Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 821: Coffee With Auntie

Gabriela’s breath hitched again, her eyes flickering between mine and the roses on the table. ”You’re... you’re too kind,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. ”Diaz never mentioned you.”

I tilted my head, my expression softening into something that looked like genuine concern. ”I am a businessman, Auntie,” I said, weaving the lie seamlessly.

”So, Brother Diaz didn’t mention me much because I asked him not to. You know how it is—people get jealous. They might think Diaz was getting special help because of me, and I didn’t want that for him. He was a proud man.”

Gabriela’s lower lip trembled, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress, pulling it tighter over her chest.

The movement made the thin material strain over the fullness of her breasts, the soft swell of them pressing against the fabric in a way that made my gaze linger just a second too long. Her breath was uneven, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her emotions, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

”You’re right,” she whispered, her voice cracking with raw emotion. ”You’re right, he would.”

Her words hung in the air between us, heavy with grief and something else—something like surrender. The tears she’d been holding back finally spilled over, rolling down her cheeks in silent, shiny trails.

I didn’t hesitate. I closed the distance between us, my hand cupping her shoulder, my thumb brushing away the tears from her cheek. Her skin was warm, soft, and the way she leaned into my touch—just slightly—sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through me.

”Auntie,” I murmured, my voice low and steady, ”you need to take care of yourself. Diaz would want that.”

She nodded, her fingers tightening around the roses I’d given her, as if they were a lifeline. But her body was still trembling, her breath hitching with every suppressed sob.

I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of her worry. She needed more than words. She needed something to ground her.

I stepped back, my hand lingering on her shoulder for just a moment longer than necessary. ”I’ll be right back,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. ”Don’t move.”

The hospital cafeteria was nearly empty at this hour, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the linoleum floors.

I grabbed two cups of coffee—black for me, with a little sugar and cream for her—and a couple of chocolate chip cookies from the display case. The scent of the coffee was bitter and rich, cutting through the sterile hospital smell that clung to everything.

When I returned to the room, Gabriela was still sitting on the stool, her posture slightly hunched, her fingers worrying the edge of her dress. She looked up as I entered, her eyes red-rimmed but a little less haunted than before.

”Auntie,” I said, holding out the coffee to her, ”drink this. It’ll help.”

She shook her head slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. ”I... I don’t have an appetite.”

I didn’t push the cookies on her. Not yet. Instead, I set them on the table beside the fruit basket and stepped closer, my hand closing around hers. Her fingers were cold, her skin slightly clammy from the stress, but I ignored it.

I guided her hand to the cup, pressing it into her palm until her fingers curled around the warm cardboard.

”Auntie,” I said, my voice firm but not unkind, ”you have to be strong. You can’t let Brother Diaz see you like this when he wakes up.”

Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the cup as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. ”Yeah,” she whispered, her voice trembling. ”You’re right. My son... he’s just injured. I can’t let him down.”

She wiped her tears with the back of her free hand, her shoulders squaring just a little as she lifted the cup to her lips. The first sip was hesitant, but she took another, and then another, the warmth of the coffee seeming to seep into her. I watched as some of the tension left her body, her breath steadying, her grip on the cup loosening just slightly.

”That’s it,” I murmured, my hand still resting on Gabriela’s shoulder, my thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over the soft fabric of her dress.

The warmth of her body seeped through the thin material, and I could feel the way her breathing gradually steadied under my touch. ”Just like that. You’re doing well, Auntie.”

Gabriela let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening slightly around the coffee cup before loosening again. She looked up at me, her dark, tear-stained eyes filled with a fragile kind of gratitude.

”My child is blessed to have a friend like you, Jack,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. ”You are really a good child.”

I forced my expression to remain soft, my smile gentle, even as a dark chuckle echoed in my mind. A good child. If only she knew. If only Diaz knew.

The irony was almost too delicious to bear—here I was, comforting his mother, my hand on her, my words wrapping around her like a promise, while he lay broken in the bed behind us.

The thought of his reaction when he finally woke up—if he woke up—sent a thrill of anticipation through me. Would he recognize me? Would he piece together the truth before it was too late? Or would he be too weak, too shattered, to do anything but watch as I took everything he’d ever cared about?

”It’s nothing, Auntie,” I said aloud, my voice warm, sincere. ”This is what I should do.”

Inside, though, I was laughing. Oh, Diaz, I thought, my mind conjuring the image of his pale, helpless face on the pillow, the machines beeping rhythmically beside him.

You tried to take what wasn’t yours. And now? Now I’m going to take what’s yours. The thought sent a jolt of dark satisfaction through me, sharp and sweet.

Gabriela reached up, her hand covering mine where it rested on her shoulder. Her touch was warm, her fingers slightly trembling, but there was a newfound strength in her grip.

”You have a good heart, mijo,” she said, her voice softer now, almost maternal. ”Diaz would be proud to call you a friend.”