Say Please Read online

  Say Please

  Something More, Book 3.5

  Tara West

  Copyright © 2014 by Tara West

  Published by Shifting Sands Publishing

  First edition, published March 2014

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Edited by Theo Fenraven

  Formatted by Author's HQ

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Sneak Peek: Divine & Dateless

  About Tara West

  Books By Tara West

  Dedications

  Ann, Jessica, Jodi, Kelly, and Tammy, thanks so much for being awesome beta readers and for making my street team so much fun!

  Theo Fenraven, I don’t know what I’d do without your edits. You are amazing!

  Thank you, Grace from Author’s HQ, for always doing such professional formatting on my books.

  Chapter One

  Christina

  “Happy Birthday, mija.”

  “Thank you.” I roll into my husband’s embrace as he kisses my forehead. I still can’t believe I’m only twenty-five years old and already have so much: a beautiful family and a terrific career. I am so blessed.

  Andrés’s amber eyes light up like twin gems as he smooths a hand down my face. I close my eyes and melt into him. I love it when he touches me. His hand travels down my collarbone, cupping my breast. When he slides under my shirt and flicks my nipple with the pad of his thumb, I groan as moisture seeps into my panties. I cup his ass, pulling him against me, relishing the feel of his erection rubbing more moisture into my sensitive cleft.

  “How about a good morning quickie?” he growls into my ear.

  “What are you waiting for?” I tease as I pull his cock out of his underwear, stroking the pearl of moisture across the top of his slit.

  He flashes a smile that is part demon, part Cheshire cat, as he yanks his underwear and my panties off in record time before pulling my nightgown over my head. I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing, but Andrés has become a pro at quickie sex.

  He climbs between my legs and strokes my clit with the head of his cock, causing my wet folds to swell with need. He strokes me a few more times, building my need until I wrap my legs around his ass and try pressing him into me.

  “Do it!” I groan.

  A loud squeal followed by a crash tears through my lust-induced haze like a match doused by a bucket of water.

  Andrés groans as he hovers above me, his erection poised at my entrance. “He probably just threw his sippy. I’ll be fast, mija.”

  But I shove Andrés off me when James cries again.

  “What if he’s hurt?” I roll onto my side and pick up the baby monitor on my nightstand. “I can’t see anything. He knocked the monitor off the shelf again.” I show him the screen, which appears to be facing the ceiling painted with a cloudscape and happy dragons. I heave a sigh as I climb out of bed and slip into my robe. “You need to bolt down that monitor.”

  James is clutching the bars of his crib, staring at me with his signature mischievous grin, looking far too cute than should be allowed. His diaper has somehow found its way to the floor by his crib, along with his sippy, blankie, and the baby monitor that was on a shelf several feet out of James’s reach. How he managed to knock it down, I have no idea. He’s only thirteen months old and already getting into trouble.

  But when he holds his arms up to me and cries “Mama,” all mischief has been forgotten, and I instinctively reach for my baby boy.

  “Daddy’s not going to be happy with you,” I whisper into his ear as I inhale the sweet, powdery scent of his soft skin.

  I grab a diaper off the changing table and pad back down the hall to our bedroom. Just as I’d predicted, Andrés does not look happy when I set James on our bed.

  “It was his sippy cup,” I say.

  Andrés is sitting up against the headboard, back ramrod straight and hands fisted in his lap. “Why didn’t you leave him?”

  “He saw me.” James squirms as I try to dress him, but I have perfected the technique of holding him down with one hand and positioning the diaper with the other.

  Andrés tosses back the covers and pokes James in the tummy. “Hey little mood killer.”

  James responds with a giggle, his big hazel eyes lighting up when he sees his daddy smiling down at him.

  And thus another day in the Cruz household has begun. One more day of sexual frustration. Luckily, we don’t have to go into work today. Our busiest days are on the weekends, and since we spent all day yesterday catering and decorating a wedding with three hundred guests, we’re taking a few days off to recover.

  Otherwise I’d be sending my baby off to part-time daycare so I can rush through my work day and get back to him as soon as possible. I’d end up chasing him around the house the rest of the afternoon, cleaning peanut butter off the windows and stepping on Legos. Daddy comes home from his catering business in the evening, and we eat whatever leftovers he’s brought from the kitchen. After we play with James some more, we’re both so tired by the time we fall into bed, we barely manage to kiss each other goodnight. We begin each morning sexually starved and frustrated, but because James is an early riser, Andrés and I have had to become proficient at quickies. Usually, we can squeeze a little action in at least a few days a week.

  There are times when I fantasize about breaking free from my mundane and crazy life and running away with Andrés to a deserted island somewhere. But the thought of leaving James for just one night makes my chest tighten. Because this little cherub in my bed has not only stolen all of my time and attention, but my heart, too.

  “You ready to get away?”

  My head snaps up. Andrés is slipping into a robe, winking at me in a much too casual manner. Damn. I had this crazy fantasy that Andrés had forgotten we were supposed to go look at beach homes in Galveston. Oh, I don’t mind the beach home part; I mind the part about leaving James with my mom. And for the record, my mom is an awesome grandma, and my step-dad is an awesome grandpa. He’s also a pediatrician. I’m good with leaving James in their care on those rare occasions when Andrés and I go out to dinner or a movie. But for two days? I mean, he only just weaned last month.

  I rock my baby in my arms. “I’m not ready to leave him, Andrés.”

  It doesn’t help when James nuzzles my neck and clutches the collar of my robe. It’s like he senses I’m leaving.

  “Two days, mija.” Andrés says as he takes James from me. “You can do this.”

  Before I have time to protest, he slips a little box out of his pocket and hands it to me. “We got you something.”

  “Andrés, you didn’t have to get me anything.” But who am I fooling? I snatch the box from him faster than a jackrabbit on crack.

  “I know.” Andrés chuckles as he tosses James into the air, making him peal with laughter.

  When I open the little green velvet box, my breath is stolen from my lungs: two beautiful emerald and diamond earrings to replace the set I’d lost. Well, I lost one of them when I was playing with James outside. The other one is sitting all by its lonesome in the jewelry box.

  “I love them!” I close the box and stick it in the top
drawer of my jewelry box. These earrings have much bigger gems than my old ones. I’m sure they cost a small fortune. I’m tempted to tell Andrés to take them back, since we need to purchase furniture to go in our new home, but that thought is quickly diminished. There’s no way I’m giving up my birthday present. I just won’t wear them unless it’s for a special occasion.

  I give Andrés a big kiss, despite James’s protests. When James starts pushing on my face, I pretend to nibble on his fingers. I’m expecting James to laugh, but his lower lip hangs down in an adorable pout.

  “He’s hungry,” Andrés says. “Get back in bed. I’m making you breakfast.”

  “You need to open a new box of baby cereal and there’s clean sippies in the dishwasher.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he calls back as he pads out the door.

  I heave a sigh as I sink down onto the bed. I look over at our rumpled sheets and think how tempting it would be to climb back beneath the comforter and steal another twenty minutes of sleep, but the thought of taking an uninterrupted shower is just too tempting. I might actually get to shave both legs this time.

  * * *

  Andrés

  The drive to Christina’s parents seems to take forever. Though they’re just fifteen minutes away, I hit every stoplight and then get stuck behind a horse trailer. So now I’m staring at a big brown ass the rest of the ride while James fusses in the backseat.

  He’s thrown his sippy, and he wants it back. I’m proud of Christina for listening to me and not giving in. I inwardly smile at my small victory. I know I may have won the battle, but I sure as hell have not been winning the war. I still wonder how I was able to get them into the truck. Christina fretted all morning that it was a bad idea to leave James. She was so busy pacing the floor and trying to talk herself out of going I had to pack for her.

  My friends keep telling me I’m the luckiest man in the world. I have a beautiful wife, a healthy son, and a great job. Things have been going so well at Cruz’s Cocina and Catering, we’ve expanded the business from San Antonio to Austin. Now we’re looking at expanding again, one reason Christina and I are considering buying a second house on the coast, just in case we open up another location in Houston or Galveston. But the other reason I want a beach home, the main reason, is I’m hoping I’ll have a little more time with my wife. If things go well this weekend, maybe Christina’s parents can watch James more often, and I can have my wife to myself, even if it’s only a few days a month.

  I know I sound like a selfish pendejo for wanting to steal her away from our son, but I’m starting to feel like we’re not married anymore, like we’re going through the motions: work, eat, sleep, and then do it all over again. Occasionally, we’ll have five-minute morning sex, but not until after my balls have turned fucking blue.

  I steal a peek at my wife sitting beside me. After four years together, she’s still a beauty. Her hair is a little shorter, cut just above her shoulders, though she rarely wears it down like I like it. Usually, she throws it in a ponytail as she’s rushing to take care of our demanding toddler. Her hips are curvier and her breasts are larger. The globes of her sweet ass fill my hands to perfection when I’m cupping her cheeks and ramming into her from behind.

  Shit. Where’d that image came from?

  I force myself to think of something else. I don’t need to show up at her parents’ house with a circus tent sticking out of my jeans.

  I look over as Christina squeezes my forearm, at the tiny lines of worry framing her thick lashes. Her vivid green eyes haven’t lost their luster. If anything, they shine brighter than before, especially when she’s smiling at James. I stifle a laugh when I think back to when Christina and I were dating. She was so worried she wouldn’t be a good parent, that she’d turn out like the heartless adoptive bitch mother who raised her. Instead, she’s the opposite; she loves our son, maybe even too much.

  See what I mean? I know I’m a selfish pendejo. I feel like ten kinds of shit for being jealous of my own kid. It’s not like I don’t want to hear all about James’s day the minute I walk in the door: the color of his poo, the potato chips he shoved into the blue-ray player, how many times he threw his sippy cup. But wouldn’t it be nice if Christina asked me how my day was? She’s too focused on James’s sniffle or impending temper tantrum. I have to hand it to my kid. He sure knows how to work his mother. One little cry from him, and she’s scooping him up and coddling him like he’s still a newborn. He’ll be a real Casanova when he grows up, stealing the ladies right out from under their lovers’ noses, just like he’s doing to me.

  No husband should have to fight for attention, but I’ve been reduced to begging for her time and affection, like my Tia’s dog, Chico, begs for table scraps.

  But as I turn into her parents’ familiar acreage neighborhood with rolling hills and mature oak trees, I remind myself that’s all about to change. I’m taking my wife away this weekend, even if I have to strap her to the seat.

  * * *

  Christina

  “Is she a nervous wreck yet?” My mom flashes this sympathetic smile as she talks about me to Andrés as if I’m not in the room.

  “See for yourself,” Andrés grumbles beside me.

  I scowl at my husband. He’s not making this any easier. As soon as we pulled into the drive, he grabbed James and slipped the diaper bag over the other arm, rendering me useless.

  I cringe when James leans away from his dad and extends his arms to me, calling for his “Mama.”

  I bite down on my knuckles, wanting so badly to steal my son from Andrés. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I mumble.

  James is still begging me to hold him, even as Andrés is placing him in my mom’s arms.

  “Mama!” James squeals as he kicks her in the ribs.

  “Ouch, baby! No, no!” She wags a finger in his face.

  James responds with wide, watery eyes and a big pouty lip.

  Andrés isn’t interested in what’s going on with his son as he eyes me through slits. I’ve seen that look before. He’s challenging me not to cave. I storm off to the bathroom, cringing as James calls out to me. I hate when Andrés puts me in this position, forcing me to choose between his orders and our son’s needs. I hate that he’s forcing me to leave my baby on my birthday. This is my birthday. Shouldn’t I get to choose what I want to do? The way Andrés has been bossing me around lately is too reminiscent of my relationship with my ex-fiancé, Jackson James, only minus the little penis and bad breath.

  I resist the urge to slam the bathroom door as I shut it behind me and lean my forehead against the smooth wood surface. The echo of my mom and Andrés laughing fills the tiny chamber. Luckily, I don’t hear James fussing anymore.

  “I’ve got some duct tape in the truck. I’ll tie her to the passenger seat if I need to.”

  I jerk my head and call my husband all kinds of names as I fight the urge to punch a hole through the door. How dare he make a mockery of my fears! I’ve never left my baby this long before.

  Hot tears are streaming down my face by the time I hear a knock on the door.

  “Christina,” my mom whispers, “let me in.”

  I don’t want to talk to anyone at the moment, but thinking Mom still has James with her, I crack open the door. That’s all she needs to slip a hand in and push her slender frame into the bathroom.

  Unfortunately, James is not with her, and judging by the condescension in her gaze, I’m about to get a heaping dose of mother guilt.

  Before she can say a word, I lay down a guilt trip of my own. “Doesn’t anyone understand how hard this is for me?”

  “I know, baby. I know.” Mom cups my face, wiping my tears with her thumbs. “But you and Andrés need this.”

  “Two nights without James.” I hold up two fingers. Even though my hands are small, I imagine those fingers are glaring strobe lights, flashing STAY HOME! STAY HOME! I’ve never spent the night away from my baby.

  Mom clutches my shoulders. “Sweethea
rt, listen to me. I’m so proud of the mother you’ve become. It’s obvious how much you love your son, but don’t forget the other man in your life. He needs your attention, too.”

  “I love my husband.” I have to force myself to say it, because I’m not feeling it right about now. Still, that look of disappointment in my mom’s eyes is difficult to bear, especially since I know she’s right. I have been neglecting Andrés, but James just weaned, and I love him so very much. I know I’ll miss him terribly.

  She cups my chin and forces me to look into her soft emerald eyes. “Then go with your husband and show him how much you love him.”

  A tsunami of guilt washes over me. How is my mom able to do that with just one look, and will I ever get as good at it as her?

  She smiles reassuringly. “James will be fine.”

  I swallow a knot that feels like a lump of granite. She’s right. You know she’s right. You need to do this, Christina.

  “He’ll sleep by your bed, right?” I ask as fresh tears threaten.

  “Right next to me,” Mom answers.

  Get it together, Christina.

  Mom is about to say something else, but I’m already onto the next question. “And you’ll make sure the boys don’t play rough with him?” I love my little brothers dearly, but they are hell raisers. I’m almost certain they taught James the sippy cup throwing trick.

  Mom nods slowly. “I will be watching them the whole time.”

  But I’m still not satisfied because, as Andrés puts it, “You’re a neurotic worrier.”

  “James had a runny nose yesterday,” I say and hold my breath. I don’t know why I’m expecting her to tell me to cancel the whole trip. I mean, a runny nose could turn into something serious.

  Mom flashes a rueful smile. “I think I know a good pediatrician if he gets sick.”