Chapter 18
RAUL
The morning after Olivia showed up at my house, we wake up still tangled together. She kisses my nose softly, waking me.
I groan and roll out of reach, completely blank for a second on what happened the night before.
Then it comes crashing back.
And I reach for her, pulling her close before the moment can slip away. I'm painfully aware of how tightly we're pressed together, how warm she feels against me.
"Do you have any coffee?" she asks, voice rough from sleep.
"Absolutely," I murmur. "But not yet."
"Not yet?" She gives a sleepy little laugh.
I roll over and pin her beneath me, my legs sliding between hers, hands braced above her head. I kiss her slowly at first, then trail soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She shivers under me, breath catching as I keep going, taking my time with her.
I keep the line going down to her heavy breasts, watching her breath heave as goosebumps appear and her nipples harden. I take one nipple into my mouth, lightly licking and sucking.
A quiet sound escapes her, and she arches into me, needy and half-awake and devastatingly beautiful.
My cock hardens even more, and I can feel the heat coming from her pussy.
I flash my teeth and raise an eyebrow. Teasing.
Her eyes flick to my mouth, and her body shifts closer, clearly asking for more.
"Please?" she almost whimpers.
The word hits me hard.
I use one hand, running the head of my cock against her entrance.
"You are so fucking wet," I say, biting at my lip.
"Fucking do something about it," she squirms, voice edged with need.
"Yes, ma'am."
I ease in just the tip, then pull back out, watching her body react. The way she groans, hips grinding up like she's chasing me, desperate for the fullness.
It's mesmerizing.
Shit, I'm teasing myself more than her at this point.
Finally, I give in and push all the way in.
She grunts as I bottom out, hitting deep.
I hold there for a beat, letting us both feel the stretch, the heat, the way she grips me tight. Then I start moving.
Slow thrusts at first, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in deep, watching her face twist with every drag. Her nails dig into my shoulders, urging me faster, and I give it to her, hips snapping harder, the bed creaking under us.
"Fuck, Raul," she gasps, legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me deeper.
I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, lost in the rhythm of it. Skin on skin, her moans in my ear, the slick heat of her pulling me under.
We move together like that, building fast and frantic until she's trembling beneath me, close again. I reach between us, thumb circling her clit, and that's all it takes.
She comes undone with a cry, clenching around me. Her inner folds tighten around me, massaging. Begging for me to join her.
My thumb presses harder on her clit, causing a scream to escape her lips. She's trying to pull away from me, convulsing in orgasm.
Watching her becomes my own undoing as my cock pulses, exploding deep inside her.
We stay locked together after, breaths ragged, bodies slick and spent. I plant a light kiss to her temple before I get up and pull on my boxers.
"I'm going to go make some coffee," I say, heading to the kitchen.
Behind me, I hear her stirring, getting dressed.
"Hungry?" I ask over my shoulder, giving her space to change without looking.
"Always," she says, her voice brighter now, like the morning's already won her over.
Fuck, she's adorable.
"Eggs?"
"Yes, please."
I pour her a mug of hot coffee and hand it over, then grab the creamer from the fridge. "We have sugar too, if you need it."
"This is good." She takes it black and bitter. I smirk to myself. She's sweet enough as it is.
I start on breakfast, cracking eggs into the pan, and feel her eyes on me the whole time.
She starts pacing the trailer, slow steps taking her through the cramped space. I feel myself shrinking under it, waiting for the judgment, the questions, the moment she sees too much.
Thank God the drugs are stashed away or out with Dad. That's a conversation for another day I'm not ready for.
She stops at the cluster of photos of Mom on the wall. Her fingers brush the frame so lightly it almost hurts to watch. My throat tightens.
Dad and I have tried to make this place feel like home, with photos pinned up and Mom's little decorative touches scattered around like she's still here with us.
Then I see which one she's focused on.
"The necklace," she says softly.
It's an old photo: Mom holding me as a kid, Dad making a dumb face in the background. I couldn't have been more than three years old. We were sitting at the dining table at Aunt Val's. She's wearing her cross necklace, the one she never took off.
"Yeah," I mutter, hoping she reads the tone and drops it. I'm not ready.
"Is this your mother?"
I nod, just once, turning back to the eggs. I throw in some shredded cheese to scramble with them.
Next to the photos is Mom's funeral pamphlet, tucked into the frame like a scar we can't erase.
She stands there quiet, piecing it together on her own.
My heart's in my throat. I feel sick.
"She's beautiful," she says finally.
"Thank you." I shrug it off, plating the eggs.
She steps closer, her hand light on my hip.
My guard slams up. I pull away without thinking, grabbing plates and dishing out breakfast like it's a shield.
I'm not hungry anymore, but I set the plates down with forks anyway. To avoid eating, I pour myself fresh coffee.
We sit in silence that stretches on forever. Or maybe it’s just minutes. I can’t tell.
Brick by brick, the wall goes back up. Shutting her out.
Half of me's grateful she's trying. The other half wants her gone before she sees more.
The silence drags on, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional sip of coffee.
She picks at her eggs but doesn't eat much. I stare into my mug like it holds answers. The air feels charged, waiting for one of us to crack it open.
Minutes pass.
I can feel her glancing at me, then away, then back again. Waiting. But I've got nothing. The words stick in my chest, too raw, too dangerous to let out.
Finally, she sets her fork down. The clink is loud in the quiet.
"I should go," she says softly.
"Yeah." It comes out flat, final.
She stands, grabbing her mug to rinse it in the sink. Domestic. Normal. It's like we didn't just wake up tangled in my bed.
I don't move to stop her.
She slips on her shoes by the door, grabs her bag. Pauses with her hand on the knob.
"Raul."
"Don't." My voice cuts her off, sharper than I mean it.
She nods once, like she gets it. Or maybe she doesn't. Her eyes linger on me a second longer, sad but steady, then she's gone.
The door clicks shut behind her.
I sit there with my cold eggs and empty trailer, the wall fully rebuilt, higher than before.