Page 8 of Connected

“Don’t,” he murmurs. I’m not sure if the lone word is a demand or a plea. I want to believe it’s the latter, that he is finally willing to fight for me, for us. That he’s ready to let love lead. The storm of emotions raging in his eyes says so, but I need the words.

I need action.

I deserve both.

But all I get is his skillful mouth.

Determined lips press against mine as his fingers thread through my hair, holding my head in place as his tongue slips inside my mouth. I close my eyes at the sensation and against my better judgment, I return the kiss, letting my tongue mingle and dance with his. A groan rumbles from his throat as he rolls on top of me, nudging my legs apart.

Lifting my hands to his cheeks, I spread my legs and welcome his weight. In the back of my head I know I’m a fool, that I’m letting him use me, but I’m too weak to fight. I need this connection. I need to feel him one more time.

Tearing his mouth from mine, his lips travel down my neck, sucking, licking and nibbling as his hands roam under the t-shirt I’m wearing, searing every inch of skin they touch. Suddenly, his assault on my neck ends and my eyes flutter open at the loss. Crooking his finger, he urges me to sit up and as I do, he brings the t-shirt over my head, tossing it to the side as I lay my head back against the pillow.

His eyes rake over me like he knows it’s the last time he’ll ever see me naked, committing my body to memory. Then his hands follow the path of his gaze, starting with my breasts, paying extra attention to my overly sensitive nipples. He flicks and pinches the buds before taking them between his teeth.

Pain.

So much pain.

That’s his specialty. He tears me apart, gives me a dose of agony and then he delivers me the sweet. With controlled patience, he licks my nipples, soothing the sting before his mouth lowers to my belly.

Flat.

Barren.

He peppers kisses over my olive skin and a tear slips from the corner of my eye. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I imagined what I would look like with a rounded belly and I looked forward to the day he’d lay his hand over it and feel our baby kick for the first time.

Lifting his eyes to mine, he pauses and for the first time, I see the sorrow in those blue orbs.

I see the pain too.

And regret.

But most of all I see grief.

“Lo siento,” he rasps before lowering his gaze back to my belly. I almost believe him . . . almost.

He places another kiss to my belly before he hooks his thumbs around the thin waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs. Bare and on display, I watch as he leans back on his haunches and stares at my pussy. A feral groan escapes his lips and I commit the sound to my memory.

There’s a sliver of me that is vindictive, a part that wishes to make him hurt a fraction of the way he’s made me hurt and it’s that piece of me that’s calling to me right now. I want to tell him to take a good look at me, to remember how it feels to be buried inside of me because after today he doesn’t get the privilege anymore.

Instead, I tell him to grab a condom.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he makes quick work of removing his shirt before roughly freeing his long, thick cock from his slacks. Leaning forward, I wrap my hand around his shaft, letting my thumb graze the head as Joaquin pushes his fingers into my hair.

“Chupa mi polla,” he rasps.

Before I do as he requests, my eyes flit to his. I bend my head and lick the come from the tip of his cock.

Remember me.

“Fuck,” he groans, holding my head steady as he thrusts past my lips and into my open mouth. I slowly take him, sucking and licking until the head pushes against the back of my throat and I gag. In one quick move, he pulls out of my mouth and pushes me down against the bed, spreading my legs.

“Knees against your tits, Pilar.”

I’ve always loved the way he takes control in the bedroom, almost as much as I love the filthy things he whispers when he’s fucking me, and normally, I wouldn’t think twice. I’d draw my knees to my chest and watch him pound into me, craving the fullness I know I’m sure to feel based on the angle, but not this time.

This time our bodies are fighting a war against our hearts.

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