Between Sheets and Words

**Between Sheets and Words** The rain fell in thick sheets over the city, turning the asphalt into a murky mirror of diffused lights. Car headlights sliced through the watery curtain like blades, and the wind howled between the buildings, dragging wet leaves across the sidewalks. Clara stepped out of the taxi with a sigh, her heels sinking into the puddle that had formed at the entrance of the building. The day had been endless—exhausting meetings, a jury trial that had dragged on to the edge of her patience, and that damn divorce case that seemed to suck all her energy. All she wanted was the silence of her apartment, a glass of wine, and the promise that, at least for a few hours, she wouldn’t have to think about anything. Then she saw him. Rafael was sitting on the steps of the building’s staircase, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. The rain streamed down his dark hair, plastering it to his forehead, and his once-impeccable white shirt now clung to his body like a second skin, outlining the muscles of his shoulders and chest. He didn’t lift his eyes immediately, as if he felt the weight of her gaze before even seeing her. When he finally did, Clara felt the air catch in her lungs. His eyes—those intense green eyes that had once made her believe in forever—were fixed on her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t just surprise. It wasn’t just longing. It was something rawer, more urgent. As if he had waited for this moment for months, and now that she was there, he didn’t know what to do with her. — Clara — his voice came out hoarse, almost swallowed by the sound of the rain. She clutched the strap of her briefcase against her body, as if that could shield her from the heat already rising up her legs. The scent of rain mixed with his cologne—that damn woody fragrance she would still recognize anywhere—reached her, and for a second, Clara wanted to close her eyes and let memory carry her back. But she couldn’t. Not now. — What are you doing here? — she asked, trying to sound firm, but her voice betrayed her, faltering at the end. Rafael stood slowly, as if each movement pained him. Water dripped down his face, falling from the tip of his nose, from his parted lips. He didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, as if he wanted to memorize every detail—the hair pulled into a severe bun, the lips painted a dark red that contrasted with her pale skin, the navy-blue suit that molded her body in a way that made his stomach clench. — I needed to see you — he said at last. The words hung between them, heavy, laden with everything that hadn’t been said. Clara felt her heart beat faster, an irregular rhythm echoing in her temples. She knew she should send him away. She knew she should turn her back and climb the stairs, let the rain carry him off, as she should have done long ago. But her feet didn’t obey. Instead, she took a step forward, then another, until she was close enough to feel the heat of his body, even through the curtain of water separating them. — You’re soaked — she murmured, as if that were an explanation for why her hands, against all reason, were reaching out to touch his face. Her fingers brushed his damp skin, and Rafael closed his eyes for a moment, as if that simple contact were too much. When he opened them again, there was something wild in them, something that made Clara recoil, even if only by an inch. — You can’t stay here — she said, but her voice came out weak, almost a whisper. — I know. He didn’t move. The rain kept falling, soaking them, but neither seemed to care. The world around them had shrunk to that small space between them, to that silence heavy with unspoken words, with desires both had tried to bury. Clara felt the weight of his gaze on her, as if he were touching her without laying a finger on her. And then, without her quite knowing how, the distance between them vanished. Rafael cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones, and for a second, Clara thought he would kiss her right there, in the rain, in front of everyone. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in until his mouth was near her ear, his breath hot against her wet skin. — Let me in — he asked, and it wasn’t a question. Clara felt her whole body tremble. It wasn’t just the cold of the rain. It was him. Always him. The man who had shattered her and yet was still the only one who could glue the pieces back together. She didn’t answer. She just turned and started up the stairs, knowing he would follow. Knowing that, once again, she was letting him in—not just into her apartment, but into something far more dangerous. And when the door closed behind them, the silence that greeted them wasn’t one of relief. It was expectation. The hallway of Clara’s apartment smelled of jasmine and something older, something Rafael would recognize anywhere: her perfume, mixed with the scent of the coffee she always brewed at night, even when there was no one to share it with. The walls, painted a soft shade of gray, reflected the yellowish light of the entryway lamp, casting long shadows that danced as they moved. Clara took her keys from her bag with hands that still trembled slightly, her fingers brushing the lock as if hesitating to open not just the door, but also a box of memories both had tried to lock away. — You’re soaked — she said at last, her voice low, almost a whisper. It wasn’t a question, nor an accusation. Just a statement, as if the fact that he was there, wet and real, still hadn’t been fully processed by her mind. Rafael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, now plastered to his forehead, and let the water drip down his face, his arms, pooling on the polished wooden floor. The fabric of his white shirt clung to his chest, outlining the contours of muscles Clara knew so well. She averted her gaze, but not quickly enough. There was something obscene in the way the wet fabric revealed what dry cloth usually hid, and the heat that rose in her neck had nothing to do with the heater being on. — I had nowhere else to go — he admitted, and there was a vulnerability in those words she wasn’t prepared to hear. Not now. Not after so many months trying to convince herself he was just a ghost from the past, a mistake she had made and moved on from. Clara opened the door with a soft click, and the apartment revealed itself before them like a familiar yet strange scene. The linen curtains were half-open, letting in the silvery moonlight reflecting off the puddles in the street below. The living room was exactly as he remembered: the books stacked on the coffee table, the dark blue velvet sofa they had chosen together at a secondhand furniture store, the armchair where she used to curl up with a blanket on cold nights. Everything the same. Everything different. — Come in — she said, stepping aside but not looking at him. — I’ll get a towel. Rafael hesitated on the threshold, as if crossing that invisible line were a bigger commitment than either was willing to make. But then his eyes met hers, and whatever he saw there—fear, desire, the shadow of something neither could name—made him step forward. The scent of the apartment enveloped him as soon as he entered: the lavender from the diffuser, the faint hint of cinnamon from the incense she lit on Fridays, the lingering scent of her skin, which seemed to permeate the fabrics, the furniture, every surface she touched. Clara closed the door harder than she intended, and the sound echoed through the space like an abrupt period. She turned to him, arms crossed over her chest as if trying to protect herself, but the defensive posture only served to accentuate the curve of her breasts beneath the tight blazer. Rafael watched the movement, and his lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something, but the words had gotten lost along the way. — You’re going to catch pneumonia — she murmured at last, breaking the silence. — Take off that shirt. He arched an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. It wasn’t a smile of amusement, but of recognition. Of that old dynamic between them, where every word could be a trap or an invitation. — Are you worried about me, Clara? — I’m worried about my sofa — she retorted, but her voice faltered at the end, betraying her. Rafael laughed, a low, rough sound that reverberated through her body like a caress. — Liar. He took a step forward, and Clara instinctively stepped back, her back hitting the wall. There was nowhere to run, and they both knew it. Rafael stopped inches from her, the heat of his body cutting through the layers of wet clothes, burning her. She could smell him now, stronger than the apartment’s scent: cheap hotel soap, the faint metallic tang of rain, and something deeper, more primal, that she associated only with him. The scent of desire. — You didn’t answer my question — he said, his voice almost a whisper. His fingers brushed her wrist, where her pulse raced uncontrollably. — Are you worried about me? Clara swallowed hard. The words were there, on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say them. *Yes. Always. Even when I shouldn’t.* Instead, she averted her gaze, fixing it on some point over his shoulder. — Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t want you to die in my living room. Rafael tilted his head, his dark eyes studying her with an intensity that made her feel naked. He knew. Of course he knew. He had always been able to read every microexpression of hers, every tremor, every accelerated heartbeat. It was one of the things that drove her crazy—the way he knew her better than she knew herself. — Fine — he murmured, stepping back just enough for her to breathe. — I’ll take off my shirt. And then, unhurriedly, he began to unbutton it, one button at a time, his fingers moving with deliberate precision. Clara tried not to look, but her eyes betrayed her, following each movement as if hypnotized. The wet fabric parted, revealing his muscular chest, lightly tanned skin, the scars she knew by heart—a small white mark above his left nipple, where he had cut himself with a kitchen knife years ago; another, thinner one near his collarbone, from a bicycle fall in his teens. She wanted to reach out and touch them, trace each one with her fingers, as she used to, but kept her hands clenched into fists at her sides. — Better? — he asked, tossing the shirt onto the floor with a wet sound. Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she turned abruptly and walked to the hallway closet, where she kept the towels. Her hands trembled as she grabbed one, and when she turned back to him, she found him watching her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. Something between amusement and hunger. — Here — she said, holding out the towel. — Dry off. Rafael didn’t take it. Instead, he took another step forward, closing the distance between them until Clara could feel the heat of his body again. He took the towel from her hands but didn’t use it. Instead, he held it between his fingers, his eyes locked on hers. — You’re wet too — he observed, his voice low. Clara felt her breath catch. *He wouldn’t dare.* But of course he would. Rafael always dared. — I’m fine — she lied. — You’re not — he countered, moving even closer. — Your blouse is clinging to your body. I can see… — He left the sentence hanging, his eyes slowly drifting down to her breasts, where the thin fabric of her white blouse outlined her hardened nipples from the cold and tension. Clara crossed her arms over her chest, but it was too late. He had already seen. And the worst part was that she *wanted* him to see. — Rafael… — Shh — he murmured, finally using the towel to dry his own face, his movements slow, deliberate. — You don’t need to say anything. But she did. She needed to say it wasn’t fair, that he couldn’t just show up like this, after all this time, and expect her to feel nothing. She needed to say he had hurt her, that she had cried over him, that she had sworn never to let him get close again. But the words died in her throat when he moved closer again, so close she could feel his breath against her skin. — You still want me — he said, not as a question, but as a statement. And then, before she could respond, he reached out and touched her blouse, his fingers lightly brushing the wet fabric over her nipple. Clara held her breath. The touch was minimal, almost imperceptible, but the effect was like an electric shock, coursing through her entire body. She should push him away. She should say no. But what came out of her mouth was a low, involuntary moan, which seemed to echo between them like a confession. Rafael smiled, satisfied. And then, without warning, he grabbed the hem of her blouse and pulled it up, slowly revealing the damp, goosebumped skin of her abdomen, her breasts, until the fabric passed over her head and fell to the floor with a muffled sound. — Better this way — he murmured, his dark eyes roaming over her body as if memorizing it. — Much better. Clara said nothing. She couldn’t. She was naked before him, not just of clothes, but of defenses, of pride, of all the lies she had told herself over the past months. And Rafael knew it. He always knew. He reached out again, this time without hesitation, and touched her breast, his thumb brushing her hardened nipple. Clara arched her back involuntarily, a sigh escaping her lips. He smiled, satisfied, and then leaned in, replacing his thumb with his mouth, his hot, wet tongue teasing her in a way that made her grab his hair, pulling him closer. — Rafael… — she moaned, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea. He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire. — What do you want, Clara? — he asked, his voice rough. — Do you want me to stop? She shook her head, the words stuck in her throat. — Then tell me — he insisted, his fingers trailing down her abdomen, stopping at the waistband of her skirt. — Tell me what you want. Clara closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the question, the weight of the answer. But then she opened them again, met his gaze, and said the only thing that mattered: — You. I want you. Rafael smiled, a slow, dangerous smile, and then his hands were on her skirt, pulling it down along with her panties, leaving her completely naked before him. He watched her for a long moment, as if etching every detail into his memory, and then, finally, he reached out and pulled her against him, their bodies colliding in a clash of heat and need. — Then let me stay — he whispered against her mouth, and it was no longer a question. And Clara, who had spent so long trying to convince herself she didn’t want him, that she didn’t need him, knew in that moment that she was lost. The apartment was warm, the air heavy with the scent of rain and the citrus perfume Clara still wore—or maybe it was just his memory of her, imprinted in the furniture, the walls, the fabric of the sofa where they had tangled so many times before. Rafael took off his soaked jacket, letting it fall onto the sofa arm with a wet sound, and for a moment she watched him from behind, his broad shoulders outlined by the white shirt clinging to his skin, his dark hair dripping onto the nape of his neck. He turned slowly, as if sensing the weight of her gaze, and his eyes—that deep green, almost black under the yellowish light of the lamp—met hers. — You didn’t lock the door — he murmured, his voice rough. Clara swallowed hard. The key was still in the lock, turned halfway. — I… didn’t think. — Always so careless. There was something teasing in those words, a tone that went beyond reproach. She crossed her arms, as if she could shield herself, but the gesture only pressed her breasts against the silk of her blouse, and Rafael noticed. He noticed everything. The way her lips parted, how her breathing quickened, how her fingers dug into her own arms hard enough to leave marks. — What are you doing here, Rafael? — The question came out harsher than she intended, but it was too late to soften it. He took a step forward, then another, until the space between them was just enough for her to feel the heat of his body without touching it. The scent of rain and masculine soap invaded her nostrils, and Clara had to close her eyes for a second, fighting against the wave of memories—his weight on her, his firm hands, his hot mouth in the most unexpected places. — I tried — he said, low. — I tried to forget you. I tried to convince myself it was just pride, that I’d wake up one day and not feel this damn ache in my chest anymore. But it doesn’t work. — His voice faltered, and he ran a hand through his wet hair, frustrated. — I can’t. Clara felt her heart beat so hard it hurt. Her hands trembled, and she hid them behind her back, as if that could disguise the truth written in every tremor. — You can’t say that — she whispered. — Not after everything. — After what? — He laughed, a short, humorless sound. — After you broke up with me because I wasn’t ambitious enough? Because I didn’t want to stay up all night studying for a civil service exam that didn’t even interest me? — His voice rose, but not with anger. With pain. — Or was it because I didn’t want to be like you, Clara? Because I didn’t want to drown in this world of lawsuits and deadlines and clients who only see you as a number? She recoiled, as if she had been slapped. His words hurt because they were true. Or at least, partly true. She had never demanded he change, but she had also never understood why he didn’t want to try. Why he preferred a stable job at a print shop to fighting for something bigger. Why he seemed so content with so little, when she wanted so much. — It wasn’t just that — she said, her voice trembling. — It was… it was the way you gave up on us. As if it wasn’t worth fighting for. Rafael closed his eyes for a moment, as if her words had physically struck him. When he opened them again, there was something new in them—something raw, something she hadn’t seen since the last night they had spent together. — I gave up on us? — He took another step forward, and now he was so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her face. — Clara, I never gave up on you. I just… didn’t know how to make you understand that I didn’t need anything else. That I only needed you. The words hung between them, heavy, laden with everything they hadn’t said at the time. Clara felt her eyes burn, but she didn’t let the tears fall. Not now. Not in front of him. — And what’s changed? — she asked, her voice almost a whisper. — Why are you here now? Rafael reached out, hesitantly, and when she didn’t pull away, he touched her face with his fingertips. A light touch, almost reverent, as if she were made of something fragile. — Because I can’t take it anymore — he admitted. — Because every time I close my eyes, I see you. Because every woman I meet isn’t you. Because I wake up in the middle of the night with the taste of your mouth on mine and the feel of your nails on my back. — His hand slid to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her loose hair. — Because I know you feel the same way. Clara couldn’t answer. Not with words. But her body spoke for itself—her lips parting, her chest rising and falling in short breaths, the heat spreading between her legs as if his mere touch were enough to ignite her. Rafael noticed, of course. He always noticed. His fingers tightened slightly in her hair, tilting her head back, exposing her neck. — Tell me I’m wrong — he murmured, his mouth hovering over her skin, so close she could feel his warm breath. — Tell me you’ve moved on. That you don’t feel anything anymore. She should have said it. She should have lied. She should have pushed him away and locked the door. But the words died in her throat when he brushed his lips against the sensitive spot just below her ear, a touch so light it was almost a question. Her body responded before her mind could protest—a shiver ran down her spine, her nipples hardened beneath her blouse, and a low moan escaped her lips. — Rafael… — His name came out as a plea, a supplication, and he smiled against her skin, victorious. — That’s not an answer, Clara. She closed her eyes, feeling the world spin. His hands were on her waist now, pulling her closer, and she didn’t resist. She couldn’t. Not when every cell in her body cried out for him, not when his scent enveloped her like a drug, not when his voice, rough and urgent, whispered things she shouldn’t want to hear. — I don’t… — she began, but the words were lost when he lightly bit her earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. — I haven’t moved on. Rafael stopped. For a second, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths, the patter of rain against the window, the blood pulsing in her ears. Then, with a low groan, he pulled her against him, his hands sliding down her back to grip her hips, squeezing hard. — Thank God — he murmured, and then his mouth was on hers. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t a hesitant reunion. It was hunger. It was need. It was everything they had stored up over the past months exploding at once, tongues tangling, teeth clashing, hands gripping as if the other were the only thing keeping them upright. Clara moaned against his mouth, her nails digging into his broad shoulders, and Rafael responded with a growl, pushing her against the wall with the weight of his body. — You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this — he said between kisses, his voice rough with desire. — How much I’ve touched myself thinking of you. The words hit her like a bolt of lightning, and she felt her whole body clench. Rafael noticed, of course. He always noticed. With a wicked smile, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, his fingers intertwining with hers as his mouth descended along her neck, nipping, licking, leaving a trail of fire. — You too? — he asked, his lips brushing her collarbone. — Did you touch yourself thinking of me, Clara? She should have lied. She should have said no, that she had moved on. But the truth was there, in the way her body arched against his, in the wetness between her legs, in the moan that escaped when he lightly bit her breast through her blouse. — Yes — she admitted, her voice choked. — Every night. Rafael let out a guttural sound, something between a moan and a growl, and then his hands were everywhere—unbuttoning her blouse, pulling her skirt down, tearing off her panties with a rough motion. Clara didn’t protest. Not when he lifted her in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, not when he carried her to the sofa and laid her down on the cushions, not when he knelt between her legs and looked at her naked body with an intensity that made her shiver. — Fuck, Clara… — His voice was almost a whisper. — You’re even more beautiful than I remembered. And then he was on her, his mouth finding hers again, his hands exploring every inch of her skin as if it were the first time. Clara lost herself in his touch, in the weight of his body, in the way he knew her so well—how he knew exactly where to bite, where to lick, where to press to make her moan. When his fingers found her center, wet and pulsing, she arched her back with a muffled cry. — Rafael, please… — Please what? — he teased, his fingers circling her clit with a torturous slowness. — Tell me what you want. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t form words. She could only feel—the heat of his body, the pressure of his fingers, the need building inside her like a wave about to break. — I want you — she managed to say, her nails digging into his arms. — Inside me. Now. Rafael didn’t need to be told twice. With a quick movement, he shed his pants, his hard, thick cock springing free, and Clara felt her mouth go dry. She remembered how he filled her, how he stretched her, how he made her feel complete in a way no one else could. Rafael positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his cock brushing her entrance, and for a second, they just looked at each other—his eyes dark with desire, hers wide, vulnerable. — Last chance — he whispered, his voice strained. — If you don’t want this, I’ll stop. Clara didn’t answer with words. Instead, she lifted her hips, taking him inside her with a slow, deliberate motion. They both groaned at the same time, her body adjusting to his as if they had never been apart. Rafael closed his eyes for a second, as if savoring the sensation, and then he began to move—first slowly, then with more force, each thrust deeper than the last. — Fuck, Clara… — he groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly. — You feel so good… She couldn’t answer. She could only feel—his cock moving in and out, the pressure building inside her, the pleasure coiling like a spring about to snap. Rafael tilted his head, capturing a nipple between his teeth, and she cried out, her whole body clenching around him. — Come for me — he ordered, his voice rough. — Come on my cock, Clara. And she obeyed. The orgasm hit her like a wave, tearing a cry from her lips as her body convulsed, her inner walls tightening around him. Rafael groaned, feeling her come around him, and then he let himself go—his movements becoming faster, more uncontrolled, until he buried his face in her neck with a rough growl, his body trembling as he spilled inside her. For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breaths, the weight of his body on hers, the heat between her legs. Then Rafael lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, and Clara felt something tighten in her chest. — This doesn’t solve anything — she murmured, her voice still shaky. Rafael smiled, slow and dangerous, and brushed his lips against hers. — No — he agreed. — But it’s a start. And then he kissed her again, and Clara knew, with a certainty that frightened her, that they were far from finished. The air between them was already charged with something more than words—it was pure electricity, the kind of tension that burns even before touching. Clara still felt the weight of the confession on her lips, the bitter taste of vulnerability mixed with the wine they had shared, half a glass each, enough to loosen their defenses but not enough to erase the memory of what they had lost. Rafael watched her with those dark, deep eyes, as if he could see right through her, as if every breath she took were an invitation. And then he moved. There was no warning, no hesitation. One moment, he was sitting on the sofa, his fingers drumming on his knee; the next, he was on his feet, closing the distance between them in two long strides. Clara barely had time to step back—not that she wanted to. Her body reacted before her mind could, her muscles tensing, her lips parting in a silent gasp. Rafael cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones, and for a second, just a second, she thought he was going to say something. But the words died in his throat when his eyes dropped to her mouth. — *Fuck*— he murmured, his voice rough, almost a groan. And then he kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, nor a hesitant one. It was pure hunger, years of longing condensed into a single motion. His lips captured hers with an urgency that made Clara arch her back, her hands clutching at his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Rafael tasted of rain and whiskey, of sleepless nights and broken promises, and she drank him in as if he were water after days in the desert. His tongue invaded her mouth, demanding, possessive, and Clara moaned against him, the sound muffled by the pressure of his lips. Rafael’s hands didn’t stay still. They slid down her neck, his fingers tracing the line of her collarbone before curling into the fabric of her blouse, pulling her closer. Clara felt the heat of his body even through their clothes, the hardness of his chest, the tension in his arm muscles as he pulled her against him. She didn’t resist. She didn’t want to resist. Her own hands rose, sliding over his broad shoulders, feeling the contained strength there, the way he trembled slightly, as if holding back from devouring her right then and there. — You still want me — Rafael whispered against her mouth, his teeth grazing her lower lip before pulling it gently. — Say yes. Clara didn’t need to think. The answer was already written in every cell of her body, in the way her nipples hardened beneath her bra, in the wet heat between her legs, in the way her nails dug into his back. — *Yes*— she gasped, her voice breaking. — *Always.* It was as if the word were a trigger. Rafael groaned, a guttural sound, and pushed her against the nearest wall, his body pressing hers with an intensity that made her legs weaken. His hands slid downward, gripping her narrow waist, lifting her slightly so she could feel his hard erection against her belly. Clara let out a muffled cry, her hips moving instinctively, seeking relief from the pressure building between her thighs. — *Fuck*— Rafael growled, his lips descending along her neck, nipping, licking, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. — You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this. Clara knew. Because she had dreamed too. Of his hands on her body, of his mouth in places that now ached with desire, of his weight on her, inside her. The memories blended with the present, and suddenly, it was as if the past months had never existed. There was only the two of them, the heat, the scent of sweat and arousal, the sound of ragged breaths. Rafael’s hands found the hem of her blouse and pulled it up in a hurry, almost tearing the fabric. Clara raised her arms, letting him undress her, her nipples already hard beneath the lace bra. He didn’t waste time. His lips descended to one of them, sucking through the thin fabric, his tongue circling the sensitive peak until Clara arched her back, a moan escaping her lips. — *Rafael*— she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. — *Please...* He knew what she wanted. He always knew. With a quick movement, he unclasped her bra, freeing her breasts. His eyes darkened even more when he saw them, the pink, swollen nipples begging for attention. Rafael didn’t make them wait. He lowered his head and took one into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue playing with the tip while his free hand squeezed the other, his fingers pinching lightly. Clara moaned, her whole body trembling. Her legs were weak, and she clung to his shoulders, her nails marking his skin. Rafael let out a grunt, the sound vibrating against her breast, and then his hands were everywhere—sliding down her back, squeezing her ass, pulling her closer so she could feel how much he wanted her. — Are you wet for me? — he asked, his voice rough, his lips brushing her ear as one hand slid down her belly, stopping at the waistband of her skirt. — I bet you are. Clara didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her body was already answering for her, her hips moving against his hand, seeking contact. Rafael smiled, slow and dangerous, and then his fingers slid under her skirt, finding the lace of her panties. — *Oh, fuck*— he groaned when he felt the soaked fabric. — You’re *soaked*, Clara. She let out a shaky sigh when his fingers traced her entrance, pressing lightly without penetrating. Just teasing. Clara bit her lip, trying to hold back a moan, but it was useless. Her body was on fire, every touch of his a spark, and she needed more. — *Rafael*— she begged, her hips moving against his hand. — *Please, don’t torture me.* He chuckled, low and dark, and then his fingers slid under her panties, finding her swollen clit. Clara cried out, her whole body clenching when he began to circle the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements. — Like this? — he asked, his lips brushing her neck. — Or like this? — His fingers plunged deeper, two of them entering her with a quick motion. Clara let out a cry, her legs trembling. Rafael held her with his free arm, keeping her upright as his fingers moved inside her, in and out, curling to find that spot that made her see stars. — *Rafael, I’m going to*— she gasped, her whole body trembling. — *I’m going to come...* — Not yet — he ordered, suddenly withdrawing his fingers. Clara moaned in protest, but before she could complain, Rafael lifted her into his arms, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom, his lips never leaving hers, the kisses deep, hungry, as if he were trying to make up for every second they had spent apart. When he laid her on the bed, Clara was already desperate. Her hands pulled at his shirt, tearing it off his shoulders, her fingers tracing the defined muscles, the scars she knew by heart. Rafael shed the garment with a quick motion, his eyes never leaving hers as he unbuttoned his pants, his hard cock springing free. Clara swallowed hard. She remembered that cock—the thickness, the length, the way he filled her until there was no room for anything but him. Rafael saw her look and smiled, slow and dangerous, before kneeling between her legs. — I want to taste you — he said, his voice rough, his fingers hooking into her panties and pulling them down. — I want to feel you come on my mouth. Clara didn’t get a chance to respond. Rafael lowered his head and licked a slow line from her entrance to her clit, his hot, wet tongue making her arch her back. She cried out, her hands tangling in the sheets as he devoured her, his mouth working with cruel precision, as if he knew exactly how to push her to the edge in seconds. — *Rafael*— she moaned, her hips moving against his face. — *I can’t take it...* — You can — he murmured against her skin, his fingers replacing his tongue, entering her while his mouth sucked her clit. — You’re mine, Clara. And I’m going to make you come as many times as I want. The words, combined with the relentless movements of his mouth and fingers, were too much. Clara felt the orgasm approaching like a wave, her whole body tensing, her muscles clenching around his fingers. And then she came, a hoarse cry escaping her lips as pleasure ripped through her in violent spasms. Rafael didn’t stop. He kept licking, sucking, prolonging the orgasm until she was completely limp, her moans turning into ragged sighs. Only then did he rise, his lips glistening with her juices, his eyes dark with desire. — Now — he said, his voice rough, positioning himself between her legs. — Now I’m going to fuck you. And this time, Clara, you’re going to look at me while I make you come again. The words sent a shiver through her entire body. Rafael positioned himself between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he entered her slowly, inch by inch, until he was completely inside. Clara moaned, her nails digging into his back as he filled her in a way that went beyond the physical. — *Fuck, how I missed this*— Rafael grunted, beginning to move in short, brutal thrusts, as if he couldn’t control himself. Clara couldn’t respond. She could only cling to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, their bodies moving in perfect sync, as if they had never been apart. — *Fuck, Clara*— he growled, his lips finding hers in a desperate kiss. — You’re so tight... so perfect... She couldn’t answer. The pleasure was too much, the sensation of him inside her, moving with an urgency bordering on violence, was too much. Clara felt the second orgasm approaching, faster, more intense, and then she was coming again, her whole body clenching around him, her muscles squeezing him tight. Rafael groaned, his movements becoming faster, more uncontrolled, until he buried his face in her neck with a rough growl, his body trembling as he came inside her. For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breaths, the weight of his body on hers, the heat between her legs. Then Rafael lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, and Clara felt something tighten in her chest. — This doesn’t solve anything — she murmured, her voice still shaky. Rafael smiled, slow and dangerous, and brushed his lips against hers. — No — he agreed. — But it’s a start. And then he kissed her again, and Clara knew, with a certainty that frightened her, that they were far from finished. Clara didn’t get a chance to respond. The words died in her throat when Rafael spun her around with a rough motion, his firm hands on her hips as he pressed her against the cold bedroom wall. The contrast of the chilly tiles against her burning skin sent a shiver down her spine, but the heat of his body quickly dispelled it. He was everywhere—his hands sliding down her back, his teeth nipping at her earlobe, his hot breath scorching the nape of her neck. — You still want me — he whispered, his voice rough, almost a challenge. It wasn’t a question. Rafael knew. He could feel the way she arched against him, how her fingers dug into his shoulders, how her breath hitched in short, ragged gasps. Clara closed her eyes, letting her head fall back as he pushed her hair aside and placed wet kisses along the curve of her neck. Every touch was a spark, every word a match struck in the darkness that had separated them for months. — Don’t pretend you don’t — he continued, his hand sliding down her thigh, pulling it up until she wrapped it around his waist. The fabric of his pants brushed against her bare skin, rough and exciting. — I felt you tremble when I kissed you. I felt how your body responded. She should have denied it. She should have pushed him away, reminded him of all the reasons this was a terrible idea. But the words were lost when he lifted her higher, his strong arms supporting her weight as he carried her to the bed. The mattress sank beneath them, the sheets already rumpled from their first round of passion, but neither of them cared. Rafael laid her down carefully, as if she were made of glass, but his eyes burned with a hunger that belied his gentleness. — I waited so long for this — he murmured, his hands roaming her breasts, his thumbs circling her already hardened nipples. Clara arched her back, a moan escaping her parted lips. — So many nights imagining what it would be like to touch you again. She couldn’t answer. The words tangled in her throat as he lowered his head, his hot mouth enveloping one of her nipples, sucking with a pressure that made her cry out. Rafael chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin, and then his hand slid downward, his fingers finding the wet, pulsing spot between her legs. — Rafael… — His name came out as a plea, her hips moving instinctively against his hand. — Shh — he whispered, his lips brushing hers as his fingers worked in slow, torturous circles. — I know. I missed this too. Clara clutched the sheets, her nails digging into the fabric as he brought her to the edge. But before she could fall, Rafael stopped, pulling his hand away with a wicked smile. — Not yet — he said, his voice laden with promise. She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already positioning himself between her legs, his knees spreading her thighs with an urgency that made her shudder. Rafael didn’t wait. He didn’t ask for permission. He simply pulled her against him, entering her with a single fluid motion that drew a cry from both of them. For a second, the world stopped. Clara felt every inch of him filling her, stretching her, marking her in a way that went beyond the physical. It was as if, after months of emptiness, she was finally whole again. Rafael stayed still for a moment, his eyes closed, his breath ragged, as if he were holding onto the last shred of his sanity. — Fuck, Clara — he groaned, his voice breaking. — You have no idea how much I missed this. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Words were unnecessary when their bodies were already speaking for them. Rafael began to move, slowly at first, each thrust deep and deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize the sensation. But the slowness didn’t last. Soon, urgency took over, his hips pounding against hers in a primal, animal rhythm. Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, harder, her fingers digging into his broad back. Rafael grunted, the sound guttural as he picked up the pace, each movement more desperate than the last. — I’m not going to last — he admitted, his voice rough, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. — You drive me crazy. She didn’t care. In fact, the idea that he was losing control because of her only excited her more. Clara bit her lower lip, her hips rising to meet each thrust, her moans turning into soft cries against his skin. — Then come — she whispered, her nails scratching his back. — Come inside me. Rafael groaned, his whole body trembling as he buried himself in her one last time, his muscles clenching with the force of his orgasm. Clara felt the heat spreading inside her, his body pulsing as he came, and that was enough to push her over the edge again. She came with a cry, her body convulsing beneath his, her inner walls tightening around him. For long seconds, there was nothing but the sound of ragged breaths, the weight of his body on hers, the wet heat between her legs. Then Rafael lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, and Clara felt something tighten in her chest. — I love you — he murmured, his voice so low she almost didn’t hear. She felt her chest constrict. The words were dangerous. They opened doors both had tried to lock. But before she could respond, Rafael kissed her again, slow and deep, as if he wanted to prove that those words weren’t just a product of the moment. — I know you do too — he whispered against her lips. — Even if you don’t want to admit it. Clara didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. Not when her body still trembled with the remnants of pleasure, not when his scent—sweat, rain, and something uniquely Rafael—still enveloped her like a cloak. Instead, she pulled him closer, her legs still wrapped around his waist, as if she wanted to keep him there forever. — Let’s not talk about this now — she said, her voice trembling. — Not while we’re still like this. Rafael smiled, slow and satisfied, and rolled onto his side, pulling her with him until she lay on his chest. His heartbeat echoed beneath her cheek, fast and strong, as if he too were trying to calm down. — Fine — he agreed, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. — But this isn’t going away, Clara. No matter how much we try to ignore it. She knew he was right. But in that moment, with her body sated and her mind fogged with pleasure, she didn’t want to think about tomorrow. She just wanted to stay there, between the rumpled sheets and the heat of his body, pretending the outside world didn’t exist. But the world always came back. And when the first ray of sunlight began to filter through the curtains, Clara knew she could no longer put off the questions that awaited them. The dawn light slipped through the gaps in the curtains like golden fingers, caressing Clara’s skin before she even opened her eyes. Rafael’s body still enveloped her, his chest rising and falling in a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm against her back. She allowed herself to stay there, motionless, soaking in the feeling of being held by him again—something she had come to believe would never happen again in her loneliest moments. The sheet was tangled between them, half on the floor, half trapped beneath their entwined bodies. The scent of sex still lingered in the air, mixed with dried sweat and the citrusy scent of the soap Rafael used. Clara took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the previous night settle over her like a second skin. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion, but the certainty that something inside her had reignited, something she had tried to bury under layers of work, solitary dinners, and sleepless nights. Rafael stirred behind her, his lips brushing the curve of her shoulder in a lazy kiss. His hand, which had been resting possessively on her hip, slid downward, tracing the curve of her thigh with deliberate slowness. — You’re awake — he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and desire. Clara smiled, turning to face him. His eyes, still half-closed, gleamed with an intensity that made her catch her breath. There was no longer the urgency of the previous night, but something deeper, more dangerous: the promise that this wasn’t just a reunion of bodies, but of souls. — How do you know? — she asked, running her fingers through his tousled hair. — Because I know you — Rafael replied, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched. — Even after all this time, I still know when you’re pretending to sleep just to watch me. She laughed softly, the sound lost between them. It was true. It had always been like that—he had always been able to read between the lines with her, her silences, the looks she thought she could hide. And now, with their bodies still warm against each other, it was impossible to pretend she didn’t feel the same way. — And what am I thinking now? — she teased, nibbling his lower lip. Rafael held her face between his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks with a tenderness that made her chest ache. — That we should have done this months ago. That we were idiots to let pride get in the way. — He paused, his dark eyes fixed on hers. — And that you’re afraid that when we get out of this bed, all of this will disappear again. Clara swallowed hard. There was no point in denying it. His words were like a mirror, reflecting exactly what she was trying not to name. — It won’t — she whispered, more to herself than to him. — It can’t. Rafael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rolled over her, pinning her between his arms, the weight of his body a welcome anchor. The sheet slipped completely away, leaving them exposed to the cool morning air, but neither of them cared. The heat between them was enough. — It won’t — he repeated, his voice firm. — Because I won’t let it. And then he kissed her, not with the desperate hunger of the previous night, but with a calculated slowness, as if he had all the time in the world. Clara surrendered to his rhythm, her hands roaming his muscular back, feeling every scar, every line of the body she knew so well and yet seemed to be rediscovering. The kiss deepened, their tongues meeting in a slow, sensual dance. Rafael’s lips trailed down her neck, lightly nipping at her sensitive skin before continuing downward, tracing a path of fire to her breasts. Clara arched her back when he took one nipple between his teeth, the gentle suction sending waves of pleasure straight to her core. — Rafael… — she moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He lifted his head, his eyes dark with mischief. — Shhh. Let me show you how we should have done this from the start. And then he moved lower, kissing every inch of her skin, as if memorizing the map of her body. When he reached her navel, Clara was already breathless, her fingers tangled in the sheets. He took his time. Every touch, every lick, every gentle bite was a promise—that there would be no more rushing, no more running, no more silences between them. When he finally reached the place where she wanted him most, Rafael looked up, meeting her eyes as his tongue traced slow circles around her clit. Clara bit her lip to stifle a moan, but he wouldn’t allow it. — Don’t hold back — he ordered, his voice rough. — I want to hear you. And she obeyed. Every movement of his tongue, every suction, every time his fingers joined in, she let herself go, the sounds escaping her lips without restraint. The pleasure built inside her like a wave, growing more intense with each passing second, until she could no longer contain it. — Rafael, I’m going to… — she managed to say before the orgasm hit her with force, making her entire body convulse. He didn’t stop. He kept licking, sucking, prolonging the orgasm until she was completely limp, her moans turning into ragged sighs. Only then did he rise, kissing her with an intensity that made her taste mingle with his. — Now — he murmured against her lips —, I’m going to fuck you again. And this time, Clara, you’re going to look at me while I make you come again. The words sent a shiver through her entire body. Rafael positioned himself between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he entered her slowly, inch by inch, until he was completely inside. Clara moaned, her nails digging into his back as he filled her in a way that went beyond the physical. — *Fuck, how I missed this*— Rafael grunted, beginning to move in deep, measured thrusts. Clara couldn’t respond. She could only cling to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, their bodies moving in perfect sync, as if they had never been apart. The rhythm gradually increased, their bodies moving together, each thrust bringing her closer to the edge. When she came, it was with his name on her lips, her eyes still locked on his. Rafael followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck with a rough groan, his body trembling as he came inside her. They stayed like that for a long time, breathless, their bodies still joined, their heartbeats gradually slowing. Clara ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the dampness of sweat on his nape. — That was… — she began, but the words failed her. — I know — Rafael murmured, lifting his head to kiss her lightly. — Me too. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that only exists between two people who know each other so well that words aren’t necessary. Clara knew there were still things to resolve, questions to be asked, decisions to be made. But in that moment, none of it mattered. — What now? — she asked at last. Rafael smiled, a slow, satisfied smile, and rolled onto his side, pulling her close. — Now we rest. Then we talk. And then… — He paused, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her arm. — Then we see what to do with this. Clara closed her eyes, nestling against him. It wasn’t a definitive answer, but it was enough. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, some things were worth the risk. And when the sun finally flooded the room, bathing them in light, she knew that, whatever came next, they would face it together. Because love, when it’s real, always finds a way to overcome distances, pride, and scars. And theirs, without a doubt, was real.