Constant Craving
Page 20
The nearby wide beaches, the narrow, quirky streets of the historic district, even the cheesy, touristy alligator farm—I adore all of it.
And Rafa finds it boring.
Just then, he struts into the living room and my heart skips at the sight.
“I made a lot of money on that deal.” His face flushes, and he wears a predatory grin as crisp as his words. This is the Rafa I’m unsure of, the icy finance king known to crush others during business deals. He’s casually gorgeous this morning, as if he’s stepped out of a GQ fashion shoot, what with his casual black T-shirt and cashmere grey sweater thrown over a pair of jeans that accentuates his long, muscular legs.
He sits on the edge of the sofa and peels back the blanket I’ve wrapped around my legs. My hand snakes up his shirt to stroke his hard abs. I love tracing each ridge with my finger. I study his face, every familiar angle and each emerging line, trying to memorize it for the months and years to come when he won’t be in my life.
Rafa squeezes my thigh, skimming his hand upward. I’m wearing yoga pants and one of his sweatshirts, a comfy blue thing. His gold Rolex feels cold on my leg. Looking at him, I realize a man this self-assured, this ambitious, will never warm to the idea of late-night diaper changings and PTA meetings.
“Mi corazón,” he says, planting a kiss on my mouth. The kiss turns into an open mouthed, tongue-twirling makeout session, and his hand grazes my neck. He slips the sweatshirt over my head. My breasts spill out, and he leans forward to consume them, licking and biting gently.
“I love these.” He blows gently on my nipples, taking turns sucking each one until they’re both taut. This makes me want sex, because it feels like there’s a wire connected between my nipples and my clit. I groan a little, and he looks at me with big eyes. Then he kisses the space between my breasts softly.
“I’m so sorry, Justi, but I can’t go to the market with you. I have to go to Miami today. I’m going to take the jet, so if you could bring me to the executive airport in about two hours, that would be perfect. I need to close on a real estate deal with some Venezuelans. They’re buying a condo building of mine on Brickell Key,” he murmurs, kissing up my neck. “I’d bring you with me, but I know you’ve got the baby shower.”
I sit up and fold my arms over my breasts. “Miami?”
Rafa untangles my arms with his fingers and then cups my breasts. He usually has a hard time concentrating on anything when my boobs are out. He plays with them for a while until I squirm and repeat myself.
“Miami?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, snapping out of his man-trance. “Miami. I would love for you to see my place down there, but you have meetings Monday and Tuesday. I need you at the paper to talk with my accountants. Another weekend, possibly.”
Possibly?
I run my hands through his hair and Rafa’s lips go to my nipple again as we stretch on the sofa. He’s not sure if he wants to take me to his home? What, am I not good enough? If I didn’t feel like a prostitute before, I sure do now.
“So…you’ll be gone for three nights?” God, I sound pathetic. Tears prick at my eyes.
Rafa nods and grunts, his mouth still at my breast, his eyes shut. He drags his lips over to the other nipple and licks it with a flat tongue. “You get a break from me for three nights. You can stay here if you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”
Three nights. My stomach bottoms out. It doesn’t matter to him? I immediately wonder if he’ll be out with other women in Miami. Removing my hands from the back of his head, I tense up.
He stops licking me and touches the tip of my nose with his finger. “It’s only seventy-two hours. Are you upset?”
I shake my head and try not to appear annoyed. I can’t reveal that I’ve enjoyed every moment I’ve spent with him so far and don’t want to forfeit more.
“Maybe it’s good we have a break from each other.” I look at the ceiling.
He doesn’t respond.
A brief separation will help set my equilibrium back where it belongs. And ultimately, what does it matter if he’s with other women? He’s not mine to keep. Rafa says he’ll stay faithful, but a man with his sex drive—and opportunity—probably can’t. He’s not the man I once knew.
“My beautiful girl,” he murmurs, interrupting my thoughts. Sitting up, he tugs my pants down, the cool air and his demanding eyes causing me to shiver. I’m naked now, and he shifts so that he’s kneeling in between my legs and gently spreading me apart with his thumbs so I’m open, exposed. My clit aches and tingles.
It always comes back to sex with us.
He rakes his thumb over my clitoris. I groan as the familiar edge of an orgasm approaches. I want to be filled with something—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—soon.
“So pretty,” he says, slipping his thumb out of my wetness and pushing it into my mouth so that I taste my own sweet, heavy juices. “So delicious.”
His eyes meet mine, and then they skim down my chest, to my stomach, finally focusing between my legs, ravishing me with his gaze and his touch.
“I have never seen a more gorgeous pussy,” he says, burying a finger deep inside of me and again flicking my clit with his thumb.
I suck in a breath, feeling suddenly angry and despondent. “Rafa, don’t. Don’t compare me to other woman while we’re together.” There’s a warning tone in my voice.
He smiles a little but doesn’t remove his hand. As he rubs my clit in slow circles with the pad of his thumb, he gazes at me with intensity.
“I’m not going to lie. I’ve been with other women.”
I shake my head in disgust and tears instantly form. It’s one thing for him to order me around, but it’s another to shame me, especially when he’s about to leave for a few days. I sit up and try to close my legs.
“No, don’t move. I love to touch you and look at you. You’re the most beautiful woman.” His voice is gentle.
He continues to explore me, and I’m getting wetter. I look down to watch, and I’m swollen, pink, and glistening. I swallow hard and curse myself for craving his touch. It’s as if my body is trained to respond.
Imprinted to his command.
“Why are you so cruel?”
He shakes his head.
I turn and squeeze my eyes shut to keep out the tears. But my orgasm is approaching, and all I want now is to stop talking, cease thinking, and come.
“Look at me, Justine. Open your eyes.”
I do, clenching my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from gasping out loud. He slows the motion of his fingers, and my breath quickens from the delicious agony of being so close to oblivion. I fight the sensation, but can’t help but open my mouth and breathe fast.
“Why are you torturing me, Rafa? Why bring up other women?”
“You don’t understand, Justine. When I was with them, I would zone out. Close my eyes. Look at the headboard, never at them. Take them from behind. And think of you. Every. Single. Time. I imagined each woman was you.”
I cry out, loud. Still stroking me, Rafael moves closer, and his mouth hovers over mine. I inhale his breath and his words.
“Only you, Justine. Only you.”
I wrap my arms around him and plunge into a deep valley of pleasure, whispering Rafa’s name over and over.
And then, seconds later, we’re fucking. I’m on top, folded over, and he’s clutching my neck. Since I’m in control, my pace is slow and precise, corkscrewing him, bringing him deeper into my body. I’m going out of my mind because the sex is so emotional, so raw. His hands are everywhere on my face, in my hair, on my neck, and I stick my tongue in his mouth like I want to jump inside him.
“Deeper.” I move off his torso and direct him on top of me. There isn’t a ton of room on the sofa, but enough for me to squirm underneath him in one sweep. I beg for him to enter me again, and we’re now sideways, with him hoisting one of my legs up and entering me from behind.
Soon we’re rocking against each other’s bodies in our uni
que, familiar rhythm.
“Touch yourself,” he commands. I do and feel his shaft pumping in and out of me. We both look down to see his cock gliding in and out, and I spread my labia so we can both get a better view. As we gasp in tandem, our eyes meet, and then we’re back to staring at where we’re joined together. I’m loving every porny second.
He groans loud. “I want to fuck you so you never forget me. Me vuelves loco, Justi. Siempre.”
You drive me crazy. Always.
He pulls out, quick, sending a stream of fluid onto my stomach. He comes with a roar, and his entire body quakes.
The tremors between my legs still, and I’m left with an unsettled emotional aftermath. I open my mouth as if to say something, then close it.
“What?” He props himself on his elbow, then kisses my forehead. With a big hand, he wipes the perspiration off my brow.
“How many women have there been?” I ask quietly.
He shrugs. “Less than one a year.”
I make a skeptical face. “Did you love them?”
29
Dreams
“No. It was sex.” He trails his fingers down the curve of my waist and over my hip.
“Did you enjoy fucking them?” Why am I doing this? I hate myself for asking these questions.
He shrugs. “Sometimes. Sure. Not gonna lie. Sometimes I felt guilty. I didn’t love them, though. I only had sex to satisfy a physical need.”
“Oh, come on.” I roll onto my belly and turn my head toward the fire. He’s smashed against my body and the back of the sofa, and his hand rests on my lower back.
“I don’t understand why you think I’m so promiscuous. I was a virgin when I met you. I was faithful to you. I’m not the kind of man to screw lots of women, no matter what the tabloids say. I’ve been photographed with plenty of women, but I rarely took them to bed.”
I turn my head toward him. “Why? Why didn’t you enjoy yourself?”
“Don’t you get it?” He sounds almost annoyed, like I’m not understanding an important point. “Because they weren’t you. I only fucked them because I got tired of this.” He holds up his right hand.
“I guess I assumed that, being so rich, you indulged in a certain lifestyle.”
“It’s definitely available to me. But think about it—how could I make so much money if I spent all my time on women? I’ve been working my ass off. Traveling. Buying and selling real estate. And I need to sleep sometime.”
I giggle, and he shakes his head.
“Justine, I haven’t really had the time or energy to become involved with someone else. Not when I know how intense I can be in a relationship. I guess in some ways, it was good you weren’t around. I would’ve never achieved what I did. You would’ve been too much of a distraction.”
I roll over to face him. My hand skims his face, and my thumb traces his eyebrow.
“I’m proud of you, Rafa. I never told you that. Even though I’m still upset about how we ended, I’m proud that you fulfilled your ambitions. You got the life of your dreams.”
He clenches his jaw. “It’s been a trade-off. I have the life of my dreams without the woman of my dreams.”
I emit a little snort. “If I’m the woman of your dreams, why didn’t you call me all these years?”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
And now we’re bickering. I sigh. “Four years after I left, when I returned to the States, I came to your office. Well, your office building. I didn’t go inside.”
“Why?”
I chew on the fingernail of my thumb. “I took a cab from the Miami airport. I was still pretty weak and sick because I was getting over dengue fever I got in Guatemala—”
“Christ, Justine. You could have died out there.” He clasps my hand and draws it away from my mouth, kissing my fingers one by one.
“Listen to me, Rafa. Stop kissing me. I had read about you in an article, about how you’d made several million on the real estate bust in Florida. The story was in the Daily Business Journal, and it listed your office address. So I went there.”
“And why didn’t you come in?” he asks, impatient.
“The taxi pulled up, and I saw you with another woman. She was gorgeous, really well dressed, and you kissed her on the cheek. She seemed familiar, and I think she might have been a Spanish TV star. She climbed into a limousine, and you stood on the sidewalk, watching the limo pull away. You were so handsome in your suit.”
“I don’t…I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I handled a lot of luxury condos in those years for telenovela actresses.”
“It doesn’t matter who she was. That day, I felt like hell, I looked like hell, and that’s when it really hit me that you might not want me in your life. Why would a man like you, dressed in Armani and working in a glass-and-steel high-rise, want a poor, grubby journalist? You had stopped responding to my emails, letters, and calls at that point.”
“It had nothing to do with your job. It was you. I had to stop responding to your emails after you left, Justine. For my own sanity. I was hurt. My pride was wounded. It’s taken me years to admit that to you. I can be a little stubborn.”
I grin. “Um, that’s an understatement.”
“When I found out that you’d called Florida Capital for your paper, I decided it was time to forgive you and see if you needed my help.”
I snuggle closer. “So you didn’t come here to punish me.”
“Maybe a little. But I’ve moved past that.” He kisses my nose. “Truce?”
“I guess. But I need to tell you one more thing. That day that I saw you, that day I returned from Central America and went to your office building, I caught you in another life. It was worse than finding you with another woman. I didn’t have a place in your life then or now. I’m a small-town Southern girl, and you’re a wealthy man who lives with glamorous, plastic people in Miami.”
He snorts. “Don’t say that. My life isn’t that exciting.”
I open my eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter because you no longer love me. You all but said so the other day.”
“I said a lot of things the other day, but they were in anger. I apologize. I’m sometimes still angry with you, but I also am angry with myself. Maybe because I’ve been too lonely all these years and the bitterness has built up.”
“What do you mean? And why have you been lonely, with all that you’ve achieved?”
His mouth twitches. “I’ve crafted a life around real estate deals and high-end hotels and stale luxury. I know everyone, but I don’t. You know?”
I shake my head.
“You haven’t been lonely in the past eleven years since we broke up?”
I stare at him blankly. “At first, I was.”
“Obviously not as much as I have. You dated a guy long-term. Or maybe more than one guy,” he says bitterly.
“No, actually, dating Jared was the time I was most lonely. Before that, I was pretty happy, looking back, for a lot of years. After I left you, I learned to like myself. Learned to rely on myself. It took some time.”
Rafa’s expression loses all emotion. I trace his cheekbone, and my stomach goes back into a knot. “I understand why you’re angry with me for leaving, but why are you angry with yourself? I don’t get it.”
He licks his lips. “Maybe I’m angry for what I didn’t do. But I don’t want to get into this now. I have to pack. Maybe when I get back we can talk. I don’t know.”
“You must dislike me a little.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because of this arrangement. It’s humiliating. When we were younger, you never liked the concept of fuck-buddies or friends-with-benefits.”
“I know. But how else would I have gotten you to live with me for a month?”
“By telling me that you’re still in love with me.” I sigh, and he plays with my hair.
“I guess I could have done that, but that would have forced me to admit weakness. When have you ever known me to do that?”
He sits up, grabbing for his clothes. “I know. We really fucked each other up. We loved each other and maybe hurt each other so much that neither of us moved on.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Rafa.”
I watched Rafa scowl as he read the newspaper.
“This is what you were doing last night until midnight? Covering a mass shooting in North Miami Beach? Two people died and six people were hurt? Why didn’t you tell me you were there? I would have gone with you.”
I rolled my eyes and kissed him on the cheek, putting a mug of coffee in front of him on the kitchen table. I loved the feeling of making breakfast for him every day. It was like we were married.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d freak out. I was fine. I had a photographer with me. Plus, there were cops everywhere.”
“Is this what you’ve been covering? I don’t like this. It’s dangerous. Why can’t they assign you to feature stories? You’re such a good features writer. I loved that story you did about the domino players in the park in Little Havana.”
I stifled a smile. He was always so worried about me.
“Rafa, baby, this is what interns do. We get shit assignments. So yes, this is what I do and what I want to do. I’ve worked up to this, covering big crime stories. Stop worrying.”
He tossed the paper on the table and ate his eggs in sullen silence. With each passing moment, my mood went from amused to annoyed to really pissed off.
I yanked the paper off the table. “You know, I don’t say anything about how much time you spend chasing your dream. I have this internship and one more semester of school. You’ve graduated. You’re working fifty, sixty hours a week. You seem to have less time for me every week. I try to keep it all in perspective and I don’t bitch about it, because I know you have goals so we can have a good life.”