The Tourist (Sold #1)

21. Chloe

CHAPTER 21

Chloe

T he kitchen is filled with the comforting sounds of sizzling vegetables and the clinking of utensils. The rich aromas of garlic, onions, and fresh herbs fill the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. Diego and I are preparing dinner together. We’re making chili.

“Careful with those peppers,” Diego warns, a grin on his face. “They’re hotter than you think.”

“I can handle a little heat,” I retort, trying to keep my tone light despite the fluttering in my stomach.

There’s something about being in the kitchen with Diego, sharing this simple act with him, that feels incredibly intimate. When he said he was catching feelings, I knew what he meant because I am as well. It’s so strange. I’ve known him all my life, but for the first time, I see him as more than Serena’s scary, big brother. It’s a bonus that he’s very handsome as well.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

Diego expertly browns off the beef, sprinkling it with a blend of spices he brought back from his family's home in Mexico. “This is a special mix,” he explains “Chili powder, cumin, garlic powder, and a hint of smoked paprika.”

“What kind of beef are we using?” I ask, watching him work.

“Steak mince.” he replies, looking up with a smile. “I would normally slow-cook it, but I wasn’t planning on making supper tonight. If you weren’t here, I would’ve eaten whatever the chef prepared.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” I tell him, smiling. “What’s in the dressing for the salad?”

“Lime juice, olive oil, garlic, and a little bit of honey,” Diego explains. “The sweetness balances out the heat from the spices.”

As the beef cooks, we move on to preparing the toppings. Diego slices avocados and tomatoes while I chop cilantro and red onions. We also make a tangy slaw with shredded cabbage, carrots, and a dressing made from sour cream, lime juice, and a touch of agave syrup.

“You’re really good at this,” I comment, genuinely impressed by his skills.

“I enjoy cooking,” Diego admits. “It’s like therapy for me. It helps me relax. My abuela always encouraged me to help in the kitchen. She said men should always know how to cook for their women. I think it was because my abuelito never cooked for her.”

I smile, knowing how much Serena and Diego loved their grandparents, their abuela and abuelito.

While we work, Diego starts talking about his family’s roots in Mexico. “My ancestors originated from both the highlands and lowlands of Jalisco. It’s a beautiful region, very diverse. The highlands are cooler, with rolling hills and agave fields as far as the eye can see. The lowlands are more tropical.”

“It sounds like such a beautiful area,” I tell him. “I’ve always wanted to visit Mexico.”

“You should,” Diego replies. “It’s a vibrant country with so much to offer.”

I laugh, picturing it in my mind. “I bet it’s stunning.”

“It is. Agave plants surround my family home there, and you can see the mountains in the distance. It’s very peaceful.”

As we cook, I share a bit about my own background. “It was fascinating growing up with a reconstructive surgeon for a father, particularly with his interest in correcting physical deformities and treating burn injuries. I always admired how dedicated Dad was to helping people. It’s one of the reasons I decided to become a journalist. I wanted to make a difference, like he did.”

“Your father is an amazing man. I always admired him when I was growing up. He had a much more respectable occupation than my father.”

“I found it hard when he retired and moved back to England. I really wasn’t sure whether to stay here or go with my parents. The apprenticeship with the magazine sealed it for me, though. I’ve loved seeing my parents enjoy their retirement, spending their time gardening and traveling.”

“Where you live now must be very different from Las Vegas,” Diego comments, handing me a bowl of freshly made pico de gallo.

“It is,” I agree, taking the bowl and inhaling the fresh scent of tomatoes, onions, and cilantro. “It’s green and rainy, which is very different from the desert here. Both places have their own charm, though.”

We finish cooking, and Diego pours me a small glass of wine. “I thought you might like this,” he says, handing it to me with a warm smile.

I take the glass, my fingers brushing against his, and a shiver runs through me. “Thank you.”

We sit down to eat, and I take a tentative sip of the wine. It’s a red, and the flavor is rich and comforting. It’s my first taste of alcohol since I was taken, and even though it’s just a few mouthfuls, it feels like another step toward reclaiming my life.

“This is really good,” I say, savoring the taste. “It’s been so long since I’ve had wine.”

“I’m glad you like it, it’s from a winery I own in Napa Valley. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

We assemble our chili, layering the perfectly cooked beef with the vibrant slaw, creamy avocado slices, and a generous spoonful of pico de gallo. The first bite is an explosion of flavors—spicy, tangy, fresh, and utterly delicious.

“This is amazing, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I wanted to do something special for you.”

As we eat, we talk about everything and nothing—our favorite movies, childhood memories, dreams for the future. It feels natural and easy.

After dinner, we clean up together, our movements synchronized and comfortable. The intimacy of the moment makes my heart race, and I realize that I want to take another step forward. I want to feel more of this connection, and in so doing, reclaim more of my sense of self.

“Diego, can we try something?” I ask quietly.

He looks at me, his eyes full of curiosity and concern. “Of course. What do you have in mind?”

“I want to touch you. Down there,” I respond, my cheeks flushing. “I want to try to do something that’s on my terms.”

Diego steps closer to me, gently cupping my face in his hands. “I want nothing more than to make you happy. But only if you’re sure. You can stop at any moment. No questions asked.”

I nod, my heart starts pounding in my chest. “I’m sure. I need this.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

I don’t feel pressured, which makes me want to do this even more. I want to know more about Diego’s body, to learn what he likes and how he reacts.

We walk to his bedroom, and Diego closes the door behind us, creating a private sanctuary where I can take this next step at my own pace. He unbuttons his pants, and they fall to the floor, revealing his erection. I can’t help but stare, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

“It looks so much nicer than the other ones I’ve seen,” I say, a hint of amusement in my voice to cover my anxiety. “They weren’t that big. I guess those with little or nothing have to pay for it!”

Diego chuckles. “An interesting observation. Let me find you something to hold your hair back. I can get you a hair tie from your room.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. They always did that to control me. I need to do this my way.”

He nods. “I understand. I won’t touch you unless you ask.”

Kneeling before him, my heart is racing, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I reach out and wrap my fingers around him, feeling the warmth of his skin. I look up at him, and he meets my gaze, his eyes filled with trust and encouragement.

“Just say the word, and we stop. There is no pressure whatsoever.”

I lean forward, my lips brushing against his length, and I start to explore him with my mouth. His taste, salty mixed with musk, is new and different, but it’s not unpleasant. As I continue, I feel I’m reclaiming something that was taken from me. I am choosing to do this. I’m in control. Nothing will happen that I don’t want.

Diego’s breaths become heavier, and his hands clench at his sides. I can see the pleasure I’m giving him as I stroke my hand up and down his cock. Knowing I can bring him this kind of pleasure is powerful. It cleanses me, washing away the memories of being used and discarded. This act is mine now, and I’m sharing it with someone I’m developing strong feelings for.

“It feels so good,” Diego groans, his voice sounding raspy and full of desire.

Placing my mouth over the head of his cock, I take him into my mouth slowly, swirling my tongue around his length. I increase my pace, finding a rhythm that feels right as I move my mouth up and down his shaft. I focus on the sensations, on the sounds Diego is making, and on the connection we’re sharing. It’s intimate and healing, and I feel a sense of pride and satisfaction.

“I’m going to come. Pull back,” he orders, but I shake my head around his cock. I want to taste all of him, and I bring him deeper into my mouth.

When Diego releases, it’s with a shuddering gasp. His taste is sweet, and I swallow every last drop, savoring it. I look up, and he smiles at me, his eyelids hooded with pleasure.

“Thank you. Are you okay?” he asks, lowering to his knees so he’s closer to my level.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me.

“Yes, I needed that.” I kiss him, taking control of everything between us.

“I taste good on your lips,” he moans, licking around his lips.

“You taste good in my mouth,” I reply.

Our conversation seems dirty.

No, not dirty, it’s freeing.

Sexy.

Normal.