Page 32 of Cartel Cobra

My fucks-better-than-a-porn-star husband laughs as he grips my hips and surges into me as I lean over the bed. I fist the sheets and rest my face against my right forearm as I fight not to come when his hand travels over my waist and down to rub my clit. The spreader he fastened to my ankles keeps me from shifting or stomping my foot with frustration as he brings me to the brink, then slows. He’s been tormenting me for the past twenty minutes, and it’s blissful agony.

Just as his other hand lands across my ass, three strident knocks sound at the bedroom door.

“Mamá.”

“Papá.”

“Mamá.”

“Tenemos hambre.” We’re hungry.

Of course, Javier was the first to speak followed by his brothers Jorge and Joaquin. They all spoke together to tell us the same thing they do at least fifty times a day.

“They’re always hungry.”

“They take after their father.”

Este nips at my shoulder before kissing the crook of my neck. “My insatiable appetite is for something else.”

“Go and find yourabuelita. She should be in the kitchen.”

God blessmamá. Whenever our family floods the house for the holidays, she ensures there’s enough food for all of us.

“Pablo and Juan want something to eat, too.”

“Javi, where areTíoLuis andTíaMargherita?”

“Abuelitasays they’re taking a nap, too.”

Este chokes on his laughter as we listen to our five-year-old son’s forthright answer. He regains his bearing enough to ask his own question.

“AndTíaCatalina andTíoMatáis?”

“All the old people are tired and sleeping.”

It’s my turn to struggle not to laugh at six-year-old Joaquin’s disgust.

“Tía?”

“Sí,Alejandro.”

Our six-year-old nephew’s out there too. I’m certain Catalina and Matáis are no more asleep than Este and me.

“I’m hungry too.Abuelitasays we have to wait until dinner because we had a snack an hour ago. My tummy’s rumbling. It’s loud,tía.”

I glance over my shoulder as Este steps back. His cock glistens, and we both frown.

“See what happens when you play games?” I whisper my scolding as he kneels to unfasten the cuffs around my ankles as I reach for my dress.

“Tío, should I tell them to leave you alone?”

Luis and Margherita’s eight-year-old son, Pablo, sounds so much older than the others. He’s a natural leader among the group, and not because he’s the oldest. His younger brother, Juan, is the same age as Javier. Pablo’s constantly keeping him out of trouble. I suspect one day, even Pablo won’t be able to do enough to cover for his brother.

“We’re coming, Pablo. We’ll be out in a moment.”

I scowl as I speak. “I wish I was coming.”

“Tonight,chiquita. Promise.”

---