broken in two from the force, my heart screeching in my chest, singing to the heavens above about how things might actually be okay.
“What are you doing here?” I managed to get out between sobs. “I thought you weren’t allowed in the country!”
His arms tightened around me. “I’m not,” he said. “But David Escobedo is, and that’s the name on the passport I used. I figured what the US government doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”
I laughed and sobbed harder at that completely ridiculous statement, thinking that it sounded exactly like something Francisco would say, and before I knew it I was tipping my head up and he was leaning down toward me, his lips skimming over mine in what was both an incredibly tear-filled and incredibly hot kiss.
His tongue darted out and brushed over my lips and I opened my mouth to let him in, my body immediately remembering what it felt like to be up against his, my muscles and bones and skin all melting together into what felt like it might be some sort of Erika goo.
I gasped at the sudden wanting in my core, the sudden need for him, and took a deep breath of him, inhaling the smell of Francisco and… the ocean?
“What did you do, swim here?” I asked, tipping my head to break the kiss and looking up at him.
He stared back at me, his face more serious than I’d ever seen it before. “I took a boat,” he said solemnly. “I heard you on the phone, and I knew something was wrong. I came to make sure you were okay.”
It was the simplest and the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me, and though I wasn’t ready to tell him what was wrong—not yet—I couldn’t help falling for him a little bit more right then and there. Because he wasn’t allowed in this country, but he’d hopped on a boat and come to find me just because I hadn’t sounded good when I spoke to him on the phone.
I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t think, and I sure as hell didn’t bother with the fact that he was sweaty and had evidently come right from the ocean—via a train or plane, I supposed, since we didn’t actually have access to the ocean in Chicago. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that he’d come to me when I needed him.
I hadn’t even had to ask, and he’d come to me.
I dragged him into my apartment, slid my hands under the hem of his shirt, and yanked it up over his head, desperate to be closer to him. And when he was half naked, I pushed him against the wall and stood up on my tiptoes to kiss him again.
“I’ve been thinking about doing this ever since you left,” I whispered between kisses.
And at that, he took me by the waist and spun me around to land with my back against the wall, his body pinning me there effortlessly. I gasped at the feel of him, both his broad chest pressed against me and the hard bulge of his cock in his pants, and looked up, meeting his eyes.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he told me softly. “And I don’t think I’ve ever said that to anyone before. When I realized something was wrong, all I could think about was getting back to you. Now that I’m here, I don’t think I’m going to ever let you go again.”
He ducked down to kiss me, and I met him halfway, wholeheartedly agreeing about the never-letting-me-go thing. I’d thought I could get over him, thought I could forget him and do this thing on my own, but now that he was here, I realized that it never would have worked. I never wanted to be by myself again.
He’d taken a part of me with him when he’d left. And now that he was back, I wasn’t going to let it go again.
Chapter 20
Erika
Francisco actually picked me up and carried me to the bed, and it took almost no time for him to reach the bedroom and lay me softly down on the comforter. He stood back up and looked down on me, his face showing both pleasure and something deeper, and I stared back at him for several moments.
Then I reached up, grabbed his belt, and pulled him down on top of me.
“Enough staring,” I said. “I want you. And I’m tired of waiting.”
He gave me a quick grin. “Well, if the lady