Page 83 of Blood from the Marrow
When Zuri straightened, Marisol stopped thrusting inside of her. She watched, transfixed and dying from desire, while Zuri grabbed the backs of Elena’s legs. While Elena threw her head back in a silent scream and arched off the bed.
Every time Zuri thrust forward into Elena, Marisol held her trembling breath. Every time Zuri swung her hips back and made half of Marisol’s strap disappear inside of her, she cursed.
“Tell her you want it,” Marisol rasped.
“I want it,” Elena whined, voice hoarse, and Marisol was sure she and Zuri were going to unravel together.
“Beg until I believe you need it,” Marisol demanded, throat dry and her own body on the edge just from watching.
“Please,” Elena managed before devolving into an incoherent string of pleading.
“Tell me you need me,” Marisol panted, orgasm on the verge of dragging her under.
“I need you—fuck,” Elena replied through gritted teeth.
“Tell me you need me,” Marisol repeated, legs trembling. She made a fist in Zuri’s hair and pulled her back. “Tell me.”
“I need you, baby,” Zuri managed.
Marisol unraveled first, hanging on to her ability to stand by a miracle. Clinging to Zuri’s hips, she slammed into her hard before she stiffened. The contact with the strap’s base combined with Zuri grinding was enough to end her. And then Zuri was cursing and Elena was trembling while she muttered a faint, “Thank you.”
Chest burning, Marisol landed on the bed, mattress guts stuck to her sweaty leg. Zuri rolled into her, and then Elena was reaching for her too. It was only when Elena climbed on the other side of her, when Elena whispered she loved her and held her close, that Marisol burst into tears.
Throat raw and body exhausted, Marisol let go of all the fear and regret and doubt that had been holding her captive. She let herself be small, pressed between Elena and Zuri. Let herself sob without feeling stupid.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Three more daysof watching Clara circle Marisol like a fucking satellite was all Zuri could take. So when the shade of a woman finally walked toward the three of them sitting at the kitchen counter, Zuri nearly pole-vaulted over the fucking thing to confront her. To ask her why the fuck she thought it was okay to swoop back into Marisol’s life after being a ghost for thirty-two years and prompt the kindest person Zuri had ever met to cry in the fucking shower when she thought no one could hear her.
“I… um… I’m sorry to bother you.” The mealy-mouthed woman looked at her hands when she spoke.
At Zuri’s side, Marisol stiffened.
“Would you like to join us?” Elena asked, earning aggressive side-eye from Zuri.
“No. I don’t want to interrupt?—”
“Seems a bit late for that?—”
Elena kicked Zuri under the counter, and Zuri had to fight the real urge to hiss.
“Did you need something?” Marisol asked, her tone flat and unusually devoid of emotion.
Clara shifted her weight. “I suppose I just wanted to say thank you.” She looked up at them with watery hazel eyes thatmade Zuri’s chest ache with reflexive empathy. “For keeping my dau—for keeping Marisol safe.”
“It’s kind of hard to leave an innocent person out on their own when there are wolves?—”
“The anger you have is justified,” Clara said softly. “It shows me just how much you love Marisol.” Her forehead wrinkled and a sad smile sputtered momentarily to life on her thin lips. “I know you have no reason to believe me.” She took a deep breath. “Except you’ve seen how we live.” She was looking only at Marisol now. Marisol, who was gripping her own thighs so hard her knuckles were bloodless. “I wanted better for you, no matter the cost, and I’m just relieved that you got it.”
Tears, fat and heartbreaking, streamed down Clara’s slim cheeks. Zuri scrambled to hang on to her justified anger. To make herself hard against open pain.
“Leaving you, Marisol, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” Her sob cracked loose and slammed Zuri square in the chest. “And I wish I could say differently, but I’d make the same choice again and again. You got to live a life?—”
Another sob cut Clara short and Zuri found herself whipping her own tears. She doubted that her own mother would ever make such a heartfelt plea. Even if she was faking. Even if it was just a ploy to get money from Zuri’s grandmother.
“Why?” Marisol’s question was so soft, Zuri imagined her as a little girl asking her grandmother why her mother hadn’t loved her enough to stay. It was a sledgehammer to the gut. “Why couldn’t you even tell your own mother—” She cut herself off and dried her face. “She never stopped worrying about you. Never stopped?—”
“I know.” Clara surged forward, fair skin flushed deep red. “I didn’t know how to tell her I was okay without making you two targets.” She shook her head. “Your father and I… We thought we could get away. That we could hide somewhere just the threeof us.” She swallowed so loudly, the sound joined the thundering pulse in Zuri’s ears. “I wasn’t even showing yet when he left and never came home.” She looked down at her hands again like she wished they belonged to someone else. “Before I ran, I made it look like I’d had a miscarriage.” She took a deep breath as if it might relieve the shame choking the life out of her. “I’d always told everyone my parents died when I was a child.” She covered her face while she gathered herself. “To keep you both safe, I turned you into ghosts.”
