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“Your clothes are going to get wet.”
“They’ll dry.”
There’s something about this moment that I want to hold on to. A softness in her yielding to me as she rests her head against my chest and sighs.
“It’s all right to be upset.”
She shrugs a shoulder.
“A man died tonight. And you witnessed it.” Although she didn’t see him hang. The women who were permitted to be present during the execution were made to turn away before the lever was pulled.
“He was horrible. He destroyed my family.”
“I know. But your family is rebuilding itself. Santiago is happy. He has a wife he loves and a child.”
She sniffles.
“And you will be happy too. I promise.”
She turns her gaze to mine. “How can you make a promise like that? It’s not realistic. There’s no way you can keep it.”
I feel myself tense. I know what she wants. What she still wants. And there’s a part of me that wants it too. To keep her. But it’s true what I said. I don’t know how.
Her comment from earlier comes to mind. It’s been repeating ever since she said it. Don’t be nice to me. And each time I remember how she sounded when she said it, something tightens inside me, making my chest constrict. Making it hard to breathe.
The Mercedes who first came here is a distant memory to the woman in my arms now. There are glimpses of her, to be sure, but less and less. She has grown. She is learning from her mistakes. She wants to make amends. I know what it took for her to apologize to Ivy. To ask to be included in their lives. The Mercedes of before would not have done that. Not even close.
What I don’t like is the sadness. This shadow swells ever bigger, taking up more space both inside and outside of her. And I know I am to blame for it.
Don’t be nice to me.
Because it would be easier if she hated me. And she may in some way. I’ve broken something inside her, just as she has me.
What a mess I’ve made. It’s easier when we fight. When we fuck.
Mercedes shivers, and I stand her up. She lets me dry her, her eyes on my face. My shirt is soaked, so I take it off and toss it aside. From beneath her pillow—when did it become hers, when did she get a side of my bed—I retrieve her pajama set. Silk shorts and a matching tank top.
“Theron did this the night you saved me from him,” she says, and for a moment, I am confused, but then she touches the small scar high on my cheekbone.
“I did worse to him.” I look her over, see the tiny triangle of dark hair she’s let grow between her legs. I like it. I like to run my fingers through it.
“Judge?”
When I drag my gaze to her eyes, she’s watching me. I set the pajamas aside. I cup her face, my thumb brushing her lips, knuckles sliding over one taut nipple as I drop to my knees before her. She swallows, weaves the fingers of one hand in my hair when I turn my attention to that small patch of soft hair and open her. I inhale her clean scent, then run the pad of my tongue over her. She shudders, and her fingers tighten. I lick again, hearing her moan when I nip at her clit. When I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, she holds on to me for balance.
I take her slowly. I rarely make love to her. We normally fuck. We fuck hard and rough, but this is different. Tonight, she needs soft. And I give it to her first with my tongue, devouring her, her taste and her scent an aphrodisiac. And when she comes, her standing leg buckles, and she leans into me, moaning, her grip on me so tight it’s like she’s pulling my hair out.
When she goes limp, I lift her thigh from my shoulder and stand, carrying her to the bed to lay her on her back. I climb between her legs and kiss her with my mouth still wet from her. Her hands come around my waist, one settling on the scar on my back as she kisses me, a deep, slow kiss. Perhaps it’s not only her who needs soft right now.
I slide easily into her, thinking the impossible as I do. Three little words that I can never utter. The only ones I can think. I can feel. It would be so natural. So easy to say them. But the consequence would be fatal.
So I make love to her without ever saying the words. We watch each other without speaking. We kiss, never taking our eyes from one another. Tonight is not even about reaching a climax. It’s her clinging to me and me clinging to her and possibly being the closest we’ve ever been. As close as two human beings can get without burrowing beneath the other’s skin.
I pull out before I come. I’ve been careful about that, although I know I should use a condom. I just can’t with her. I need her heat. Skin on skin, I need to feel her.
When it’s over, we lie together, her on her back, me on my side holding her. Her fingers play over the scar on my back.
“Theron,” I say.
