Constant Craving

by Tamara Lush

  “When did you get so muscular? You always had a nice body, but you were leaner in college.”

  “I know you probably think all of my free time is spent screwing beautiful women, but really, I don’t have a lot of time away from work. When I do, I work out. It helps with my frustration and anger.”

  I fight the urge to lick his stomach, and my face ignites when I recall how I once lapped honey out of his bellybutton. “Whatever. What have you got to be frustrated about? You’ve bought most of Miami and half of Latin America, according to what I’ve read. You have everything you ever wanted.”

  He sighs and stretches his arm above his head, as if he’s trying to work out a kink. He rotates his arm, and his hand lands casually on my hip, as if his limb had a mind of its own.

  “Smooth. Real smooth, Rafa.”

  He ignores my teasing. “Do I have everything?”

  I shrug and try not to pay attention his hand, which is now squeezing my hip. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  He gives me the predatory smile again and inches closer with his body. We’re now stretched out, side by side, and he’s running his hand over my curves and over the ridiculous outfit.

  “There’s one thing I want that I don’t have.”

  “And that is?”

  “You.”

  What? My jaw drops, and I reach up and set my drink on the ledge next to his glass, then again settle back down next to him. “What are you saying? We broke up. I left, and you didn’t come after me. Or return my calls or emails or letters.”

  He nods slowly. “That’s true. I was deeply wounded when you abandoned me. I didn’t handle it in a mature way.”

  I stay silent and wait for him to continue. I’m not sure I’m ready to rehash our past. Abandoned. And what about what he’d done to me? How he’d ignored my grief at the worst possible moment?

  “Well, your realization that you weren’t mature is a good sign for our friendship, I figure. Maybe there’s hope yet.”

  He brushes my hair back with his hand, and I melt inside. “I want to fuck you again, Justine.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Well. So much for maturity.”

  Still, the way he says the word fuck sounds dirty and makes me swoon. Crap. I can’t get involved physically with him, no matter what. I heave a sigh and start to sit up, which is made harder by my outfit. I try to wriggle the miniskirt down my thighs. “Jesus. That’s quite a statement, out of the blue. We talked about this last night, Rafa. No.”

  “Wait.” He puts his hand on my forearm. “Let’s talk.”

  “What is there to talk about? I don’t want to mix business and pleasure. Or maybe you’re not here on business. Maybe you’re here for some twisted, Gatsby-like revenge where you show me how rich you are, fuck me, and leave me wanting more. I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  He smirks. “You’ve always had such a way with words. But I have come to a decision about your newspaper. There’s a two-part proposition.”

  “I can’t wait to hear this, especially after telling me you want to fuck me,” I mutter. I flop onto my back, the muscles in my neck knotting once again. “Excellent intro into a business deal. You should try it with your next deal: I want to fuck you and then invest in your company. Or maybe you have?”

  “I’m ignoring your snark. And I can assure you that this isn’t my usual business tactic, but you’re not my usual business partner.”

  “Okay. Whatever. What’s the proposition?”

  His fingers pluck at my flimsy skirt. “The first part is, I’m considering giving you ten million dollars in exchange for seventy percent ownership of the Times. That would allow you to pay off debts and give you a cushion.”

  I perk up and shift on my side to face him. Ten million is way more than I anticipated and far beyond what the paper, the property, and the physical assets are worth. “Now this is a conversation I actually want to have. I’d be open to that arrangement. I’ll be honest, it’s more than I expected.”

  He looks at me, serious. “As majority owner, I’d have the final say in all the decisions involving the paper. You might not like some of those decisions.”

  “I know. But you’d trust my input, wouldn’t you? I do think I know the news business better than you do.”

  “You know a vast amount about the editorial side of the paper, and I unequivocally trust you with the decisions in that realm. You’re in over your head on the business side. Regardless, I’ll have to see how viable the paper is after several months.”

  “That’s probably true. But what do you mean? You might eventually close the paper?

  He shrugs. “It will all depend on profit. And this isn’t a formal offer yet. It’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

  I stare at him warily, and the silence is thick. Something about this whole offer makes me uneasy, and my heart begins to pound.

  He reaches his hand to mine, which is resting in the space on the cabana bed in between us. Tingles shoot up my arm.

  “Justi, here’s the thing. It’s going to be really difficult working alongside you. My, um, desire for you is pretty high. I’ve never gotten over you, you know.”

  I nod slowly. “I’ll admit that I’m still really attracted to you as well. But I know it’s not good for me. For us. Not after our past, not after what happened. We’re going to have to be strong. Professional.”

  “I’ve thought about that, as well.”

  “The sexual tension, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re going to have to deal with it.” I nibble on my bottom lip.

  He reaches his finger to my lip, gently pulling it from my teeth. He doesn’t let go of my chin. “There’s a second part to my offer.”

  “Okay.” I hold my breath.

  “The ten million is yours if you spend the next month with me.”

  I pull his hand away from my mouth and spit out a chuckle, which turns into a body-rocking, tear-inducing laugh. I lie on my back, cover my face with my hands, and hoot like a crazed owl.

  “You are asking me to prostitute myself for my newspaper?” I gasp for air. “Oh my God. Oh my shits. Are you for real?”

  He grins but doesn’t say anything. I cackle more and sit up so I can reach my champagne glass. Tipping my head back to capture the last of the bubbles, I’m laughing again, and a little liquid spurts from my mouth and onto my chest. Which makes me laugh harder and snort unbecomingly. I flop back on the pillows.

  “Shut up. Stop. Rafa. Stop. You always had a great sense of humor, but this is the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”

  “I’m not joking, Justine.” Rafa sits up and, with his middle finger, touches the bead of champagne that rests on my breast, massaging it into my skin first with the pad of his finger, then so that all of his fingers are stroking my cleavage.

  My body’s suddenly engulfed in a five-alarm fire.

  I stop laughing.

  “You’re serious? Dear God,” I whisper.

  He nods. “Very serious.”

  “You’re asking me to screw you for money?”

  The corners of his mouth turn up. “Well. I don’t know if I’d put it that way. That’s rather vulgar.”

  His finger trails between my breasts, and I try to focus. “But it is vulgar. You’re basically wielding your power and money over me, you know that?”

  Rafa smiles, and his eyes focus on my breasts as he continues stroking my skin. “I do. Although I’m not really trying to buy you, Justi. Mostly it’s because I want to fuck you. A lot. If you agree, we both enjoy a hot time together, and we can walk away happy. Resolved, even. Think of the next month as closure for our past. End on a good note instead of the awful one from all those years ago.”

  Jesus. Wasn’t this exactly what Diana had suggested?

  “You can have any woman you want here in St. Augustine or Miami or anywhere in the world.”

  He lowers his voice. “I don’t want any woman. I want you. Te deseo muc
ho.”

  “You want me because I said no to you the other night.”

  “That could be part of it. You used to never say no to me. And other women don’t say no to me.”

  My stomach sinks when he mentions being with other women. “Whatever. Can we please leave now? I need to sleep.”

  “You’re not going to give me an answer?”

  “No, because it’s such a ridiculous fucking question, Rafa. Offensive, even. You wouldn’t do this with the other business people you cut deals with. At least I’m guessing you wouldn’t.”

  I sit up and so does he. He grips the back of my arm. “You know, Justine, I recall when we used to play all sorts of sexual games.”

  I can’t look at him, because it’s true. When we were together for those four years, we started as virgins and then escalated from there. We’d experimented with BDSM, we’d had anal, we’d role-played. Everything.

  “Remember the time you pretended you were a prostitute and met me in that seedy motel in North Miami, and I paid you after you—”

  I held up my hand. Just recalling that scene makes nerve endings in certain places pulse disconcertingly. Rafael had been my first lover. He wasn’t my last, but I’d never been as sexually adventurous with anyone else. Why? I guess it had never felt right.

  “Why not play with me now, Justi? Act out some of our old fantasies. Make some new ones. You know it will be amazing. We always played so well together.”

  He kisses my bare shoulder. I’m not sure how to respond, but my pulse spikes. He slips his hand under my skirt and inches toward my inner thigh. His touch feels safe and sensual all at once.

  There are also embers of shame burning in my stomach because I’m seriously considering his offer. On a practical level, I need to save my newspaper.

  On a not-so-practical level, I want him inside of me.

  Studying his face, I tilt my chin upward. I remove his hand from my leg, letting it drop in between us on the chaise lounge. “Play? Us? Are you up for that?”

  15

  A Tease

  He nods three times.

  “I…I think we should go.”

  My brain is spinning from our conversation. Rafa climbs out of the cabana and holds the curtain open for me with one hand, holding his other out to help me to standing.

  We walk past the blue shimmering pool and into the ballroom, where people are dancing and drinking. Everyone seems to not have a care in the world, but I’m lost in thought, chewing on my cheek. I smile tightly at several people I know, including the mayor and the police chief, both men who are twenty years older than me.

  What would they think if they knew the city’s newspaper publisher was considering exchanging her body for money so she could keep her business open?

  I want to get home and hide in bed. But when we’re almost to the door, the DJ segues into a song by Celia Cruz, a Cuban singer. It’s “Rie y Llora”—Laugh and Cry. At the song’s first strains, Rafa catches my eye. He winks at me. Oh hell. We used to dance together to this song. It’s still my favorite Celia song and used to be his, too.

  I hesitate and grab his wrist. He leans down, his bare chest in the open shirt close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin. I tug him close to me. All I want is to dance with him.

  One last time.

  “Yes, Justi?”

  “Can we?” I breathe into his ear. “For old time’s sake?”

  “Of course, mi corazón.”

  He threads his fingers through mine, pulling me to the dance floor. My heartbeat thrums in time with the music, anticipating his nearness.

  His right arm goes around my waist, his left hand taking my right. I tense for a second, then relax into his touch. We begin to move. Within a few beats, we’re perfectly synced, our hips moving in time with each other, our eyes locked together. We’d danced together a lot, back when we were in college, spending nights at clubs all over South Beach and Little Havana. We obviously haven’t forgot how to move in tandem, and it’s making me breathless. He draws me close, his warm lips meeting the equally scorching skin of my earlobe.

  “For a gringa, you sure can dance.”

  I laugh, because he used to say that to me when we danced together all those years ago.

  “Amazing what a Southern girl can learn in ballet class,” I toss back. His grin is wide and genuine, and I feel like I’ve earned a trophy.

  We’re easily the best dancers on the floor, and people give us room to move. Like in bed, it’s as if our bodies have never forgotten how crazy-perfect they are together. Our hips and feet circle and flow in unison as we move. Rafa leads me in several spins, and I’m not shy about taking a good, long look at his chest or lower. My eyes find his, and we stay there, locked, for an entire song chorus. This is nearly as erotic as kissing.

  Teasing.

  Touching.

  Wanting.

  I shimmy forward, close to him, and he circles my waist with one arm while taking my wrist in his other. I put my palm on his bare chest and slide it down his stomach while shaking my hips perfectly in time to the music.

  He draws me even closer, my skin sparking. And then he does something that makes me melt: he softly sings the lyrics into my ear in Spanish.

  Hell. I’m finished. Toast. Powerless.

  He’s leading me in dance the way he used to lead in bed, and with each beat, each step, my resolve to resist him crumbles. Positioning me with firm hands, he moves me so his knee is between my legs. We’re all but simulating sex now. Our bodies undulate perfectly with one another, practically acting out all the erotic fantasies flooding my brain. It won’t take much to be alone and move exactly like we are on the dance floor. Except naked, of course.

  He spins me around and fans his hand across my waist, moving me with a possessive squeeze. God, the grind of his hips is so lascivious that I glance around to see if people are watching.

  They are. I don’t care.

  For the song’s dramatic finish, he dips me back, low, then eases me up upright. I’m out of breath and giddy. My hands go around his neck for a hug, and he draws me close, picks me up, and spins me around. His nearness is the most addictive drug. I know it’s destructive and life-changing, but I can’t help but want more.

  “Rafecito?” I’m still in his arms, and I cradle his face in my hands.

  “Yes, baby?”

  I shiver at his low, sexy accent. “I accept your proposal.”

  “I didn’t think you would say yes, Justi. But I’m glad you did. It makes this so much more interesting, don’t you think?”

  We’re in Rafa’s car, and I sink into the leather seat. My skin prickles with awareness at the tone in his voice. We’re about to act out our biggest fantasy yet, one that has grave consequences for my future and that of the Times.

  Am I crazy? I’m not sure. I know what I am, though: turned on. I squirm in the buttery leather seat, feeling dampness between my legs. I’m glad it’s dark, because I’m certain my face is flushed.

  Despite my hectic inner thoughts, I try to sound casual. “I figure if corporate America has screwed journalism, I might as well screw corporate America to save my newspaper.” I laugh at the absurdity of the statement, although deep down, there’s a kernel of truth.

  Rafael chuckles. “So dramatic, muñeca. Have you ever considered a career in fiction instead of news?”

  He rests his right hand under my skirt on my upper thigh. His little finger is only a few inches from my damp panties. Dancing with him, moving sensually against him, staring into his eyes—all of those things made me desire him even more. He always knew how to tempt me, and tonight is no exception. He runs a line up and down my inner thigh, and I part my legs, which makes him glance over with half-lidded eyes.

  “Pay attention to the road,” I tease, opening my legs an inch more.

  Rafa laughs and squeezes my knee, hard, and I try to ignore the heat building in me. I lean back and close my eyes for the short ride to his hotel, reveling in the feeling of h
is big hand on my bare skin. I think about what his fingers will soon do, how they’ll tease and soothe, spread and circle. Wetness rushes between my legs. When I feel the car turn, I open my eyes. We’re on my street, and I’m dizzy with lust.

  “What? Why are we here? Don’t you want me to come to your hotel tonight? Oh, well, I guess this is good because I can grab a change of clothes. So thank you.” I lean over and give him a quick peck on the cheek.

  He hums but doesn’t answer.

  “Or we can finish what we started the other night in my bed? Because that’s totally fine with me, too.”

  He shushes me by putting a finger to his lips. This was one of our old games, me staying silent and him giving commands. I smile and wriggle in my seat. I cannot wait to fuck him. I’m letting lust rule everything now, having mentally jumped off the ethically challenged cliff.

  Rafael parks in front of my bungalow and practically jumps out of the car so he can open my door. I tremble as he takes my hand and leads me up the walkway. I can’t wait to slip my hands under his shirt and caress his chest, to sleep in his scent all night, to kiss his full mouth.

  To wake in his arms.

  I fumble for my keys and drop them on the welcome mat. Rafael swoops down to pick them up, then with steady hands, turns the key in the lock himself.

  I lick my lips, thinking about kissing him like I did the other night. It’s all I want, his lips on mine, his hands on my skin. Most of all, I want to forget all of the things that have brought us here, to my doorstep, to this weird and anxious moment. I want to hug him until all the ill feelings go away and only the good and pure memories of the past remain.

  I push the door open and step inside. When I realize that Rafa isn’t following, I stop and turn. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

  He shakes his head. I return to the doorway. “I thought we were going to spend every night together while you’re here?”

  What game is he playing now?

  “We’re going to start tomorrow night. I have things I need to take care of first.” Rafa tries to shove his hands into pockets at his hips, but since he’s wearing the ridiculous pirate pants that don’t have pockets, he ends up making a little wiping motion on his legs instead.