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“Touch it.”
Her fingers press into the mattress like a child’s hand eagerly clutching an overripe peach. The give is unnerving, so unlike her previous beds.
But surely, that was the point of this. Finding something unlike before.
Unlike the tired but cushy twin she shared with Annie way back when. Unlike Ruby’s pull-out couch she crashed on a few nights in the months leading up to her wedding, her jitters sourly turning straight into deeply-nestled doubt, a nagging she would’ve buckled to at the time if she could have. Unlike her marriage to Dean, so blissfully kicked to the curb at last: him, their marriage, and hopefully after today that tragic air mattress of her life’s most meager, murderous months.
And. Well.
Sensorily speaking, something unlike that innocently warm afternoon, the naked look in Rio’s eyes, the honest moans spilling from his lush lips, the trembling, the sweating, the fucking—
Unlike that.
Something to usher her into a new phase of her wretched life. A place to find some goddamn rest.
“It keeps you warm.”
“It keeps you warm?” she repeats Michèl’s words, question at the end, stirring as she’s grabbed from her spinning thoughts and back into the showroom.
“Memory foam is an excellent choice for people who get cold when sleeping,” he elaborates, head tilted. “If that’s not you, then we also have a selection of memory foam mattresses with gel-infusion to counter that.”
She hums non-committedly, eyeing the bed again.
Michèl clears his throat after a moment of silence.
“If you are interested in any of our more ecologically conscious options, we just got a new latex model for you to try.”
“Latex?”
“Yes. They’re very comfortable, you’d be surprised. Wanna see?”
She shrugs, lips twitching.
“What the hell.”
Following him along to the back of the showroom, Beth quickly looks at her phone for the time, frowning at its low battery, aware it’s nearing closing time already and she can’t hold up Michèl forever.
But it needs to be tonight. Finding the new start, a bed to her name and hers alone, an unlike.
Michèl stops at an impressive, crème-colored king-size bed.
“Here. Go ahead, feel it. It’s quite similar to memory foam, you see?”
She reaches out to touch.
“This model right here comes with adjustable firmness layers. It’s very customizable,” he chatters. “Organic wool, personally recommended by certified chiropractors—this mattress has it all. Plus, we offer a twenty-year warranty.”
She studies the mattress. It looks comfortable, luxurious. Probably way out of her price range, too.
“Why don’t you try it out?” Michèl suggests. “I’ll go check if we have any in stock and how soon it can be delivered.”
And he’s gone, leaving her to gently roam her hand over the soft sheets.
It does look inviting.
Giving in—and when has she not given into invitations packaged so prettily, when has she denied herself the pleasure, when has she made the less lustful choice?—she crawls on top of the mattress, glad there’s no one around to see her awkward movements.
It’s immediate, the relief. Bones clogged with exhaustion, spine taken by tension finding a breather at last.
She sinks into the mattress, closing her eyes.
It’s good. It’s big. It oozes comfort.
She probably shouldn’t buy it.
How can she explain being deserving of this? Not the money, but the cost of the turns her life has taken these last few months, years?
It’s a damn-near paradigm shift. Decades of dullness serving only to amplify the liveliness of her stumbling into and around, amidst crime. She never could’ve predicted even one fraction of—of—Rio.
And it’s him her thoughts so lavishly wish to tend to. In no practical form either—it’s straight-up hunger these days. The ever-present bottom-line being: she’d miss him. She’d miss him if he weren’t around.
Unlike Dean, who, once she leapt, she parted from so easily. Full tugs of cleaner air only luring her further away from Dean Boland.
If only her leaping took her steadier places. Rustling with love, one day, perhaps. Then she could deal. But divorce, while balmy with peace, lacks a firm falling back.
Beth knows better than looking elsewhere for guarantees. Marriage taught her that much.
Still, part of her wants so greatly for something she knows, someone she can do some unapologetic clinging to. It seeks familiarity. It desires stillness. Stasis in the best sense.
The mattress dips.
Startled, she rips herself out of her thoughts and their tumult, craning her neck to the side so quickly her hair falls into her face.
It’s him. It’s Rio.
Lying next to her on his back, his head resting on his clasped hands behind his neck, looking comfortable and very much in the right place to unnerve her, to take a crowbar to her tentative optimism about today, to wreck and ruin and look impossibly handsome doing it.
The sight of him in bed with her—it really shouldn’t thrill her. It should send her screaming or cowering or running, because this is the last thing she needs right now, trying to replace the bed he stole, trying to seek a fresh start or fresh sheets at the bare minimum.
It should not remind her of riding him in her bed while her husband was at work, his eyes unjustly breathtaking, his touch promising and intense.
“Shh,” Rio shushes as soon as their eyes meet, a pedantic finger pressed to his lips in a mock-gesture.
She stutters on her next breath.
“What are you doing here,” she hisses, recovering with admirable speed.
“Could ask you the same thing.”
“What does it look like I’m doing,” she bites, impatient, the comfort the bed provides losing to the tension striking her body now that he’s near.
“Looked like you were about to fall asleep.”
“Were you watching me?”
Her voice grows shrill, loud to her own ears.
She’s—appalled.
Not thrilled. Not.
His jaw rocks. She feels triumphant at his slip-up, no matter its implications.
“So, what, the hubby didn’t want a say in this?”
She swallows.
“We’re getting a divorce.”
It’s a whisper. Why, she’s not sure. The emptying showroom doesn’t need to hear all of her business, no, but something about his eyes on her, the way he’s towering over her, the few inches of space between their warm bodies…
“Is that right,” he purrs.
She nods.
“He’s moving to Nevada,” she offers, voice soft, the moment between them cast in surprising intimacy.
“So you’re gonna be all alone in this big bed, huh?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Need help breaking it in?”
She doesn’t understand him. Doesn’t understand why he’s not yelling at her, why there’s no frustration in his voice, why he’s giving her his gentle focus and intimate insinuations instead of harsh attention. It’s dizzying, and far too encouraging of her sultry daydreams.
Last time she saw him he looked just about ready to snap her neck with his big hands, he didn’t exactly strike her as eager to wrap those very hands around her for her enjoyment.
But with the way he’s spread out on the bed…
She wouldn’t mind taking a ride.
She’d crawl on top of him, impale herself on his big cock and let lust lick at them ‘till they’re sated. She’d scratch him up, he’d make her wail. They could ignore everything for the sake of benevolent bliss. Every misstep and lie. Anyone in the showroom.
God, she’d fuck him right here right now if that’s what it would take to make it happen. She just wants a straightforward paradise.
“So, how does it feel?”
It takes her a moment to realize it’s not Rio speaking. It’s Michèl.
“G-good,” she stutters, blushing, sitting up so fast she gets woozy with it, jutting down the palm of her hand to steady herself, accidentally brushing Rio’s arm.
He lets her. Just keeps lying there, draped over the bed like a model.
“It’s nice, right?” Michèl smiles.
“It’s ideal for people with allergies, too, should you or an overnight guest have asthma or something,” he casually adds, eyeing Rio.
“Oh,” she breathes.
The silence would be shy, except Rio looks unaffected.
He has that way about him. Making the air around him give an ease to his movements.
Michèl’s eyes bounce between the two of them, the way they’re focused on each other. She knows she should look at him but she’s lost already, underneath the quasi intimate light of the showroom, stuck on Rio, who watches her with a patience that soon will prove to be a lie, surely.
She gulps a breath.
“Unfortunately, the floor model is the only one we have right now, so it’ll be three to five days until we can deliver this bed if you’re interested. It’s worth the wait, though, right?”
Her cheeks must be flushed—she can’t dampen her physiological response to him, never has, never will. Still, Michèl covers up any judgement with laudable skill when she finally makes eye contact, too startled by Rio’s presence to play at sociable housewife.
“Right,” she mutters.
“You should get it,” Rio rasps. She glances at him in question.
“Oh?”
He offers no explanation. Worst part is, she doesn’t need it. She wants to keep him like this, bordering on mellow. She wants to not rock the boat of his attention.
“Okay,” she gives in, pleased when his lips curl up in that languid, alluring way.
“Wonderful!” Michèl exclaims. “I’ll go set it up right now. What name should I register your order under?”
She looks at Rio. He tilts his head, eyes roving her body like he’s got plans that would make her blush grow louder. Like he’s one salesman away from making them happen.
Her lips part.
“Elizabeth Marks.”
It only takes a few minutes to wrap up the sale, leaving her hovering near the register after, nearly frantic in her desire to find out what Rio is doing here, unwilling to leave the showroom even though she’s left without excuse, even though it’s closing time. When she gives in and goes to find him, he’s moving to walk away from the bed she just bought.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
He turns around.
“Oh, I gotta go buy a duvet cover.”
It’s so mundane it makes her giggle. His lips twitch in response.
She recovers with a clearing of her throat.
“Can we talk?”
He works his jaw, briefly looking away before his eyes find hers again. He nods, swiveling around to stalk towards a door that looks suspiciously off-limits to them.
He barrels through it.
She can’t help it. She follows him.
The storage space is as bland as it is large. Endless rows of product lined up neatly in tall metal shelfs, spanning wide, cloaked in the after-hours’ silence. They breathe, staring at each other, until she can’t take it anymore, needs to let her eyes do their desired traveling. It gives her the opportunity to try and catch her slippery breath as it squirms like a fish escaping human hands.
Her eyes stick to a crimson mattress stashed against a wall, providing too easy a location for the lustful delusions still tugging at her flesh.
And it really would be too easy, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, no doubt grunting softly as he’d walk her over to the mattress and press her back into the soft surface, his lips on the tendon of her neck, rubbing his hard cock against her. He’d fuck her well into next week, leave her cunt messy with his cum the way he likes, the way she likes.
She’d go home, mattresslessly, legs trembling, skin flushed. She’d rub herself to another orgasm in the shower, maybe crawl into bed and cream her panties thinking about him on that sad air mattress that still sparks fury and despair whenever she so much as glances at it.
It would be bleak. It would be lonely. It would get her nowhere.
She wants it anyway.
Despite knowing better, despite knowing the bone-deep emptiness that would follow the carnal pleasures of their fucking.
She wants him.
Wants his body, sweat-slick, hot. Wants his voice, taunting her, teasing her, praising her. Wants his attention as he fucks her, as he can’t deny her any longer, as he’ll be unable to do anything but give into their mutual pleasure.
As always, her desire slaps her in the face and she wonders where her fury has gone.
Her anger with him—for him, near him, next to him, pointed at herself—is a wavy thing. It grows obvious. Stings so delicately, her name on it. Any anger for him is nothing compared to the loneliness that lies loudly underneath. Her fury for him mostly fueled by him taking away what he’d once so graciously given her. A faith in her unlike anything she’s ever known. Unlike Ruby’s, unlike her sister’s. Unlike the four babies she carried and held, gazing up at her with orbital magnitude.
Her easy darkness, her brazen selfishness, her off-centered sense of morality—the faults, the lack… He’d seen her and taken it all.
Unlike anyone else.
“Elizabeth.”
A rasp tints his voice. It beckons—not the anger, but the desire.
If only she had a sense of self-control. She’d groan and close her eyes in shame if she believed it would do any kind of tampering.
He moves closer.
“What,” she asks, unsure—well. She’s sure of some things.
She’s sure it’s a mistake to do this, that, whatever the look in his eyes means. But he smells so good, she can’t help inching towards him just a little bit, looking up at him through her lashes, staring at his lips…
She swallows around a pool of saliva, not thinking about wrapping her lips around his cock, not thinking about his tongue in her mouth.
“Rio,” she tries, uncertain of her intentions beyond the inadvisable lust draining her.
He smiles like he knows just how wet she is. Tilts his head like he can see her pebbled nipples through the dark fabric of her dress. Lets his eyes glide over her body like he can read it, all the dirty, nasty things she wants him to do to her, with her, like it’s written on her skin.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he starts, voice deceptively quiet. “You’re gonna let me do to you what I know you want me to do to you. And then you’re gonna leave me the fuck alone.”
Her eyes widen, her mouth gapes.
“W-what?”
“Oh, you heard me. I’m gonna fuck you good and then you’re gonna get out of my life.”
His face is dark, his jaw so tight she’s worried he’ll snap. She bobs her throat.
“Why?”
“Because you want me and I want that tight pussy one last time and unlike you, I let people know that I’m about to dump them before I fuck them.”
Shame heats her cheeks, but she can’t look away from him. Can’t grapple with his assertion that he wants her out of his life.
“I meant the other thing,” she mumbles after a minute.
He hums.
“Yeah, I don’t need you anymore. So…” he trails off.
“So?”
“So drop your panties, baby,” he tells her, lips pouting, mocking, crude as he steps closer. His eyes glaze over as he looks her up and down, but there’s a mean edge to them, a stubborn flicker of pride.
“And I’ll give you what you need,” he finishes.
Seeing no point in playing at hesitation, knowing full well that any attempt at masking her desire for him would be fruitless and unsatisfying beyond words, she yanks down her plum-colored panties and meets his dark eyes with as much arrogance as she can muster.
His smile is lewd.
“Good job, baby.”
She hates him.
Trying to get ahead of his smug bidding, she turns around, walking to the crimson mattress and bending over for him, her palms pushing into the cushy fabric, her back arched, bracing herself.
Pondering the view she’s giving him bent over like this, she feels her pussy clench around nothing.
She knows he’s winning. He’s winning everything between them. Every argument they had, every wager, every feeling of lust soaring through her needy, sopping cunt—he owns it.
He knows it, too. Moves closer, tugs up her dress so she’s exposed to him, and smacks her ass.
“Yes,” she drawls.
Her eyelids flutter closed. God, she’s missed him so much.
He spanks her again, once, twice, and then his big hands roam the expanse of her skin, squeezing her cheeks and massaging her ass. He widens her stance with his feet, pressing a hand to her back until she bends down further.
When he has her where he wants her, he doesn’t fuck around or tease—he moves his fingers to her slick cunt and starts playing with her.
The wet sounds of her pussy in the empty storage space make her flush a deep red. Just thinking about what she must look like—bent over, her holes on display, her ass no doubt still showing signs of his ministrations, her clit glistening because of him while he’s still covered head to toe—she groans.
“You miss this, huh?”
The moan doesn’t slip, it jumps.
“You miss my fingers in that pussy,” he continues, voice hoarse.
She’s dripping for him. He fucks two fingers into her pussy, swiping her clit with his thumb and her thighs squeeze on their own accord.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he pants by her ear. “No one needs to know how wet that cunt gets for me.”
She stutters on her breath.
“Oh—”
Her quivering cunt drools at his words, his touch.
“Fuck me,” she hisses, infuriated by her own lust, the sudden blasting need to take all of him emboldening her.
She barely registers the sound of him unbuckling his belt, so lost in her thirst for more.
He doesn’t hesitate: he replaces his fingers with his thick cock, rolling his hips and pushing inside of her with determination.
He thumbs her nipples and she wails, a low moan sinking out of her as he pounds her pussy, one of his hands bruising her with his hold on her hip, his breath warm and broken in her ear.
It’s hard and hot and dirty—and it’s not enough, it’s tainted by his intentions, ruined by his words.
If it’s the last time, she wants to see him. She wants to watch the pleasure grip his features, wants to clock every second of the lust spreading over him.
But she knows he won’t give it to her. She knows he needs to be in control.
So she accepts what he gives her with an open mouth—literally, and at least there is some relief in him not seeing the desperation on her face, her gaping lips, the mattress she can push her face into her only hope at smothering the wanton sounds she’s making.
To his credit, he does right by her, drilling into her with attention, biting her shoulder, moaning lowly into her skin.
“Your husband ever fuck you this good?” he taunts, moving a spit-soaked finger to her clit.
“Ex-husband,” she corrects, voice wrecked, pussy pulsing.
He laughs, driving his dick deeper inside of her until her head involuntarily falls back and she cries out for him, for the heady satisfaction he’s giving her, for the perfect way he feels inside of her, her cunt clenching around his length.
“Oh—!”
Her orgasm sends her warbling, needy hiccups of pleasure escaping her lips, and she can’t suppress them this time—he grabs her by her hair, pushes her cheek into the mattress, and she can’t stop sobbing in lewd delight.
“Come inside me,” she begs him, delirious with lust, not caring about anything, anyone, except him, all of him inside of her.
He pulls out immediately.
“Naw, you don’t deserve that,” he grunts.
He gives her one firm smack to her ass and then she feels it—his cum splattering on her ass, her thighs, the low and satisfied groan spilling from his lips sending thrills down her spine, the emptiness ripping through her as he pulls away.
Her steps are meek as she follows behind him, unsure of what else she was supposed to do. She lingers near the exit, trying not to think about never seeing him again.
“Door’s locked,” he mumbles, frown to his face, his lips in a pout much more genuine than before. He pushes against it with his shoulder, putting his weight behind it until a flash of pain strikes his features in a barely-there, involuntary manner.
“Let me try.”
Her voice is quiet, too gentle. But she can place the evidence of hurt in his look. Knows exactly what happened to his shoulder. What she did to him, little attention as she’s given to it.
He shakes his head, tries again, effectively blocking her from getting to the door. Rattles at the lock, frustration leaving his mouth in a forceful sigh.
“Rio,” she urges.
His spine turns stiff as he whips around, eyes worse than thunder: carefully cold, like dew clinging to grass. She gulps on a breath, briefly closing her eyes to brace his indifference and the anger that sits below it.
She steps closer to the door anyway.
Tries the lock, like her small palm will work in ways his hands don’t. Pushes her body against the door like her frame will have more impact than his strong lines. Jiggles the lock again like her nerves can rival his angry, urgent need to be away from her, like the door will grant her wishes if only her desperation is loud enough.
She sighs, resting her head against the door. The brim of tears makes her wish he’d put more distance between them.
She waits, the cool metal of the door a surprisingly grounding resting place for her face. Exhaustion spills through her, an unannounced, unwelcome guest, forcing her eyes closed. A sob grows in her tight throat, all her energy thrust into choking it down before it will run astray.
“Elizabeth.”
“No,” she moans, shoulders tensing.
And it’s ridiculous, really. That she should still feel so unwanted in his presence while the feeling of his cock inside of her still lingers.
“No?” he echoes, breath fanning her neck, having quietly snuck up on her.
“Just—don’t say it.”
The plea leaves her lips in a pathetic whisper. His body heat too unnerving, and she’s tired, so tired of being scared of him, and so scared of losing him.
“I’m just so tired,” she confesses to the door.
“Yeah?” he rasps, face next to hers, mouth next to her ear. “I’m tired, too.”
It’s the frankness to his words that makes her turn around and face him. The lazy light of the plunging sun framing the exhaustion on his face perfectly as it sieves through the small windows.
“Why are you tired?”
It’s still a whisper. She can’t bear disturb the holy silence of the storage room.
He stares at her.
“Oh, darlin’. You don’t wanna know the answer to that question.”
She closes her eyes.
“Now what?”
“I’m texting Mick.”
“Good.”
“Good,” he echoes.
She doesn’t open her eyes until she hears him tapping on his phone.
“Can we talk?”
“No.”
It’s been over twenty minutes. They tried all other exists without luck and Mick’s nowhere in sight. The floor is cold and the wall too rigid against her back, but she refuses to seek comfort on the mattress they fucked against.
Her only delight lies in the fact that Rio seems equally unwilling to make use of the softer surface within reach.
She might actually lose her mind vying for his attention. He’s set on ignoring her, his body tense like he’s mourning the fact his little revenge sex plot slash dramatic departure from her life didn’t turn out the way he planned.
“You fuck me like that but now you won’t even talk to me?” she breaks, hoping that allusions to sex will tempt some words out of him, trying not to blush over what like that means.
“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” he says, features icy.
She swallows.
“I’m sorry.”
It sounds meek even to her own burning ears.
He laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”
Her eyes flicker to his.
“Bet it felt real good, fucking yourself on me on the bed you shared with him. Lying to me. Telling me to get out.”
“Lying to you?”
“Yes,” he says with a hiss. “Lying ‘bout how much you wanted me, how I made you feel. Or did you forget? You get so damn chatty when I cream your cunt.”
His eyes glide over her body.
Her throat feels tight. There’s no way her chest isn’t blotched with humiliation, recalling all the things she confessed to him in her marital bed.
God, she wishes they were lies. That would make any part of today easier.
“Rio, please. Why—”
“I’m not doing this with you, Elizabeth. Not anymore,” he interrupts.
His eyes strike candid and blatantly weary.
“Please,” she whispers. “How can we—how can it be over?”
How can we be over?
He licks his teeth. Sighs, looking straight at her.
“I’m done.”
And he sounds it, too. It hits her without grace.
She looks away.
It takes her a minute to find the words, or the courage they necessitate.
“I know you said you don’t need me anymore. I heard you. It’s just…”
She hesitates, the confession on her tongue tasting risky unlike anything else she’s asked him.
“Don’t you—don’t you want me anymore?”
He stares at her.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes, I—I just…”
She looks at the floor.
“I want to know if there’s any part of you that wants me around, even if you don’t need me. Even if you hate me.”
As she speaks, the truth of the words only grows.
“It’s not about wanting.”
Her eyes fly to his face. He doesn’t even look at her.
She’s struck by shame.
“Then why would you…” she trails off, pointedly eyeing the mattress.
“If you gotta ask, you’re not ready for the answer.”
His opacity makes her want to tear out her hair. Or throw something at him. Far worse, the suggestion he didn’t want what they just did burns her inside out.
She swallows around the cowardice in her throat.
“Did you not want that?” she asks, voice small.
He scoffs.
“The way I fuck you not enough to soothe your insecurities? Come on, mama. You know I love that pussy.”
She smiles softly, despite his crassness. The relief gentling her, helping her breathe again.
“Maybe.”
He sends her a grin. She shifts.
“Why is it that the only time we don’t fight is when we’re doing that?”
“That’s ’cause you’re a piece of work.”
She opens her mouth to protest, ‘till she sees the crinkles by his eyes, the delicate patience in his body.
“Funny.”
He hums.
“Why do I have to leave you alone, Rio?” she pivots.
His smile fades.
“Just can’t have you around anymore.”
“Why?” she persists.
He snorts, little humor to the sound.
“The fact that you feel the need to ask me that question after shooting me three times is really somethin’.”
She stops asking.
“Where is Mick?”
“Dunno.”
“When will he be here?”
“Dunno.”
“How do you know he’s coming?”
“When Mick says he’ll come, he’ll come.”
“Is he on his way?”
“How about you call him and ask,” he volleys back, visibly annoyed.
“You know my phone died.”
He tsks.
“How long until someone will come back here, do you think?” she tries after a minute, impatience and discomfort clinging to her. Discomfort at the cold floor, her fucked out body, the remnants of his cum drying on her skin where her make-shift rag—her panties—failed her. The words he spoke, their veracity, making her want to run.
He groans, burying his head in his hands before looking up.
“Fine.”
And he gets up, stalking over to the mattress he fucked her up against, moving it around and tipping it over. It lands on the floor with an empathetic thud.
“Get on the bed. I’m gonna eat your cunt.”
“What!?”
“You said so yourself, only time we get along is when we’re fucking. So get over here and I’ll eat you out ‘till you’re feeling more patient.”
“Rio!”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I’m not gonna let you—let you—do that and then kick me out of your life!”
“No? You sure about that?”
“Yes!”
“Why not?”
“It’s—it’s inappropriate.”
“That’s inappropriate? Not me fucking you while you’re on a date with your husband, or fucking you in his bed, but this?”
“Mick could be here any minute,” she reminds him, hearing how weak her argument sounds, cheeks burning at his words.
“So? Nothing he hasn’t seen before.”
She frowns, thunderous at the implication, no matter how misplaced her jealousy is.
“Not with me he has.”
“What, you think Mick’s gonna care ‘bout catching a glimpse of your pretty pussy? Besides, this isn’t about him. It’s about you and me, mama.”
“I thought you wanted me gone. I don’t see how—how—how eating my pussy is gonna help establish that,” she exclaims, cheeks ablaze.
“Mellows you,” he illuminates. Barely.
“What?”
“Maybe then you’ll stop asking all these damn questions,” he mutters.
There’s no logic to his suggestion except punishment. Only he would be so cruel to give her so much and take it away forever afterwards.
In a way she’s not surprised. She knew there’d be a reckoning one day. She just expected it to involve fewer orgasms.
She crosses her arms.
“What’s this really about,” he asks. “’s not like you don’t like getting your pussy ate.”
He studies her face like the red in her cheeks will grant him the answer.
“I can’t just! Do that with someone I know I’m supposed to never see again!” she flails.
“You let me fuck you, though.”
“It’s not the same!”
“How come?”
“It’s—it—it would be different.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
She’s resolute about that.
“Why?”
“Well, before I—you didn’t want me to look at you, for one.”
“I never said that.”
She frowns.
“What? You made me bend over.”
“Nah. You did that. I asked you to take off your panties. That’s it.”
She bites her lip when she realizes he’s right. He smiles, eyes roving her body.
“Yeah, so… Are you gonna let me do this or not?”
She swallows.
“You haven’t even kissed me yet, you know that?”
She flushes at her own observation, her lowered voice.
He tilts his head, his look softening.
“Come here.”
Her breath halters. Stunned. Mortified at the words she let slip. Compelled regardless.
So she makes her way over to him, slowly, so slowly. Stops in front of him, waiting, eyes stuck on his gorgeous face.
He lifts a hand to her cheek. Tucks her hair behind her ear in silence. Palms her jaw, tugging her towards him as he bends down and kisses her so thoroughly she moans his name, closing her eyes in surrender.
He teases his tongue inside her mouth. She clings to his shoulders, scrambling to get a better hold of him, sighing pleased when he wraps his arms around her, lifting her up, closer to him. He grunts when she nibbles on his bottom lip, pulling back only to gaze at her with wide eyes.
“Do you—”
“Yes,” she answers, lust flaring, taking off her dress, unfastening her bra quickly while he follows, shrugging off his clothes with haste.
Since she had to sacrifice her panties to clean up his cum, she’s standing bare before him within seconds, watching as he undresses. Sinking down onto the mattress, she peers up at Rio with heady want.
“Spread those needy holes for me,” he instructs, and her mouth waters.
Inching her legs apart and using her fingers to expose her dribbling cunt to him, she can’t help but lose her breath thinking about what’s to come.
He looks down at her, draped over the mattress, and smiles, wide and gentle. Then he bends down, diving straight between her legs to kiss her pussy.
The sound that leaves her lips is full of ecstasy and surprise—surprise he’s lathering her up with desire so quickly and committedly while he has so many reasons not to.
He tongues her clit with eagerness, and she can’t help her needy panting, her breath tripping into threefold staccato huffs, followed by a fuller tug of air, unable to break the rhythm of her frantic hunger.
When the sounds of his mouth on her pussy turn downright nasty, her slippery cunt leaking on his tongue, his happy little groans buried in it, her orgasm swells on.
She cries, lost in his name as it spills out of her over and over again, choked by the crescendo of dense lust, her pussy throbbing.
He laps up her juices with pleased licks, purring.
“Come here,” she tells him, voice wrecked.
“Elizabeth,” he tears at her, wrapping his hands around her body as he kisses every part of her skin, tugging her closer until their lips meet.
“I want you,” she professes between kisses.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she admits, voice low and husky even to her own ears.
“Mmm, then we better do something about that,” he rasps against her lips, before slowly pushing inside of her.
The act makes them both groan. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer.
“Please,” she begs.
He hears her desire, pulling out and plunging back into her with deep, hard strokes. Her cunt stretches around his cock as he moves in and out of her, grunting in her ear with each thrust.
She tosses her head back in bliss, lets him bite hickeys into her neck. He sucks her puffy nipples until she whimpers, overwhelmed by the sensations.
He fucks her like a prize. He fucks her like he wants her to never forget his touch. He fucks her like she’s his. He fucks her like that’s all that matters.
Her cunt is so creamy for him. It feels so right. He takes and takes and takes until she stammers his name in pleasure, hips bucking, eyes watering.
He cums inside of her pussy as she chants his name, losing her breath.
He collapses on top of her, and she can’t help closing her eyes and savoring this moment: his hot seed inside of her, the weight of him crushing her in the best way, the scent of his sweat-slick body making her giddy, and above all, the sensation of relaxing fully in his arms at last.
“Rio? Can I ask you a question?” she asks, later, much later, after he’s taken her on all fours because he felt like it, after she’s ridden him because she felt like it, after hazy catnaps and any thoughts involving locked doors drifted far away from her mind, her cheek resting on the crimson surface as she looks at him, lying next to her.
He hums.
“Why do you fuck me like I’m yours?”
He strokes her wrist. Peers at her with fluttering lashes.
“Aren’t you?”
She exhales.
“Then why can’t I stay?” she asks. In his life, his bed, his good enough graces.
He smiles.
“‘Cause you’re a piece of work.”
“Rio,” she chides.
He sighs.
“You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met, you’ve turned me in and almost killed me. And I want you anyway. That’s a problem.”
Her chest rises, falls, flushes—in that order.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“You want me anyway?”
“Mm-mm.”
Her throat dries.
“It’s not about wanting, though, is it,” she somberly parrots his earlier words.
He traces the side of her face.
“The world can’t run on want alone.”
“Why not,” she complains. He scoffs.
“That’s just the deal. You don’t get to direct the steps of the universe according to your wishes, no matter how deep your denial runs.”
She bites her lip. Tries to take it in stride. Touches his face, stroking his jaw with her small hand.
“You are so wise when we’re in bed.”
“Mm-mm,” he agrees. “You should listen to me more often.”
She briefly matches his smile. Feels her features waver when she recalls his earlier sentiment.
“Do I really have to go?” she whispers, their eyes locked, candor colliding with their bodies.
“Can’t. Mick’s not here yet.”
She gratefully closes her eyes, taking his words for the reprieve they are. Rolls onto her back, groaning when soreness reminds her of its presence.
He follows, hovering over her. His breath fans her face and he cradles her jaw with a soft touch.
“Look at me.”
The blatant beauty of his doe eyes robs her breath. He looks at her for a minute, and then moves in closer until their lips touch.
“I think about you all the time,” he tells her, and then he kisses her, his lips and words tasting of relief.
He kisses her like he knows she needed soothing. He kisses her like he wants her to stay.
Mick arrives with an air of remorselessness that makes her raise both her eyebrows. The man looks so unapologetic he may as well be bulletproof, twirling the bolt cutter like he doesn’t have a care in the world and like he doesn’t smell the scent of sex emanating from the mattress. She’s not sure how he handles Rio’s wrath but she’s sure she could stand to learn a thing or two.
Her shock thickens when all Rio says is:
“Thanks, man.”
And then he’s setting sail for the exit.
Her mouth gapes as she follows him along to the parking lot.
“Seriously? That’s it?”
He lazily tilts a brow, looking at her in question.
“Aren’t you gonna chew him out?”
“What for? He’s here, no?”
He folds his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket, leaning against his G-Wagon.
“But he was supposed to be here hours ago!”
“So?”
“If I’d do something like that, you’d lecture me until the sun comes up,” she notes.
“He’s not you though.”
“I’m irreplaceable,” Mick says with a wink, before hopping into his car and driving off.
Rio takes a step towards her.
“What, you wish he showed up earlier?”
“Yes,” she emphasizes.
“I see.”
His jaw rocks, face gliding blank in seconds. It takes her a moment to realize why, desperation swelling immediately when she sees her mistake.
“I don’t mean—”
“Nah, you did.”
His eyes darken. She wants to make him grow soft again so badly.
“Go home, Elizabeth.”
“Rio—”
“Go. Home.”
Her eyes fill with tears when she realizes she’s ruined everything they just built. She doesn’t want to lose him. She doesn’t want to lose him. The thought claws at her throat, spears her with anguish.
When he turns around, opening his car door, she quickly wipes away her tears.
“Wait!”
“Just go, Elizabeth.”
“But I don’t have a bed,” she tries.
He laughs humorlessly, slamming his car door shut again.
“So? What do you expect me to do, huh? Let you sleep in mine? Wanna cuddle up in bed together, want me to spoon you, make you breakfast in the morning?”
He’s got his head tilted, lips pouting in that infuriating, mocking way. Looking at her like she disgusts him. He may as well take his big hands to her heart and squeeze ‘till she’s all wrung out.
“Yes.”
The word leaves her lips before she’s fully aware. His eyes widen in surprise.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want,” she breathes, drunk on her own confessional, too brazen, too honest.
But she feels newly weightless, stunned by the relief that she doesn’t have to hold it in anymore.
It’s there. Between them, now. She can’t take back the truth. Not one of this nature. Too fragile.
She walks closer to him, amazed that he’s letting her, convinced that means something.
“Are you gonna let me?”
He stares at her.
“I don’t have any regrets about what we did here,” she adds, looking up at him. “I never want to leave you.”
He exhales, eyes glowing without defense. His breath meets her face like the ghost of a kiss.
Like a fool, she’s smothered by hope. The shine to his eyes a lifeline for the lovesick.
The wait demanded by his silence should daunt her, yet truth clothes her with peace.
It’s out there. Her whole guts. To be taken in his hands. To be left in the parking lot. No need to fight to hide any of it. And she’s done fighting. She needs to rest.
He opens his mouth.
“Touch me.”