AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Rafael rolls onto his back, taking me with him. For a few moments, we lay quietly, my body molded to his, trying to catch our breath.
But it’s not quiet inside my head. The thoughts are racing at warp speed as I try to make sense of them.
The sex was everything I imagined, despite what I’d been told about first times being a disappointment. It’ll hurt. He’ll be clumsy. You won’t orgasm. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Despite my own explorations with self-love, at first my pussy felt full—too full. It was uncomfortable, but there was no stabbing pain—not like in the shower. Rafael wasn’t clumsy. He was careful, and even when he wasn’t checking in with words, his watchful eyes rarely left my face. As foolish as it sounds, it made me feel cherished.
What I lacked in skill, I made up for in unfettered desire. I wanted him. Not just his mouth, or his hands, or his cock to satisfy my lust—I wanted him—every fiber of his being, with every fiber of mine.
When he admitted how aroused he was—how aroused I made him, and how much he wanted me—the emotion rolled over me like a tidal wave. In that moment, I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t want him.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, hoarsely, like he’s too spent to speak any louder.
“I’m more than okay,” I reply, quickly realizing it was too honest of an answer. I showed too many cards. It’s more than I want him to know.
His mouth is on my head with a warm, tender kiss that makes me feel safe and terrified all at once.
“You?” I ask, with a hint of sass that I can barely muster. “Do you need a heating pad or some ice for all those sore muscles? You’re not as young as you used to be.”
Rafael pinches my ass, and I yelp. “You’re going to be the death of me, Angel.”
He pulls away from me, and I feel a panic rise. “Where are you going?” I ask in a voice that sounds almost panicky. What is wrong with me?
“Hey,” he says, tugging gently at my hair. “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
God, I’m a pathetic, needy mess. He’s the only person who can make me feel this way, and I hate it.
Since the wedding, it’s become an entrenched response. The embarrassment, the anger, and the hurt—so much hurt—mangled as they burrowed deep. Like heartless barnacles, they attached themselves to my soul and fed off my desperation as I waited for days, weeks, months for him to call, to text, something, anything. It’s taken root, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
Before I berate myself too much for being weak, Rafael comes into the bedroom with a warm cloth and a small towel. He kisses my nose and presses the compress between my legs, holding it there until it cools, while he peppers my shoulders and neck with small caresses. Let me take care of you. I’m completely undone by the time he dries me gently and tosses the linen on the floor.
We need to deal with this now, because I can’t spend every moment we’re together wondering when he’s going to disappear. I can’t spend one second more worrying. It turns me into someone I don’t respect.
“Rafael,” I murmur from my side. He glances at me as he climbs into bed, facing me. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened in the vineyard? Why you left?”
He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my open palm. “Once Lucas walked in, it became pretty obvious why we needed to leave.”
I shake my head vehemently. That is not good enough.
“You don’t get to do this, here, in the place where you fucked me. I deserve an honest answer, even if I’m not going to like it. Be brave, Rafael,” I tell him in the same tone he used when he said the words to me.
He turns onto his back and throws an arm over his eyes.
I feel my heart crack. It’s just a fissure, but that’s how earthquakes start too.
“What I believed, that night, especially after Lucas called me out, is that you were too young for me, and that our families have too many important ties that could unravel if we got involved, and it got messy.”
There’s an eight-year age difference between us. A big spread for teenagers, nothing to write home about for adults. The family ties? Those are real, but we have full control over whether it gets messy. They’re just excuses.
“Do you still believe that?” I ask in a voice that is so dispassionate it’s almost robotic.
“I do.” He turns onto his side and takes a tendril of my hair in his fingers. “But right now I don’t care.”
I’m buoyed by his response until I play it over in my head. But right now I don’t care. Right now. What about later tonight? Or tomorrow? Will you care after the sun comes up? I don’t get to ask any of my questions. I haven’t even formed them all when he pulls his hand back.
“Those things don’t matter. I’m not sure they ever did. The truth is, you scare me, Lexie.” His eyes burrow into my soul as he says words I don’t really understand.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
