Page 117 of The Strength Of A Woman

I pull back a little to ease her pain.

She presses her hand on my arm to stop me.

“We can’t do it tonight,” I say. “It’s already too painful, and I haven’t even gotten in,” I say, hiding behind practical words to conceal my frantic train of thought.

The implications of this are way bigger than this blanket, the food we had for dinner, the image of a doormat volcano in the stillness of the night, or a woman’s deep desires.

If they wanted my head before––Gallo and Varela––they’d probably want to fry me first and then kill me just to quench their thirst for blood if they had ever gained any knowledge of this.

And then, I can’t think of how stupid the Gallos are.

Despite neglecting this woman and allowing so many bad things to happen to her, she somehow never knew a man in that sense of the word.

Despite her impure mind and words, rebellious behavior, although I now reconsider all that––it was all an act.

She truly didn’t deserve all that.

And she should’ve experienced this night differently. With more preparation. Not on the run.

Words can’t repair much right now, so I kiss her gently on her lips.

“Let’s go home.”

“I don’t want to go home. I want you to finish this.”

“I will finish this, just not now.”

“Finish it now. It will hurt more if I wait. Please.”

The more she talks, the more I feel the tension in my groin. There is nothing I want more now than to open her to my world.

She must think about what I’m thinking.

The clock is ticking for us.

A few more days for her to feel better before we try doing this again, and then the time is up. Every day matters. Every moment matters.

“You don’t want me?” she asks, torn and confused.

Smiling, I push back in a few inches, wrapping myself in her blood while I grab a fist of her hair and hover over her, indulging in how good she looks pinned under me.

“I wanted you that night when you rubbed yourself against my friend,” I say softly next to her ear, rocking my hips gently, not entering all the way, allowing her to get used to the sensation of wet friction and fullness.

“And I wanted you when you dropped your clothes for me in the bathroom. I wanted you when you came to me, and I sent you back. The first time you put your arms around me. I wanted you all the time. It was just that I knew I couldn’t have you.”

A spike of pleasure makes her close her eyes and quietly moan.

Her body follows my rhythm, moving against mine.

Her legs relax, and open for me wider before I cup her ass to hold her against me as I take my shot and shove my throbbing erection into her tight opening.

A sharp shrill pierces through the night, her hands pushing at me in a blind reaction as I enter her repeatedly, despite the pool of blood between us, watching how her writhing morphs into something else.

How her hands no longer punch but grab at my shoulders.

How her lips begin to tremble with a faint smile.

How her eyes finally open and look at me with the moonlight trapped inside her irises.