I lean against the wall in the dark, not moving, practically not breathing, until I hear his footsteps fade. When the sound of his vehicle is far in the distance, I sink onto the floor and my whole body deflates. The money he gave me is scratching at my breast, and I take it out and inspect it. A thousand dollars.

Can I truly do this? Will I be able to spend a month with him and not get hurt? Can I really do this without losing myself or feeling like I’ve cheapened my soul?

I rise, stiff in my joints. An hour later in bed, I’m still too wired to sleep. Every ten minutes I check my cellphone to see if Rafa has called or texted, and sigh every time I see he hasn’t.

I scrunch and hug a pillow, then flop onto the cool side of the bed. Maybe I should turn down his offer of help. Let the paper fail, let my career fail, let everything crumble. Flee to some foreign country, take a job far from St. Augustine, go back to school, freelance… Anything to avoid the painful situation that’s bound to unfold.

At least that way I might salvage my self-esteem and pride. 

But there had once been a time when I was completely unguarded with Rafa. When I'd given everything to him, without hesitation. 

My heart, my body and my soul. 

I gently placed the wrapped gift on the nightstand and slid under the sheets. Rafael’s body was both hard and warm, and I couldn’t wait to touch him. It was Christmas Eve, and he was sleeping in the guest bedroom of my childhood home.

It was our first Christmas together. Rafael managed to get four days off from his job at the hotel, and I couldn’t wait to take him around St. Augustine to see the holiday lights and my high school and the old historic Spanish neighborhood that I knew he’d love because his grandparents were from Spain.

I was also glad he was with me for the break; his aunt and uncle had flown to Cuba to visit family, and he’d refused to go, saying he didn’t want to visit the island because he hated the Castro regime. He said he’d never return to the island as long as it wasn’t free from communism.

I was hoping a trip to my house would take his mind off all that.

“Good morning, sweet boy.” I hugged him tight. I loved how his skin smelled in the morning. It was like pure sun, and I mashed my face into his chest and inhaled.

Rafael slipped his arms around me, let out a sexy growl, and snapped his eyes open. “What are you doing? Your father’s going to kill us. He warned me last night not to sneak into your room.”

“Don’t worry. He’s gone. He’s at the paper. He always has a big party for his employees on Christmas Eve. We’ll meet up with him later.”

I moved on top of Rafa’s body, kissing his neck. Spending the night in the room next to him had been torture. Since we’d made love for the first time two weeks ago, we’d slept next to each other every night in my dorm room. I was just glad that my father had agreed to have him here for Christmas.

“I missed you last night.” He hugged me tight.

Of course my father wouldn’t let us share a bed. I hadn’t even bothered asking. Especially since my dad was uncharacteristically silent—sullen, even—around Rafael. Probably because he was my first boyfriend. My father would have to get used to the idea that his little girl was a few months from being twenty and no longer a child.

“I think this is the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten,” Rafael said, running his hands over my back, under my short robe, and squeezing my ass. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and my legs felt electric as they tangled with his. I’d made sure to shower and put on Rafael’s favorite vanilla cream perfume before waking him.

“I have a present for you. I wanted to give it to you away from my dad.”

I slid off him to sit on the edge of the bed. Reaching over, I grabbed the gift and handed it to him. It was wrapped in red paper and a perfect, silver ribbon.

“You can’t show my present to anybody. It’s only for you.”

Rafa sat up, grinning. He untied the bow and undid the tape.

“A…book?” He turned the spiral-bound black tome in his hands.

“Sort of.” I giggled, then kissed him. “Merry Christmas. I love you. Look inside.”

He slowly opened the cover.

Affixed to the first page was a picture of us, taken on South Beach one day when we’d skipped class together. He was so handsome, the salt-water drops clinging to his broad chest. I wore a pink bikini. Our arms were wrapped around each other, and we wore the biggest smiles against a backdrop of blue ocean.

“I’ve never looked happier than in that photo.” I tapped on it with my index finger.

He turned the page and sucked in a breath.

I gestured to the page. “I took the rest of the pictures. For you.”

His pupils dilated as he drank in the erotic images.

“Dios mio, I’ve never seen anything more sexy. Not even in Playboy.”

His surprise turned into a huge grin. He stared at a photo of me nude, silhouetted by a window. And another of my legs, wearing only calf-high socks. A third photo showed only my breasts. Each page revealed a more explicit, sensual picture. They were all in black and white. I grinned lustily, drunk with my own image and his speechlessness.

“Remember that photography class I took? I learned how to use the time release on my old film camera. I tried to be artistic, not raunchy.”

“You didn’t take these to a store to get them developed, did you?” He glanced at me with concerned eyes.

I shook my head. “I locked myself in the old darkroom at the school paper one night when you were working and developed them myself. Old-school photography.”

“Good.” He exhaled, then pushed the blanket away from his legs. “I wouldn’t want anyone but me to see them. They’re beautiful. More than beautiful. Stunning. Incredible. Fucking hot.”

He seemed to be in a daze as he stared at one fully naked photo with my legs bent and slightly spread, showing everything in between. In the photo, my hair was wavy and hung over one shoulder and my mouth was turned up in a serene, sexy smile. It was the most explicit picture and the only one where I looked directly at the camera.

The fabric of his boxers strained against his erection.

I leaned in to kiss him, pausing near his lips.

“Do you like them?”

“Yes, so much,” he breathed.

“You’re hard.”

He nodded weakly. “How could I not be?”

“Rafael, show me what you’ll do when I’m not around and you see these.” I kissed again, slow and teasing. I’d realized that I had a certain power over him, something I didn’t know a woman could have over a man. My fingers went to the elastic of his boxers and slid them down his legs. His erection sprang forward.

I took the photo album and opened it to the sexiest photo. I took his hand and guided it to his cock, and he started to stroke slowly.

“I love watching you do that,” I said. “You’re so crazy sexy.”

His eyes flitted from the photo to me. By now, my robe had slipped off one shoulder, revealing my nipple, which was so hard it almost hurt. Unable to watch anymore, I closed the book and climbed on top of him, filling myself with his wide girth. I was mesmerized by the way his eyelids fluttered in ecstasy, at how his eyes rolled back ever so slightly in his head. Never had I imagined that I’d have that effect on anyone, much less a man as perfect, as loving, as carnal, as Rafael.

He squeezed my hips with his hands and pulled my body toward his as he whispered soft in my ear.

“I love you, Justine. I want to spend every Christmas with you forever. Can we? Please?”

In the dark, I wipe my cheeks with my palms, but it does little good. The tears are uncontrollable when I remember how we used to be, and when I consider how much we've changed. How Rafa's changed. 

Why does he want to torment me? More importantly, why am I saying yes to his offer?

Flinging off the sheet because my skin burns with heat, my heart flutters uncomfortably and I feel like I’ve drank five cups of espresso. Thoughts ricochet around my brain. Will he make love to me like he used to, or will he be more controlled, more practiced, distant? Or is he too bitter? Have the years apart turned us into different people?

It’s a question I have to consider. Since we split, I’ve worked hard to be a force for good in the world. I’d learned to rely on myself for my own happiness.

I’d been a reporter before I took over at my family’s paper. I’d interviewed rebel leaders in Central America, seen mass graves after devastating natural disasters—hell, I was the one who’d found my father dead on the floor of his office a year ago. I was also the one who’d screamed in the car as my mother and brother took their final breaths.

And I’d survived it all.

I’d learned to fight for what I believed in, whether it’s the paper or my own sanity. Even dating Jared was part of that self-discovery. I’d been attracted to him because of his casual ease and quick wit—and because he was damned pretty. But I hadn’t loved Jared with the fervor or fever that I had with Rafael; in the three years I dated Jared, I’d never told him I loved him.

I’d assumed a more tempered relationship was normal, rational, better. So Jared made sense, at the time.

I check my phone again, my eyes burning from the harsh light of the screen. No messages. 

Damn. 

I know one thing: I’m still a slave to my passion for Rafael.

Now that he’s back in my life, all of my tidy constructs have dissolved. Normally, I am strong and confident, ready to take on whatever obstacle or challenge with a sarcastic grin. Now, I’m unsure of everything.

He’s the man who shared some of my most painful moments. And now he’s asking me to be his paid mistress.

I know he doesn’t respect that kind of relationship; at least he didn’t used to. Maybe the moneyed Miami lifestyle has changed him. That’s my biggest worry, that he’s turned into a shallow, superficial person I would normally dislike—and one who would use money to prove his point.

A half-hour of fitful sleep leads to me to a dream state in my dark bedroom, a light sheen of perspiration on my skin. My need for Rafa is unbearable, almost as if he’s in bed with me, yet slightly out of reach. I imagine how he’ll devour my mouth with his kisses, like he used to, in the middle of the night. How he’ll tell me to get on my hands and knees, then take me from behind, his hand pulling my hair until my scalp sparks with pain and pleasure.

My arm stretches out toward the empty side of the bed. I haven’t stopped reaching for him in the dark since we broke up, and each time I do, it makes me feel more alone. Even when I was with Jared, there’d be that half-second where my sleepy mind would trick me into thinking I was touching Rafael.

My hand slides between my legs in an attempt to take away the edgy yearning that’s invaded my body. As I run a finger over my slick labia, I imagine his full, sensual mouth near mine, exhaling to my inhale. The way he’ll pin my arms above my head, his index fingers nestled in my palms. How his hand will grip the back of my neck when I’m on top of him, drawing me near.

Soon he’ll be next to me, ready for the taking whenever I want. However I desire. If I want his body in the middle of the night, I have no doubt he’ll allow me to do whatever I need.

I’ll also submit to his demands, just as I used to.

And if I want to snuggle against his chest or sleep in his arms, he’ll be inches away, ready and waiting. At least, I hope he'll want those things, too.

It’s that intimacy, not the sex, that’s the dangerous part...