where you sat down in the middle of the bench seat beside him and buckled up, him following suit. Putting his aviator sunglasses on, his keys jingled as he fit one into the ignition, the truck roaring to life after a second, along with the whirring of the air conditioning.

Shifting into reverse, his arm went behind you as he looked back to get out of the parking spaces, then he put it into drive, and you were on your way.

Something on the passenger seat caught your attention, seeing a manilla folder.

“Did you bring work home?” you asked.

“What?” A look of confusion was on his face when his head turned toward you.

“The file.”

The blinker clicked as he turned onto the street.

“What file?”

Picking it up, you showed him. “This file.”

“Oh.” He squeezed the steering wheel so hard the leather loudly creaked while his attention returned to the road. “Stechner had that. It’s information on you.”

Your stomach did a somersault, looking at the folder in your hand. “Did you read it?” you asked.

“No, and I didn’t plan on reading it unless you wanted me to.”

“That’s very sweet of you. Now let’s see how much of my privacy has been invaded,” you said, opening it.

There was a small stack of papers inside, the first page showing your current driver’s license photo with all the details the DMV collected, such as your birthdate, height, weight, eye color, etc. It had your current address and the others you’ve lived at in the last ten years.

This just looked like a fact sheet about you.

“It’s crazy he had a dossier on me.”

“I can believe it…” Javi mumbled.

The next page featured your academic and employment history.

“Javi?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a secret…”

“Okay,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I want to tell you it…”

He glanced over, softly saying, “Only if you want to.”

“I do. You know how I told you I always wanted to be a nurse?”

“Yeah?” His attention went back to driving.

“Well, as you know, my parents kept my college money from me, and I had to work while also going to school, which was a big struggle—my sophomore year, I took the Medical College Admission Test to get into medical school so if I got in, my parents would pay for everything…”

When he looked over, his eyes were rounded under his dark lenses. “Are you secretly a doctor?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“What? No. I’m a nurse. I failed the test.”

“Is that… okay?” He focused forward again.

“Oh, yeah. My heart wasn’t in becoming a doctor, and yes, working and going to school was hard, but at least I’m doing what I wanted.”

“You are.” He smiled. “And you’re damn good at it.”

“Thank you! I helped save a man’s life today.”

“You told me. I’m proud of you, mi amor (my love).”

“Thanks. Okay, back to reading about my life.”

The next page had your financial information, and you quickly closed the file, hugging it to your chest.

Javi noticed, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Turning your head to look at his beautiful profile, you asked, “Did he mention anything about me you didn’t know?”

“Yeah, that you graduated top of your class which is really fucking impressive.”

“I guess…” You hated acknowledging your achievements. “Did he say anything else…?”

“No…? What are you worried he told me?” His eyebrows were pulled together when he chanced a look at you.

Taking a deep breath, you thought over what to say.

“I have another secret…” you finally said.

There was a deep frown on his face. “With how you’re acting, I feel like I’m not going to like what it is…”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure how you will react when you find out.”

“Well, my head’s been fucked today, so my immediate thought is you’re already married or some shit.”

“Who in the world would I be married to, Javi?”

“I don’t know, maybe that David asshole who cheated on you.”

“Daniel? Gross. I am not married… yet. The only person I’m marrying is you,” you said, knocking your shoulder against his.

That made him smile. “Good. ‘Cause you’re the only person I’m marrying.”

“There we go. It’s agreed.”

“So, what’s this secret?” he asked, looking over quickly.

“Oh, you don’t get to find out about it until we’re married, and my last name is Peña for legal reasons.”

He was quiet for a second, and you could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, making you nervous.

“There was something he kept talking about that I didn’t understand,” Javi said, scratching at his chin. “It didn’t make any fucking sense to me, so I’m gonna ask you a question, and you can answer yes or no.”

“What’s the question?”

The truck was stopped at a light.

“Are you secretly loaded?”

Your heart stuttered.

“Oh, he said something about money...”

His eyes met yours. “He said a lot about money and how I was only dating you for it—yes or no, Cielito.”

“Yes.”

He nodded, his gaze returning to the road as the traffic light turned green, continuing your journey. “Are you gonna make me sign a prenup or whatever it’s called? Should I get a lawyer?”

“My parents would be beside themselves if I didn’t, so no, I’m not.”

His hand moved to your thigh, squeezing it. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“I’d trust you with my life.”

He smiled at you. “I’d trust you with my life. How much?”

“Enough that our multiple children will get to go to their dream colleges and study whatever the fuck they want.”

It was like you could see his brain break as he comprehended what you said, having to turn his head back toward the windshield.

“Multiple?” he whispered, his throat working as he swallowed.

Honestly, it was adorable that was what he got stuck on.

You snorted. “I tell you I’ve got a good chunk of change, and you’re more excited over us having a bunch of kids.”

His head whipped toward you. “A bunch of kids?”

It made you giggle. “Babe, you are well aware we are having more than one. We’ll see how many I can pop out before my baby factory closes for business.”

The smile he gave you was so big his dimple appeared. “I really fucking love you.”

“I really fucking love you, too.”

This was a good conversation to keep his mind off of the day's events, setting the file on the empty seat next to you and cuddling into his side, lacing your fingers with his over your thigh. He kissed the top of your head before his eyes were forward once more.

“The house should have at least five bedrooms, maybe six,” he said.

The previous night, he’d brought up the suggestion of building a house, and you loved it, especially getting to live so close to Chucho, the two of you talking at length about what you’d want it to have.

“And yesterday it was four. At this rate, we’ll be at ten by tomorrow. How many babies do you want?”

“As many as you’re willing to have. I’d be happy with one or ten. It’s all up to you,” he answered truthfully.

“My vagina hurts at the thought of pushing out ten babies. I think that’s too many.”

“Ten is too many, got it. At least three…?”

“I can agree to three, for sure, and we’ll just see how we’re feeling after that.”

“Three kids,” he breathed, a beaming smile on his face. “I’m gonna have at least three kids, a wife, a dog, a house—living the fucking dream. Fuck, this is exciting.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“You deserve it, baby,” you said, leaning to kiss the dimple in his cheek. “You’ve spent enough of your life suffering and atoning for your past. It’s time for you to get your happily ever after, and I’m gonna make all your dreams come true.”

His misting eyes met yours. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. I just love you so fucking much and want you to be happy.”

“I love you, too, and you make me happy. You’re everything to me; my present, my future, it all belongs to you.”

The rest of the ride was spent talking about nothing too important—asking how his meeting went that day, what he wanted to do over the weekend, what he’d like you to make him for lunch, keeping the conversation flowing all the way to him pulling into his spot at the apartment complex.

It was important that he was comfortable for the discussion you were going to be having, so after you both got inside, doing your usual ritual upon first coming home—removing shoes, emptying pockets, etc., a trip was made to the kitchen where a quick lunch was put together of peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches with chips as a side. The dirty dishes were left in the sink as you pulled him to the bedroom, where you both changed out of your work clothes and into something more casual; for you, it was an oversized t-shirt and some soft sleep shorts. Javi kept his boxer briefs on and wore a plain white t-shirt that stretched over his chest and shoulders.

There was silence again as he grabbed your hand this time and led you to the living room. He sat down on the couch, his back resting against the cushion with his knees spread, watching as you didn’t sit next to him like he expected but instead crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs with your chests pressed together. His arms automatically wrapped around you, your fingers pushing into his hair, knowing without a doubt talking like this would bring him the most solace.

His eyes were on yours as you kissed him, and he hugged you closer while your mouths melded, wanting him to feel your love and devotion. Your foreheads touched when your lips parted, his nose nudging yours.

“Do you want me to tell you what happened?” you softly asked. “I meant to call you, but one of my patients tried to die on me, which is why I didn’t answer my phone.”

“I, uh, thought…”

“I was ignoring your calls because your brain was being an asshole and making you think the worst?”

“Yeah… And when I called your work, Robyn was, uh, abrupt with me.”

“Oh, I don’t think she did it on purpose. Code Blues are stressful.”

“Yeah, I don’t think she did either. What did he say to you?”

“I’m not entirely sure what his game plan was because he started off the conversation by rubbing it in my face that you’ve slept with a lot of women, and definitely implied that, I am not as attractive as them.”

“That fucking prick,” he seethed. “You know you’re gorgeous.”

“I know I’m gorgeous to you, and that’s all that matters. Like, you’re very aggressive in making sure I know you’re attracted to me.”

His big hands grabbed your ass and squeezed while he kissed you. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your lips. “Of course, I’m going to tell you.”

Pulling back, you looked him in the eyes. “Yeah, he lost all my respect and name privileges after that.”

His eyebrows creased. “Name privileges?”

You snorted. “Yeah, I called him things that weren’t his name just to be petty.”

He smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you replied and continued telling him about what Stechner had to say about Los Pepes and how you called him out on the lies by fucking with him. “—there was something that really bothered me, and it was the last thing he said about you liking to use women for sex, information, and money—which I know isn’t true. I just hated this guy's perception of you, which a lot of people seem to share. You’re not like that. Our first fight was literally about how you wanted us to contribute equally, and I’m pretty sure I initiate sex more than you.”

He nodded his head. “Yeah, you do. I haven’t fucked anyone more or had someone want me so bad—it makes me feel really good about myself.”

Smiling, you said, “You’re adorable. So, that was it. I didn’t read the newspaper.”

“Good.”

You frowned. “Kinda sucks, I could’ve accidentally come across it without knowing the truth... That stings a bit.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m not angry at you or anything, and I still love you with all my heart. This is gonna be a lot to take in. Are you nervous?” It was showing on his face.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Your nails scratched lovingly at his scalp, your gazes locked. “Don’t be. Relax, and just talk to me. Tell me all the terrible shit, and know that I’m still going to love you anyway.”

His mouth was turned down in a frown, seeing his eyes getting watery. “Promise?” he asked.

Sitting up a little, you held your pinkie out before you. “I pinkie promise, and you know the sanctity of a pinkie promise.”

He smiled a little, huffing out a breath while looping his pinkie around yours to seal the promise. You brought his hand up to kiss it. “There,” you said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Javi sniffled. “Okay. Let me hold you.” Wrapping your arms around his torso, you pressed your front to his, tucking your chin on his shoulder while he hugged you close.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“Fuck, where to start. You probably wanna know more about Los Pepes.”

“I’m curious, yes.”

“Okay, well, that shit happened because a man died. His name was Horacio Carrillo…” He started by telling you who the man was: the first head of Search Bloc until it was disbanded because of how ruthless he was; he went to Spain for a while, then returned to head Search Bloc again, and was the only man Pablo Escobar ever feared.

“—he, uh, was really fucking determined to take down Escobar,” Javier said, “no matter what it took. He… Fuck, he even killed a kid…”

It was bad enough he’d gotten a former president’s daughter killed, but a child?

“What?”

“Yeah.” The emotion was heavy as he spoke. “The cartel used children as spotters, and one night, he rounded up some and shot one to set an example. He didn’t fucking care. It was too fucking much for me, baby. A kid. A fucking child. He just shot him in the head. A kid,” his voice cracked on the last word.

“I’m so sorry that happened, and you had to see it,” you said, hugging him tighter.

His hand moved to wipe his eyes. “I’m sorry it happened, too.”

“How did Carrillo die?”

“Me. I got him killed—I got him and his men killed.”

“What happened?”

“I fucked up…” An informant played him, she just didn’t know it at the time—she gave him what she thought was the location of Escobar, which turned out to be an ambush. Javier and Steve would’ve gone with Carrillo if it had been their choice, but bureaucracy ended up saving their lives, and now Javi lived not only with the guilt of getting the men killed but also surviving.

He was speaking roughly through his tears as he recounted everything. This was only a fraction of what he’d gone through, and it was all so awful. No wonder he was so messed up; he went through so much down there, and your heart was hurting for him.

“—Los Pepes forced me to meet with them, and I couldn’t fucking believe they were asking me to help them—thought it was a fucking joke; the people I was trying to put away wanting my help? Of course, I turned them down. Then the guy who took over heading Search Bloc wanted to use really dated methods to try and get Escobar—shit like search grids, which wouldn’t fucking work. That informant who screwed me over? She led us to a man working for the cartel, and when we followed him, we found one of Pablo’s top sicarios. I tried to do things right. I called for backup, but they fucking denied me, and I couldn’t let this guy get away.” He inhaled deeply. “You have to understand. I spent years of my life trying to get Escobar, and this happened not too long after my mom died, so I was desperate. I was still grieving and hating all the time I lost with her, and I had to get the bastard, so it wasn’t all for nothing.” He spoke slightly softer, “I just wanted to catch him like mi mamá (my mom) always said I would.”

“You wanted to make her proud, even though she was always proud of you.”

“Yeah… So, I felt like my hands were tied, and I made the call to Los Pepes. We got the guy, and I told them I’d give them intel, but I was only about killing Pablo Escobar, nothing else. I didn’t have to cut through any red tape with them, I called, and they went after the fuckers—it was easy. I gave them, I don’t know, five or six tips? Then shit got out of control between them and the cartel, and I was out. Killing sicarios is one thing, but innocent people? Fuck that. I didn’t sign up for that. I… I tried to save a lawyer who worked for Pablo.” He sniffled. “Knew where he was and kept it to myself ‘cause he had his kid with him—a teen son, and I wanted information from him. Another guy I worked with ratted them out to Los Pepes, and I found them both dead and stuffed in a trunk. I should’ve fucking made sure I wasn’t being followed.”

His body shook as he cried.

This man felt so much guilt over the deaths of these people, and he didn’t even pull the trigger. There was no way for him to know Carrillo would be so merciless and have it in him to kill a child. Javi had no reason to doubt the intel he’d been given by the informant was a trap. He’d done his best to protect the lawyer and his son but was betrayed. Other people did these dirty deeds, yet the man you loved felt responsible because he cared so damn much.

Him caring was his downfall.

Along with his desperation.

It made him take significant risks, like working with his enemy.

“Oh, babe,” you whispered, turning your head to kiss his neck. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Feels like my fault.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Fuck.” He sniffed, wiping his eyes again, having calmed down a little. “So, one of the leaders of Los Pepes wanted to turn on the rest and came to me for a deal. I got it approved, but fucking Stechner got her right out from under us and had me take the fall for Los Pepes and all the shit they did.”

“A coup.”

“A fucking coup.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna keep talking?”

“Yes. I think I told you the sex workers I’d meet up with were also used by Escobar’s men, and I’d pay them for any information they’d give me?”

“Yeah.”

“The first time I met up with one, her name was Carina. I only wanted to hear what she heard, and that was it, and I told her upfront the reason I was paying for her time.” He sighed. “My mistake was doing it at the brothel because she told me what she knew, and then I couldn’t leave without seeming suspicious or looking like a really bad lay—both things I didn’t want. Well, we had time to kill, and she was beautiful and willing, and yeah…”

“Ohhh nooo,” you deadpanned. “Sex with a beautiful consenting woman, the horror.”

He pinched your hip. “I couldn’t finish.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, she may have been consenting and beautiful, but it turns me off if I can tell the person I’m with is faking, and she was faking. Nice girl, though, and I did pay for the sex, but I didn’t make that same mistake. For a while, I’d only pay the girls I saw for their intel, and as we got to know each other better, the sex came naturally, and I became a favorite.”

“Of course you did.”

There was a pause, hearing him audibly gulp.

“Being a favorite almost got one of them killed,” he whispered.

“Oh, Javi,” you gasped.

“Her name was Helena, and because I didn’t save her in time, worse things happened to her.” He was getting choked up. “It was all my fault.” His breath stuttered. “She was just trying to get me information and got caught, and they did horrible fucking shit to her. It haunts me how I… Fuck.” He took a deep breath. “It fucking haunts me how I found her—everything that happened to her was because of me.” He was crying again.

You hugged him hard, kissing his jaw. “You still saved her life. She’s still alive, and that’s all that matters.”

“I shouldn’t have had to save her life. I shouldn’t have made her feel like she needed to take such a big fucking risk,” his words were laced with anger at himself. “Because of me, that poor girl is traumatized and has to live with what those monsters did to her, and I fucking hate that they didn’t suffer as we killed them. They should’ve felt more pain than they caused her and had to beg for death—they got off too fucking easy, and I hate it.”

Before now, based simply on how awful things were in Colombia, you thought there was a possibility your boyfriend may have killed someone in the line of duty.

He had never brought it up and had always been somewhat vague about his work with the DEA.

This confession? It had thrown you a little off-kilter at the reveal the man you were going to marry had killed multiple people, and not only that, but you were pretty fucking sure he had also dabbled in torture.

“They definitely deserved to suffer, and it’s absolutely wild I’m saying this: I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to torture them—I know you would’ve done a great job.” Maybe that was too supportive… “What happened to Helena?”

It was silent for a second.

“Javi?”

He spoke slowly, “Did you just encourage me to torture people and say I’d do a great job?”

“Javier, before this conversation, I never had confirmation you’ve killed someone, and now I do, and it’s apparently multiple someones, along with a side of torturing, which is a bit of a curveball. None of it freaks me out, per se. It’s just a lot to process, and based on what you said these horrible monsters did to Helena, slow and painful deaths sound warranted—I’m doing my best to comfort and support you while also absorbing all of the new lore about husband-to-be.”

“I’m sorry for throwing you a curveball...”

“If I’m being honest, I feel even safer with you and a little better about the gun you insist we keep in our bedroom.” That was the topic of your second fight when Javi sprung it on you two days after moving in that he’d gotten a small briefcase looking safe to keep his gun in under the bed—you previously worked in an emergency room in a big city; you knew what guns could do and weren’t a fan.

“‘Cause now you’re aware I know how to use it?”

You didn’t even have to look at him to know his eyebrow was raised. Sitting up, you were met with the expression you expected.

“Okay, first of all, you’re a Texan, and Texans have a weird fucking obsession with guns. Add in you’re also a cop, and it’s honestly surprising you only have one.”

“The others are at Pop’s.” Of course, they were. “I just brought over what I need to protect us.” Holding up his right palm to you, his fingers slightly spread, he said, “Feel my hand.”

“Feel your hand…?”

“Yes,” he replied, nodding toward it. “Feel it.”

“Okay…” Not entirely sure what was going on, you did as he said, sliding the fingers of your left hand over the rough skin on his palm.

“Feel the calluses?”

There was the one you first touched and some on his fingers.

“Yeah?”

“How do you think I got them?”

Meeting his eyes, you took a guess. “I’d had thought from working on the ranch doing manual labor.”

“No, these are gun calluses from using my service weapon so much.”

“Oh.”

Grabbing your hand, he brought your knuckles to his lips as he kissed each one, the contrast of rough and soft, taking your breath away.

“Yes, I’ve killed when I had to,” he murmured, keeping his gaze on yours. “I’ve done things to make people talk when I had to. I never particularly liked doing any of it, but I had a job to do.”

“I know you did.”

He nodded once. “I want you to feel safe with me,” he said, kissing the center of your palm. “I want you to know I’ll do anything to protect you. Anything. You’re safe with me.”

I’ll kill for you.

Was what he wasn’t saying out loud.

“I know I’m safe with you.”

“Good. It took a lot of work, but I got Helena out of Colombia to the US. It was something I needed to do after all she’d been through.”

“Have you heard from her?”

He huffed out a breath. “No. I don’t even know where she is. None of the girls I got out of there ever contacted me again, and why would they? We got what we wanted out of each other.” His lips turned down, frowning. “I’ve always worried about her and hope she was able to have a good life.”

Pushing back his bangs, you told him, “I bet she met a lovely man who treats her right and takes care of her, and they got married and had a bunch of babies.”

“That’d be nice. She deserves that.” He frowned. “I feel really fucking guilty about using the sex workers as informants and putting their lives in danger.” A loud sigh left him. “And sleeping with them. It was all fucked up.”

“Yeah, it makes sense you’d feel guilty. Especially with what happened to Helena.”

“Yeah.” His eyes closed. “Jesus, there’s still so much more I need to tell you.”

“Then lay it on me.”

He looked at you with big pleading eyes and didn’t even need to ask; you cuddled back against him, hugging him while he held you. His body was relaxed, and when he started talking, he didn’t stop.

It was a barrage of new information you had to process as quickly as possible while he got more and more upset by each thing he told you—a lot of people who were promised safety either: almost getting killed, being exploited, kidnapped, or murdered.

What you came to realize was he felt intense guilt about things he did and didn’t do, and the stuff he was guilty of? Haunted him, tormented him, he was covered in invisible wounds that gaped and constantly bled, keeping his sins fresh on his mind—no matter how hard he tried to close them and forget, the stitches always seemed to break and ooze. No wonder he took to therapy like a duck to water; it was probably the first time he’d known peace since college.

Then that fucker Stechner had to show up and undo all of the hard work Javi’s put into himself.

For you, it was a lot to take in. None of it made you think any differently of him. Instead, it gave you a better understanding of what he’d gone through and why he felt so poorly of himself. Yes, he did some terrible things and paid the price for them, having been remorseful about them for all these years.

In your mind, he was still a good man.

In your heart, you knew if he could go back in time, he’d do things differently.

That was all that mattered.

What really got to you was he’d been through hell—actual hell with all of the death and violence, Javier waking up every morning, never knowing if it’d be his last, and doing his best to survive. Living like that can turn you into a hard shell of a person, yet he managed to keep his softness.

If you had to guess, it was probably because of his mother—she was his soft spot, even after she passed. He had pictures of her in his apartments in Colombia and her rosary, keeping her alive with him and his humanity.

He was bawling in your arms about how he almost got General Hugo Martínez’s son killed by Los Pepes because he tipped them off and barely managed to get the young man out of the situation.

“—I fucked up so bad. I was always fucking up, and people died because of me. I was so focused on the job I became a heartless, fucking monster,” he sobbed.

“Hey, that’s not true,” you replied. “Yeah, you made mistakes, but like with Los Pepes, when things took a turn, you backed out and even tried to save a guy. You’re not a heartless monster. You’ve never been a heartless monster. You cared a lot about your job and getting it done, which caused you to do some really questionable things, but you still had a conscience—you weren’t murdering children in cold blood. You still cared about people. Javi, it’s not up to me to judge you for the stuff you did in the past, and I know how all of it eats at you, but you need to let it go.” His breaths had evened out, hearing him sniffling by your ear. “I love you, every part of you, even the imperfections, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He sounded stuffed up when he asked, “You’re not?”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. You know, ‘til death do us part, and all that jazz, but I’m taking a page from your dad and following my soulmate into the afterlife. So, life and death, you’re never getting rid of me.”

“I wouldn’t want to. It took me too fucking long to find you—I’m following you wherever you go.”

“This is giving me Romeo and Juliet vibes.”

“Your family does hate mine…”

It wasn’t so much that your family hated his, they just thought they were better with their money and prestige and couldn’t fathom why you’d want to be with someone who couldn’t afford a life of luxury.

Speaking of them, there’d been hardly any contact in the last couple of months because it finally got through to them that your relationship with Javi was serious, and he wasn’t going anywhere. The last call you had with your mother was a week or so ago, and she asked when you’d be making your annual trip to visit them in December; Begrudgingly, she even invited your boyfriend with the caveat he would have to stay in a guest room, which was beyond absurd. She didn’t take it well when you told her you wouldn’t be coming this year and that you’d mail her Christmas gift.

Moving, you sat up, sliding your hands up his t-shirt-covered chest, softly skating over the sides of his neck to his jaw, tenderly holding it as you leaned in to kiss him; something sweet, gentle. When you broke away, his eyes were closed, his lips turned up, and his cheeks shining in the light of the room.

Using your thumbs, you started wiping at the wetness on his face.

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” you recited. “It is the east, and Javier is the sun.”

Those big brown eyes of his blinked open.

“No, you’re the sun.”

That made your eyebrow arch, your hands stopping.

“I’m the sun? Why am I the sun?”

He was rubbing your hips.

“Because you’re bright and beautiful. Your warmth gives me life and helps me grow. The last reason is obvious.” He crookedly smiled.

Frowning, your brows furrowed, not knowing what he meant.

“Apparently, it’s not because I have no idea.”

Reaching, his big hands held your face.

“My world revolves around you. You’re the center of my universe. No puedo vivir sin ti porque eres todo para mí (I can’t live without you because you’re my everything). Prometo que soy tuyo por siempre (I promise, I am yours forever). Mi corazón, mi cuerpo, mi alma, son tuyos (My heart, my body, my soul, they are all yours). Te amaré hasta mi último suspiro y haste que mi corazón deje de latir y luego esperaré a que me encuentres de nuevo al otro lado (I will love you until I take my last breath and my heart stops beating and then I will wait for you to find me on the other side). Yo soy tuyo, y tú eres mía, por siempre en la vida y la muerte (I am yours, and you are mine forever in life and death).”

Your eyes were burning with unshed tears.

“God, you know how emotional I get when you go all Gomez Addams on me.”

He only knew who that was because you’ve made him watch the recent movies… multiple times.

A smile appeared on his face. “Moriría por ti (I would die for you),” he said. “Mataría por ti (I would kill for you). De cualquier manera, qué alegria (Either way, what bliss).” He winked.

Your eyes had gone round. “Javier, that is illegal.”

He chuckled.

Playfully, you smacked his chest. “I’m serious. Straight to jail. You’re not allowed to quote Gomez when I can’t be horny about it, and right now, we are having a very important discussion.”

“I’m sorry, Cielito,” he replied, pulling you down for a kiss.

When you separated, your faces were close enough your noses were touching, the tip of his nuzzling against yours.

“How do you feel?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

��Tired,” he sighed.

“Makes sense. Is there anything else I should know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry it all came out like this,” you said. “If I ever see that motherfucker again, I’m punching him in his stupid face for all the shit he’s put you through. I hate him.”

“I punched him.”

That made you pull back, your gaze on his.

“What?”

“I punched him.”

“When?”

“Today.”

Your eyes widened. “Which hand?”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Right?”

“Let me see it.” He brought it up to you, and you took it in your hands to inspect his knuckles, noticing some redness. “Does it hurt?” you asked.

“Not really.”

“Nothing feels broken?” you inquired, moving and wiggling his fingers.

He snorted. “Mi amor (my love), I know how to punch.”

“People who know how to punch can still fuck up their hands. Do you want me to ice it?”

“No, baby. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

His hand pulled from your grip to cradle your cheek, making you look at him. A soft smile was on his lips. “Cielito, I promise I’m okay.”

“You pinkie promise?”

An exasperated breath left him, holding up his right pinkie. “I pinkie promise.” Hooking yours around his it made you feel better.

“Okay. Why’d you punch him?”

A grumpy expression came over his face. “Because I thought he got you to leave me, and it was about fucking time I did.”

“I’m happy you did. He deserved it.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Is he pressing charges?”

Javi did assault the guy, even if he had it coming.

“No. I threatened his job, and Joy heard everything.”

The Sheriff’s assistant was lovely and a big supporter of your relationship with your boyfriend. She confided in you she had a trick for making Javi less grumpy at work, and it was asking or talking about you. Apparently, it completely turned his mood around, and he had no idea, which was delightful.

“Well, that’s good. She’d have your back.”

“Yeah, she did.”

His mouth opened, letting out a big yawn, triggering you to yawn, too.

“Wanna take a nap?” you asked through it.

“That’s a great fucking idea.”

Checking your watch, it was half past three, realizing you’d been talking for a couple of hours.

“Let’s go take a quick shower, then get in bed. We can order pizza for dinner.”

“Sounds good. Un beso, por favor (One kiss, please),” he said, grunting as he sat up straighter to get closer to your face.

Smirking, you grabbed his chin in your hand, his heavy-lidded eyes on yours.

“Un beso (One kiss)? No tienes el control para un solo beso (You don’t have the control for only one kiss). No sobrevivirías con uno solo (You wouldn’t survive with only one).”

“Tienes razón (You’re right). Necesito dos besos (I need two kisses).”

“Necesitas dos besos (You need two kisses)? No más (No more)?”

“Hmmm, tuve un mal día y me siento triste (Hmmm, I did have a bad day and I’m feeling sad). Tienes razón, dos no es suficiente (You’re right, two isn’t enough). Mi amor, ¿me besarás hasta que me sienta mejor (My love, will you kiss me until I feel better)?”

“Sí, mi futuro esposo (Yes, my future husband). Te daré tantos besos como necesites (I will give you as many kisses as you need),” you replied, pressing your lips to his and feeling him smiling.

Many kisses and minutes later, the two of you found yourselves freshly showered under the blankets of your shared bed, your bare fronts pressed together and legs intertwined, his arms wrapped around you to hold you close against him.

Your head was beside his on the same pillow, sliding your fingers into his damp hair and toying with it while you lay there.

“I’m sorry about what happened today,” his voice was quiet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, the whole thing was fucking insane, and I can’t believe you’ve literally got enemies who want to destroy your life, but I’m okay. Are there any other archnemesis I should be aware of? Any other CIA dudes?”

“No.”

“FBI?”

“No.”

“Secret Service.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Really?” you harshly whispered.

“No.”

Glaring, you tugged on his hair as you replied, “Asshole. But you’re sure no one else has it out for you besides She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?”

Fucking Lorraine.

He thought it over for a second.

“I think you’ve met them all. The others are either dead or locked up.”

“I guess that’s good.” Exhaustion was catching up to you, your eyelids feeling heavy. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Closing your eyes, you said, “Mmkay, it’s sleepy time. Night, babe.”

“Night, Cielito.” He leaned forward to kiss your forehead. “Thank you for loving all of me,” he whispered.

“No reason to thank me,” you replied, snuggling closer to him. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

It was getting hard to stay awake, feeling so out of it, your thoughts thick and slow like molasses, almost like you were drunk. It didn’t even register that you said out loud the first thing that popped into your head after hearing what he said.

“Mmm,” you mumbled. “Marry me…”

Sleep came for you, pulling you down into a dreamless abyss. Maybe you were dreaming it, thinking you might’ve heard the quietest, yes.

An hour passed.

At some point, you rolled out of Javi’s arms, seeking cooler sheets.

Another hour went by.

Jostling woke you, it taking you a second to reorient yourself with your consciousness, realizing the interruption was your boyfriend beside you thrashing—not violently, it was very mild, his legs and arms moving enough you felt it.

“No,” he softly whined, and your eyes flew open.

It was a nightmare.

He was having a nightmare.

“No, no, no,” he continued. “Please, no.”

Your first instinct was to wake him up and save him from the misery, but that could do more harm than good or possibly elicit a violent reaction. All you could do was let him work through it and hope his sleep shifted to something more peaceful.

Keeping your ears peeled, you listened for if he needed you.

A minute later, he went still, and you let out a relieved breath.

Sunlight crept through the cracks in the blinds behind the blue linen curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. The only sounds you could hear were the hum of the air conditioner and people walking around in the apartment above yours.

Maybe if you cuddled him, it would make him feel better.

Getting ready to face him, he suddenly shouted Cielito, his body bolting upright while his chest heaved in heavy breaths.

Immediately, you turned toward him; the sheets were pooling at his waist, his eyes wide open, and you reached to touch his arm, Javi jolting when you made contact.

“It’s me, baby,” you reassured. “It’s just me. I’m here.”

He looked at you with tears streaming down his cheeks, a layer of sweat making his skin glisten.

“You’re here,” he breathed.

“I’m here.”

“You’re not there.”

Those three words made your heart break, wondering what terrible things he was dreaming about.

“No, Javi. I’m here at our apartment in Laredo with you. We’re home.”

“We’re home.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m at home with you. Fuck.” His palms pressed to his face.

“What do you need?”

His hands fell, big, round eyes meeting yours, seeing his distress.

“To forget.”

Moving, you sat up. “Okay, we can either go watch a movie in the living room, or I can make you come.”

“Make me feel good. Please.”

“I can do that, baby,” you said, leaning in to kiss him. He cupped your cheeks, deepening it with a press of his tongue between your lips, welcoming the intrusion, and tangling yours with his in the way he liked.

As far as you knew, this was the first nightmare he’d had at home with you, and his desperation for you to make it all go away was palpable—you could feel his need. A large palm lowered to fondle the familiar weight of your breast, moaning when he rolled your pebbled nipple between his fingers. Scooting closer to him, without looking, you uncovered his waist to get your hand where he was starting to harden, wrapping your fingers around his length, languidly stroking him.

The kissing was messy as he rapidly grew in your fist, his palm skating down to the apex of your thighs, gasping when two thick digits slid through your slit—gathering some of the wetness pooling at your opening, he used it to easily glide his fingers over your perky little clit, circling it so sparks of arousal danced in your belly.

This was about him wanting to forget, and you had some ideas on how to achieve that, needing to get him nice and hard before you began.

The need to breathe became too much, and he nipped at your bottom lip, kissing along your jaw to your neck, making you hum in pleasure when he sucked on your pulse point.

His lips trailed up, feeling his hot breath at your ear, his voice a rough, soft rasp, “Let me eat your pussy.”

“I’m making you feel good, baby,” you answered, his cock at full-mast in your hand. He moved to look you in the eyes with a little frown on his face. “I’m gonna make you lose your mind first, and then you can do whatever you want to me.”

The pink of his tongue peeked between his lips, nodding his head once.

“I know you trust me, but are you okay with me tying you up?” you asked.

His eyes darkened, and he nodded his head again.

“Words, Javi,” you said. “I need to hear it.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Be right back.” You quickly kissed him. “Get comfy in the middle.”

Getting out of bed, you went to his dresser, reaching into his tie box to grab a black patterned tie.

The blankets had been kicked to the end of the mattress, and he stacked some pillows behind his back to prop himself up in the spot you requested, his dick hard and leaking precum in the trail of hair on his lower belly.

“God, you’re pretty,” you said as you got onto the bed, crawling towards him.

He spoke so softly, “Not as pretty as you.” His lips were curled up in a tiny smile as he looked at you, thinking it was sweet he was trying so hard to act normal when he was clearly still messed up from the dream.

“Such a sweetheart. Hands up, baby,” you said, sitting on your knees beside him.

The white metal headboard arched with a second arch in the middle and vertical slats under it, making it easy to slip the tie over the metal after twisting it in a way that left two loops his wrists could fit into.

Doing as you said, his hands came up, and quickly, you had them secured, making sure they weren’t too tight and nodding to yourself when you were satisfied.

“Are you comfortable?” you asked.

His elbows were up, arms tied to the headboard behind his head.

He was looking at you and nodded.

“What’s your safeword?” you asked.

“Rábano (Radish),” he answered immediately, which was good.

“As always, the stoplight system is also in play, or if you tell me to stop, I will. Please tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will.”

Smiling, you replied, “Good boy,” ending it with a wink that made him gulp hard.

It only took a moment to get in position, kneeling between his wide-spread legs.

Now, you loved being Javi’s pillow princess or any position where your only job was taking what he had to give. But the times like this where he handed over the reins and put you totally in control? Oh, it was one of your favorites—definitely, top three. The power you felt at making him feel so good was addictive, greedily wanting every moan, whimper, whine, and groan you could pull from him—it was the best.

Seeing him there in front of you naked, a slight sheen on his skin from sweat, a fresh, darkening hickey over his pulse point from the night before, his hard cock resting against his happy trail in a pool of precum—he was a sight to behold, and he was yours, wanting to do whatever you could to make him feel better.

Moving forward, your hands held up your weight on either side of him as you crawled over his body to kiss him on the lips, all slow and tender, ending it with a nip to his bottom lip.

“I love your lips,” you said, nudging your nose against his. “I love your nose.” Your mouth pressed to his chin in a kiss, speaking into his skin, “I love your chin.” Peppering kisses along his jaw, your words were muffled, “I love your jaw.”

Your trail continued down his neck, feeling him swallow hard, “God, your neck.” Here you stayed, laving him in kisses and sucking marks into the taut golden skin, making him softly whimper.

He asked you to make him feel good, and yes, you could get straight to the point and make him come, but that wasn’t enough—he needed it drawn out and to hear and feel your love for him. Basically, you were going to tease him and worship his body while you did it because the easiest way to turn Javi into a puddle was by giving him physical affection and verbal affirmation, two of the three ways he liked to be loved.

Lowering to his chest, you continued your tour of his torso with your mouth, kissing every bit of skin you could while leaving the occasional mark.

“I love your pecs,” you said before licking at his nipple and getting a groan in return. Sucking on it, had his hands struggling in the restraints and his hips bucking. Switching sides, you went through the same motions while his sounds got louder, hearing how much he was enjoying what you were doing.

“Please,” he gasped.

Letting go of his hard bud, your head lifted. “Please, what?” you asked.

His mouth wasn’t closed all the way, panting, his eyes darkened.

“Touch me,” he raggedly answered.

“Not yet.” Quickly, you pecked him on the lips, and he whined. “You’re doing so good for me,” you praised. “I know you can take more, baby. Now, where was I? Oh, yes.”

Scooting back, you leaned down to kiss all over his stomach, deliberately avoiding his dick.

“I love your tummy,” you murmured against him.

The whine he let out was pitiful and thrilled you, the puddle of precum in the hair below his navel getting bigger.

Your cunt was throbbing in tune with your heartbeat as you moved further back to be at the perfect distance away to bend down and trail a streak of kisses and bites along his inner right thigh, leaving a mark near the joint. “I love your thighs,” you said. His eyes were glazed over and watching your every move while unbidden moans left his lips, your head going to his other thigh to give it the same treatment.

His dick was straining, the tip an angry red, it jerking when your hot breath ghosted over it.

“Cielito, baby, please,” he practically pleaded.

“Are you needy, Javi?” you asked, kissing above his belly button.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, baby, you can have anything you want.”

His cock was like iron encased in velvet and hot to the touch when you took him in hand. Javi hissed, his mouth falling open as you pressed open-mouth kisses up his shaft.

“Now, this?” His attention was on you while you slowly jerked him. “You know how much I love this gorgeous dick.”

When your lips wrapped around the head and you swirled your tongue against all the sensitive spots, his eyes closed, and he groaned.

Coming off of him, you spat in your palm and started stroking him, your hand gliding effortlessly, twisting it on the upstroke, the other fondling his balls, your face going lower to lightly lick at the thin skin of his sack.

His long, low moan went straight to your pussy.

Licking back up his cock, his eyes were on yours as you gathered spit on your tongue and let it drip onto the tip of him before taking him into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks, humming around him. You welcomed the weight of him on your tongue, bobbing your head while sucking him like a lollipop, your hand continuing to work what wouldn’t fit in your mouth—rough sounds were coming from his throat, his eyebrows furrowed, mouth open, and gaze so dark hardly any brown remained.

Taking him further and further into your mouth and tonguing the underside of his shaft, it got until he was nudging the back of your throat, and you didn’t go any further. You were moaning, your head moving up and down, keeping your eyes on his, building up the anticipation for what he knew was coming and the thing that would push him over the edge.

This was something that had taken a lot of practice, and Javi wasn’t a small guy; deepthroating him was actual deepthroating with how big he was—after getting a tiny bit too drunk one night on some tequila his tía Lupe gave you, the topic of how he was the most well-endowed man you’ve ever been with came up, and he was so smug about it, it took very little convincing for him to let you measure his hard very close to eight-inch dick.

Swallowing around him, he slid smoothly into the tight space of your throat, Javi loudly moaning your name, taking him so deep, your nose was pressing into the coarse hairs at the base of his cock, smelling your eucalyptus spearmint stress relief body wash he used in the shower before you got into bed.

Breathing through your nose, tears were leaking out of the corners of your eyes, loving how he felt inside you.

“Te amo (I love you),” his strained voice said. “Te amo más que a nada (I love you more than anything).”

This man and being so loving during sex—he was perfect.

Gulping made his thighs and stomach tense, and a strangled moan left his lips, his dick jerking.

You knew he was getting close, so you did it again, contracting your throat around him, trying to get him there.

“Rábano (Radish)!” he exclaimed, and immediately, you were pulling off of him, ignoring the drool on your chin and your wet cheeks.

It had you worried something was wrong.

Your voice was hoarse when you asked, “Are you okay?”

His eyes were shut, his chest rising and falling hard while he panted.

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“Was it too much?”

“No.”

“Just didn’t want to come?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna cuddle while you calm down?”

“Please,” he answered.

Smiling, you crawled up his body, straddling his hips to sit in his lap, quickly untying his hands, Javi immediately hugging you against him. His skin was sticky with sweat, and you didn’t care, tucking your head under his chin, lying against him.

“How are you feeling, babe?” you quietly asked.

“Good,” he answered, kissing your hair.

“Head still messed up?”

“Mi amor (My love), the only thing on my mind right now is eating your pretty little pussy and then fucking my come deep inside it.”

His words made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

“Well, that’s good the horny has taken over.”

He chuckled, feeling it vibrate in his chest below you, him squeezing you tighter.

“It has. How sore are you from yesterday?”

The day before, you had asked him to fuck you hard enough, you’d feel it today, and you definitely were dealing with a bit of an ache, now that you were thinking about it.

“Not like I need to ice my vagina sore but achy—honestly, I hadn’t even noticed it with all the shit that happened today, but now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m feeling it.”

“I’ll get you off with my mouth and fingers and use lube when I fuck you,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Are you now?”

“Yeah.” There was doubt in his voice when he continued, “Unless you don’t want that…”

“Javier, my future husband and love of my life, we’re fucking—your plan sounds great. A deal’s a deal, my body is yours to do with whatever you want, mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo (my body is your body).”

“Anything…?” He sounded hopeful, and you knew exactly what he meant.

“Nice try, but unfortunately, it’s a no on anal today.” You felt him deflate under you. “I think I can probably make it happen tomorrow.” He perked right back up, a surprised noise leaving you, when suddenly you found yourself on your back, having been rolled with him now on top of you—his hips nestled in the cradle of your thighs, his hard cock digging into your belly.

His smiling face was hovering over yours, his hair a mess atop his head, sticking up at odd angles.

“I can fuck your ass tomorrow?” he asked, clearly excited.

You snorted, ghosting your fingertips over his bare back to make him shiver. “It’s adorable how every time I agree to anal, you act like it’s the first time I’ve said you can, when in fact, you’ve gotten to do it like four times—“

“Five,” he interrupted, “six if you let me tomorrow. Can I?”

With what he went through today, he deserved a nice treat, and frankly, you quite enjoyed it.

“Yes, Javi. Mi culo es tu culo (my ass is your ass).”

“Sí, así es (Yes, it is).” His lips crashed into yours. “Tu culo es mío (Your ass is mine),” he growled, licking into your mouth and stealing your breath.

His tongue slid against yours in practiced strokes, your fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough that your nails left half-moon imprints, arousal burning brightly in your belly. He had to rock his hips for friction to ease his achingly hard dick, pressing it into the softness of your stomach.

The day’s events were insane, to say the least—nowhere on your daily bingo card did you have ‘Javi’s Villainous Ex-Co-worker Attempting to Break You Up’ or ‘Assisting in a Surgery to Save a Patient's Life,’ the second definitely being more plausible to randomly happen than the first, though.

It killed you how distressed your future husband was over Stechner telling you about some of what he did in Colombia. Did you not tell him enough you’d still love him after learning about that part of his life? Were you not reassuring enough? Did he not believe you? It was shocking to hear all he’d done and gone through, and some of it was incredibly fucked up; Like you told him, it wasn’t your place to judge his past. To you, he had paid for his sins in full, and there was no reason for him to dwell on them any longer. You just hoped after today, it would get through to him that you weren’t going anywhere and loved everything about him. Everything, even his flaws.

His lips broke away from yours to kiss your chin, gasping at his teeth nipping at it. A wet trail of kisses went along your jaw, his breath tickling your ear as he rasped into it, “I love you so fucking much.” Goosebumps erupted all over your skin. “You’re perfect—a goddamn goddess amongst men, and I’m gonna give you the fucking worship you deserve, mi reina (my queen).”

Pulling on his hair, you made him look at you, his eyes hooded, smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. “God, I love you, but right now isn’t about me; it’s about you.”

“And this is what I want to do.”

Frowning, you replied, “Fine,” and let go of his hair.

“Thank you.”

And thus, he began a journey of your flesh with the plush of his lips, starting with your face. The kisses were gentle, reverent, interspersing them with whispers of ‘te amo (I love you),’ blazing a trail of fire under your skin as he made his way down your body—your jaw to your neck to your chest and breasts, peppering kisses all over your tummy.

This wasn’t the first time he’d done this, nor would it be the last. Still, the way his mouth caressed each of your imperfections—your insecurities, and told them he loved them had your throat going tight and tears brimming your eyes that he truly cherished every part of you. He didn’t care if your stomach wasn’t flat or if there were stretch marks, scars, or cellulite on your ass and thighs; to him, you were beautiful—all of you was beautiful, and he’d make damn sure you knew it.

Down he went, kissing and speaking his love as he moved lower until he was lying between your legs. Lips pressed to each of your hip bones, his big hands grabbing just behind your knees, lifting one leg for him to kiss a wet streak along your inner thigh, his murmured words hot against your skin. The tickle of his mustache caused you to wiggle a little, your body lit up, and pussy weeping with need for him, wanting him to touch you.

The leg was lowered, his face a hair's breadth away from where you were throbbing, so close you could feel his breath and him inhaling deeply. Humming appreciatively in the back of his throat, you sat up, his eyes meeting yours.

“Now this,” his words were a deep rasp. “You know how much I love this pretty fucking pussy. I’ve never had any better—it owns me.”

“It’s yours, Javi. It’s all yours.”

A crooked smile appeared on his face.

“Yeah, it is mine, and my dick is yours.”

“Touch me.”

“Not yet, mi amor (my love),” he replied and placed a chaste kiss on your mons. Your other leg was lifted, and he gave it the same attention as the other, making you fall back onto the bed in a frustrated groan, your cunt feeling so achingly empty.

“Javi,” you whined his name. “Please, eat me out.”

“Are you needy, baby?” he asked, kissing close to your knee.

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ve got you, Cielito.”

Scooting closer, he slipped your legs over his broad shoulders, one comforting hand on your belly, the other hand at the apex of your thighs where he used his thumb and forefinger to open the glossy lips of your sex—the need you had for him grew more intense wanting him to ease the ache in your core.

“So fucking pretty,” he purred, his breath fanning over the wet folds of your pussy.

It made you moan when wet, hot spit dropped onto your clit, feeling the saliva slowly dripping down toward your entrance and being intercepted by the flat of Javi’s tongue sliding up the length of you, sending a jolt through your center.

Sitting up on your elbows, you watched his face between your thighs—eyes closed, hair a mess of chocolate waves. His groans vibrated against your sensitive skin as he lapped at you, licking up every bit of your arousal he could get in hot stripes. Heat was beginning to build in the base of your spine, and when his lips latched around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and he sucked, you moaned his name, writhing under him from the shock of pleasure.

“Oh, god,” you gasped. “It’s so good, Javi. It feels so good.”

His eyes opened, all heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide with lust while he watched himself make a mess of you, not even a tiny bit ashamed you were mewling.

You were so close when one thick finger slid inside you with hardly any resistance, savoring the slight stretch when he pushed in a second beside it. This man was an expert at making you come and knew your body probably better than you did. His hot mouth focused on your clit, pulling out all the stops by flicking it with his tongue, and sucking, while his digits worked in and out of you before he was crooking them up to slide along—

“Right there!” you moaned, him pressing into the spot that had every nerve in your body lighting up, the knot in your belly tightening. “Fuck, Javi! You’re gonna make me come!”

That just spurred him on, and it was all so much—the adoration evident in his dark eyes, watching as he took you apart; his mouth focusing on your sensitive clit, his fingers relentlessly fucking into you—all of your weight went onto one elbow to hold his hand on your stomach, needing him to ground you, and make sure you didn’t float away as he sent you higher and higher.

He had you moaning incoherently, and it wasn’t long before the coil snapped, and you came with a cry of his name, blinding pleasure exploding out from your core.

“Good girl,” he groaned into your pussy. “My good fucking girl.”

His tongue licked up your release, greedily pressing it inside your drenched hole to drink it from the source. Falling back on the mattress, your chest was heaving, eyes closed, and your boyfriend slowed down to work you through your high.

One last kiss was placed on your swollen clit, before he got out from under your legs and crawled up your body, the tip of his hard cock drooling precum onto your skin as it pressed into you.

The air shifted, and you knew his face was over yours, him staying like that for some seconds.

“Why are you staring at me?” you mumbled.

“Because you’re beautiful,” he answered quietly.

You smiled. “Such a fucking flirt.”

“Just telling the truth.”

“Uh-huh, the truth that’s gonna get you laid.”

“I didn’t say it so I’d get laid.” The frown was evident in his tone, and it made you open one eye to see his mustache, and the bottom half of his face were covered in your juices, and just as you thought, his reddened lips were turned down.

“Oh, babe,” you started, opening both eyes as you reached up to caress his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You know I’m terrible at accepting compliments.”

A loud sigh left him, his eyes darting away.

“Yeah, your low self-esteem—”

“Absolutely abysmal self-esteem,” you corrected.

“I know. I just wish you could see how I see you so you knew I mean what I say.”

“I know you’re telling the truth,” you replied. “We don’t lie to each other.”

“We don’t.”

“Then that’s settled. Now let’s get back to the horny because your dick has absolutely got to be aching, my guy.”

His gaze met yours. “Do you wanna come again? I’m not gonna last.”

“One was more than enough. As I said earlier, mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo (my body is your body). Use it however you want to make yourself feel good.”

“Thank you,” he said, his mouth hotly descending to claim yours, using the moan you made at tasting yourself to slip his tongue inside.

It was true you were still sore from the night before, but with him making you orgasm, your cunt was nice and wet, and the muscles were relaxed to make taking him easier.

His hips were grinding into you, the kissing making heat blossom in your belly and sizzle along your spine that could build into another climax if you let it. One moment, his lips were on yours, and the next, they weren’t, him suddenly sitting up with a groan on his knees.

“Need you on your front, mi amor (my love),” he said, tapping your hip. The bed jostled as he moved over you toward the bedside table.

“Damn, doggy two nights in a row?” you asked, flipping onto your stomach. “You really want me sore enough I will have to ice my pussy.”

“Not doggy,” he replied, hearing the drawer slide open and close. “Keep your legs together.”

Closing your legs and keeping them straight, Javi made his way back over, straddling them. Your arms were on either side of your head that was turned to the side, resting comfortably on the mattress. He bent over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and another at the base of your neck, asking softly, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you answered. “Stick it in.” To end the sentence, you wiggled your ass.

“You’re so fucking impatient,” he chuckled, getting back up on his knees. The sound of the cap popping open told you he was using the lube, the bottle getting tossed onto the bed when he was done.

“One of us has to be.”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, making you gasp, before he shuffled forward, using one hand on the mattress to hold himself up, the other positioning his cock at your entrance.

“I was gonna be gentle…” Was all the warning he gave before burying himself inside you in one smooth thrust.

A strangled gasp left you at the sudden fullness, relishing the burn, your fingers clawing at the sheet under you for something to hold onto. With your legs closed, you were tighter, and Javi felt bigger—stealing your breath bigger, oh-my-god-how-did-he-fit-that-thing-inside-me bigger, I'm-definitely-gonna-have-to-ice-my-pussy bigger.

You had to admit, the stretch was pretty great.

“Jesus Christ,” he gritted through his teeth, his hips bumping into the plush of your ass. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

His large palms were now on your backside, smoothing over your skin.

“You’re so fucking big,” you breathily replied.

He pulled halfway out and slowly pushed back in with a groan, your mouth falling open and feeling thankful for the lube making him move so easily. His hard length was pressing into all of those spots that made your toes curl, feeling every ridge and vein as he slid it halfway out and rocked it back in over and over, your brain erroring out at how good it felt.

“Shit,” he hissed, moving forward on his arms to kiss your back once more. “This is gonna be quick.”

He sped up his pace, his dick moving in and out of you with quick snaps of his hips, pushing in so far there was a possibility he was in your guts, filling you to your limit—it was hard to think; it was hard to breathe, with how full you felt.

A fire had started in your belly, getting hotter and hotter with each deep kiss of his cock to your womb, no longer feeling overwhelmed by the fullness, it now slowly making you lose your mind in ecstasy.

“I love you so fucking much,” he panted. “You’re so fucking perfect and beautiful and amazing. Fuck, you feel so good. Me encanta cómo te sientes, mi amor (I love how you feel, my love). Estás tan apretada y mojada (You’re so tight and wet).” Wet was an understatement; you were sopping, hearing an obscene squelch where you were joined. “Te sientes tan pinche rico (You feel so fucking good). Te amo, mi futura esposa (I love you, my future wife). No puedo esperar para casarme contigo (I can’t wait to marry you).”

He sat up, his hands firmly gripping your waist for leverage, fucking into you harder and faster, grunting with every thrust—your body was alight in pleasure, the angle making him rub against that one spot only he could find and rocketing you toward your own end; your skin was heated, coated in sweat, and you were so fuck drunk a stream of babbling was coming from your mouth in the tune of his name, letting him know how good he was fucking you, and telling him you loved him—a lot of you telling him you loved him, actually.

The room was filled with the rhythmic slap of his hips hitting against your ass, the jumble of words spilling from your lips, and the rougher grunts from Javi’s throat, the air smelling like sex.

The heated pressure inside you was growing rapidly, your body trembling.

“I love you, too,” he grunted. “Am I fucking you good, Cielito? Are you gonna come again? You’re so fucking wet, and I can feel you’re close, baby. You know why I can’t wait to marry you?”

Somehow, in your wrecked state, you could choke out a “Why?”

“Shit, I’m almost there, too.” He swallowed. “‘Cause I love you.” His rhythm was starting to get uneven. “And I’ll finally get to fuck a baby into you.”

A stab of red-hot pleasure hit your gut, your moan sounding punched from your lungs.

“You want that,” he continued. “You want me to get you pregnant.”

That fire in your belly was threatening to combust, so close to your climax that you could practically taste it.

“Yes!” you cried out.

He was going faster, his thick cock slickly sliding in and out of your tight heat; his name was a soft chant from your lips, saying it over and over like a prayer—proof he was a sex god, and you were his devoted devotee willingly giving him your entire being, body, and soul, as an offering.

He worshiped you, and you worshiped him.

“You’ll look so fucking beautiful pregnant with my baby,” his words were breathy. “My beautiful pregnant wife; fuck, come on, Cielito, give me another. I want my wife to come with me. Come on, mi esposa, I’m gonna fill you up—fuck my come so deep, you’ll be pregnant when I put a ring on your finger.”

That’s what got you, falling over the edge with a gasping moan. Euphoria overtook every cell in your body, rippling out from your center, spreading to your fingers and toes, feeling like you kept coming, and coming, and coming.

Javi went with you, pushing in all the way to the hilt, his cock thickening and jerking hard, shattering with a low, dirty groan, feeling the warm, wet pulse as his spend filled you—falling forward on his arms, his hips rolled to fuck it deeper, and he leaned down to softly kiss your shoulder, moving to lightly bite the edge of your ear, hearing the hiss slide through his teeth when the overstimulation hit and he stopped moving.

Wrung out was apt for how you felt. Your limbs were quivering uncontrollably, panting, your mind all hazy from the pleasure, and you felt boneless.

Something about the man you were going to marry was he enjoyed staying inside you after finishing, and he’d mastered the art of getting you both comfortable without pulling out. He rolled you both onto your sides, bringing your back flush to his front and wrapping his arms around you to hug you tightly against him, his nose buried in your hair, while your hand went back behind you to play with his.

It didn’t matter you were both sweaty and, let’s be honest, gross—a shower was absolutely needed—you loved basking in the post-coital bliss with the person you would spend the rest of your life with.

This also happened to be another occasion where time was tricky. It only felt like seconds passed, maybe a minute or two, as you lay there, luxuriating in each other, but a glance at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock on your bedside table told you ten minutes had passed.

“Yes,” you said, breaking the silence.

He nuzzled against your neck, pressing a kiss to it.

“Are you practicing again?”

“No, this yes is my pre-acceptance of your proposal.”

“I’ve been pre-approved to be your husband?” he asked amusedly.

“Um, yes, Javier, you have gone above and beyond to prove you are husband material. You’ve also been pre-approved to be the father of my future children.”

“Cielito?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m guessing you don’t remember,” he sighed.

“Remember what…?”

“I’m already engaged.”

“WHAT?!” you yelled, Javi making a pained sound when you aggressively got out of his arms and off his dick to turn around and sit up in bed, staring at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”

The expression on his face could only be described as the realization of, ‘I fucked up.’ His throat bobbed as he gulped in fear at your reaction.

He propped his head up on his arm, meeting your gaze.

“I can explain—“ he tried.

Thoughts were racing through your brain, trying to make sense of this—that was the thing; it made zero sense. Nothing was adding up, not with how intertwined your lives had become and your plans for the future, plus all the shit you’d gone through together to get to this point.

“Oh, you better fucking explain, Javier,” you cut him off, anger making you seethe. “It’s not Lorraine since she’s married. Wait—“ Panic hit you. “Am I the other woman? Do you secretly have a fiancée in Colombia?”

There was no way whoever he was betrothed to was from here—you’d know.

His face scrunched in confusion.

“Other woman?” he asked. “Secret fiancée? What? It’s you. I’m engaged to you!”

Your eyebrows creased, checking your hands for a ring and not seeing one.

“Uh, no, we’re not…” You looked at him. “Our anniversary hasn’t happened yet, and I’m like 99.9% sure you haven’t proposed—I’d remember.”

“You proposed to me…” he said slowly.

That had you taken aback.

“Javi, babe, I am so fucking confused right now. Like, you’re the one—” You pointed at him then yourself. “—who has to propose to me, not in a stereotypical way, but because your last engagement wasn’t your choice, and you wanting to marry me, or anyone for that matter, needs to be your choice. Also, I cannot recall ever proposing to you?”

As you explained your reasoning why he was the one who had to do it, his eyes had gotten rounder, and he smiled softly.

“It was this afternoon before you fell asleep.”

There was still no recollection.

“Was I basically asleep?”

He sheepishly ducked his head. “Yeah…”

Pushing his shoulder, you replied in exasperation, “Oh my god, Javier, that doesn’t count! You know that doesn’t count!”

His smile got bigger, meeting your eyes. “I still said yes.”

“To a woman who was more asleep than awake and wasn’t in the right state of mind to even ask.”

“Yeah? Right now, if you asked again, my answer would be the same.”

Thinking about it briefly, you said, “Still doesn’t count unless there’s a ring, and I never proposed with a ring, so that null and voids it.”

His eyebrow went up. “In order for a proposal to be valid, a ring is required...?”

“Yep. Thems the rules. So, we’re not engaged.”

“Okay. We’re not engaged.”

Smiling, you replied. “Nope. Oh! Another stipulation.”

“Yes?”

“The proposal is only valid if there’s a ring and you’re the one doing the asking.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You’ll have to get my father’s blessing to marry me.”

His face paled.

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking…” he said.

“Of course, I’m joking! I don’t give a single fuck about his opinion. That was payback for freaking me out.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathed. “Come here.” He beckoned you with the hand, not holding himself up.

Getting closer, you laid down next to him, his arm pulling you closer to him so you were looking up at his face. He was gazing adoringly into your eyes with a smile, his fingers stroking your cheek.

The silence was comfortable, dancing your fingertips along his naked side.

“Thank you for not leaving me,” he finally spoke softly.

“Never even crossed my mind.”

“Thank you for loving me.”

“Always.”

“Thank you for wanting to be my wife.”

“Thank you for wanting to be my husband. Really, it’s an honor. I’ll be the woman who bagged Javier Peña.”

He huffed out a breath. “Yes, you will. Thank you for wanting to have kids with me.”

“Oh, that’s easy. They’re gonna be cute, and you’ll be an amazing dad.”

His eyes were a little shinier.

“I’m happy you think that.”

“I know that—our bovine children are treated like royalty. You’re gonna spoil the fuck out of our biological babies, and they’ll love you a lot.”

“I hope so.”

“They will.”

Lowering his head, he kissed you with so much passion it made your breath catch in your throat, and your heart skip a beat.

“Cielito?” he murmured into your lips.

“Yes, Javi?”

“Can we practice?”

His question made you smile.

“You want to practice making a baby again?” you asked, knowing that wasn’t what he meant.

“Fucking smartass,” he growled, tickling your ribs, making you laugh while you tried to wiggle away.

Your mouths had broken apart. “Okay, okay, I give,” you panted. Immediately, he stopped his tickle assault. “We can practice.”

He gave you a big, dimpled smile, quickly kissing you.

“Spanish or English?” he asked.

“Dealer’s choice.”

His face went serious. “No, when you imagine me asking, is it in Spanish or English?”

“Uh, Spanish?”

“Okay.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” you quickly added. “Just do what feels right.”

“It needs to be perfect. Which is why we’re gonna practice,” he said, winking.

“Uh huh, we’re practicing, and it’s not an excuse for you to ask the question that won’t leave you alone and has made you regret waiting... Nope, you’re not exploiting a convoluted loophole at all...”

“Yeah, practice. Okay.” He cleared his throat, his big hand cradling your face, his chocolate brown eyes gazing lovingly into yours. “Mi Cielito,” he started, “eres el amor de mi vida, mi media naranja y quiero pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (My Cielito, you are the love of my life, my soulmate, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you). Quiero compartir cada instante de mi vida contigo en las buenas tiempos y en las malas porque somos más fuertes juntos y podemos superar cualquier cosa (I want to share my life with you in good times and bad because we are stronger together and we can overcome anything).” There was no way to stop the tears from forming in your eyes, blurring your vision, getting choked up at what he was saying. “Cuando imagino mi futuro, te veo conmigo, en la casa que construimos, rodeado de nuestros hijos y quiero hacer que eso sea una realidad (When I imagine my future, I see you with me, in the house we built, surrounded by our children, and I want to make that a reality).” He had you crying now, unable to keep the wetness at bay, your cheeks hurting from smiling so big. “Quiero hacer realidad mi sueño y convertirme en tu esposo (I want to make my dream come true and become your husband). Mi Cielito, mi amor, mi vida, ¿me hariás el hombre más feliz del mundo, te casarías conmigo (My Cielito, my love, my life, you’d make me the happiest man in the world, will you marry me)?”

Nodding your head, laughing through your tears, you answered, “Sí, sí, un millón de veces sí (Yes, yes, a million times yes)!”

His mouth came crashing down to happily claim yours, both of you smiling as you kissed, your hands ending up in the hair at the back of his head.

“How was it?” he asked between kisses, his palm sliding up and down your belly.

“Perfect.”

“The real thing will be better.”

“Wait, Javi.”

Immediately, his lips were off of yours, and he looked at you in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know you’re still figuring out your plan, and I’m going to love whatever it is, but, um, it’ll need to be done someplace, maybe secluded?”

“I know you’d hate the attention, so I’m gonna do something intimate.”

It relieved you to hear that.

“This is why you get your dick sucked so often.” He chuckled, smiling. “You’re perfect. It wasn’t just because of that…”

“Okay… What’s the other reason?”

“Apparently, proposals make me super horny, and I’ll want your dick.”

“Somewhere secluded.” He nodded. “Whatever my wife wants, she gets.”

Smiling, you corrected, “Future wife.”

“Still, my wife.”

He was so stubborn he made your eyes roll.

“And what will you call me when we’re married?”

“My wife, and every. Fucking. Person, in this town and anyone else aware of me will know I am your husband.”

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