Chapter 2

“So, wait ... you want me to move in with you ... on payroll, full-time, in a fucking mansion, which you will share with your ex-wife and her fiancee? This is crazy, loco, senor, but hey, it’s my kind of crazy! This is one helluva blended family! Let’s just not sweat the whole ... fidelity thing, okay? You’re my boss. I’m on your dime, alright?” Consuela smiled in spite of her tough words, an obvious affection and anticipation showing in her eyes.

“Okay, hon. Technically, of course, you’ll be listed on payroll as a nanny or maid or whatever, but I can promise you that your duties will be focused on the bedroom. We can and will share the household chores together, babe. I also have to warn you that sometimes, you’ll be asked to fuck my ex ... sometimes together with me, sometimes alone. I’ll be fucking her a lot myself, despite our rather strained relationship,” I warned my Latin lover.

“Very well, but one thing changes now and for good. No more rubbers. None. You’re my bread and butter now. A full-time puta is a full-time puta. You’re my only client now. I’ll fuck anyone you want me to fuck, but they’re not my clients. You are. You’re paying for me. I work for you. Only you. So, no more condoms for you, mister. And that whole ... no kissing rule? That’s out the fucking window, too,” Consuela informed me to my surprise and delight.

“Wait, are you ... crying?” I asked Consuela now, noticing her watery eyes.

She nodded, “No one has ever even suggested hiring me full-time this way. Maybe I wouldn’t have wanted it with them, but it would have been nice to be asked. I didn’t have any plans or expectations with you. You were just a john like the rest of my clients. Until you fucking weren’t, okay?

“You did the one thing that none of us ever expect ... ever. This kinda thing doesn’t happen to us in real-life. Fuck Julia Roberts and Richard Gere and all that jazz. Pretty Woman doesn’t happen to us for real. Period. And if it does, it happens to fucking white girls. Gringas. It never happens to a Nicaraguan refugee.”

“I can’t promise you a Hollywood ending, Consuela, but I can promise you that your life will be a helluva lot easier and less stressful in every materialistic sense of those terms. I can promise you that your pretty ass won’t be on the streets anymore. Ever again. I will make damn sure of that if it’s the last thing that I do. That’s a fucking promise, an oath, okay?” I leveled with sweet Consuela and she got this look in her eye that was tough to pin down.

“You really are a straight-shooter, aren’t you? No bullshit. No false promises. No lies. No sweet nothings whispered in the ear. Just honest, straightforward physical attraction and pleasant companionship. This is a friendship with benefits, but one that pays me. I’d be a really stupid bitch to turn that down, wouldn’t I? Sadly, I know bitches that dumb. Thankfully, I’m not one of them,” Consuela winked at me as she climbed on top of me, taking me bareback inside her for the first time ever.

“Don’t you want to know what price I’m offering first?” I inquired.

“Honey, whatever it is, on top of room and board, it’s likely to be more than enough, especially knowing you. One thing, though, if you’re actually getting a divorce, how are you both living together? Is that allowed? I just never heard of such a deal, papi,” Consuela asked me out of sheer morbid curiosity, I believe.

“It is if it’s included in a settlement. If it made it to a judge, that probably wouldn’t be an option. It would likely be put up for sale and the proceeds split between us. Often, it becomes a real loss, at least if there’s no or not enough equity for the house. A financial loss, that is. Of course, Jill wasn’t after the house when she kicked me out of it. It turns out that back then, not that long ago, Karen was insanely jealous and issued an ultimatum to which Jill caved. Back then, Karen just wanted me gone,” I explained as Consuela continued to ride me, her luscious body moving closely with mine in a wonderful rhythm and pace.