The Love of a Latino

by Ewing, A. B.

  When he did things like this it was so easy to forget everything else. She had practically assaulted him and even though he was in pain he was, instead, attending to her self-inflicted wound. This ability to put her needs before his was something she loved about him. It was so difficult to envision this loving passionate man as a man that would so thoughtlessly hurt her by taking a lover. What was wrong with her? She had almost forgotten the reason his jaw and her knuckles were bruised. Constance Martinez.

  With renewed vigor, she yanked her hand away. Nothing had been resolved. He still hadn’t explained about Constance or said why he was here. “We came up here to talk. So talk! I would like to go home before it gets dark.”

  “Patience, Dahlia. You will have your answers soon enough.”

  “You know what, Raphael? I do not have time for your games. If you are going to continue to act like this I am leaving.” Swirling around, she headed for the door. She had barely gotten it open when Raphael’s long hand closed it from behind her. Turning to face him she huffed, “Let me go.”

  “No!”

  Frustrated at the way he was behaving she brought both palms up to his chest to push him away, but instead he grabbed both of her wrists, pinning them against the door on either side of her head. Pressing his large body against her much smaller one, he trapped her between him and the door. Determined to be set free, she started struggling but when his hand tightened on her wrist and she felt his arousal against her stomach she stopped. Looking up at him she noticed the familiar glint in his dark eyes—passion!

  In an attempt to break the spell he was weaving around her with that look, she snapped, “Do you get aroused this quickly with your girlfriend?”

  “Do I sense the green eyed monster, Dahlia? Is my sweet wife jealous?” He breathed against her neck, his voice strained with passion.

  Swallowing, Dahlia licked her lips. “Do not put words in my mouth, Raphael.”

  She felt him smile against her neck before his lips went to her ear. “Believe me, mi amor; I can think of a lot of other things I would like to put in that sexy mouth.”

  Her knees buckled, he chuckled. “Easy, sweet one.” He dragged his lips across her jaw and whispered against her lips, “By the color of your cheeks, I know you are not quite ready for that. So how about we start with this?”

  “Raphael…” She moaned before his lips opened to possess hers.

  Dahlia saw stars. She had completely forgotten the things this man could do with his mouth. Resisting him was useless. Those firm strong lips pressed against hers, teasing the sanity out of her. At the insistence of his seeking tongue—she opened, allowing him in. He caressed the recesses of her mouth, his tongue flickering in and out, tasting her lips. His teeth gently nipped at the tender skin. Dahlia’s hands slipped out of his grasp to bury themselves in his hair, as she drew his head closer so she could have more of him.

  His large hands came down to span her waist as he pressed closer, his arousal hardening more. He moaned, she whimpered. Spinning her around to face the door, Raphael’s lips feathered against her neck. She gasped in pure pleasure when he found the familiar spot where her jaw met her neck. Pushing back she gyrated against his hardening length, forcing a growl from him. Palms flat against the door she kept up the pace. Raphael’s hands moved away from her waist, one travelling up under her top to cup her breast. The other finding its way to the snap off the pants she was wearing. With a flick of his wrist, she felt the button give and the zip lowered.

  His mouth continued to punish her skin, until she angled her head so he could once again claim her lips as his hands slid into her panties to find what he was searching for. His other hand teased her aching nipple. At his first touch, various colors swarmed behind her closed lids. If he continued touching her this way, she would have an orgasm right there. Unable to take anymore, she wrenched her lips from his and spun around to look at him. His lids were heavy with the weight of passion, his lips pulled tight as he fought to stay in control. She was doing this to him. Claiming his lips again, she continued to kiss him, backing him against the sofa until he collapsed on it. Straddling him, she positioned herself on his arousal and began to work her waist again.

  “Amor,” Raphael groaned, grasping her waist once—moving to match her rhythm.

  Dahlia reveled in the knowledge that she could reduce this proud man to this. He was her man, her husband. Leaning back, she reached down and pulled the purple top over her head, exposing her body to him. Dahlia smiled when his pupils dilated and his breathing became labored. Yes! He may have started this but she was in control now.

  Lowering her head she placed her lips against his neck. Her wet tongue darted out to skim his firm skin. Beginning at the vein that was throbbing out of control in his neck she licked all the way up to his ear. Raphael bucked beneath her gyrating hips when her tongue delved into his ear, then retreated to tease, the lobe.

  “Dios, Dahlia. What are you trying to do to me?” Raphael grounded out.

  To answer his question she flicked her head so her hair fell to one side. Bringing her head down, she touched her lips to his neckline. He brought his hand up to cup her breast, but she pushed them away.

  She heard him groan more in frustration than in anger. Slowly, she began to increase her rhythm and felt pure satisfaction when his head fell back against the sofa in pleasure, his passion filled eyes scorching her skin. Lowering her head to his ear, she whispered “Do you want me, Raphael? Do you need me?”

  “Dios, sí, I need you Dahlia!” He growled into her hair.

  Satisfied, she stilled above him. Climbing off, she reached for her top next to him and put in on while he sat there, a totally confused look on his face.

  “Good, Raphael.” She stated. Removing her wedding ring she tossed it at him and said, “Because you will never have me again.”

  He still didn’t move, just continued to stare at her as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. If she wasn’t so angry, she would have actually smiled at the look on his face.

  “You think you can have an affair, then just kiss me and everything will be alright? Well, think again, Raphael. I am not the same naïve girl I was ten months ago. You coming here saved me a trip to New York. I want a divorce.” Speech concluded she turned to leave but turned around again. For good measure she added, “While you are thinking about that, you should also think about where I learned the things I just did, or better yet…from whom!”

  Without hanging around to witness his reaction she rushed to the door, yanked it open and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the woman standing on the other side with the little girl tucked on her hips. Dahlia’s heart did a double take when she realized just who the woman was. Constance Martinez.

  ****

  Chapter 19

  Some people believed that it was not possible for a man to love as strong as woman. Some people believed that it was not possible for a man to hurt as easily as a woman. Some people were dead wrong. Dahlia’s last words were scorching a painful trail through his heart. Had she really been with someone else? Did she allow another man the pleasures of her body? The way she practically had him begging was something his Dahlia did not know how to do. His wife had actually taken on the role of seductress.

  He erupted from the chair, all hint of passion gone. Hurt over spilled into anger and like a raging tornado he flew toward her, prepared to get answers. She would tell him the name of this man and when Rafe found him he would break every bone in his body. He would gladly kill the bastard that dared touch Dahlia. She belonged to him, she was his wife. Why would she let another man touch her body? Hell, did she enjoy it? Had he pleasured her?

  Paying no heed to Constance and Genevieve at the door, he snatched Dahlia’s hand roughly, spinning her to do battle. “Who is he, Dahlia?” Fury made his already thick accent even more difficult to understand.

  Confusion at his sudden ambush, she asked, “What?”

  Shaking her a little, he demanded, “Your lover,
what is his name?” Raphael couldn’t believe his wife had a lover! The news was killing him inside.

  “Leave me alone, Raphael. You are not my boss. I don’t have to tell you anything.” She bellowed at him, trying to steal her hand from his iron like grip.

  Her refusal to identify her lover intensified his already burning rage. Oh, he was going to do some damage. “Dahlia, you do not want to play with me right now. You will tell me his name! Are you scared that I will kill him and he cannot pleasure you any longer? Did you enjoy yourself that much while you were in his arms? What is his name?” He raged, applying a little pressure to the hand he was holding.

  “Rafe, stop it!” Constance shouted from across the room where she had settled herself after she entered.

  “Stay out of this, Constance. This is between me and my wife.” Rafe warned, oblivious of the emotions flashing across the woman’s face.

  “Rafe, listen to me, por favor. You are angry, but you do not want to do something you will regret. Let her go.” Rafe was shaken by the fear that sounded in her voice. Snapping around to look at her, he noticed that same fear plaguing her features. ¡Dios! What was the matter with him? He should know better than to let his temper get the better of him, especially in front of Constance. She had already been through enough.

  Dahlia grabbing at his momentary lack of concentration, yanked at her arm in an effort to free herself. Unprepared for that, Rafe reacted by tightening his hold to keep her from falling. Two things happened then. Dahlia cried out in agony with the force of his grip and Constance rushed him from behind, her fist pummeling into his broad back. “Let her go. Let her go. ¡Eres un demonio!” The older woman cried with panicked rage.

  Releasing Dahlia, he circled and grabbed at Constance’s flaying arm, which had been abusing his back just a few seconds before. Trying to get them under control, he glimpsed at her face. It was only then he saw the look in her eyes. Her body was here, but her mind was back in Spain. She wasn’t seeing him, she was seeing Felipé.

  “Constance, todo está bien. Soy yo, Rafe. No voy a hacerle daño, lo prometo. Por favor, cálmate." He said firmly, while lightly shaking her, hoping to bring her back from that painful place.

  Still, she continued to struggle in his arms, her battle with her inner demons stronger than her will to fight. Unable to subdue her, he dragged her against his chest as he continued to whisper to her in his native tongue. Words of comfort filtered out. Promises to protect her, he offered, hoping to sooth her troubled soul. Gradually, even though she still trembled in his arms, her sobs subsided, her breathing returning to normal.

  Constance had never reacted this way before, but Raphael was aware of her past. He knew why she reacted this way to his anger. Bone chilling hatred mounted inside him. If ever saw that man come near her again, Rafe would kill him. No one should have to live like this. To be consumed by fear constantly was a living nightmare. Completely engrossed in comforting Constance, Rafe had almost forgotten Dahlia standing behind him. At the sound of another broken sob, this time from her direction, he turned to face his wife, with Constance still wrapped in his embrace.

  ¡Dios! Two tearful women! Papá had never prepared him for this. But it was the way Dahlia was looking at him… at them, that alarmed him. He told her once that she wore her emotions on her face and right now he could see what she was thinking. She was assuming the worst.

  ****

  This could not be happening. Her husband was not standing there, comforting his lover while she looked on. The way in which he held the woman spoke volumes. He loved her. Her husband was in love with another woman. If she thought she was suffering before, she was badly mistaken. This new revelation was eating away at her inside. It was almost too much to absorb.

  His eyes clashed with hers when the first dry sob escaped. At first, he looked unsure but when the second sob broke free, he released the woman and came toward her.

  When his arms stole out to touch her, she shrunk away from him. “Don’t touch me!” She hissed, jealousy hammering at her already fragile heart.

  Eyes brimming with unshed tears she accused in a deadly controlled voice. “You brought her here? How could you, Raphael? How could you bring her here? You demand to know who my lover is, yet you bring yours here!”At the mention of her lover something flashed in his eyes, but she didn’t care. Now she knew that it was that Cavos pride that got him to act so out of character, it was not because he cared for her.

  “Amor, allow me to explain…” But she couldn’t listen to this. She wouldn’t listen to him telling her how much he loved this woman. He had brought this woman here, to the place where their story had begun. That was enough to crush her.

  For a moment, down on the beach she had almost believed that he had come for her. That he had come to take her back home because he was missing her as much as she missed him. How stupid could she possibly be? Why would her husband miss her when he had a woman like Constance in his life, in his bed?

  He attempted once again to embrace her, but this time she violently slapped his hand away before she exploded, “I hate you, Raphael. Do you hear me? I hate you. The sooner I get a divorce, the better!”

  A shaken voice from across the room finally interrupted the mounting confrontation. “No, No. Please, do not speak of divorce. None of this is what it seems.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Dahlia confronted her rival. If she was going down, she would go down fighting. “It seems as if my husband has brought his lover and her child on vacation. Isn’t that what it is?”

  It was the first time she looked at Constance. Immediately, a sense of self-doubt consumed her. This woman wasn’t just beautiful. She was magnificent. Even in her disheveled state, there was nothing to complain about. The body hugging jeans kissed her curvaceous figure, her long thick, straight black hair hung loose down her back. Perfectly shaped lips were emphasized by a straight nose. Hazel blue eyes, shaded by thick black lashes stared back at her. How could she possibly compare to this woman? This was the type of woman she always envisioned Raphael Cavos with. She didn’t belong with a man like him.

  Unable to hold the woman’s gaze, Dahlia’s eyes travelled the length of the room looking for the little girl, but she wasn’t there. Where did she go? She had totally forgotten about the little girl that Constance was carrying. She prayed that she didn’t scare her; that was the last thing she wanted.

  Once again Constance spoke, this time her voice a little more controlled, “Genevieve knows what needs to be done when adults are conversing. She has gone into the other room. To answer your earlier question, the answer is no.”

  Dahlia stood her ground. If this was the end of her marriage then she would say all that she had to say or in this case ask. “Is she Raphael’s daughter?”

  Constance, despite her earlier hysterics, chuckled lightly. “No, Genevieve belongs to my husband.”

  Her husband? This woman was married? Oh God! How worse was this going to get.

  “I can tell you are confused. If you will allow me, Dahlia, I will explain.” Constance requested of her.

  Dahlia wanted answers, but she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for what this woman would say. “You have ten minutes. After that I am out of that door. Then you and Raphael can walk off into the sunset together.” She cracked despite the pain in her chest.

  “Thank you, but I will not be walking off into the sunset with anyone.”

  Addressing Raphael, Constance said. “You did not lie to me, Rafe, she is very beautiful.” Looking at Dahlia she continued. “Rafe has advised me that you have been made aware of our living situation.”

  Dahlia stiffened, but she was not going to back down. It was Constance Rafe had called earlier. “Yes, I have.”

  “Well, let me be the first to assure you. Rafe and I are not lovers, have never been, and never will be.”

  “So why are you living with him?” She dared the woman to deny it.

  “I was not living with him, I was living by him. Simply put, I wa
s staying at Rafe’s house, but we slept in different rooms.” Did she actually expect Dahlia to believe such a ridiculous explanation?

  “Right, I see and you are not standing here. I am imagining all this; just as I imagined the pictures of the pair of you all over the internet.” Her response dripped with sarcasm as she waved her hand to emphasize her point.

  Constance drew nearer to her. Her swollen eyes reflected a deep inner pain. “As I said, I will explain, but first I wish to show you something.”

  When Constance began to undo her blouse a feeling of uncertainty surrounded Dahlia, but at the first glimpse of the exposed skin she gasped. Beginning at the upper left corner of Constance’s shoulder blade a large, gruesome scar made its way across one bra covered breast straight down to end just above her navel.

  “My husband did this with a razor blade the first time I tried to leave him.” Constance released what seemed like familiar words in an attempt to explain her mangled skin. She turned and this time Dahlia brought a hand to her mouth as she cried out in dismay.

  “This one he did when I tried to leave the second time.” Constance explained as she revealed the huge burn on her back. “He tied me to the bed, stuffed my mouth, and put the iron to my skin while Genevieve looked on.” Constance paused to accept the glass of water Rafe presented to her. Sipping gingerly of the cold liquid, she addressed Dahlia once again.

  “The press may have portrayed Rafe as my lover, but it isn’t true. Your husband is my savior.”

  This beautiful woman who stood before her was a victim of domestic violence. Anyone looking at her would never believe that. How was Raphael her savior?

  “Please, continue.” Dahlia whispered through stiff lips wanting some closure as to how exactly Rafe became this woman’s angel.

  Constance moved slowly across the room to find sit herself while she redid her blouse once again, concealing her tortured skin.