A Breath 7-8/8
Chapter 7
TITLE: A Breath
AUTHOR: La Mamacita
FANDOM: TFATF
PAIRING: Dominic/OFC
RATING:Rated NC-17 for explicit sexual content.
DISCLAIMER: TFATF ain't mine - all original is
SUMMARY: Only Dom is carried over from the movie. The rest of the characters are original. It is the tale of a middle-aged woman who takes a spontaneous vacation to Puerto Vallarta in Mexico and meets a sad, lonely and gorgeous man hiding from his past (Guess who?). They connect almost instantly, and set about healing one another through love, understanding, and damn good sex.
Chapter 7
Leah woke to silence, and it was almost eerie. He was not beside her in the bed. All that was left of him was the obvious indentation where his long, strong body had lain and a white square envelope with her name written across the front in unsurprisingly fine penmanship.
“Ah, no,” she sighed out weakly, her heart falling, tears springing to her eyes. With shaking hands, she reached for the envelope and lifted the flap, certain of what was inside-an explanation of why he had to go, an apology, and a fumbling attempt at gratitude.
But what she pulled from the envelope was a thin piece of paper with the resort’s letterhead that said only, “Merry Christmas. Be right back. Love, Dominic.”
She sighed and reread the paper, then closed her eyes again and yawned. She must have dozed, because she woke to his lips brushing hers, hands on her ribcage, leaning over her. She brought her hands up to rest on his head and kissed him back, strong, fierce, on his beautiful mouth. When the kiss ended and he straightened, she opened her eyes and saw that he was fully dressed, shaven and showered, wearing a white polo and crisp black dress pants and shiny patent leather shoes.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, grinning. “I feel a bit under dressed.” He returned her smile and laughed aloud.
“Nah, you look great. Merry Christmas.”
She rose and slipped into the giant white terry robe, tying it loosely around her middle.
“Have you been to church?”
“Not yet. Going.” He wandered out of the room and she followed him, through the sitting room and into the kitchen, and there sat a Christmas bouquet, roses and evergreen boughs and baby’s breath, so big she couldn’t have gotten her arms around it, a plate of breakfast with a single red rose along one side and a black velvet box on the other. He pulled out her chair and she sat, and he rested his hands on her shoulder and bent to kiss her throat, all innocence, nervousness, as if asking her approval.“Dominic, this is so lovely. But I haven’t given y-“
“Don’t even say it,” he said softly. “Don’t you even say it.” He took her hand and placed it over the box. “It’s not much, not rare or expensive, or…I mean, they had them sitting in these little boxes on the counter near the checkout…But I didn’t know what you liked in jewelry or clothes, and I know you’ve got money or you wouldn’t be here. Stood around in the damn gift shop for an hour and this is what I found.” She took the box in both hands and cradled it a moment, then flipped the lid with her thumbs.
Nestled in the white tissue paper was a small crystal bottle, no more than four inches high, with a little round stopper, and a square silver plaque affixed to the front that was engraved in two lines. “Costa Azul, Christmas 2001.” It was filled with fine white sand, had a small red satin ribbon tied around its neck, and she smiled softly, a lump rising in her throat. She set it back down on the table and stood, turned, and wrapped her arms around his middle. He embraced her, one hand on her back and one in her hair, and kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you, Leah.” He cleared his throat. “Is it a stupid gift?”
“It’s perfect. I’ll always have something now, a part of this place. You know me so well.”
“Well, you can see right through me,” he chuckled. “So we’re even there.”
He sat on the closed toilet while she showered, and pulled her towel off of her and kissed her belly when she stepped out, watched her dress, and she loved his eyes on her. He was gorgeous, utterly, devastatingly, and if someone so heart stopping thought she was beautiful, she felt it must be true. She felt attractive, and smart, and functional again, in a way she hadn’t for years and years. And she never wanted it to end.
They uncovered the Viper, and Dom ran his hand over the hood, grinning lasciviously. She laughed aloud.
“Is that any way to behave before Christmas mass?”
“I’ll worry about my behavior. You get in the car.”
It was strange, being dressed for Christmas, seeing wreaths and red bows all through the streets of Costa Azul as they left, in the 90-degree heat.
“So where are we headed?” Leah asked, truly noticing, for the first time, the large silver cross on a hefty chain around his neck. She wondered why her eyes hadn’t caught on it before.
“Headed to Santa Cecilia,” he said. “They’ve got a church there, supposedly.”
“Santa Cecilia?”
“Population ten,” he said, and chuckled. “They have a huge cathedral in Puerto Vallarta, but it’ll be all production and tourism, like a Broadway play instead of a Catholic service.”
“You attend each Sunday?” Leah asked, trying not to show her surprise at his Christianity. The man had more layers than an onion.
“Only on Christmas,” he said. “Every year since I was born. First time I’ll go to mass without my sister in my life.”
“Older sister?”
“Nah, younger. Baby sister. She’s twenty.”
“I’ve got a baby sister, as well,” Leah said softly, and he looked at her.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Her name is Emily. I’ve never been apart from her at Christmas, either.”
He nodded, and there was a silence. Only the contented purr of the Viper was audible.
“Going to celebrate Christmas with Benjamin Bradley Hastings when you get back, then?” he finally asked, and she smiled.
“We’ll have our own little party. His father was always glitz and glamour and one party after another for days. Everything in excess. I’m actually looking forward to sitting with Ben near the tree, just the two of us, with a couple of gifts and maybe a movie. A quiet Christmas. Sing carols.”
“Sing?”
“Of course. He loves me to sing for him.”
“Going to sing for me?” he asked, with half a cocky grin.
“Sure, I’ll sing for you. Sometime before I leave, remind me.” She paused a moment after the words had left her mouth and wondered who had said them. Leah St. Laurent did not give private shows. Ever. But this Leah, this new woman she was becoming, was completely undaunted by the prospect of singing for him, privately or otherwise. This new person knew her voice was beautiful and wanted to use it, to bring him joy, and to bring herself joy by making him happy, rather than stuffing her talent aside, pinned under the heel of a man who was hateful and jealous of any flair or ability in her that was absent from himself.
“What will you sing?” Dominic reached over and wrapped a flaxen curl around his finger, tugging gently.
“What would you like me to sing?”
“Hard one,” he said, then laughed wickedly, low in his throat. “How about ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President?’”
“Oh, Lord,” Leah cracked up. “You’re insatiable.”
“You could, you know…Those blonde curls.”
“My blonde does not come from a bottle,” Leah pointed out. “And the curls are natural. Thank you very much.”
She stood beside him in the church, listened to the foreign words wash over her, watched him as he listened and wondered how much he understood. The ceilings were thirty feet high, painted ornately with angels and saints, and a giant crucifix was mounted on the front wall behind the small, old priest. Some ancient nuns lined the very front pews, and all the children were impeccably pressed and dressed, small dark-skinned, black-haired creatures with giant, expressive eyes, little boys in garb identical to Dominic’s, little girls in frilly white and shoes with heels wearing tiny gold hoops in their ears. The church was not air-conditioned, only fan-cooled by three or four small ceiling fans, and Leah began to feel faint before half the service was over.
Dominic met her gaze, concerned, and put one arm around her, meeting her gaze.
“Going to be all right?”
“I’d better get some air,” she said, dizzied. “I really need to get some air.”
“Let me go with you,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”
He glanced back at the church door, shoving his hands down into his pockets, moistening his lips, then looked over at her.
“Wanna get out of here? I think half a mass is good enough.”
Leah smiled. She nodded.
There was a cluster of black rocks at the end of a tiny peninsula of beach, and Dominic parked the Viper, and they walked out onto it, about a quarter of a mile, all the way to the end, to where the surf was beating itself against the rocks and tossing thirty feet of spray into the air. Leah’s legs were loose and shaky from near-heatstroke in the church, but the wind, although hot, blew all the sticky body heat away from her skin and it felt absolutely glorious. Dom unbuttoned his shirt and it flapped behind him, blinding white in the sunlight like a flag of surrender. He held his arms open to her and she came into them, roping her own around the hard, sweat slick wall of his waist and planting a kiss between his pecs.
“How do you find all these places?” she murmured, eyes closed, and he planted his hands on her hips and lifted her almost effortlessly so she was face to face with him.
“I’ve had a lot of time alone,” he said, grinning, pressing his forehead to hers, then leaning in and kissing her before letting her down. She hooked her fingertips under the waistline of his pants and raked the spanse of caramel chest and abdomen with lazy blue eyes. He responded, visibly, to her touch, purring a little deep in his throat. She slid one hand down over his trousers and pressed her palm to his erection through the fabric, staring at the cream of her skin against the clean, crisp black of his pants. She lifted her chin and peered down the shitty road at all the nothingness, the rise and fall of boulders along the beach. Then she allowed herself to be drawn down into the sand on top of him, straddling his hips and he pulled her face down to his, capturing her mouth and not letting go while his hands worked at the buttons down her back. He dragged the tank straps of the dress down off her shoulders and freed her breasts from the restraint of the white stretch satin of her bra. She watched his full, dark mouth approach her skin and let her lids drop weakly over eyes that could do nothing but roll back, and she let her head droop forward, losing him in the curtain of her curls. He made the tip of his tongue sharp and firm and traced slow circles around her nipples, his hands kneading the aching tension in her lower back. She felt it fade, all the ache and tension, under the practiced nursing of his fingers and the heated flicker and tug of his mouth. It was as if he knew she was sore, because he waited until she was practically dripping before he freed himself from his pants and pulled her skirt up around her waist. She nodded; the only ache she felt now was one of desire and longing, a hard pulse of blood between her boneless legs. They did away with the obstacles of their underclothes, and she took him in her hand. He was shockingly hard, to the point where she wondered if it was painful. He twitched at her touch, and she smiled softly. They locked eyes and came together in a collective, shaky sigh.
She was still atop him for a moment, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders. He had her hips in a desperate grip and was not trying to move, either. It seemed that, for both of them, any motion at this point would bring this particular chapter of lovemaking to a sudden end. The breeze was something close to a wind, stirring at her hair, tickling her shoulder blades with the ends of her curls, and she felt every nerve in her body standing at attention. Her skin was afire, every sense heightened, her heartbeat thudding in her chest as well as between her legs, around his cock, and she placed one hand between his pecs to feel the battering whir of his heartbeat.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, the words broken by a hitch in his throat, and she nodded. “Don’t move,” he said again, and closed his eyes, brow furrowed.
“It’s all right.” She leaned forward, kissed his furrows, and he gasped. “It’s all right, Dominic. Go ahead.” She rocked her hips back off a few inches and sank down again, and he bit down hard on his lower lip. She kissed his mouth, and he buried the fingers of one hand in her hair, kissing back with a startling hunger, and he guided her hips back and forth on him. It had been years since she’d ridden a man, and yet here he was, sheathed to the hilt in her body, and no pain…Only this quicksilver fire tearing through her veins. He yanked his mouth away from hers and bit her earlobe gently, and then she felt his whole being go loose and powerless, and his weak, raspy growl of a curse burned the skin of her ear, hot and desperate and drawn out as he came.
“Shhiiit.”
She watched him with quiet awe and adoration and when he was still, wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed his still mouth softly. She lay beside him and dragged her fingertips in wanton designs over his belly, his hips, his ribs and his nipples, his collarbone and his throat, exploring him until he shifted and sat up, peeling off the shirt and the pants and socks and shoes, and the sand clung to his body everywhere, his ass and the backs of his thighs, and it fell off in gentle sheets as his muscles flexed when he stood. She followed suit and stripped down, naked. He dove with the same unpracticed grace he’d ridden the horse the day before, down into the deeps of the water, until she lost sight of him, and she was beginning to get concerned when she saw his wavy, distorted form drifting back toward the surface. He gasped as he broke into the air and treaded water, grinning brilliantly up at her.
“Come in.”
She shook her head.“It’s too deep. I don’t swim well.”
“Here,” he said, and stroked easily about thirty feet, then planted his feet in the worn-smooth little rocks that made up the bottom. “It’s not deep here. Come on.” She nodded and walked hesitantly out to him. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her mouth, long and slow, leisurely, lazily, for what seemed like hours. Then he pulled away. “You feeling better now?”
“Oh, yes. It was only the heat.”
“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked, sliding his hands down to encircle her wrists. “You want to go home and sleep and then go into the city tonight? Crash a party or something?” She laughed.
“I don’t know. Where would we go? What would we do?”
“Go dancing? Get a groove on?” He put his hands on her hips and shook them.
“I don’t know…”
“Don’t even tell me you can’t shake your ass,” he said, with a wicked grin, and she laughed aloud.
“I can shake my ass. Yes, let’s do that.” He nodded and headed up and out of the water, body slick and shining in the sun. She felt an irrepressible urge to sink her teeth into him, taste him and bite him. He was utterly delicious. She stood in the shallow water and watched him force sticky legs into his slacks, button and zip them over that impressive manhood of his. He balled up the rest of his clothes and tucked them under his arm, and she yawned as she struggled into her dress.
They rode back with the windows fully down and air-dried. They were weary, but not tired, and when they climbed into the bed, they didn’t sleep, but just laid and held one another and talked. They avoided the topic of her departure, but their conversation spanned almost everything else, from past lovers to the institution of marriage to elementary school experiences and high school humiliations. From comfort food to favorite drinks to cars to weather, from sexual fantasies to dreams as children to what his hair would be if he grew it. They talked easily, and for hours, and she was sure she’d never been more one with anyone save her son, who had grown in her womb.
Chapter 8
She had one dress clean, a black knee-length dress with a sort of swingy skirt and tank straps, the only article of clothing she had that was left in her own bungalow, and she wondered what had become of her other suitcase, the one with her warmer clothes, her sweater and her slacks for returning to New York. She cursed as she realized that somewhere between New York City and Puerto Vallarta she had lost a bag full of clothes. Had it ever come off the plane with her? Something else important had been in that luggage, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something she really needed, something that she had wrapped in a pillowcase…She couldn’t remember for the life of her as she stood in Dominic’s bathroom, running her fingers through her stormy curls and putting some color on her face. He was dressing as well, though she half wished he wouldn’t change out of his Catholic schoolboy church clothes.
What he chose for himself, however, was far better. He was bloody brilliant in black, wearing a seemingly painted-on skin tight black v-neck that hugged his enormous biceps and gracefully tapering midsection. His pants were flat fronted khakis, tailored in the seat and just the right amount of clingy down his legs, slitted slightly at the ankles, and brushing the floor. He wore black, lug-soled sandals. She raked him over with her eyes. She could look at him forever and never tire of it, watch his body move for an eternity and never feel boredom, and the knowledge that this gorgeous man had covered her body with his, whimpered his orgasm into her ear, collapsed weak and sated atop her, purring and perspiring, sent a sharp, awestruck thrill through her core. He twirled his keys around his finger and grinned.
“Shall we?”
The club’s bass thump was absolutely palpable from half a mile away, and as Dominic rolled the Viper up to the curb, a little valet rushed to open Leah’s door. Even the wealthy people waiting in line turned their heads and gaped at the beautiful car and its beautiful owner, and Leah heard Dominic’s voice from a few day’s prior in her head: A five hundred thousand dollar car, I know… Every female eyeball under thirty years of age was on Dominic, and his eyes were on Leah. He looped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek and marched to the head of the line with her. The bouncer, a giant black man, regarded him coolly.
“Toretto,” Dominic said, and smiled, and the man stepped aside, nodding amicably.
Inside, the club was a monstrous, rushing chaos of color and light, complete with strobes, disco balls and black lights. The place was armed to the teeth with festive décor, silver wreaths, ornaments and string lights, little crystal dishes of candy and peppermint-striped candles as centerpieces. Very few people were in their seats; the dance floor was absolutely packed, a dizzying meld of motion.
It surprised him, she knew, what a genuinely uninhibited dancer she was, how she put her thigh to his hip, how she ground her ass in his lap and how she pulled him into the ladies’ room, kicked out the two young girls fixing their makeup, and unzipped his pants.
“You’re crazy,” he said, breathless, up against the wall, staring down at her, arm hanging slack at his sides, and his voice was all rough and growly from a stunned, building lust. She slipped her hands both into his pants. He was well on his way, but under her ministrations, he became fully, impressively hard almost immediately. He moaned a little, took her hands out of his pants and put them on his shoulders, then peeled her panties off of her and lifted her skirt to her hips. He buried his face against her mons, nudging it with his nose, then planted a lingering kiss there. She felt him spread her lips with two fingers, felt the glorious rough satin of his tongue on the absolute most sensitive part of her body. She let her head thunk back against the wall, melting into the sweating, peeling paint as he pulled her clitoris into his mouth and suckled it. Her heart throbbed and her breath quickened and a heated flush climbed her throat. In her mind’s eye she could see his beautiful, expressive mouth, those sculpted, sensuous lips tugging at her flesh, and he let go of her dress so he could take her hips in his hands, pinning her to the wall, her skirt tumbling to cover his head. She gripped his shoulders, shocked once again at the thrift with which he could bring her to climax. She felt the first breathy cry leave her body, the voice that was and was not her own punctuating each silvery wave that pulsated through her body.
He had a broad, bright grin on his face when he stood to face her, eyes heavily lidded, and as he pressed his body against hers, she felt the thick nudge of him against her belly.
“Something that needs taking care of?” she asked, voice rough and breathy.
He chuckled and groaned a bit.
“Always.” He lifted her by the ass and freed himself from his boxers. She was completely relaxed and soaking wet and it required next to no effort for him to slip slowly into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck in a full-body embrace, pressing her cheek to his and closing her eyes as he began to move within her.
They danced until there was no dancing left to do. Salsas, cumbias, merengues, the music a mixture of live Mexican band and American DJ, but it mixed surprisingly well. The night outside had cooled to around sixty-eight degrees, so inside the club was not unbearable.
Dom danced the Latin steps as if he’d been gifted with them genetically. Leah commented on this, and he grinned.
“It is genetic. My mother was Cuban.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. Gabriela Montenegro.”
“Holy shit,” Leah laughed. “That’s a mouthful.”
“She was an excellent dancer. Taught me when my dad wasn’t looking.”
His limbs were liquid, and it seemed he was fully accustomed to an inexperienced partner; he guided Leah deftly through even the most difficult moves, took her hips and eased them into sync with even the most complicated rhythms. She was a good dancer and learned quickly, holding onto him and alternating between staring at his feet and staring at his face. The DJ announced the last song of the night, and a beautiful black man with a finger wave and a tenor sax stepped into the spotlight. With a soft piano background accompaniment, he played a slow, bittersweet rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” that had Leah in tears, and she wasn’t the only one crying. The couples, sweat soaked and exhausted, now clung to each other and swayed slowly or kissed. Dom’s big arms kept her pressed flush against him, her head on his chest, one of his hands smoothing her hair.
When they reached Costa Azul at sunrise, he was beyond knackered. Had he been a child, she’d have scooped him into her arms and carried him. He opened the car door for her and they walked home together much as they had that first night; his weight pressing and warm against her, arm slung over her shoulders. It was cool, the breeze raising goosebumps on Leah’s arms, and when they got inside, Dominic tossed her a pair of thick old sweats and a big gray hoodie. She drowned in them, but they were soft and well-worn and felt wonderful. She, strangely, was not at all fatigued, and sat cross-legged at the head of the bed. Dominic, similarly dressed, sprawled his big body across the comforter, head and shoulders in her lap. She squirmed her hands out from beneath him and cradled him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, his face in her belly.
“Sing for me?” he murmured, through a quiet yawn. She nodded, swallowing the thick lump in her throat. Sweet and soulful, clear and lovely, her voice filled the room, and from the first note, she felt Dominic go all loose and gooey in her arms, sighing contentedly as she sang.
“Lullay, lullay, thou little tiny child. By, by, lullay, lullay…” And when she finished, he was sleeping, and she cupped the side of his face in her hand and let the tears pour from her, dripping off her chin and soaking the front of the sweatshirt. She loved him. It was all very hopeless between them and she loved him. To hell with practicality. To hell with common sense and sensibility. She loved him.
In the morning she changed into jean shorts and a white tee shirt and pulled the sweatshirt down over her head again, rolling up the cuffs. He lay in bed and grinned at her.
“You’re tiny.”
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “You’re enormous.”
He laughed.
“Yeah. Want to do breakfast?”
“Where?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He hauled his body up and out of bed. “Let’s just go and see what grabs us.”
She nodded, watching him go through his long routine of luxurious stretching with a pang through the heart. This would be the last morning they’d have nothing but everything ahead of them, the last morning for the last full day they’d spend together. Tomorrow morning she’d wake at sunrise, pile all her things in a cab, and ride 30 miles with a stranger to the airport in Puerto Vallarta. She’d get on a plane. She’d leave him.
What grabbed them ended up being breakfast outside at a little round white table. Breakfast margaritas to go with pancakes became lunch margaritas and the margaritas became martinis and Dom and Leah became shitfaced.
They left before they were out of control, went home, and found themselves in bed with a bottle of whisky, naked and laughing inside of five minutes of walking through the door. As ever, he was an amicable drunk, belly laughing and acting out stupid stints he and his friends had pulled and persuading her to sing with him. His singing voice was marvelous, happy, hearty baritone, gravelly and laughing. They drank till they were drowning, had some of that tingly, warm, half-numb intoxicated sex and passed out in the afterglow.
When Leah woke, it was dark. Not pitch black, but the murky darkness of a mist and a blinding moon. She climbed out of bed and felt the cool night air whir against her nipples so they stood at attention. Where was Dominic? She realized they’d just wasted their last day together and felt positively gutted, fumbling about for the sweatshirt she fully intended to keep.
“Hello, Dominic?” she called out hesitantly, padding barefoot through the small dark house. Through a window in the little kitchen, an orange bead burning in the darkness caught her eye. She went outside and he was there on his knees in the sand, smoking and staring out across the ocean.
He was shirtless, in nothing but pale, loose khaki cargos, and he smiled up at her as she came to stand next to him. Taking a last pull, he snuffed his cigarette in the sand, running one hand up the back of her leg, beginning at her ankle.
“What’re you doing?” she asked with a gentle smile, resting a hand atop his prickly soft head.
“Waiting for you to wake up.”
Leah nodded.
“I can’t remember the last time I was so inebriated that I lost consciousness,” she whispered, and he chuckled quietly.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone so long with out being so inebriated that I lost consciousness.”
She was trembling. Her departure was imminent. Three o’ clock a.m., according to the illuminated face on his wristwatch. Two more hours. Two hours and she had to be at the gate with bells on.
“Come here,” he gruffed, taking her hand and pulling her round to stand before him. He held her hips in his hands and eased her gently down to straddle his lap. As her bare flesh came in contact with the threadbare, worn-soft khakis, a dull, bruised ache went up through her body, an indignant reminder that her body had had plenty of Dominic Toretto, even if her heart felt that too much would never be enough.
He embraced her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, rested her head on his shoulder.“I don’t want you to get in that cab,” he murmured into her hair, and she closed her eyes, feeling the burning wetness well beneath her lids.
“Dominic…”
“No, I mean…Let me take you to the airport.”
“So we can both stand at the gates, blubbering like bloody fools?”
He laughed a little, then went silent. Sighed. Tightened his embrace.
“God, I love the way you feel in my arms,” he breathed, and she choked on a sob that had been dying to escape.
“I love the way I feel in your arms, too, Dominic.”
He let his hands fall down her back and cupped her ass in them, pressing her forward against him and kissing her, endlessly, on the mouth, softly, sweetly, crying silently, his fingers roaming her body, worshipping her.
“One last time?” he asked, barely above a whisper, and Leah nodded. The words knifed at her. She rose up onto her knees and he unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, then took her hand and wrapped her fingers around the satin-sheathed steel of him. He clasped his hands at the small of her back and remained absolutely motionless as she lined up his end with her beginning. She exhaled slowly as she lowered onto him. There was a little soreness, but she welcomed it…Welcomed it just as she’d unwittingly welcomed the crushing pain of her departure along with the sublime enigma of this vacation. Part of the deal. A small price to pay for the heaven of this gift.
He sensed her stiffness and was still, let her dictate the pace as she worked through her body’s resistance. She breathed deeply and her muscles relaxed and she slumped against his chest a moment, could feel her body gripping him, pulsing, flexing. He didn’t move. Bless him, he was entirely motionless.
When she felt ready, she began a gentle rocking, and still he left her completely in control. He was watching her with love in his eyes so impractically powerful that she couldn’t keep his gaze, couldn’t bear to look him in the face. When he spoke, it was with a gentle, sincere question, all breathless innocence and pressing desire to please, one last time.
“You want me to make you come, Leah? Or just leave you alone?”
She found his mouth with hers, and devoured it before answering.
“Make me come.”
And he did. Brought forth a powerful explosion and timed his own release to coincide with hers so they clung to one another, both of them shaking in the wake of it.
He sat at the table in the sparkling-clean, virtually unused bungalow that had cost Leah upwards of a thousand dollars to rent and watched her pack. She’d forced a mechanical proficiency, an emotionless, functional façade good enough to fool even herself.
“I’m missing a suitcase,” she said. “I’ve got nothing to fly back in.”
“Wear my sweats,” he said, with a tired grin. A brilliant orange was creeping across the floor from the beautiful Mexican sunrise, and for the first time, she hated it.
“The sweatshirt, I suppose. I’d be losing the pants every five. I’ll wear my dirty jeans from the first day, I guess.”
He nodded.
“I bet you’re excited to see Ben.”
“I am. Haven’t had time to miss him, really, but I can’t wait to hug him. And you’re going to call your ex?”
“Letty,” he said.
“Is that her name?” Leah asked, one eyebrow raised, and immediately admonished herself for the instant blaze of jealousy she felt. This woman would have him forever, and she didn’t want him…Had hurt him, turned him away…It was so unfair.
Don’t. You’ll only make this harder.
“Leticia.” He nodded again, trying to read her. There was a long silence. It was chilly, only sixty or so, and his nipples were hard. He ran one hand absentmindedly back and forth over the fine black hair on his belly. He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop and drew a deep breath, as if he was ballsing up for something. “Leah,” he said finally, and she turned to him, could hear in his tone that he was barely holding it together. “I can’t stay here by myself.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, she thought he would cry, but he regained control. She was keeping herself emotionally distant so the pain of leaving him didn’t kill her, but her diffidence was killing him. She let the threads of self-control fray and snap, and she crossed the room and embraced him.
“Of course you can.” She kissed the top of his head. “You’re all right, you’re going to be fine.” She sat in his lap and he rested his cheek against her shoulder, hands on her upper arms while she scribbled something on a piece of paper. She turned then to face him, pressed a little sheet of hotel stationery into his hand. “That’s my number. In case it ever gets that bad.”
“You want mine?” he asked, and Leah had to think seriously before she answered that question.
“Yes, I do.”
He jotted it for her, then put one hand on the back of her head and drew her in for a soft kiss.
“Anytime you need me, Dominic,” she whispered. “Anytime. Understand?”
“Sure.”
Suitcases shoved in the nearly nonexistent back seat of the Viper, the hood glowing glorious gold from the sunrise, they tore through the open space between Punta Mita and Puerto Vallarta. Leah held the slender black velvet box in her hands, the rest of everything shoved in her luggage. She willed herself not to look at Dominic, instead drinking in the Mexico that had been so good to her, the trees and the sand and the glinting azure sea, the birds, the people, the daily tropical masterpiece of the sky.
Live in this moment, she commanded herself. Don’t you think about the past moments with him or the future moments without him or you’ll never get on that plane.
She watched him move, the effortless grace in him as he loaded her bags onto the conveyor belt near her gate. The control in her was ebbing away, and the final call for her flight stabbed through her like a dagger to the heart. He pushed up the sleeves of his thin white sweater and opened his arms to her as the line began to move, people disappearing into the beige tunnel boarding ramp. She closed the distance between them with a few jogging steps and flung herself into his open arms, her carefully built wall breaking, the flood tearing loose and sweeping him down along with it. The words tumbled from them in tear-stricken, desperate breaths.
“I’ll never forget this. Not one bloody minute of it,” she sobbed, and his embrace was crushing.
“Neither will I.”
“And I won’t regret it.”
“Me neither.”
“Dominic, I will think about you every day for the rest of my life.”
He gasped out a sob.
“I love you, Leah.”
“Flight 214, now boarding. Last call. Last call, flight 214.” The tinny voice over the loudspeaker truncated their farewell, and he set her down.
“Give me a kiss,” she said, voice pinched and choked, and he held her face in huge, gentle hands and she held his in return and they kissed, their lips swollen and hot from crying. “I love you. I’ve got to go.” He nodded, but held her face when she tried to pull away, dropping his eyes to hide his weakness, and by some force beyond her own, she was able to take his hands off of her, disentangle herself from him and turn and walk away on leaden legs, wrapping her arms around her body, her head down, sobbing, drowning in his sweatshirt and the agony of what lay before her.
She stepped into the tunnel, one foot, then the other, and a low, thunder-rumble, tear-strangled voice attempting to be light-hearted called out to her.
“Hey, Leah.”
She turned slowly. Dominic stood with his hands in his back pockets, head cocked slightly to the side, smiling that brilliant white beam through his tears.
“Yeah?” she managed.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, and his smile broke. He pressed his lips tightly together and let his gaze fall away from her, the woman he loved and was losing. He repeated it in a whisper she didn’t hear but saw on his mouth. “You’re gorgeous.” She laughed and sobbed in unison, the poignance of her words on his lips overpowering.
“I’m gorgeous?” she repeated, picking up his line, and he nodded.
“Yes, you are.”
And he turned and disappeared into the thick, anonymous, comfortless embrace of the holiday crowd.
Don't forget to read the epilogue
Written by La Mamacita