Chapter 12 Midst of Storm #4
"Come again," he orders, wrecked. "On my cock, even just tonight. Take me anyway."
"It isn't…" I shatter anyway, shoving back onto him, clenching hard, and he follows with a broken groan of my name, spilling deep, chest pressed to my spine, arm locked around my middle like the only honest thing he has left tonight.
We stay locked until the shaking stops. Rain softens against the roof. His breath is hot on my neck. He presses one last kiss between my shoulder blades, not claiming, just there, as if he's thanking me for something he knows he hasn't earned.
Then he eases us down onto the pallet, tugging a spare blanket over our sweat-damp skin. My cheek finds his chest. His heartbeat is loud under my ear.
I am warm at last and I don't regret reaching for him.
But I am already afraid of what he to expect once we come down from the high.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on a pallet of blankets near the fire, my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders.
The storm has quieted to a steady rain, the wind dying down to occasional gusts.
I listen to his heartbeat, slow and steady beneath my ear. I am warm at last. I don't regret reaching for him, but I am afraid of what he will expect when we stand up.
"I can hear you thinking." His voice rumbles through his chest. "What is it?"
"Nothing." I trace a pattern on his skin with my fingertip. "Everything."
He's quiet for a moment, his hand moving slowly up and down my arm. "This doesn't mean we're okay. I know that."
"Do you?" I lift my head to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, younger somehow, like the boy I fell in love with all those years ago.
"Yes." He brushes a strand of hair away from my mouth, then lets his hand fall. "I'm not going to pretend one night fixes months of hurt. I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and act like everything is back to normal."
"Good." I lay my head back down on his chest. "Because it isn't."
"I know." His arm tightens around me. "But can I just... have this? For a few more minutes? Before we go back to being complicated?"
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the warmth of his body. There is still a conversation waiting for us, one I need to choose a time for soon.
He doesn't know about the baby. I want to tell him when we can sit across from each other, fully awake to what it means, without him hearing it as a reason I reached for him tonight.
But for now, in this cabin with the rain falling outside and the fire burning low, I let myself have this moment of peace.
"The rain is stopping." Rafael lifts his head toward the small window, listening. "We should probably get dressed soon."
"Probably." I lift my head, but he makes no move to hurry me.
We lie there for a while longer, the silence between us comfortable in a way it hasn't been in months. Eventually, the fire burns down to embers and the chill starts to creep back in.
"I'll check if the clothes are dry." Rafael presses a kiss to my hair before disentangling himself. I watch him move across the dim cabin, his body familiar and strange at the same time.
He brings me my shirt and trousers, still slightly damp but wearable. I dress with my back to him, feeling oddly shy after everything we just did. When I turn around, he's dressed too, running his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it.
"We can take the track around the blocked path." He picks up my jacket and holds it out to me. "I'll check the rain first."
I take the jacket and shrug it on. The sleeves are still damp, but the lining holds a little warmth from the room. My bag of ruined blossoms sits beside my shoes, a soggy reminder of why I came out here in the first place.
I collect my phone from the table and call my father, keeping close to the window until he answers. "The rain's eased. We're going to check the upper track and come back that way."
"I'll leave the courtyard light on." His voice is quieter now that he isn't shouting over the wind. "Call if you need me to meet you."
"I will." I end the call and put the phone in my jacket pocket. Rafael has folded the blankets onto the bench. He kneels at the hearth to make sure the last embers are out, then retrieves his phone from the table.
I sit to pull on my shoes. He lifts my bag by its drawstring, checking that the wet cloth will hold, then waits beside the door with it. I am almost ready when I look up and catch him watching me.
The tenderness in his face makes me stop with one lace still loose. I know that look. I used to catch it across our breakfast table, before he began looking past me at the clock.
"Don't." I bend over the knot again because it is easier than holding his gaze. "Don't look at me as though I've come back."
"I know you're going to your parents'." He puts my bag on the table within reach. "I won't ask you to change that."
I stand and smooth the hem of my damp shirt. I want to believe he can let this evening be what it was, without trying to use it to end an argument he finally understands.
"This was the storm, Rafael." I take the bag from the table and face him. "It wasn't forgiveness."