“I don’t know if I can be fixed.”
“I’ve got all night.” He settled, drawing her back against him.
At first she tensed, sure he was going to pounce on her, but despite the insistent throb of his erection, he only held her. His breathing was a little ragged, but otherwise he seemed calm. Any other man would be furious, slapping her for the annoyance and bother. Well, the ones she’d known, anyway.
Rosa let out a slow breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“The point is for us both to have a good time. Otherwise it’s not worth doing.”
That sure hadn’t been her experience, but she eased even more, relaxing into his arms. This felt good. Safe. Spooning, she’d heard it called once—though she had never understood why a woman would want to linger once the act was done. She always wanted them to stop touching her as soon as possible so she could wash.
Careful of the bandages he had applied, Chris stroked her ribs just below her breasts. Her breath hitched. Her nipples tingled. He kissed the nape of her neck softly, though his body felt hard and tight against her. This patience had to be hurting him.
Mierda
, she wished she could be normal. Like Jolene. The way she laughed and carried on with Brick, she must really enjoy it.
“You like when I touch you,” he said to himself, as if thinking it through.
But she answered him anyway.
“Sí.”
“And I wasn’t hurting you?”
“No.” She had no idea why he hadn’t lost patience with her.
Dios
knew, sex couldn’t be worth so much time and trouble. Maybe she should offer to do him with her mouth, and they could call it a night.
“Can we try it another way, Rosita?” His voice went husky and he cupped her breast in one hand, gently plucking at the nipple.
Sometimes men liked to push her facedown and take her from behind, but she wasn’t sure that would be any better. Still, she mustered her courage and said,
“Claro.”
So gently, he lifted her leg and eased between her lips, but he didn’t penetrate. She’d never done this, on the side with the man behind. It felt strange but good, with no bad memories to assail her. Chris stroked a hand down her belly, caressing until he came to her clitoris. His touch lightened further, rekindling her need with delicate strokes. Without meaning to, she moved her hips, increasing the friction between her thighs. There were no bad reminders when freed from that pressing weight. She fell a little further into the spiraling heat.
After endless, incredible moments, he whispered into her ear, “I’m coming inside.”
She would’ve agreed to anything just to keep his hands where they were. A sharp surge of pleasure surprised her when he pushed in. With each stroke, the feeling built. She rocked back to meet him. His clever fingers teased and touched in counterpoint to this easy, fantastic rhythm. Her breath went staccato. With his face pressed against her back, he pumped his hips in deliberate motions and groaned with each long, deep thrust.
He was shaking but kept caressing her, not letting her feel anything but this fierce pleasure. It wasn’t anything like what she’d had before. This was considerate, so careful and measured, devoted to driving her wild with fingers and shaft. And it was working. She loved the feel of him, the heat and the pressure in conjunction with the cadence on her clit.
“If you hold still,” she whispered, “if you come all the way in, then stop and just—”
He did as she pleaded. He pressed down, just as she needed, and she came
so
hard. Her whole body arched as she contracted on his cock. But before she could learn what it was like to have a lover she wanted, a lover who gave her pleasure, his orgasm inside of her, he pulled free. His slick length slid against her bottom. Rosa felt his fingers moving, urgent tugs, as his breath became more frantic, and she wished she could see what he was doing.
“Say it,” he gasped. “My name.”
“Cristián. Come for me.”
With two more swift pumps of his fist, he tensed and gasped. His seed spilled over the curve of her hip. Shuddering, he fell back, and she rolled as he released her, wanting to see his face. She wasn’t sure whether she had done what she was supposed to for him, but it was enough that she’d managed to get off with his cock inside her. She’d never imagined that was possible—at least for her.
Tentatively, Rosa draped her thigh over his, tracing the muscles of his stomach. She had no experience with what happened afterward. But
Dios
, he was fucking beautiful. Dark lashes tipped in gold fanned on his cheeks, and his lips parted slightly as he sought to steady his breath. He opened his forest-dark eyes. He was smiling, but she had no idea why. Most men would’ve asked for their money back after her performance.
“Thank you,” he said.
She eyed him, wondering if he was fucking with her. “For what?”
“For giving that much of yourself.”
That wasn’t a lie. She’d yielded him something, maybe something she hadn’t even meant to. She studied him for a moment in silence. “You didn’t mind.”
“What?”
“How bad I was at it.”
“I loved discovering what you enjoy, Rosita. If you let me, I’ll continue my research.” The words held a teasing tone that disconcerted her, as if finding out how she wanted him to fill her
concha
mattered in the grand scheme. Sometimes she thought he was a little loco.
“So I’m your science project now?”
“No. You’re an incredibly beautiful, complicated woman.”
He ran his fingers through her tousled hair, as if marveling at its softness. She felt oddly naked, even more than she had in the beginning, because he saw how much she valued that secret femininity. Chris recognized her hair as her crowning glory, and he appreciated the time and effort that went into its keeping. Rosa curved her body against his and snuggled in.
Maybe there were no rules. Maybe she didn’t have to worry about getting it just right.
“I like looking at you, too,” she admitted softly.
That was a pretty big break from the persona she adopted with other men. By his widening smile, she could see he understood as much. He stroked the line of her shoulder in response.
“I think I get why this is hard for you,” he said. “But it would mean a lot if you told me, like you told me about your brother . . . Only don’t run away afterward this time. Stay.”
She froze. There was another demand.
Talk more. Give more. Tell me everything.
He wouldn’t be happy until he scooped her out and examined all her hidden spaces. Reflexively, she pulled back, unwilling to share the past she was still trying to forget. He let her go, but now his face held sorrow instead of contentment.
On a gust of angry breath, she decided to stay, as he’d asked. And
talk
.
Dios
, he would make her crazed with his endless words. It served no purpose that she could see, only raising old ghosts, but she did not like that look on him. When he first came to Valle, he’d been haunted. But her company and her confidences gave him an easier smile. That made no sense either, as most bravos found her a right bitch, but Cristián just wasn’t normal.
“Fine,” she bit out. “For a bedtime story, you can learn all about my life,
sí
?
No hay problema.
I
love
the sharing.”
He laughed softly, his expression easing. And that she
did
like. So she went on, “For most of my life I lived in Guatemala. We were poor. My mother died when we were small.”
Short sentences, stick to the facts, and don’t let the memories drag you down.
“My father was a bastard. He drank and he hit us, my brother and me. My
abuelita
protected us. She made pottery. My father, he didn’t like that she denied him his children, so he went to
la policía
. They were going to give us to him. So she took us in the night, and we went to Mexico. We got as far as Juárez. From there we were going to the New United States, but the Change made crossing the border impossible. Army men everywhere.”
“How old were you?”
“When we first got to Juárez? Fifteen. It is a terrible place.”
“I remember hearing stories.”
She turned her cheek against his chest, hoping that would help. It didn’t. “When we could not pass the border, we used what money she had been able to save from her business in Guatemala. She bought a little house. It had been meant to found her shop once we emigrated.”
“You don’t have to go on.”
He stroked her back lightly, though, holding her as though she mattered. And that made her want to finish, so she would never have to speak of it again.
“It was a long time ago. While my
abuela
was well, it was not unbearable in Mexico. But she got sick. We had little money for treatments, so I cared for her until she died. After that we had no income at all, and I had a brother depending on me. The change panicked everyone. No money. No way to work.” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I had only one thing left to sell. I’m sure you know the rest.”
Secretly she waited in heartbroken stillness for his judgment. An educated man like him would be revolted to hear his suspicions confirmed. There was only one reason a woman could be so familiar with sex but not know the niceties of kissing or the pleasure of orgasm. She had no idea why he’d insisted she confess everything to him, like he was some priest to forgive her transgressions. Certainly she didn’t feel better or cleaner, just sad and afraid.
He pulled away, confirming her silent fear. But what he did next surprised her. He cupped her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes, his own brimming with anger.
“I would like to kill everyone who’s ever hurt you,” he said softly, conversationally. “Starting with your father. I wish I could change everything because it pains me to think of it, but then you wouldn’t be the woman I know. I don’t see how you’ve become so strong instead of breaking into tiny pieces.” He paused. “I’ve never wanted anyone this much in my whole life.”
Her chest felt odd and tight, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She touched his face, tracing each feature with reverent fingertips. “Maybe I
do
like the sharing. But can we play some more now, Cristián?”
He kissed her then with such passion that her whole body went white-hot. And they spent the remainder of the night learning other paths to pleasure.
TWENTY-SIX
Chris had known he would wake up alone. That much was a given. However, the reality of waking to the chilly morn, his arms wrapped around a wadded blanket rather than his lover, took the shine from what he and Rosa had shared. Disappointment washed over him like cold water. He’d been a piss-poor husband before the Change, but he’d never gotten off on one-night stands.
And morning sex was one of life’s simple pleasures.
That wasn’t an option, in spite of the hard-on he tried to calm. His mind helped his body turn traitor, revisiting the night’s intimacies. He lay on his back in that small, lonely cave, reliving every touch, every kiss, every brave concession she’d made.
But he was no longer content with dreams and memories. He needed to see her.
Chris pushed off the ground with a frustrated growl. He kicked into his clothes as if punching hard enough might relieve his thrumming pulse. After packing his possessions, leaving the blankets and putting the lantern in the sun to recharge, he stepped into the desert. Daylight mocked his groggy brain. The last pair of sunglasses he’d owned were in pieces somewhere in Utah, crushed during an adrenaline-soaked fight with a gang of thieves.
He walked back to town, using long strides to shake the stiffness out of his limbs. Sleeping on the rocky cave floor was never exactly comfortable, but he made the trade-off for privacy. And holding Rosa, alone together, had made the experience one to be relished.
Wicker was in the store, as always, and nodded as he came in. Then he stared a little longer than normal. Chris ignored the man and kept walking. He dropped his possessions on the floor of his tiny speck of a room. A half hour later, after a quick shower, he was on his way to the town hall to check on the new girls.
Singer ran up to meet him.
“Doc, it’s Tilly!”
The jump from slow, bleary morning to full-on alertness hit him right in the chest. His heart rate kicked up to race car speeds. “Where’s Rosa? Find her and Viv. Meet me there.”
“Got it.”
Singer sprinted off toward the watchtower. Chris followed her flight, briefly, realizing that Rosa was indeed up there. Made sense. How better to obscure the stark facts of the previous night than to be the one on watch when Chris sauntered out of the desert?
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He chugged toward Tilly and Jameson’s little house, psyching himself up for what might lie ahead. Childbirth. Damn. He was no expert—not by a long shot. This fake-it-till-you-make-it routine was giving him a complex. One day it wouldn’t be good enough.