Page 52 of The Challenger

The wherewithal to think about anything continues to be lost on me when Chavez devours what he calls dessert back in our bed. He suckles my clit until I lose my mind with the unholy rapture. Chavez has pulled the lever of my orgasm jackpot, and they pour out of me like hard, copper pennies in an old-school Vegas slot. He holds me tightly through the shudders, and I barely register the slickness of his face and how genuinely interested he is in making it slicker.

“Flynn, baby,” he whispers, “you are coming like rain. Tell me what’s next.”

In Bendigo, he proved he could spend all night creating havoc between my legs with nothing more than his tongue, but we still have a way to go on the list, and Chavez is happy to oblige. Whispering the filthiest gutter talk into my ear, he fingers me until I’m spiralling into madness, into the great beyond. Then he yanks my ass higher into the air to plunge balls deep with a single crushing thrust.

“Fuuuck!” he growls. “You are molten.”

Mighty and merciless, he becomes a man on a marauding mission. Like he's cracking down aces, he thrusts harder, faster, thesmackof each blow driving my face deeper into the pillow. An exquisite pain channels through me, sharp-edged and searing.

Unstoppable.

“Slower,” I beg. “Please.”

His breathing is short and clipped, but he is fully in control. “Tell me when you’re ready so we can go off together, all right?"

His fingers dig deep until the soft flesh of my hips burn from the sensation. I absorb his thunder until I can't.

“Yes, now," I mutter through gritted teeth.

We climax together and he’s with me, riding the waves of pleasure crashing through me in an endless sequence until he softens. With apop,he slides out of me, rolling both of us on our sides so we can spoon. His chest heaves against the contours of my back, and the only sound is our ragged breathing and the stillness after a rainfall.

“You okay?” he whispers, the words hot in my ear. “I lost it there at the end.”

I bite back an exhausted laugh. Okay? I hope the Italians don’t mind teeth marks on their pillows.

“I’m good. Decimated but good.”

Chavez drops kisses along the damp nape of my neck until my breathing steadies. The frequency and intensity of my orgasms have left me utterly spent. A heavy, dreamless sleep beckons and, just before I drift off, I remember.

They say memory becomes what we need it to be.

We create truths from lies and spin failures into successes.

The filing cabinet of our brains is not always accurate, but what I will recall with dreamlike clarity from tonight was me speaking the truth. It wasn’t a slip. Because Chavez is the real deal, the actual unmistakable thing worth risking it all for.

It will only be a slip if I somehow screw this up.

ChapterTwenty

Somebody please,pinch me. Am I living in a dream world? Chavez left an hour ago to hit with a local at the tournament tennis center and left me tangled in the sheets that smell like us wearing nothing but a smile. The fog has lifted, a pale sun slowly warms the bedroom, and I'm content to loll like a hippo at the watering hole after being hand-fed buttery croissants. My newly mended shirt drapes over the back of a chair, and the long list of Chavez skills now has tailor added to it. After his shower this morning, he hopped back into bed with a sewing kit and the shiny black coin of my missing button.

“I found it in the hallway in Oz before we left for the airport,” he said, sitting cross-legged and drawing the sheet over his lap as a makeshift workspace. “Bring me your shirt, and I’ll get you fixed up.”

His fine-boned fingers threaded the needle as he talked about his Abuela, the grandmother who taught him how to sew. She died peacefully in her sleep last year, and he got choked up talking about her.

“She was the only one who understood I could not see myself growing old with Sofia,” he said, pulling the needle up through the back of the placket like a pro. “She told me to break it off. If it wasn't for her, I'd be trapped and miserable.”

“How did you and Sofia get together?” I was genuinely curious.

“The usual," he said. "Pushy Mexican mothers.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who would do arranged.”

“This is true,” he admitted. “And it's not entirely Mama's fault either. As I said, it’s hard to make relationships work doing what I do. I was traveling around, making decent money, and taking advantage of all the perks, if you know what I mean. My parents weren’t thrilled, and looking back, neither was I. After a while, you want to crawl into bed at night with someone you love, right? Sofia and I knew each other, and my parents sacrificed a lot for me. I thought us getting together might make them happy.” He plunged the needle back down through the button, pulling tight on the thread.

“Look," he said. "I liked her, and maybe I even loved her for a bit. But I made the wrong decision. Trading in my heart and soul to satisfy the dreams of another is no way to live.” He shook his head as if remembering many fights similar to the one I witnessed. “She drove me crazy more than I drove her crazy, and that’s saying something. We are better off not together, and she will realize I am right one day and stop crucifying me for walking away.”

I recognized the defeat in his eyes before he looked away. Decisions we feel right about at the time can often be wrong. When I stood in front of Hamilton's parents and tried to explain the unexplainable, they looked past me with a similar expression, not wanting to register the woman responsible for their new life of misery. It's hard to face the things you cannot change.

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