8. Second Chance
SECOND CHANCE
Dahlia
“You didn’t answer me before.” His fists clench at his sides. “Do you love him?”
My legs move of their own volition and rush to close the distance between us, one foot tripping over the other.
“No. No, Alejandro—”
“You said before you couldn’t accept how I betrayed you.
Well I couldn’t accept that you had gone.
I couldn’t accept that you had left me or that you were in New York actually building a new life for yourself without me in it and I was angry and envious and prideful because I thought you’d be—or at least I wanted you, I needed you to be as devastated as I was and I resented you for it so I held on as tightly as I could and in the end maybe I made it so much worse—”
I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him forward.
Lifting to the tips of my toes I press my lips against his and at the first tug of hesitation, I wrap an around his neck and refuse to let him pull away.
I hold on, closely and tightly, until he finally surrenders to me with a tremor and a sigh of relief.
His arms come around me and his hands press against the small of my back and the length of my spine as he joins us together.
When the kiss turns salty with tears I can’t tell if they’re mine or his.
“I’m not in love with him.” I pull away only long enough to utter the words in bursts of desperation. “I love you, I’ve been in love with you all this time, I never stopped—”
He glides his hand up the length of my spine where it settles at the nape of my neck and he tilts my head back to silence me with a kiss and I let him.
In the depths of the darkest, coldest winter of my life, summer blooms inside me at his touch.
His arms around me feel like May in Barcelona, his scent like daylight and lemon trees on a roof top garden, all of it familiar, all of it home.
It isn’t that being kissed by him makes me forget what we’ve gone through or decide they don’t matter. I’m reminded of why it does.
I decide in this very moment that I’m going to leave it all behind me.
If he wants to—if he agrees—we can leave the last three years dead and buried.
Take whatever good it gave us and return the rest to the dirt so that something more splendid and beautiful can grow in its place, like fertilizer for the earth.
There is longing in his kiss. Love, familiarity, desire.
Every emotion translated through lips and the masterful movements of his tongue.
Kissing him is a simple pleasure. No amount of time could ever wear away the novelty of it.
When the pressure of his mouth provokes the concession of my own, he kisses my parted lips and lets his tongue explore.
One soft yet confident stroke after the other makes my legs give out beneath me but he’s caught me before I’ve had the chance to fall.
And when my open palms move across the broad expanse of his muscled shoulders and up the length of his neck to tangle in his silky hair—lovely and wavy and just a tad longer than he usually keeps it—his entire body trembles in response.
A shuttering breath and a soft moan and then he’s lifting me off my feet.
There’s so much I want to tell him. He was right, there’s no use in fighting, I’m such a fool, I’m sorry, but he doesn’t give me time to say any of it. There’s barely any time to make it to the nearest bedroom and he stumbles forward a few steps to find safe haven on the sofa instead.
“Wait, I—” He kisses his way down the length of my throat and my thoughts scatter. “Maybe…maybe we should talk…I feel like—”
“Dahlia.” He grips my chin. “Shut up.”
I nod frantically. “Okay.”
I take his face in my hands and kiss him with bone crushing force.
Our teeth collide violently and the taste of blood and metal fills my mouth as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my tights and pulls them down.
Soft wool rubs against my hips as the hem of my sweater travels upward.
He settles himself between my thighs and reaches down to unbuckle his belt but fails twice to get it undone.
I’ve kissed him so deeply and so thoroughly that he can’t focus on anything else.
Satisfaction bursts to life like firecrackers in my bloodstream.
I am the only one who can make him feel this way.
The only one who can make him lose his focus and make his hands tremble while attempting something as simple as unbuckling his best.
I reach down and do it for him. Then I claw at the fabric of his shirt and yank the turtleneck over his head. His skin is hot to the touch and his heart pounds riotously against my palm. Tension simmers between us and I wonder if he’ll make the next move or if I will.
He lifts the sweater over my head and tosses the garment over the back of the sofa.
I reach behind me to unhook my bra but he covers my hands with his and does so instead.
I need him everywhere all at once but he takes his time.
Fists his hand in the back of my hair and kisses me until my lips are numb and tingling, all the while the pressure of his hips grinding into mine creates enough friction to make my vision blur.
I want him so badly I think I could cry from it and when I try to unbutton his pants he doesn’t let me.
Alejandro moves down he length of my body where he peppers kisses across my goosebump-covered skin.
Upon reaching my lower abdomen he hooks an arm under my thigh and guides that leg over his shoulder, leaving me open to his ravenous gaze.
A fierce, burning blush rushes through me.
My whole body is sizzling red and hot to the touch and I’m panting like an animal in heat.
He expels a deep breath and the cool air skitters across my pulsing sex.
If I wasn’t already aching and in agony, I certainly am now.
I lift my head to beg him for mercy, relief, anything. At this point, I’m already familiar with his game. He wants me to beg for it and for once I am more than willing to comply. Except the look in his eyes stops me in my tracks.
He brings his hand to the wetness between my thighs and watches my reaction closely.
Two expert fingers glide in and out at a deliriously slow pace; enough to edge at what a possible release might feel like but so slow that it remains out of reach.
He rubs against my inner walls and every few thrusts, plunges just a bit harder and faster and his fingers hook to hit that magical place inside me that always leaves me undone.
Then, he pulls all the way out to pay special attention to my clit.
He rolls the bundle of nerves between his fingertips before gliding his thumb around it in perfect, infinite circles.
A moan rips through me and I dig my fingers into his hair where they twist and tug in search of relief or an outlet.
“Dahlia,” he sounds so calm, as if he isn’t on the verge of making me come so hard I’ll faint. “You’ll never let another man touch you again.”
“Mhm, yes.” I nod frantically and everything he says goes in one ear and out the other. “Just like that…”
“Are you listening to me?” He ceases tracing circles and plunges a finger inside me. The pace he picks up is brutal and deep. “If you touch another man after this, he’s dead.”
Oh my God…I can’t think.
“Yes…” My grip in his hair tightens. “Yes…I—”
He grabs me by the neck and in a split second, he’s hovering over me, pressing my body further into the sofa cushions and armrest.
“Pay attention. I’m not going to repeat myself.”
His fingers thrust into me again. Hard.
“If another man touches you again after this…” Thrust. “I going to kill him and make you watch.”
His grip tightens around my throat until not even a cry can slip past.
“And then you.” Thrust. “And then me.”
Thrust. Rub. Withdraw. Repeat.
He digs his fingers into the sensitive flesh of my throat as he awaits a response. “Understood?”
I nod so hard the tears gathering in my eyes roll down my temples. “Yes, yes. Alex…please—”
“Please what?”
Already I feel his movements slow and the orgasm I’ve been chasing the last few minutes begins to fade.
“If you want to come you’ll have to earn it.”
“Please, make me come.”
Satisfied with my pleas, he lets me have my wish. Release is sharp but short and fades quickly. It isn’t enough; none of it is.
I claw at what’s left of his clothes—half opened belt, pants, underwear—while his tongue invades my mouth.
When he’s finally undressed I touch him everywhere, shamelessly and without reservation, reveling in the access he gives me to his body.
He’s firm and toned in all the places I’m not and my body yields to his like the pieces of a puzzle.
His chest fits perfectly against my breasts, my head rests in the crook his neck, our legs are tangled, hips locked.
As he sucks and bites at the sensitive skin of my breasts, leaving bruises to mark his territory, I grab a fistful of him and stroke from tip to base.
His throbbing erection jerks in my hand as I guide it to my entrance, desperate from him to take me there. I lift my hips and slide him inside just an inch but an inch must be enough.