“You had no right ... you—”
Arturo reaches out and grabs the back of my neck. He leans in, but he doesn’t press his lips to mine. Instead, he waits. Our warm breaths mingle. My heart beats so goddamn loud, I’m sure he can hear it too. “Stop lying, mi corazón.”
“Why did you wait?” I close the distance between us, my lips slamming down on his in a hard, desperate kiss. Arturo drives his hands into my hair, pulling me closer. His tongue slips into my mouth, massaging my own. His hand slides from my hair to the sash at my waist and pulls, the robe slips away, exposing my little silk slip dress, my once small breasts straining against the fabric and his touch as he slides a hand over my nipple. He backs me up against the fence, his knee sliding between my legs, as he kisses the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet. I tilt my head to the side, wanting his mouth over more of me, wishing he was already inside me. I slip my hand into the waistband of his sleep pants and take his thick dick in my hand, stroking from root to tip. He’s hot against my palm, and so hard for me.
Arturo groans and whispers, “I want you so much, mi amor. I think about you all the time. Night and day, I’m possessed by you.”
His hand grazes my belly as he slides his fingers between my legs and reality careens into me. I hit the metaphorical pavement hard and fast.What the fuck am I doing?
I pull away. “Oh my god. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be here. It’s my wedding night.”
His chocolate eyes are fire in the twinkle lights. His face already shut down and devoid of the softness and adoration I’d just seen. “Then why aren’t you home making love to your husband?”
I cover my hot, bee-stung lips and shake my head, unable to answer.What have I done?
“Ask yourself this, mi amor. If I’d made a move sooner. If it had been me down on one knee, would you have said yes?”
My mouth gapes. I don’t know how to answer that either. I’ve never had reason to even imagine that scenario, but before I can respond, I catch a movement over Arturo’s shoulder. A woman with long dark hair and legs for days, wearing only a man’s business shirt interrupts us. She rubs her eyes, and then they widen as she takes me in. I know exactly what she’s seeing: the lack of regular clothing, my unfastened robe, my taut nipples peeking out against white silk ... and my protruding, pregnant belly. Her perfect forehead creases as she glances back and forth between us.
“Arturo, who is this woman?” And then she begins ranting in rapid-fire Spanish that I can only catch every fourth or fifth word of, but it doesn’t sound good.
“Oh my god,” I say to Arturo. “You really are a piece of shit. All this time you’re kissing me you had a fucking supermodel in your apartment, in your shirt. In your goddamn bed.”
“Mi corazón, I can explain.”
“No need. Jesus. I can’t believe you just swooped in and fucked up my life. This isn’t fair to him.”
“Then why aren’t you begging your new husband to fuck you? You came to me, Lo.”
I gasp. The supermodel gasps, and then I turn on my heel and walk away. “I quit!”
He doesn’t follow, but he shouts instead, “Fuck!”
“Arturo, who was that?” the supermodel asks again.
“No one,” he replies and slams his apartment door at the same time that I bang the garden gate closed behind me.
What was I thinking coming here? What did I hope to gain by confronting Arturo? I kissed him. I let another man touch me, let him kiss me, and I touched him. I wanted him inside me. I kissed another man, a man who isn’t my husband ... on my wedding day.
Oh my god, how could I do this to Gabe?
I practically power walk home, I’m so angry with myself, with Arturo. This isn’t how I wanted to start my marriage to the love of my life, but he sucked me in. Like an idiot, I fell for it. And there was another woman in his bed all along. I don’t let myself wonder what might have happened if that woman with all her perfect limbs and glossy hair hadn’t been there.
I vowed to grow old with Gabe, to love only him, and I already broke that promise. I kissed Arturo.I wanted Arturo.
I creep into the kitchen through the back door. Several bodies still litter my living room floor, and I resist the urge to let out a deep sigh for fear of waking them. Instead, I swallow down my anger and my frustration and strip off my robe, and then I carefully climb beneath the covers, so I won’t wake my husband.
His arm snakes out and pins me beneath him and he nuzzles his nose against my neck. “Where did you go, Freckles?”
“Just walked around the backyard. Can’t sleep.”
He mumbles, “Heartburn?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Want me to get your antacids?”
“No. I already took one.” Seeing Arturo’s hookup come padding down the stairs right after he’d had his tongue jammed down my throat, kind of obliterated any heat I might’ve felt in that moment.