Page 53 of Reckless Love

When he slides in, I’m overwhelmed by the stretch, how full I feel, as though we didn’t just do this a few hours ago. As though it’s been years since anyone claimed me this completely.

“Can you handle it, baby?”

“It’s so good,” I say as he eases in even deeper. I clutch his ass, making us as tight as I possibly can. Something inside me wants to be so close that I can’t remember where I begin and he ends. “Never stop.”

One of his large hands cradles my ass, while his other settles under my head. Instead of moving fast and hard like I’m expecting, he’s slow and tender. He takes his time, like I’m some precious prize he can’t believe he’s won.

The coil inside me starts to tighten, and I try to change our pace, try to push myself closer to the edge. The feeling I’m seeking is just out of reach, and I’m so close the sweetness of my orgasm makes my mouth water in anticipation. I need it.

“Stephen,” I plead.

“Who else makes you feel this way? Makes you want this badly?”

“Only you,” I say. “Just you.”

He draws back, and the sweet, tender version of Stephen is gone. In his place is a stone-faced man I barely recognize, a smattering of small scars across his cheek.

“Guess you should have thought about that before you told me you could get this feeling anywhere.”

I wake up with a gasp, sitting up in bed. Beside me, Raul mutters and then reaches for me. “Come here,” he rasps.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say, scrambling out of bed and heading for the en suite, my heart pounding an uneven rhythm. While I pad across the wooden floor, I run my hands through my tangled hair.

The mix of past and present in my dream has turned my brain to a pile of mush. At the bathroom sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes are dilated. It’s been so long since I’ve seen myself in this state that I don’t truly recognize the person staring back. The old Ava who’s been dormant for a long time is reemerging, and I can’t ignore her anymore.

As quietly as possible, I tug on a set of sweats in the walk-in closet. I tiptoe toward the door to my bedroom, and I take one last look at Raul, asleep again.

The last dream wore out whatever brakes I’ve been applying. I’m tired of pretending that the grinding and squealing noises in my life mean I can stop the inevitable.

I can’t.

So I’m going to steer my runaway car exactly where it needs to go.

I knock once before the door to Stephen’s apartment is thrown open. He holds the top of the door, shirtless, with only dark-gray boxers on. He’s so tall and broad and strong looking that my mouth goes dry.

“Ava, I told you this can’t happen.” His rumpled appearance, as though he woke from a dead sleep, softens the harshness of his tone.

A thrill shoots down my spine at my name. Has a name ever sounded so sweet, so earned?

I don’t wait for an invitation; I squeeze past him and into his sparsely furnished apartment. The space is big and open with a kitchen and living room. Behind a partial wall, I catch sight of what appears to be the end of a bed. He leaves the door open, letting in bugs and the night air.

“I made a mistake,” I say. “I never should have married him.”

Stephen scoffs and rubs his face. “I’m not doing this with you, Ava.”

“I’m telling you I made a mistake. I just—I made so many mistakes.”

“You got what you wanted,” he says. “You wanted a rich man, and you got a rich man.”

“I didn’t… Yes, I said that.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t mean it. Don’t try to rewrite history.”

“I’m not! I’m admitting I said it. But I said a lot of things—I still say a lot of things—and I don’t always mean them.”

He barks out a harsh laugh. “You think that helps your case? If that’s your argument, how do I trust anything you say?”

“You know me.”