If you ask me whether I’m happy this month, I wouldn’t know how to respond. On one hand, I’m giddy. Being with Rafa again is all the excitement and rush of new love, but with the added bonus of the cozy warmth of someone familiar.

And yet.

The fact that our month will soon be up lurks in my mind.

One Saturday, I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room and trying to concentrate on my book. The weather is still chilly, and a fire flickers in the stone hearth.

Rafa’s in the nearby dining room, and I can hear him talking animatedly in Spanish about a condo deal in Miami. Yesterday, he promised we’d go to the city’s farmer’s market together to buy produce and a baby gift for Diana. I know she’s trying to buy all-organic nursery items, and I’d seen beautiful, homemade baby quilts at a stall at the market. The shower’s the following day, and of course I’ve waited until the last moment to buy a present.

Setting my book down, I sigh and my eyes flutter shut from the warmth of the fire.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Rafa and I were picking out things for our nursery, our baby?

I draw in a breath quickly at the forbidden thought. My chance to have a baby with Rafa had come, gone, and ended in abysmal failure.

At thirty-four, I know I should try for children soon. And the condom breaking the other day has been on my mind. It’s too late to take the morning-after pill, and there’s no real way of knowing if I’m pregnant. My cycle’s always been erratic.

And yet… A know-it-all voice in my head snaps me back to a harsh reality. This would be the worst possible way to become a mother. And the worst timing, too.

Rafa can’t be tamed. He’s amazing in bed and a sexy dinner companion, but a family man? No. No way. If love isn’t part of his vocabulary, nesting’s definitely not a verb in Rafa’s lexicon.

He’ll go back to Miami to resume his life of South Beach parties, models, and very conspicuous consumption. A pain shoots through my chest while thinking about Rafa and those parties. And those models.

Plus, Rafa’s made it clear that, if I somehow get pregnant, he has no plans to marry me.

I need to face the cold facts: he’s the kind of man to be enjoyed for a while—a long while, if possible—then released back into the world. He’d never stay in St. Augustine, and I don’t want to relocate to Miami. I love my hometown. I love that it’s America’s oldest city, first discovered by the Spanish in 1565. There’s a deep sense of history here, a permanence not felt in the rest of transient Florida. My roots are here, and my entire family is buried in the city’s oldest cemetery.

The nearby wide beaches, the narrow, quirky streets of the historic district, even the cheesy, touristy alligator farm—I adore all of it.

And Rafa finds it boring.

Just then, he struts into the living room and my heart skips at the sight.

“I made a lot of money on that deal.” His face flushes, and he wears a predatory grin as crisp as his words. This is the Rafa I’m unsure of, the icy finance king known to crush others during business deals. He’s casually gorgeous this morning, as if he’s stepped out of a GQ fashion shoot, what with his casual black T-shirt and cashmere grey sweater thrown over a pair of jeans that accentuates his long, muscular legs.

He sits on the edge of the sofa and peels back the blanket I’ve wrapped around my legs. My hand snakes up his shirt to stroke his hard abs. I love tracing each ridge with my finger. I study his face, every familiar angle and each emerging line, trying to memorize it for the months and years to come when he won’t be in my life.

Rafa squeezes my thigh, skimming his hand upward. I’m wearing yoga pants and one of his sweatshirts, a comfy blue thing. His gold Rolex feels cold on my leg. Looking at him, I realize a man this self-assured, this ambitious, will never warm to the idea of late-night diaper changings and PTA meetings.

“Mi corazón,” he says, planting a kiss on my mouth. The kiss turns into an open mouthed, tongue-twirling makeout session, and his hand grazes my neck. He slips the sweatshirt over my head. My breasts spill out, and he leans forward to consume them, licking and biting gently.

“I love these.” He blows gently on my nipples, taking turns sucking each one until they’re both taut. This makes me want sex, because it feels like there’s a wire connected between my nipples and my clit. I groan a little, and he looks at me with big eyes. Then he kisses the space between my breasts softly.

“I’m so sorry, Justi, but I can’t go to the market with you. I have to go to Miami today. I’m going to take the jet, so if you could bring me to the executive airport in about two hours, that would be perfect. I need to close on a real estate deal with some Venezuelans. They’re buying a condo building of mine on Brickell Key,” he murmurs, kissing up my neck. “I’d bring you with me, but I know you’ve got the baby shower.”

I sit up and fold my arms over my breasts. “Miami?”

Rafa untangles my arms with his fingers and then cups my breasts. He usually has a hard time concentrating on anything when my boobs are out. He plays with them for a while until I squirm and repeat myself.

“Miami?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, snapping out of his man-trance. “Miami. I would love for you to see my place down there, but you have meetings Monday and Tuesday. I need you at the paper to talk with my accountants. Another weekend, possibly.”

Possibly?

I run my hands through his hair and Rafa’s lips go to my nipple again as we stretch on the sofa. He’s not sure if he wants to take me to his home? What, am I not good enough? If I didn’t feel like a prostitute before, I sure do now.

“So…you’ll be gone for three nights?” God, I sound pathetic. Tears prick at my eyes.

Rafa nods and grunts, his mouth still at my breast, his eyes shut. He drags his lips over to the other nipple and licks it with a flat tongue. “You get a break from me for three nights. You can stay here if you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Three nights. My stomach bottoms out. It doesn’t matter to him? I immediately wonder if he’ll be out with other women in Miami. Removing my hands from the back of his head, I tense up.

He stops licking me and touches the tip of my nose with his finger. “It’s only seventy-two hours. Are you upset?”

I shake my head and try not to appear annoyed. I can’t reveal that I’ve enjoyed every moment I’ve spent with him so far and don’t want to forfeit more.

“Maybe it’s good we have a break from each other.” I look at the ceiling.

He doesn’t respond.

A brief separation will help set my equilibrium back where it belongs. And ultimately, what does it matter if he’s with other women? He’s not mine to keep. Rafa says he’ll stay faithful, but a man with his sex drive—and opportunity—probably can’t. He’s not the man I once knew.

“My beautiful girl,” he murmurs, interrupting my thoughts. Sitting up, he tugs my pants down, the cool air and his demanding eyes causing me to shiver. I’m naked now, and he shifts so that he’s kneeling in between my legs and gently spreading me apart with his thumbs so I’m open, exposed. My clit aches and tingles.

It always comes back to sex with us.

He rakes his thumb over my clitoris. I groan as the familiar edge of an orgasm approaches. I want to be filled with something—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—soon.

“So pretty,” he says, slipping his thumb out of my wetness and pushing it into my mouth so that I taste my own sweet, heavy juices. “So delicious.”

His eyes meet mine, and then they skim down my chest, to my stomach, finally focusing between my legs, ravishing me with his gaze and his touch.

“I have never seen a more gorgeous pussy,” he says, burying a finger deep inside of me and again flicking my clit with his thumb.

I suck in a breath, feeling suddenly angry and despondent. “Rafa, don’t. Don’t compare me to other woman while we’re together.” There’s a warning tone in my voice.

He smiles a little but doesn’t remove his hand. As he rubs my clit in slow circles with the pad of his thumb, he gazes at me with intensity.

“I’m not going to lie. I’ve been with other women.”

I shake my head in disgust and tears instantly form. It’s one thing for him to order me around, but it’s another to shame me, especially when he’s about to leave for a few days. I sit up and try to close my legs.

“No, don’t move. I love to touch you and look at you. You’re the most beautiful woman.” His voice is gentle.

He continues to explore me, and I’m getting wetter. I look down to watch, and I’m swollen, pink, and glistening. I swallow hard and curse myself for craving his touch. It’s as if my body is trained to respond.

Imprinted to his command.

“Why are you so cruel?”

He shakes his head.

I turn and squeeze my eyes shut to keep out the tears. But my orgasm is approaching, and all I want now is to stop talking, cease thinking, and come.

“Look at me, Justine. Open your eyes.”

I do, clenching my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from gasping out loud. He slows the motion of his fingers, and my breath quickens from the delicious agony of being so close to oblivion. I fight the sensation, but can’t help but open my mouth and breathe fast.

“Why are you torturing me, Rafa? Why bring up other women?”

“You don’t understand, Justine. When I was with them, I would zone out. Close my eyes. Look at the headboard, never at them. Take them from behind. And think of you. Every. Single. Time. I imagined each woman was you.”

I cry out, loud. Still stroking me, Rafael moves closer, and his mouth hovers over mine. I inhale his breath and his words.

“Only you, Justine. Only you.”

I wrap my arms around him and plunge into a deep valley of pleasure, whispering Rafa’s name over and over.

And then, seconds later, we’re fucking. I’m on top, folded over, and he’s clutching my neck. Since I’m in control, my pace is slow and precise, corkscrewing him, bringing him deeper into my body. I’m going out of my mind because the sex is so emotional, so raw. His hands are everywhere on my face, in my hair, on my neck, and I stick my tongue in his mouth like I want to jump inside him.

“Deeper.” I move off his torso and direct him on top of me. There isn’t a ton of room on the sofa, but enough for me to squirm underneath him in one sweep. I beg for him to enter me again, and we’re now sideways, with him hoisting one of my legs up and entering me from behind.

Soon we’re rocking against each other’s bodies in our unique, familiar rhythm.

“Touch yourself,” he commands. I do and feel his shaft pumping in and out of me. We both look down to see his cock gliding in and out, and I spread my labia so we can both get a better view. As we gasp in tandem, our eyes meet, and then we’re back to staring at where we’re joined together. I’m loving every porny second.

He groans loud. “I want to fuck you so you never forget me. Me vuelves loco, Justi. Siempre.”

You drive me crazy. Always.

He pulls out, quick, sending a stream of fluid onto my stomach. He comes with a roar, and his entire body quakes.

The tremors between my legs still, and I’m left with an unsettled emotional aftermath. I open my mouth as if to say something, then close it.

“What?” He props himself on his elbow, then kisses my forehead. With a big hand, he wipes the perspiration off my brow.

“How many women have there been?” I ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Less than one a year.”

I make a skeptical face. “Did you love them?”