Page 95 of Sombra
And Tavo squeezes my knee. “Do you want to record me playing music after dinner?”
“What? Oh, yes,” I say, distractedly. “Absolutely.”
He furrows his brow, tilts his head, then shakes it and goes back to eating.
This family has so many secrets I’m having trouble keeping up.
“Uno. Dos. Tres,”I whisper, and hit the red button on Tavo’s iPhone.
Lit by candles in his room, his face glows. The guitar body shines, but the neck remains in the shadows, obscuring the strength with which he forms the chords. Tavo begins to play, his magical, talented fingers plucking the strings one at a time, so detailed, so quick and precise.
This isn’t something he’s memorized and plays without thought. Tavo shows his soul. Tavo plays like he’s playing just for me. He’s making love to me with his voice and his instrument, creating something in this moment for him, for me, for us.
I do my best to keep the camera steady as I record him, propping it up against the back of a chair to help my shaking hand.
The songbegins with him playing a melody on the flexible strings, and then he starts to sing, occasionally thumping the guitar as percussion. He infuses this traditional, classical song with his assured, giving personality.
He’s so beautiful when he plays. While he’s always striking, when he sings his eyes close and the song pours out his full lips. Messy strands of hair fall in his eyes, and heshakes his head to see.
I mostly watch the veins dance on the back of his quick hands—although his sexy forearms covered in bracelets also vie for my close attention.
His voice is more than the one he uses in the bedroom with me. He’s seducing the whole world, and he doesn’t even know it. Tavo simply knows how to coax the music out of the guitar and show us his underbelly. That makesanyone who listens to it marvel at his talent.
And fall for him.
When he finishes this song, he looks up and gives an adorable little smile. “You like?” he asks shyly.
“Absolutely. Yes.” I stop the video and then edit the ends of it on his iPhone, so it begins right as he plays. I keep the smile at the end. “Should I post it on YouTube?”
Letting out his breath, he nods.“Sure. Let’s see what happens.”
We record two more songs, uploading them, and then he spends the rest of the night strumming my body as thoroughly as he strums the guitar.
A few days later,I shut off the hot water, hang up the shower nozzle, and fumble for a towel,my arm dripping on the white tile floor. Since the farm laundry dries on a clothesline outside, using it reminds me of scouring with steel wool, especially since I’m used to all the fabric softeners and additives my mom pours into the wash. On the plus side, a rough towel invigorates the skin.
With using my body as much as I have since I got together with Tavo, every shower feels like relief,the hot water soothing my achy muscles and my mushy, sex-sated brain. This morning, it’s helping me wake up, too. I’ve been so tired from spending most of every night awake with him.
Guess I’m finally developing my undeveloped muscles in the most delectable way possible.
Stepping out of the tiny Euro tub, I dry off and wrap the towel around my wacky-colored hair. It’s faded slightly,but not much. Dani touched it up the other day, and I can’t wait to experiment with more dyes. When I look at myself in the clear top part of the fogged-up mirror, really look at myself, I’ve changed. I’m not lighter or heavier, taller or different-shaped, but I’m living in my body more. Now I can see how much I tried to escape living before—subconsciously. I didn’t pay any attention to whatI truly needed. I lived for the approval of others, and that’s a way of hiding in plain sight, burying my true self.
I don’t hide with Tavo.
Being with him is so freeing. And not just the joy of really living in my body. While I haven’t crossed into vanity, it’s helped me so much to see myself through Tavo’s eyes. To know how much he appreciates my curves.
Pumping lotion intomy palm, I begin moisturizing my skin, enjoying the process. I run my fingers over my hips. Caressing them. Allowing them. Taking my time.
A knock at the bathroom door makes me hastily take the towel off my head and clutch it to my front. But a quiet whistle tells me it’s Tavo. I have to mess with him, though. “¿Quién es?”
“Tavo.” I get his low, sexy voice through the door, andGod, that does things to me. I crack the door open, and he slips into the steamy, vapor-laden room with me, dressed in a black sweater and button-down shirt with tailored jeans. He’s always so neat, even when he’s casually dressed in a T-shirt.
As I stand here wet and almost naked, I’m his prey. His expression is one of unfiltered, searing fire. Before he says anything more, he locks the doorbehind him. My heart rate soars. “Buenos días, Kim,” he says and steps toward me, dropping a light, delicate kiss on my lips—
—that immediately turns into a deep, giving one. This is typical Tavo. Hegivesme affection, he doesn’ttakeit. The only way he takes it is when he sees me enjoying his ministrations, because he makes no secret that’s his real kink—seeing me get off. I must say,I don’t mind.
Thankfully, he accepts my gifts in return.
As his hands loop down my back to end up firmly holding my ass, my towel falls, and I move to stand apart from it. He takes my movement as an excuse to spin me around so I’m facing the foggy mirror, my back to his front.
