Sexual Healing

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It takes another glass of wine, some halting conversation, and another empanada for me to calm down

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It takes another glass of wine, some halting conversation, and another empanada for me to calm down. I move to the bedroom because I want to unpack. Rafa follows me, smiling.

He's stretched on the bed, staring at my legs, watching my every move. It's been a couple of hours since our squabble downstairs. My anger has subsided and I'm distracted by his gorgeous, muscular body. His very naked, muscular body.

I flit around the bedroom, unpacking my huge suitcase and fidgeting with the items inside.

I rip the price tag off a short, cotton baby-doll nightie and stalk into the bathroom to take off the oversized robe that he'd given me to wear. I haven't worn cute lingerie for anyone in years, and I suck in my stomach as I look in the mirror. I'm a little fleshier than I was in college. On the plus side, I think I have better hair. I wore the most ridiculous styles when I was younger—crazy colors and post-punk. Now it's longer, softer, my natural chestnut color. I run my fingers through it and make a duck face in the mirror. I take my contacts out and put my glasses on. My lips look puffy and red from all the kissing. I squeeze some clear gloss on in hopes they won't get chapped.

I yank the door open and return to the enormous bedroom, where Rafa is relaxing on a giant, four-poster Spanish Mission-style bed.

"Do you approve?" I ask, twirling around, enjoying the tease. Maybe if we just screw for a month and avoid all conversations of feelings, we'll be okay.

"It'll do, at least until I rip it off you."

I smirk in his direction and return to my suitcase. Damn him for flirting back. I bend over, and an electric thrill washes over me because I'm not wearing underwear.

I haven't been this provocative in a long time. After the first couple of years with Jared, he'd ignored my seduction attempts. I'd somehow assumed that all men were like Rafael—hot and hard and hungry all the time—and that I'd inspire that in Jared.

I was wrong.

I pull a few books out of my bag and look up at Rafael. He's still naked and staring at me with his head tilted. I watch as he cups his balls and gives them a gentle tug, then slides his hand to his shaft. My grip softens and the books tumble to the floor.

Scooping them up, I turn to the bureau to arrange my mini-library. I glance back, and his hand is still on his cock, moving up and down. Which is now fully erect.

"You're so bad. I'm just about finished, can't you wait?" I ask with mock-annoyance. I kneel at my suitcase to pick up some shirts. I hear the bedsprings creak and, out of the corner of my eye, see Rafa get up and walk to the other bureau. He pulls out a belt from a drawer.

He stands in front of me, belt in hand. "Justine. Stay on your knees, but turn around and face me."

I obey, then look up and grin. I'd always loved playing the part of a submissive for him. Wait. What am I doing? We're just slipping back into this...

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