Page 46

FORTY-FIVE

SARAH MORGAN

Alejandro is inside of me, and I’m inside of him—tangled up in the honey-colored Egyptian cotton sheets Bob picked out. I remember his hand gliding across them after he’d put them on the bed. His smile was a mix of pride and passion, pleased that he was able to provide this luscious gift for us. He described them as pure perfection. I wonder if he would still describe them that way.

Alejandro leaves a trail of wetness down my neck as he licks and kisses every inch of my skin. We haven’t said a word since he picked me up off the kitchen table and carried me in here. By the time we reached the bedroom, we were both magically undressed. But he’s been undressed for me long before. He just didn’t know it. I was right about his tattoos. They continue everywhere, covering his hard pecs, abs, shoulders, and the sum of his wide, muscular back. I’ve learned things about him through the ink that’s been sewn into his skin. He’s religious... or at least he likes the iconography. One tattoo that claims he has no fears contradicts another, because it’s death that he’s afraid of, and that’s why images of skulls and crosses are prevalent throughout his colorful skin.

His lips find mine, and his kiss becomes aggressive, so I give it right back. My teeth sink into his flesh, and he moans, thrusting harder into me as though he wants to share the pain he feels. I gasp, releasing his lip. He squeezes my breast and flicks his finger against my erect nipple. It’s like he wants to ensure every part of me is paying attention to him. My hands go to his back, nails raking across it. His skin is wet, so I know I’ve drawn blood, but he doesn’t react. Maybe because he’s felt far worse in his life. He thrusts deeper and faster. I wrap my legs around his hips, drawing him in even more, so I can take the full length of him. Alejandro smiles and leans into me, separating the seams of my lips with his tongue. Mine ensnares his like barbed wire, slithering and coiling in a double helix of passion.

His body goes rigid, tensing up as he pants and grunts. I mirror his breathing, so he feels good about it too. When he finishes, every muscle of his relaxes, and he collapses on top of me, breathless. His damp skin sticks to mine, his lungs expanding and contracting, pressing up and down in unison with my own. His heart races, pulsating throughout his body. I can feel every beat. Does it beat for this moment or the next? Alejandro lifts his head and stares at me. That little black dot pressed into his iris is unmoved. He’s tired, maybe from the sex or maybe from life itself. But he wears no expression. Then I see something else. It’s fleeting, a sadness in his eyes before he rolls off, untethering our bodies.

Beside me he lies on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. Neither of us says a word; only our slow, decreasing pants of breath fill the silence. What’s there to say? How great it was? We both know that. How good it felt? We both know that too. I stretch my arms out over my head as Alejandro starts to peel himself from the mattress. Then I feel it, something hard and cold pressed into the side of my abdomen.

My gaze goes to him. The sadness in his eyes has returned, but it’s mixed with something else... shame... or maybe it’s grit. It looks the same when you’re doing the wrong thing for what you think is the right reason.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” he says, pulling back the hammer of the gun.