Page 24 of The Wrong Reciprocation

"Why are you crying?" he asked before she could utter a single word.

The care in his voice sent a fresh wave of despair through her and she choked down another sob so that she could try and answer him. The attempt was in vain. At the sound of tears in her throat, Arturo swiftly closed the distance between them, bringing his hands up to her face. His movements startled her and she stepped backward, bumping into the tree as he cupped her cheeks. He was so close to her that she could smell the sweat on him and see the beads dotted across the tattoos that covered his chest. Memories of the last time those same tattoos were within a similar viewing distance accosted her mind and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting her brain to think of anything but him naked on top of her. Inside of her.

His thumbs gently brushed against her cheeks, swiping at the fresh trails of tears.

"Please," he murmured. "Don't cry, my love."

She felt his lips touch her cheeks and she lost it. As he kissed her face, she cried out all of her frustration and pain. She wasn't just sad, she was angry. It shouldn't be this way. It wouldn't be this way if her family would just fucking talk to each other! Her own mother had disappointed her. Twyla watched her mother get left out of gatherings with her siblings growing up and she saw how that hurt Linda. To then perpetuate the same thing that harmed you was unfathomable to Twyla. Linda had never even mentioned Arturo to Twyla. Not even to throw shade on Twyla's grandfather by calling Arturo an "outside baby". Linda never missed an opportunity to be shady, so that was as unbelievable as Arturo's existence.

And now, because of her family's secrets being swept under the rug and ignored like a pile of trash in the corner of the kitchen, Twyla had committed a moral crime that would haunt her for the rest of her life. It made her sick to her stomach and her throat tightened with disgust. Disgust with herself and her own actions.

For all intents and purposes, this was just a man she worked with that she'd gone on one date with. There was no reason she should feel so strongly about the way things played out.

Except you didn't just go on a date with him. You slept with him.

That thought crossed her mind and she immediately turned her head to the left as if she could look away from the reminder. Only, the petulant move gave Arturo access to her neck, and he took advantage without hesitation, peppering kisses along the short column of skin until he reached her exposed collar bone.

"Why are you here?" She managed to choke out. There was a war inside of her and her voice sounded anguished to her own ears. Why are you here kissing me? Why are you in this forest instead of asleep like everyone else? Why are you in Tennessee and not back in Houston? Each question was somehow buried in the four words she'd spoken.

Instead of answering her right away, Arturo kissed back up the trail he'd made along her skin. Once he reached beneath her ear, he grasped her chin and turned her to face him.

"I am here because you are here."

Her eyes flew open at his words, and she stared at him in disbelief. Why would he say that? They were supposed to be pretending that nothing had happened between them. It was an unspoken agreement. Twyla knew they both understood that no matter what had transpired between them and how they might have felt about each other, things couldn't continue. She knew that he knew that.

Yet…

Here he was, kissing on her in the forest in the wee hours of the morning as if they weren't on a family vacation.

And you're letting him.

Her thoughts rendered her speechless. She was letting him. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Please," he spoke again. His eyes soft and desperate. His hands fell from her face to her neck and her breath hitched, but then they continued down and over her shoulders. They trailed down her arms, blazing a path that left her skin tingling, until he grasped both of her hands and lifted them into the air, draping them over his shoulders.

She had no idea what he was pleading for but alarms began to blare in her brain when she realized it looked like they were embracing. This was decidedly not a platonic or familial position. If anyone saw them, she couldn't even imagine what they might think.

"Please," fell from his lips once more before he leaned in and settled those same lips over hers.

Oh, no!

Her protest was silent as she allowed him to kiss her, snaking his tongue into her mouth and swallowing anything she might've said anyhow. And, she was so ashamed of the way she closed her eyes and kissed him back. Her fingers gripped the back of his head as if it were muscle memory and she licked her tongue against his, dueling in an attempt to siphon as much of his flavor as possible, knowing that this was something forbidden. Something she'd never get the chance to experience again. She hadn't gotten a proper goodbye, and it wasn't until that moment that she realized she'd needed it. They went from being giddy and flirty and sexy to being mortified at what they'd shared physically and what that meant for what they shared genetically.

And when his hands came to her waist and then slid down to her hips, an involuntary tremble ran through her. It felt like it had been years since she'd felt his touch in that way instead of just a couple of weeks. How was it possible that she missed it as much as she did? It had been almost two years since she'd had sex before him. She knew how to survive without being touched. Yet, once he touched her that first time under the table at the restaurant she felt marked. Branded. Ruined.

But then his fingers dipped into the waistband of her leggings and her heart stuttered in her chest. She pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide open as she stared at him.

Swiping his tongue along his bottom lip, Arturo met and held her gaze as he ran his hands underneath her pants from the side to the back, slipping his hands fully inside of the elastic and cupping her ass.

A gasp spilled from her lips but nothing else. She waited on baited breath for what he would do next. This was dangerous for so many reasons. Her heart was racing. Terror flooding her veins. But she stood there, stock still, eyes on his.

Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee, pulling her leggings down as he went. When the fabric reached her calves, he grasped her left leg, pulled her foot out of her shoe, and tugged the material fully off of her leg. Once she was exposed to the elements, he then grasped her calf and lifted it to his shoulder. Her mouth gaped open as she stared at him. There was no mistaking what he intended to do. With his eyes on hers, he gripped her thigh firmly and, with his other hand, brushed his thumb up through her already soaked lips until his digit met her clit.

Instinctively, she reached for him, her breath stuttering at the contact. She gripped his shoulder, digging her fingers into the naked flesh. Finally breaking eye contact, his eyes fluttered closed as he leaned forward and ran his nose along the crease of her spread-open thigh and pelvis. Dragging his nose across the nest of curls covering her mound, he inhaled deeply and released a self-satisfied breath. The vision alone was positively obscene but the sound of him enjoying her scent made her clench in a very visible way.

His eyes popped open as if he'd heard the muscles contract and needed to see it for himself. Unbidden, her body gave him what he was looking for, and it wasn't shame that heated her this time. When he dragged his eyes back up her exposed body to meet her gaze, she whimpered. The softness he held darkened to something carnal. Something feral. Pressing his hips forward, he moved closer to her.

"Tell me to stop," he commanded.