Chapter 12 Midst of Storm #3
I close the gap between us and press my lips to his.
For a moment he's perfectly still. Then his free hand cups my face, gentle and wondering, like he can't believe I've given him this. The first kiss is soft, tentative. Both of us testing something we used to know by heart.
The kiss tastes of the rain and him, sending my mind in a haze from missing him. I've kissed him thousands of times before but this still feels new, charged with everything unbroken between us.
When we break apart we're both breathing hard. His thumb traces my cheekbone. My pulse is ridiculous and I hate that but I also don't pull away.
"Sera." His voice scrapes. "Is this what you want?"
I don't know what I'll want when we leave.
Right now, I know I don't want him to move away. Wanting him still feels like losing an argument, but I do it anyway.
"Yes." I cover the hand against my cheek. "This is what I want. I'm not sure about us yet, but I'm sure about this."
He waits until I draw him closer, then kisses me again. No guessing whether he's listening now. The storm batters the cabin. In here it's warm and close and just us, firelight trembling on stone, wet clothes steaming faintly on the chairs.
"Stay with me." I make him look at me. He pulls back enough to search my face as I add, "Here. Tonight. Without deciding what it means tomorrow."
"I understand. This doesn't fix anything." He presses his forehead on mine. I feel him swallow. "I'm not pretending we're okay… But I'm telling you I want to be close to you."
Then in a blink of an eye, the next kiss isn't tentative anymore.
It's the man I married, remembering every inch of me.
His mouth opens mine. His hand fists in my damp hair and tips my head back so he can kiss me deeper, hotter, until I'm gripping his bare shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
The blankets are useless between us.
My breasts drag against his chest and the contact is a shock of heat after all that cold rain. His free hand slides down my spine, slow at first, learning me again, then grabs my ass and hauls me into his lap on the bench so I straddle him with nothing but wool and want.
For a second we just breathe against each other's mouths. Then I grind down once, feeling him hard beneath me, and the friction tears a sound out of both of us.
Some traitorous part of me wants to blame my hormones and body for this but I keep that thought locked behind my teeth and kiss him harder instead.
He yanks my hair just enough to make me gasp, not cruel, just claiming the angle, and kisses me again while his palm spans my ribs, my waist, the underside of my breast as if he's reminding himself I'm real.
I rock against him shamelessly, angry and aching, kissing him like I'm still fighting even as I chase that heat. Every roll of my hips is an argument I refuse to put into words.
"Fuck, Sera..." He kisses down my jaw, lingering, then my throat, where the blanket has slipped. His lips are open, wet. "Missed this mouth, missed you shaking for me… Missed the way you move when you're done being careful."
"Stop talking and show me."
Rafael tips me back against the wooden bench carefully, like even now he won't drop me, and moves lower, still gripping my hip so I can't escape the grind of his cock against my cunt through nothing. He takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks hard.
Pleasure spikes sharp enough that my head falls back. I fist his wet hair and pull. He groans against my breast and switches sides, slower this time, teeth grazing, tongue circling, thumb worrying the other peak until I'm arching and swearing and furious at how much my body softens for him.
"Missed these," he mutters against my skin, filthy and reverent. He kisses the soft underside of my breast, then the valley between, then returns to my nipple like he can't leave it alone. "Missed how you shake when I suck you... Already soaking my lap for a man you're still furious with."
"Shut up and don't stop."
His fingers slide between us, stroking through my wetness once, twice, learning how ready I am, then sink into me slowly.
The stretch of just his fingers makes my thighs tighten. I ride his hand and his mouth at once, forehead dropping to his hair, grinding until the edge builds almost unbearable. Want and resentment tangle so tight I can't tell them apart.
Rafael pulls his fingers free. I make a helpless sound I hate myself for.
"Not yet." Voice rough with restraint. His eyes are dark in the firelight. "Want your mouth first. Want to feel you choose me that way."
He stands and the blanket falls. His cock is hard, flushed, wet at the tip.
For a heartbeat I just look at him: my husband, rain-damp hair, chest rising fast, waiting for me to decide again. I slide off his lap onto the blankets by the fire, knees on wool warm from the hearth, and wrap my hand around him.
He's hot in my palm. Familiar. He swears when I lean in and lick the head, tasting salt and him.
"That's it… Merda, open for me now, baby."
I take him into my mouth, slowly then deeper when his hand settles in my hair without forcing, just holding, trembling slightly like he's fighting not to thrust. I hollow my cheeks and work him with tongue and fist, looking up because I know what it does to him.
His head tips back as his throat works. A broken praise spills out of him, half Italian, half English, all wrecked.
"Sera… christ, your mouth…" His voice shakes. "So good. Perfect. Taking me like you missed this too. Deeper. Yes. Just like that… fuck, baby, I'm not going to last if you keep…"
I pull off with a wet sound and stroke him, chin shiny, lips swollen. Desire sits heavy low in my belly. So does the knowledge that tomorrow I will still walk back to my parents' house.
"Then don't finish there," I say. "I want you inside me."
His eyes go black. "Up. On the blankets. Now."
Rafael spreads the spare blankets properly beside the hearth, smoothing them with hands that aren't quite steady, and lays me down. He crawls over me and kisses me like he can taste himself on my tongue.
I should hate that but I don't.
He mouths my breasts again while he notches against me, teasing, sliding through my wetness without entering, again and again, until I'm digging nails into his shoulders and whining into his neck.
"Rafael…"
"Ask first." Soft command and he waits. He actually waits.
"Fuck me." My words are raw and honest. "I want your cock. Stop making me wait like I'm still at that goddamn dinner table."
Pain flashes through his face. Then he pushes in, thick and deep, one long thrust that punches the air from my lungs. The stretch burns sweet. I feel every inch.
He holds still, buried, forehead to mine, shaking with the effort of not moving yet, like even now he's trying to prove he can listen.
"You’re okay?"
"Yes, move... Hard. I didn't come here for gentle."
So he moves. Long strokes first, letting me feel the drag, then sharper, the wet slap of us loud under the rain. He braces on one forearm and keeps kissing my chest between thrusts: nipple, sternum, the soft underside of my breast, like he can't decide between fucking me and worshipping me.
I wrap my legs around him and meet every snap of his hips as heat builds behind my eyes.
"Listen to you," he growls against my breast. "Whining. Clenching. So fucking beautiful when you stop pretending you don't want this." His hand finds my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. "Come on my cock. Give it to me. Now."
"I… ah! Rafael…"
"Now, Sera."
I break with a cry smothered against his shoulder, pulsing around him, shaking through it while he holds me and fucks me through every wave until I'm oversensitive and grabbing at his wrist. Tears prick for no clean reason. I blink them back.
He eases out, breathing hard, kissing my temple once like an apology he knows I won't accept as payment.
"Not done yet, baby. Bench," he says, voice ruined. "Hands on it and ass to me. I need to feel you choose this one more time."
I scramble up on unsteady legs. Palms flat on the wooden bench we sat on as careful strangers an hour ago.
The wood is cool under my hands and the nearby fire is hot on my spine.
He covers me from behind, presses a kiss between my shoulder blades, then sinks in again, deeper at this angle.
I shove back because restraint only goes so far, and because I want the truth of this in my body even if I won't give him tomorrow.
"Fucking hell." His grip bruises my hips. His other hand fists my damp hair and tips my head so he can see my face in the firelight. "Taking me so deep. This cunt was made for my cock. Tell me you feel it."
"I feel it." My voice cracks into a moan, pleasure and grief braid together. "Harder. Don't you dare go soft on me now."
He gives me harder. Palm between my shoulder blades tipping me lower, other hand rubbing my clit until I'm babbling curses and his name.
The bench creaks while embers pop. Outside, the storm howls like it wants in. Inside I am nothing but heat and the man behind me with the choice I made with my eyes open.