Birdy (Upper Echelon Duet Book 1)

almost as hard as it does in person, pebbling my skin with goose bumps.
“I’m fine, just pulling up to the warehouse. I have a question for you…”
“Dimelo.” Tell me.
“Do you have time to meet me before you take off tonight?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I wait for him to respond.
“I will always have time for you, muñeca, even on my busiest days.”
This man… There goes my heart melting again, lips spreading into a grin. “I’ll tell you where to meet me when I wrap up here.”
“Whenever, wherever, I’ll be there,” he assures me. “You’re not gonna tell me to fuck off, though, right?”
Despite the fact he can’t see me, I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Are you gonna make my whole fucking day and tell me you’re leaving with me?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see, papi. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Me: Dania Beach. I’ll be by the pier.
I sent that text over twenty minutes ago. No reply has come through yet, but it’s still early…three o’clock. Ángel told me he could be held up as late as five.
That’s fine. I can wait. The business was taken care of without issue, and I have nowhere else to be right now.
Except here.
So what’s my plan, you ask?
I'm going to let him leave...but I'll be following him in just a few days’ time. I don't know where he's going, but I’m sure my reasoning will provide me a destination. At least, if he meant all he’s said, then it will.
Set aside the fact a girl could use a teensy vacation, it's the perfect way to test these unknown waters he supposedly wants me to charter beside him. Just him and me, a chance for me to see who he is, what he does, and if there’s really a place for me in his life.
As scary as that sounds, I have to do it. I’ll drive myself crazy with the whys and what-ifs if I don’t.
But what happens if it works out, if it’s good and it feels right? What if he actually lets me in? What am I supposed to do then? I can’t just up and leave Miami. My mom would have a fit.
It’s too early to be thinking about all that, I know, but I can’t seem to put those thoughts to rest, no matter how hard I try. I’m blaming it on him and that fucking devil dick of his. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d drill the concept into me. Oh, he drilled it all right, sunk those dark, delicious claws deep into my starving soul and pounded me to hell and back until I screamed it into existence. Mrs. Moreno from downstairs had to have heard it all, probably prayed at least five rosaries as the exorcism above threatened to cave in her ceiling.
“Stop fucking playing with me and tell me, Benni. Tell me you want me as badly as I”…thrust…“Want”…thrust…“You.” He thrusts a third time—as deep inside me as my feelings for him extend—and holds me down, his cock throbbing and pulsing against my walls. “Fucking tell me! Dimelo!”
I have to shake myself out of it, goose bumps pebbling every inch of my skin. He drilled it in, put the final nail in the coffin this morning. And yet, as I sit here in the sand, looking out into the Atlantic, I still can’t wrap my head around it all, to begin with.
It just seems so far-fetched, like I’m setting myself up for pure and utter failure.
You already have.
The lightest breeze rolls through, cutting through the humidity for the briefest moment. I breathe it in deeply, relishing the warm, comforting scent of the salt water not so far away. The sky is only slightly overcast, but it reminds me of his eyes no less.
Of him and the hurricane-force winds he’s brought right to my door.
Flipping my phone over, I take note of the time. With just ten minutes to five, I unlock the screen and tap into my recent calls, scrolling a short way down to find his contact. Before the first ring blares, I’m already setting it on speaker, holding the bottom of the phone up to my ear.
It rings and rings and rings some more until I hear, “Please leave your message for—”
I end the call, sighing out a heavy breath. I’m starting to get antsy as fuck, and my ass is going numb. Feels like I’ve been sitting here for hours. I’m tempted to kick off my Chucks and roll up the bottoms of my black jeans to dip my feet where the tide washes in, but then I’d have to deal with the lingering wet sand, and I just got my car washed on the way here.
I’m good on that.
Sounds of laughter draw my attention over to the pier on my left. A group of young kids, all of them probably about eighteen or so, sprint down its length in a carefree laughter to the parking lot. Only one straggles behind. He’s the biggest of the bunch, smashing down a taco in two beastly bites. That’s something my brother would do, bubbling a quiet laugh in my throat as I hop onto my feet.
I haven’t got much of an appetite right now, but I could go for a drink. Hell, with the conversation I’m about to have when Ángel gets here, I need one. Running back to my car, I pull my wallet free from my purse, then make my way up the pier’s ramp and into the restaurant, Quarterdeck.
In the eighteen years I’ve lived in Miami, I think I’ve been here maybe twice. It’s light and airy on the inside, the entire perimeter surrounded by windows and a variety of oceanic decor. There’s a decent crowd around the semi-circular bar, but it’s not overwhelmingly busy. I amble right over to it and lean on my elbows over the bar top. The bartender acknowledges me with a friendly wink, a silent signal he’ll be with