Page 38 of The Replay

"And how do you think I felt?"

"I'm sure you hated me after I said I'd go through with the wedding, or you wouldn't be this much of an asshole. But, newsflash, we were done. I had no responsibility over your heart anymore."

"Meanwhile, I never stopped caring about yours."

Her eyes widen, then narrow.

"You for sure stopped at some point," she says, "because damn, you're being awful."

"Is that the worst you can do, Princesa? Call me awful?"

I didn't notice exactly how it happened, but we're even closer. Color is back on her face. Heat shines in her eyes. I'm breathing hard, and my muscles strain so I keep this minimal distance between us. I would put my hands on her otherwise. To pull her to me or what, I'm not sure.

She grinds her teeth. "Don't call me that."

"Sure, Miss Duchess."

"Now you're really going to make me hate you."

"Maybe that would be better for us, so why don't we try?"

Silence turns deafening. We hold still. Watching the other, tracking each other's movements. Ready to fight some more, as soon as one of us finds the next argument.

If we don't… then we may confuse this heat for passion, and think this anger is an excuse to hide the longing we feel, and how close we really want to be.

Because it might be just that. And I don't know what to do about it when the breathing room is all but gone between us.

"Fuck."

I don't know who says it. I don't care, now that my lips are on hers. And hers are on mine.

Our bodies clash. My hands make hard paths on her soft skin. She digs fingertips into my shoulders, on the back of my neck, and up my scalp.

So familiar, so painful. But I kiss her like we never stopped.

I hold her close and walk her back. I kick away the chairs in the process, not caring for the one that flips and clangs as it falls on the hard floor. My focus is on getting Mariana to sit on the desk, plump ass firm on the laminate, because I need to make my way between her legs.

Her knees part and I push forward until I can't anymore. A groan escapes me when I grind my erection against her. She grabs my sides and brings me closer. I kiss her again. She moans.

A wave of feeling like I haven't felt in years journeys through my system. It's hard to breathe. I'll live. What we're doing is critical. It matters more than oxygen itself.

"I don't think I can hate you." I make a path with my lips down her jaw.

"It would make it so much easier if we could."

"But I'm so angry." I roll my hips over and over again. "Too angry."

Friction. More friction. Please.

She stabs me with her nails on my sides. "I hate that you can hurt me."

I hiss. It's some sort of punishment. It stings… and spurs me on.

"I don't mean to." I kiss her neck. "Fuck. I don't want to. I'm sorry. I'm just…"

"We can figure it out."

Her hands run up my stomach and push at my chest. I think she's telling me to stop, so I do. I think she wants space, so I take a step back.