Dad's Capos Swore to Guard Me, So I Made Them Break Every Oath novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Bay Water

At the end of the private dock Rafa takes her mouth, her tongue and her ride in the moonlight and says out loud what he saw at her mother's funeral.

Rafa laughed the whole way down the lawn.

I had him by the crucifix chain, walking backward ahead of him toward the water.

He came after me with the rum bottle in one hand and his shoes in the other.

"Jefa," he said. "Reina. Wait. My knee."

"Your knee is fine. Walk."

It was Sunday night, the second night, and the bay lay black and flat at the end of the property.

The lights of the city were strung along the far shore.

My robe was white silk, and I had nothing on under it.

The dock was teak, forty feet of it, and it still held the heat of the day.

At the end stood the long cushioned lounger where my father used to smoke his one cigar a week.

I stopped in front of it.

"Sit," I said.

Rafa sat.

He set the bottle on the boards, and the lounger groaned under his weight.

He was forty-seven, with dark curls going gray and shoulders that filled the whole back of the seat.

The crucifix lay in the open collar of his shirt, and his chest hair was dark and thick above it.

"Hands on the armrests," I said. "You can talk. You can't touch."

"I can talk," he said, grinning. "Coño, I'm going to be loud, you know that. Ask anybody at the docks."

"Be loud."

I untied the robe and let it slip off my shoulders.

It went down my arms and pooled around my feet on the warm teak.

He stopped grinning.

The moon was behind me, and I knew exactly what it showed him.

"Dios," he said. "Mira eso."

"Nine years," I said.

I stepped between his knees.

"Nine years you stood behind my father's chair, and not one of you looked at me."

"Tina," he said.

"Not once," I said. "I wore my good dress to the club on Sundays, and you said, 'Hello, Valentina,' to the ceiling."

His hands tightened on the armrests, and the laugh was gone from his face.

"Every one of us looked," he said. "We just had nowhere to put it."

"Put it here."

I knelt on the boards between his legs.

His belt was a heavy old leather one, and I unbuckled it and opened his fly.

He raised his hips so I could pull his trousers down.

His cock sprang out thick and flushed, curved a little to the left, with a bead already shining on the tip.

"Mamá," he whispered, to nobody. "Santa María."

I wrapped my hand around the base and felt him pulse.

"Look at me, Rafa."

He looked.

I held his eyes and laid my tongue flat against the underside of his cock.

I licked him slowly from the base to the head.

He groaned, long and loud, and the sound carried across the bay.

"There it is," I said. "Louder."

I took the head into my mouth.

He tasted salty and clean, with a little rum on him.

I sucked gently and worked my tongue in a circle.

"Ay, coño," he said. "Ay, Tina. Ay, mi reina."

I took him deeper.

My hand stayed at the base and stroked in time with my mouth.

My other hand cupped his balls and rolled them, and his thighs began to shake.

He kept his hands on the armrests, and the tendons stood out in his wrists.

"Please," he said. "Tina, please."

I let him slip out of my mouth.

"No touching," I said. "You can tell me what you're feeling."

"I'm dying," he said, and he laughed, breathless. "I'm fifteen years old. Somebody opened every door in the world."

"Good."

I took him in again, all the way to the back of my throat, and held it.

He swore in two languages.

The lounger rattled under him, and I drew back slowly and swirled my tongue over the head.

His hips lifted, and he caught himself and went still.

I felt it cost him.

"You're doing so well," I said. "Don't come yet."

"Jefa. Jefa, I can't promise that."

"Then try harder."

I sucked him until his voice cracked.

I used my tongue and my lips and my hand, and I felt his whole body leaning toward me.

He wanted to take over, and one order held him back.

When his breath started to catch, I stopped.

I stood up.

He stared at me, panting, his cock wet and straining and red against his stomach.

"Coño," he said. "You are cruel."

"I'm just getting started."

I pushed his hands off the armrests.

"Up," I said. "Off the lounger. Down on your knees on the boards."

"My knee, reina."

"I don't care about your knee."

He grinned and got down, wincing, and knelt on the teak with his trousers around his thighs.

I sat on the edge of the lounger and spread my legs wide.

The night air touched me, cool on my wet skin.

"Use your mouth," I said. "Show me how loud you can be."

Rafa put his face between my thighs and groaned, and the groan went straight through me.

He ate me with his whole heart and no restraint.

His tongue was broad and hot and relentless, and he licked and sucked and laughed against me.

"Ay, qué sabrosa," he said, and he went back to it.

I put both hands in his curls and held on.

"Slower," I said. "Rafa. There."

He went slower, and found the spot, and stayed.

I watched his shoulders move in the moonlight and the crucifix swing against his chest.

I came in a rush that made me bend forward over him.

He held my thighs apart and did not stop until I said so.

I pulled his head back by the hair.

His beard was wet, and he was beaming at me, delighted with himself.

"Back in the chair," I said.

He got up and lowered himself onto the lounger.

I stepped over his lap and put one knee on the cushion on each side of his thighs.

The cushion sank under me.

I took his cock in my hand and rubbed the head against my wet slit.

I watched his mouth fall open.

"Hands on my hips," I said. "Now you can touch."

He grabbed me.

His hands were huge and hot, and they spanned my waist, and he held on to me hard.

I lowered myself onto him slowly.

He stretched me open inch by inch, and I felt every one of them, and I heard myself moan.

"Mi reina," he said. "Qué rico. Qué rico, Tina."

I sat down until he was all the way inside me.

We stayed that way, breathing, his head tipped back against the cushion and my hands on his shoulders.

The bay was quiet around us, and a boat horn sounded far off.

Then I started to ride him.

I rose up on my knees and came down hard, and he cried out at the top of his voice.

"Louder," I said.

"Tina! Dios, Tina, you're so tight, you're so hot, I can't."

"You can."

I rode him with my head thrown back and my hair swinging, and the lounger rocked on the boards.

His hands guided my hips up and down, and I let them.

Every time I came down, he hit the deepest place, and a bright hard pleasure ran through my stomach.

I climbed off him, shaking, and turned around.

"Don't move," I said.

I lowered myself onto his cock again with my back to him, and my feet on the cushion either side of his knees.

Now I faced the whole bay, black and glittering, with the city lit up on the far shore.

"Ay, Dios," Rafa said behind me. "Look at you."

His hands closed on my breasts.

I let my head fall back on his shoulder.

He kissed my neck and the side of my face, over and over, rough and wet.

"Say it," I said. "Say what you want."

"I want you riding my cock until the sun comes up," he said, in a hoarse whisper.

"I want to hear you scream this bay awake."

"Then hold on."

I fucked myself down on him, hard and fast, with his hands full of my tits and his mouth at my ear.

He talked the whole time, in Spanish and English, filthy and tender in the same breath.

I reached down and found my clit with two fingers.

"Watch," I said.

He looked over my shoulder at my hand moving and his cock sliding into me.

"Tell me what you see."

"I see you," he said, hoarse. "I see you touching yourself on my cock. I see my cock go in you."

"Good."

I rubbed harder, and my body tightened.

I turned back around on him, facing him, because I wanted his face for the end.

He was crying.

He did not hide it.

Tears stood in his eyes and ran down into his beard, and he was still grinning.

"I looked once," he said suddenly. "At your mother's funeral."

I did not stop moving.

"You were nineteen, and you were standing at the grave in black, and you didn't cry."

His voice broke.

"I looked at you, and then I went to confession. I told the priest I was a pig."

"You weren't a pig," I said. "You were a man who was looking at me."

His hands tightened on my waist.

I felt his tears drip onto my wrists.

"Rafa," I said. "Come inside me."

"Jefa, I can't hold it."

"That's an order."

He shouted.

His hips drove up under mine, once, twice, and the heat of him flooded deep in my body.

That sent me over.

I came with my forehead pressed against his, grinding down on him, with my fingers pinned between us.

I shook through it, and my cry went out across the water, and a dog barked on the next island.

Afterward neither of us moved.

He had his arms around me and his face in my hair, and his whole body was shaking.

It took me a moment to understand that Rafa was laughing again, softly, into my neck, with the tears still running.

"Nine years," he said. "Coño. What a waste."

"It's not wasted yet."

"No," he said. "No, reina. It isn't."

I kissed his wet cheek and climbed off him, and he made a sound of loss when I did.

I bent and picked up my robe.

When I straightened, I saw a shape at the foot of the dock, standing very still in the dark.

It was Quino, with his arms folded and a stack of white towels over one shoulder.

I did not know how long he had been there.

"Towels," he said.

His voice was perfectly flat.

Rafa wiped his face with both hands and began to laugh in earnest.

Quino held out a towel to me without looking at my body.

Then he looked at it anyway.

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