Beth hated this time of the year. That stupid mid-season transition between Summer and Autumn which made it remarkably hard to decide what to wear. Mostly she loathed the perpetually intermittent drizzle that came with it; that kind of rain for which it didn't seem acceptable to carry an umbrella so the raindrops would slowly soak into your scalp forsaking humidity which turned hair into a frizzy rat's nest.

She pressed her forehead against the cold glass and sighed, watching one of those pesky raindrops wend down the double-storey windows. Unquestionably, she was just delaying the inevitable; she would have to venture into that rain without an umbrella, sooner rather than later.

Beth exhaled deeply at the forlorn prospect. Of all the ways she thought to succumb in this war, surrender was the last of them. That was if you could call it a war anymore.

The foggy condensation left by her breath slowly faded from the windowpane, leaving the reflection of the man sound asleep in the bed behind her.

Bringing the sheet closer to her naked body, Beth shifted her back to the window and cherished the feline contour so inherent to Rio's physique.

If there was anything more compelling than a personal war, it was the possibility of doing 25+ to life at Ionia Max. And as it turned out, Agent Turner's threats, a decomposing body and a dash of parental love were enough ingredients to convert foes into— whatever they were.

The path was rough, precarious and exhausting as it always was between the two of them. They veered through the always revolving cut and thrust that willed both of them on the verge of boiling anger:

"So I got your trash bag for you."

"Where did you dump it?"

"Nowhere. I figured I'll hold onto it for a bit. You know, just to be safe. One man's trash…"

"Who are you protecting? You or me?"

And the constantly bleeding back and forth that landed both on broken promises and raving tension:

"Oh, you think you're special, huh?

"You need me."

"You ain't nothing. I don't need you."

And finally, some sort of middle ground that somehow left them equal parts skewed and vulnerable:

"Do you want your pharmacy back?"

"Why don't you just tell me what you're looking for?"

"Fifty-fifty."

"You look good behind that desk."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, you'd look so much better on top of it."

"Do we have a deal or not?"

Eventually, she'd ended up on top of that desk but there was a little triumph when she whispered into his ear, by the way… I would've taken forty, right as he unloaded deep inside her, the grouchy sheen of defeat in his eyes still stocked her kicks-meter till that day.

Beth let her bottom lip slip from under her teeth but the longing up-curve remained. Slowly she approached the bed and slumped onto the floor with a sigh. Resting her chin over the mattress, she watched his gilded chest rise and fall with sleep.

They hadn't played fair, just like they'd pledged to each other. And she would miss it; that relentless need to best one another. And that primitive tow that one way or another always led them onto the closest and most viable surface.

Even if the total lack of flesh-related boundaries had to be deducted from the fracas pretty early on, looking back she counted way more truces than lost battles.

All those times when they actually decided to play ball together instead of throwing it aimlessly around like a hot potato, either because the green felt too good to deny opportunity or for Emma's sake, but somehow they learned to lean somewhere in the middle, in some kind of always burning cease-fire.

It wasn't like she'd let herself be on the same page as him for long. With them, things had a tendency to fall into place of rightfulness, a place where they didn't belong.

Speedy drops at the park prolonged into him pushing Emma on the swing while Beth sipped from the cup of coffee that began to emerge with him - half-and-half, no sugar, just how she liked it. Or watching him kick a soccer ball around with Danny and Kenny glued to his boots. Or the way he managed to snatch a smile from an always chary Jane with a pop-culture reference Beth didn't quite get. Sometimes they just sat there not saying anything and it was just… loaded, and in all kinds of possible ways just too painful.

She wasn't even sure if there were victories; hers certainly came with a pricey cost. She'd push herself harder and harder trying to prove something and always managing to overstep her bounds.

His victories arose when she crossed that line, fucking up in some naive and terribly stupid way and he had to fix it. She couldn't say for sure what they cost him, but she saw a bit of his patience drain every time he had to remind her who was the boss.

Not able to take it as a fair loss, she'd invoke how much he still wanted her in return, even if she revealed her own need in the process and soon everything was back into that constantly boiling pot of lust and tragedy.

She'd certainly won the most important battles, the ones with herself.

She'd been clean for almost three months now. When she started to come up with excuses, Ruby had dragged her ass to a therapist as promised. After a few sessions, she began to open up a bit and had spilled some truths: her addiction to the pills, to Rio and to danger. Dr Raymond suggested NA meetings and bringing Dean in for couple's session. She went with the first and ignored the latter.

And although she'd loathed the meetings at the beginning and the whole pouring your heart out while holding hands made her sick to her stomach, she couldn't deny that they had helped her to a certain extent. She wasn't planning on sharing anything any time soon, or ever, but listening to so many stories directly from the source and in so many ways similar to hers had made her realize that her motives for consumption weren't all that absurd.

She still struggled, every fucking day. You could snuff out the candle, the flame was gone, but the wicker? That stinker kept on smoking.

It was gruelling and lonely. And it was in those difficult times she'd adhere to him, heedless for a fix and he would give her one that somehow anchored her. They tried to keep it physical; it was almost ridiculous how they failed, and God… how they burned. They burned so intently that Beth feared they were burning their last bridge.

It wasn't like she wasn't expecting it. She saw it coming miles away. She'd been warned so many years ago - the last and perhaps the best advice her mother had given her.

It was Thanksgiving Eve and Beth was back home, on break from college and baring news. The engagement ring on her finger had beamed as much as her smile as she relayed the details to DeeDee.

"You're making a mistake," DeeDee had grumbled without even paying a glimpse to the ring that had belonged to Dean's grandmother.

"We're not marrying right away. I know it seems sudden but he loves me."

"Oh, I've seen the way he looks at you." DeeDee had said elbow-deep in turkey stuffing. "That isn't love."

"And you'd be the expert, huh?" Beth had snapped.

"You're pretty. He's a man. Men love pretty things until they don't." She'd stated matter-of-factly.

"Dean is the best thing that happened to me in a long while, why can't you just be happy for me just once? He's a good, decent man," At that point, the heated exchanged had attracted Annie to the kitchen door but Beth hadn't been able to tone it down, "Why do you even hate him so much anyway? Oh my god! You're jealous? That's it, isn't it? You tried a pass on him and he refused you?"

"Ugh! Jesus H Christ! You are—" DeeDee had muttered under her breath, cleaning her hands under the running faucet before turning to Beth like she had the right to be offended, "Because he reeks of bullshit, dear. And I don't understand how you cannot see that."

In return, Beth thought she was within her right to truly cut DeeDee where it hurt.

"He's been there for me. Every single time. Either you drank yourself into oblivion or you stopped taking your pills or decided to take too many of them. And you know what the sad part is? He's going to be there for the next time. How long do you think it's going to take? One week? Nah? Two… tops."

DeeDee's elegant fingers quivered slightly as she took a white filter cigarette from the pack and lit it between her carmine lips, "That isn't fair. I've been sober for a month now—"

"Fair?" Beth spat in anger, "You know what's not fair? You doing this all the time! You flip the switch and we have to pretend to light up like your personal Christmas tree! Happy Fucking Holidays!"

"Don't you dare cuss at me!" DeeDee had said, slamming the pack of Marlboros against the kitchen counter, "I'm still the mother here!"

"Mother?" Beth railed with indignation.

"Beth… no, please stop," Annie had whined softly.

Beth did not listen; every complaint she'd swallowed and kept inside her for so long seemed to want a turn out of her mouth.

"No, DeeDee… Only an egoistic child could think that playing dollhouse is gonna make up for any of the billions of ways, you chose booze and men over your own blood! For ditching and neglecting us year after year after year. Your shit-faced apologies didn't make up for anything then, nor will do your dry-ass thanksgiving turkey now!"

DeeDee had leaned heavily over the kitchen aisle and right into Beth's gaze, "Well, congratulations! Now you have the handbook for what not to do, don't you? So go on, marry him if you think doing that is going to make you the big adult you're trying to prove you can be."

"It was never my job to be the adult!" She bawled with fat tears swelling her eyes, "It wasn't my job!"

A heavy silence fell over the kitchen. All its deafening tension seemed to lodge itself on Beth's throat. She cleaned the treacherous, fat tears that furiously fell from the corners of her eyes, grabbed Annie's hand and walked away.

"It's not your fault. I hope you remember that."

She hounded, stopped in her tracks by DeeDee's voice, "What's not my fault?"

"When the spit lands on your forehead… you know, the day he leaves you. Because he will. People will always leave you because you don't know how to love. I was supposed to teach you how but alas..." DeeDee dragged as poisonous as the smoke she inhaled into her lungs.

"I guess you're right," Beth had cloyed, "After all, who's left to love you?"

That was it. She'd grabbed Annie's hand and dragged her to Ruby's and those hateful words were the last thing she'd said to her mother. That night DeeDee died pretty much as she had lived - in her sleep, clutched to a bottle of gin over the living room couch; ruptured brain aneurysm. How old was DeeDee then? 36-37? Younger than Beth was now. Wasn't that odd?

It was funny how people make such big deals out of the firsts in their lives. But the truth was that the lasts were way more important and beyond comparison. Had she known those words were the last thing she was gonna say to her mother, maybe she would have said something else. Maybe the outcome would have been different. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much.

Slowly, Beth brought her hand above Rio's muscular thigh, hovering as close as she dared without really touching him; she ran the length of his svelte naked body. She took her time imaginarily tracing the contour of his straight nose, the soft panes of his lips and the whisker dusted chin that not even half an hour ago had been between her legs, flailing her into pleasure for what he didn't know the last time.

She hadn't wanted to take chances and ruin the lasts with him so she chose not to say anything at all. When he'd ask her what was wrong after she stormed into his loft with the excuse that she had his cut and drove straight to his fancy bottle of bourbon, she had answered with a nothing.

"My husband took my kids… for the weekend." She'd quickly added, drowning a second finger of the amber liquid, "They won't be home till tomorrow," she'd continued as she removed her jacket and walked halfway to meet his saunter, grabbed him by the collar of his button-up and kissed him. Except a stupid, treacherous tear had almost given her away.

"Elizabeth…" He trawled, cradling her face and force-stopping the string of heated kisses she was leaving over his corded tattooed neck.

"Can we just— not talk?"

The pad of his fingers skimmed over her ear as he tucked an untamed strand of hair away from her face, "When have we ever talked?"

"Let's not start now."

For a long minute, his eyes had dangled on hers, obscure and sibylline until Beth was sure he'd spurn her, but then his arms wrapped around her, fingers under the hem of her shirt, dipping into her waist. Demanding lips over hers and then no lips but clothes rushing over their heads. Skin on skin. Desperate moans as mouths clashing again. Punted shoes and bared heels kicking the staircase's nude floorboards. Entangled bodies falling over white tuffs of pillowy textiles. And rain battering the stained-glass skylights, showering them in an arrowing display of shadow and light and God… now she was thinking it would've been easier to just ruin the lasts.

Either way, it didn't matter; Elizabeth Boland, fuckgurl extraordinaire, had done it again, played herself into a corner.

She'd been so engrossed in the challenge, so bothered by the opponent in front of her that she'd forgotten the one she'd been battling for way longer: Dean.

Her husband had been way slicker than the wolf slipping into the sheep's skin. She should have suspected he was doing the kid's heads in the minute Emma had blatantly refused to go to the park. After all, she adored Mr Rio and wouldn't miss an opportunity to spend time with him. She should have known something was off but he had kept her nose off the trail with the occasional slap to her face or her pride, and distracting twists like hiring teenage hitmen to end Rio, always doing just enough to keep her on the edge of what was supposed to be "normal"; it all came crashing down three nights before.

It was late, the kind of late where the kids were supposed to be dined, bathed and on the verge of being put to bed. She was happy to be home on time for that part for once, the last thing she expected was the intervention via pyjama party. Oh, it worked though.

One by one, her children read handwritten notes on how much they missed their mommy and how much they wanted her back home, how much they wanted everything to be just like before.

Kenny read his I love you, mom and I miss you like he had been forced to swallow a bag of sand.

Jane, more artless or better coached, candidly enlightened her that before meant before Rio rolled up into their lives.

I liked it better when mommy didn't work as much, said Emma, stumbling on her patchwork words.

Danny, her shy golden boy, just handed her the letter with a tight hug and teary eyes. We miss you, mommy.

With Jane's escape and Kenny's cry for help still fresh on her mind, the pressure of her children's tears and Dean's silent but poignant reprisal, Beth knew she was sitting on a powder keg. That was when she was supposed to make her stand. Her heart burst into terrified thumps, suddenly feeling too big for her own skin but instead of bursting and shedding it in the need to grow, Beth reverted.

How could she not? Had not everything she'd done been ultimately for the sake of her children? They were the only solid ground that she had - without them she was nothing.

"You can't just take them away." She'd said after the kids went upstairs to pick up their backpacks.

Dean just beamed, repeating the same words Rio had used on them months ago, "Oh, watch me."

"You heartless bastard," she spat, "Is it worth hurting them to punish me?"

"It is what it is," he shrugged.

Beth scoffed, "I guess it is, so why don't you tell me what you want?"

"I want everything like it was before."

"As it was before what?"

"Before. When we were happy."

"When you were happy, you mean." Beth chuckled humourlessly, "Cause for the life of me, I can't remember the last time you made me... happy."

The little demure comment was made with all the haste to wound his pride. The only (and flimsy) weapon she really had over him, instead, she was reminded of all the single times her body had betrayed her for the last six infernal years.

"Oh, honey, I've made you plenty happy." He'd said, closing up on her and pinning her against the wall. One of his knees between her legs, pressing against her core. "You enjoy this. You like it cause you get to play the tortured soul… but we both know the truth, don't we, Betty? It takes a special kind of loving to stick to someone like you. You and all your shit ton of delicate baggage."

She wasn't able to stop the hurt of the truth from unfurling plainly over her features, and Dean had laughed blatantly. One of his thick hands seized her jaw's hinges, squeezing just hard enough to hinder her lips slightly apart. Her mouth framed into a fish out of water startle before he planted a sopping kiss on her mouth.

"I know you. I've been inside you… I fucking live here." He'd breathed in her face, butting his indicator against her forehead, hard enough for her head to reel, "I know every skeleton in your closet and I've been there for you always, ready to take care of you like no one else has, like no one will, because you're broken. I rescued you. I made your damaged goods mine. You owe me everything that you are, everything. And it doesn't matter how many deals you make with that devil, how many times you suck his cock with that mouth of yours, nothing's gonna change what you are. Fucking nothing without me."

As soon as multiple kids' feet stumped on top of their heads, Dean let go of her. Disgusted, Beth cleaned her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes burning with the effort not to shed tears.

"C'mon guys, time to go. We want to be at grandmas before dinner time." Dean said, rounding up the little ones and urging them to the car. "Call me when you're done with… book club."

"Wait! Dean, wait… what about Emma's birthday?" she'd hated how desperate and strangled her voice sounded. Almost as much as she'd hated the morally superior sigh he'd given in return.

"We're doing it at my mom's. The kids would love to see you then."

And just like that, he stated her access limitations. Kenny lingered behind, not sure what to do with his gangly arms until he decided to scratch the back of his neck. "Dad made us write the stupid letters..." he reeled, suddenly looking away and switching to what he really wanted to say, "He said you're having an affair with… that guy."

Beth framed his face between her hands. His blue eyes were glazed with tears and Beth never hated her husband more for putting her kids through such. Hating herself twice more for causing it.

"I know, baby," she said, placing a kiss onto his forehead, "I'm really sorry you had to hear about it like that. This is grown-up stuff, and it's not simple or easy to explain but when you come back home I'll answer any questions you have. Just— try not to worry about it, okay? Dad and I are fixing it. Have a great time at grandmas' and take care of your brother and sisters for me, alright? I promise everything will be back to normal very soon, okay?"

She watched her kids drive away, their little faces framed by the rear windshield, waving from the back seat and wasn't able to return the gesture. Even if just temporary their goodbye broke her heart in a way that it had broken only once before; suddenly she was 12 again, on her old front porch, waving goodbye to the father she would never see again.

She had blamed herself for the longest time. Maybe if she had been good, better or perhaps if she hadn't said goodbye then he wouldn't have been able to leave her. Of course, Beth knew better now. It wouldn't have mattered; either he'd just have driven away without glancing back or he'd have glanced back once the result would be the same. He never came back and all Beth remembered of him was a blurry pretty face and a dampened bitter voice.

Consumed by secondhand guilt she had rushed to the street and waved until the car was a small blip at the end of the road. By the time she'd lowered her arm, tears streamed freely down her face, never so acutely aware of how easily a goodbye could become permanent.

There were no tears now and she didn't want a goodbye either. But she found herself leaning over Rio's sleeping face unable to resist the urge to rake her fingers through his cropped hair.

There was something almost boyish to the way he slept, breathing gently with his arm curled up under his head, even if the thick veins under his skin mapped nothing but his manhood. God, he was just so handsome. The slopes of his finely carved cheekbones and the bridge of his nose were slightly darker than the rest of his face. It was as if the sun had kissed him just as deeply as she wanted to do.

Instead, words just came out, whispered through her parted lips, denied of his. "I'm sorry."

Just as she'd suspected, saying goodbye didn't ease the vice of pain. And as gentle and caring as the caress of her fingertips was, it didn't change the reality; broken people break things… break other people.

It was better this way.

Rio stirred in bed and Beth hastily pulled away from him. She grabbed the heap of her things and ran. The running wasn't physical and her soul underwent heavy as she feathered through his wooden floors like a lost wisp, although she knew exactly where she was heading.

She dressed methodically, treating each piece of clothing like armour plate, sheathing and containing all the things she could. What she couldn't she swept under the rug to deal with it later. By the time she'd fastened the last button of her navy-style pea coat, she had convinced herself numb. She slipped back into her pumps, tipped the rests of bourbon left in her glass and grabbed the notepad and pen he had laying on the sideboard by the lift.

'I'm done. No more cash. No more pills. No more us.'

Leaning back, she looked at what she had written clinically. Her usually sharp hand-writing came out as an almost unreadable chicken-scratch and it sounded stupid.

The tears she'd deemed absent, swelled in her tear ducts, flooded her lower lids and fell. One hit the back of her hand, the other stained the paper. Furiously, she scribbled the few words on the paper and went over to the wet bar for a refill.

She almost screamed when something wet brushed against her ankle. Bella. Rio's Bull Terrier sniffed her leg again.

"Hey, girl!" she whispered, crouching to pet the dogs' white compact fur. "Buddy's going to miss you."

The animal seemed to understand, letting out a soft whine. "Shh, we don't wanna wake up the boss."

Bella tipped her egg-shaped head somewhat like her owner, the beady eyes conspicuously observing her. Beth smiled, scruffing the sides of the pet's face, "Go to bed, gorgeous."

Beth watched the dog disappear into the patio, topped the liquid courage and scornfully overlooked the piece of paper beyond the tumblers' rim. The amber liquid burned through her clogged throat like Drano through a blocked pipe. This time, the ballpoint pen flowed like a stick on wet sand and yet suspended almost as soon as it started. The soft thump of bare feet stopped her.

"Don't bother," the condescendence in his voice made the hairs on the back of her stood upright. "Notes between you and I tend to be… overlooked."

Beth didn't turn. She knew if she did she was fucked. She squared her shoulders instead and kept her aim on the brick wall, cataloguing his movement through her ears. The clink of glass and glug of liquor. Then the creak of the wooden cigar box, the one on top of the coffee table, the one she'd only seen him open once before, not that long ago, when she told him she'd been clean for three months and he said it called for celebration, and they made out on the leather sofa amidst sips of bourbon, thick clouds of smoke and freshly washed stacks of green.

The sudden snap of the cigar cutter made her jump a little. Then the hum of a torch lighter filled the room, succeeded by the scent of pure tobacco as Rio puffed deeply. Then he was close. Closer than she had expected. Close enough that she could discern the little crackle of the burning wrapper in the overly-ornated silence. Close enough that the gusted line of smoke caressed past her shoulders. Close enough that her eyelashes fluttered close. Fuck.

"I was s'posed to hang a mirror right there. Feng Shui and whatnot. Never got 'round to do it," Rio drawled, stopping barely an inch from her.

The mussed-up blonde mane was just one dip away from his head. And God— all he wanted to do was wad its silkiness against his nose, breathe her in deep, say don't go, don't leave.

The Maduro's tip glowed red as he dragged quick and short rotating bursts from it. The empty tumbler thudded, harshly but muffled by the block of paper where she'd been writing that stupid goodbye note. Empty of smoke, his chest still felt overly full, an odd thing because the pain had lodged itself between his ribs and ate, and ate, and kept on eating until it left nothing there.

All the same and knowing he was makin' a fool out of himself, Rio leaned into her. It would've been fucking embarrassing hadn't she melted against him just as quickly and flawlessly.

It was what hurt the most; the way his chest draped over her back like a blanket and his mouth aligned to her temple for an effortless kiss that wouldn't happen. The way his arm bolted into the dip of her waist, palm curved, perfectly moulded to the slight round of her belly. The way he could just glide down further and his fingers would know the map of her pleasure by heart. The way he felt inside her… it should be a crime, but no point if he was a criminal.

"You see, I ain't needing no piece of paper tellin' me what your body been yellin' at me all night, darlin', like I don't need no mirror to see you... I can picture you just perfectly. "

The words came out scalding with emotion, all the things he couldn't hide from her no more and they just kept on pouring and wouldn't stop even when her body tensed against him like she was trying to steel herself from their burn.

"We've been doin' this dance, you and I, since the day we met. We come together and then we pull away… something pulls you away. And I'd like to say that I know what that thing is, that I know you better than anyone but… you won't let me. And I'd keep on tryin' to figure you out Elizabeth, but I can't keep twiddlin' no more. It just hurts too much, you know?"

"Rio, I—"

He shook his head in the crook of her neck, silencing her. "I don't blame you for tryin' the easy way out, we're both exhausted. But all I've ever asked of you was a lil' bit of honesty. Is that so hard?"

"Are you done patronizing me?" She returned, riled up.

"Yeah… I'm done. So fuckin' done…" His fingers run over the half legible note, "Ain't that what you want, Elizabeth?" He purred mockingly. Intentionally milking the sound of her name by the shell of her ear, and making her fidget just as he'd expected.

He could almost feel that roll of her eyes as she remitted with acidy, "What about Emma? Are you done with her too?"

A humourless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't like he wasn't expecting some kind of return, she had a gift with those lips, but the silence still sagged between them, as heavy as the ash hung from the cigar between his fingers. He let it burn unattended as he remembered the last time they met in the park and Emma acted shy and evasive:

"Dean took her brothers and sister to the aquarium and she's here. What did you expect? She's upset and confused." Beth had reminded when he hid his disappointment behind the paper cup, "She doesn't know you, not really."

"And whose fault is that?" He'd stared at her, jaw ticking.

Emma's pint-sized form had materialized by Beth's side, catching both unsuspecting, "Mommy? Can we go home now?"

He'd never forget how her voice had sounded even smaller or the way she'd looked at him like he'd taken the shape of one of the monsters he'd shooed away from under her bed.

His dad had once told him that the price of love was loss and that for men like them, losses came way more easily than love. He always thought his dad was being a smidge too dramatic but now as he kept losing and losing, Rio wasn't so sure anymore.

"You've said it before..." He droned bitterly and proceeded to paraphrase her, "You're just confusing her. She already has a father, one far better than you will ever be."

"You think this is any easier for me? You don't know anything!" She hissed back, voice trembling, "It's not just about Emma, okay? First Kenny binge eats then Jane runs away... I— "

Something wet slid down the slope of her cheek and was absorbed by his beard. He darted away from her as if she had burned him, and in a way she has. Tears? And breathing raggedly like that? Like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders? As if she had the right to suck in his pain and make it hers? He didn't even let her finish.

"And how is that my problem?"

It was a low blow and he knew it. A clear, petty try for control, still, it didn't stop him from saying it.

"Nothing is ever your problem, is it?" She whirled around like a hurricane and fuck… he was weak in the knees all of a sudden, basting in the sheer natural disaster that Elizabeth Boland was. "Not unless it strikes too close to your sanctimonious ass!"

It didn't help that her eyes were filled with tears, echoing deeply troubled blue oceans. And there she was, in all her glory, the goddess of annihilation, ready to drown him out of his own volition. He looked away before she could do it again. Feigned interest in his cigar, choosing to suffocate in the pungent tobacco instead.

"I didn't know how else to do this!" She continued, fists balled and quivering to her sides, travelling the distance he'd put between them, "Do you really expect people to come forward when they know you'll be waiting for them spitting nails and grinding your mighty axe?"

The smoke coiled between them, thick and downwards. He found himself staring at her tits, drawing that smug loop-side sneer he knew she hated.

"Oh, but the grindin' doesn't bother you when you want to be nailed, does it?"

"I— You—" she stammered, working through all the shades of pink and then some red while that pretty mouth of hers opened and closed like a goldfish thrown out of his bowl.

"Y-you're a dick!" She finally howled, trembling head to toe. "You want truths? That's the truth. You're a dick, and a bully, and I hate you!"

Any other day he would've laughed at that, because it was ridiculous. The smile was there, tugging lazily at the other corner of his mouth, ready for a full-blown laugh. 'Cpet she was on his face, with that lush lower lip of hers quivering, and those damn tears began to fall and towing his heart with them. Because it was true. It's all over her pain-twisted face, right there in her woefully tempestuous eyes.

The first couple of strikes caught him off-guard, his body reeling as she lurched her rage at him. The ash tore apart from the cigar, heavy and ominous, and surely all hell broke loose; her balled fists plunged his chest in rapid-fire bursts, fed by the belted ammunition of her rhetoric: "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

The blunt thumps filled the room along with her harrowing snivels. He took the shots, even if he'd never get used to the pain of her bullets. Held her upper arms and bore her wild careen not apt to stop it. All he could do was stare, felon to the torment she was going through.

Everything hurt but she couldn't stop. Her fists ached but her heart throbbed twice more. She kept hitting him. His torso teetering. She wished he'd struck her back. Wished he'd make her hateful words facts.

"I hate you… I hate… you," She whimpered between each withering blow.

She did. She hated him. She had to.

She hated how he just stood there, taking it. She hated that the mocking smile was gone and that there was no fire nor brimstone when the floor seemed to disintegrate underneath her feet. Only him, catching her as she sunk, whispering her name, cradling her to his lap.

And she hated how her head niched into his naked chest. She hated that she wasn't even crying; she was sobbing, wretchedly. She hated the way the sobs wracked through her body and that there was snot running from her nose. She hated how embarrassed she would feel later. She especially hated how words began to gush from her mouth, knotted between hiccups she couldn't control.

"Dean took... them. He took… my… kids... and he's… right! It's all… my fault. I'm… just like... her. This wasn't… how it… was s'posed… to be. I promised… I'd never… be… her. I— I can't…I just... can't do this... to my... children. I—"

The horrible bawl continued for only God knows how long, and she hated that even his dog was a witness to it. She hated how the animal perched the shark-edge head over her dangling legs to comfort her. She hated how she'd curled up and further against Rio, that his lips lingered against the crown of her hair, and that he didn't seem to mind her wallow or how she was using his skin like tissue paper, the fact that he was way more solid than the hardwood floors beneath them and somehow she never felt more comfortable.

She notably hated the exhale of relief that overcame her at some point, and how his fingers swept through the stands of her hair as gently as the bristles on a hairbrush. Her face got crusty with the dried-up tears, and she hated how she'd cried herself hollow. It was so bad that even her bones began to chatter when the shivers overhauled her. And she hated how tenderly he carried her to the sofa, donned a knit throw around her shoulders and a snifter of cognac between her trembling hands.

"Drink,"

The gravel of his tone was rougher than usual as if he hadn't spoken in a while or had so much to say that it was all jumbled and sticky in his throat. A feeling that Beth knew too well.

She brought the glass to her mouth mechanically, not even fretting about the cloying taste. He nodded satisfied and disappeared from her line of sight.

Bella made nest by her feet, beady black eyes looking up at her once in a while as if making sure she was drinking as her master bid. He didn't take long to come back. By then, she was about finished and the alcohol was beginning to mellow her insides.

Her gaze trickled from his dark, jager eyes to the corded lines of his neck and the eagle tattoo, hovering there, in all innate preying prospect, so him .

She had to look away and down was probably the worst option, cause he was wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants. And they just hung from the sharply etched V of his groin. And that trail of barely-there hair was exactly at her eye-level, just kinda dispersing right under said waistband. And she hated how she felt a little warmer.

She didn't have the strength or time to deliberate whether it was from the cognac or not, cause he closed in, right into her personal bubble, took her glass, placed it on the table and scooped her up as easily as if she were a feather.

He took her upstairs and into the master bathroom. The bathtub was brimming, white and high with bubbles and the familiar scent she recognized as his. She didn't object when he lowered her onto the floor and undid the buttons of her jacket. She kicked her pumps off and even raised her arms to ease the sweater off. Her bra was next, followed by her jeans and undies. And then she was naked. Like his touch did before, his deep dark eyes grazed over her, tender, almost doting... definitely charged but not exactly sexually.

There was something incredibly intimate in the way he helped her lay into the tub and sat by the edge, and his solicitous hands unknotted the tension on her neck. He gathered tufts of foam and burnished her upper arms, the span of her shoulders, and the arch of her breasts, peeking just above the froth. The balmy touch tore a sigh from the depths of her chest and he kept on working, quietly and empirically, his fingers ran magic down her ribs while the water slowly soaked through the tips of her hair. No saving from the fizzy rats' nest now, she mused pitifully.

"I shouldn't have lashed out on you like that. It wasn't fair." She whispered when it felt right.

His touch fluctuated before he spoke, "It's never fair between us."

"No, never is." She replied softly, almost wistfully.

A beat passed and then another, and then the massage continued, his expert fingers rummaging through the base of her head, placing the right amount of pressure directly behind her ear lobes and God, she had to bite her lower lip to stop a rather smutty moan from escaping.

She had no idea how long had passed since she'd closed her eyes and just let herself enjoy. His touch was so earnest she entered some kind of trance, one so lush that when he spoke again she didn't even budge.

"Tell me what went down with Dean,"

And she did. It was easy somehow, to bring her knees up, bracing them against her chest and tell him all about Dean's ultimatum. How her absence and neglect had been gradually affecting her kids. How she knew better than to do what she'd done. Unexpectedly, she told him about DeeDee, her absent father and the broken home she grew up in. How much she'd yearned for her own family, to do it right. How apprehensive she'd been to start it. How terrified she'd been when she found out she was pregnant with Kenny and the possibility she'd look at him one day and shun him like her own mother did with her. How it all had been so breezy and rosy with Danny. How much she'd keen for Jane and how devastating it had been to reject her. How she'd struggled with her mental health ever since. How much pressure it had placed on her marriage and why she sought him out that fateful night. And how despite everything Emma had been a balm.

"What hurts the most is that he's right, you know?" she concluded, her chin now resting between the V of her knees, "I brought it all down on my family, my best friend, even her family. I'm a disaster. I keep spiralling and drowning, dragging the people I care about with me."

His fingers stopped petting her, as they had done through certain parts of her monologue but this time instead of continuing after a beat or two, he shuffled on the edge of the bathtub to face her.

"The people you care about, they love you." He said, "And when someone you love is drownin' you don't swim away, you stay close."

Beth tipped her head to the side, fresh tears stung at the corners of her eyes, forcing her to swallow the flimsiest of breaths, "Then why are we drifting apart?"

She wanted to take it back as soon as the words left her mouth. It was too implicit and he read right through. His jaw locked, Adam's apple bobbing under the inked lines of his neck. Once. Then one long sweatpant clad leg swung up the edge and inside the bathtub with a plop. Then the other. And Beth had just enough time to propel back as he just sunk , sloshing water and bubbles everywhere.

Confound, all Beth could do was hold onto him as his arms reached for her thighs underwater and hoisted her up onto his lap. The next words were so loaded she could barely breathe.

"That ain't possible," He said, nuzzling against her, their mouths so close she could almost taste him. "When you left, that night we met, you took somethin' of mine with you."

"Emma," she said with the saddest of the smiles on her lips, her thumbs gently grazing the inked lines on the sides of his neck.

Rio chuckled lightly, "Yeah, shit, that too, but no that ain't it."

He took her hands and kissed her palms, one after the other before perching them over the left side of his sternum, right over his heart.

"You've had it all this time. So y'see, it don't matter how far we drift apart, I'll find my way back to you. Always."

"Oh, Rio…" she whispered, smoothing away from him, not able to bear the thought of it, "You need to take it back."

"I'm afraid it don't work like that, ma."

Rio's bronzed fingers interlocked with the milkiness of hers and it was almost sudden, the way the deep brown eyes magnetized her in place by the stark look on his face, one she had seen it before . And she was paralyzed by fear; terrible, overwhelming fear.

It was almost divine intervention - had she believed in that kind of stuff - when he brought her hand to his mouth and the hot tip of his tongue licked the centre of her palm seductively, otherwise, she wouldn't have been to stop him.

"Don't… don't say it." she murmured, dragging her fingers over his lips to silence him, "It doesn't mean anything in a bathtub, with the rain whipping against the window, saying goodbye like some sort of thwarted star-crossed lovers."

Rio grappled her hair behind her ear, eyes narrowed and lips resistant under her trundling fingertips. The seconds ticked loud in her ears, measured by the flow of her racing blood until he finally conceded.

"A'ight," he uttered in his crushed velvet voice, "I'll say it when I find you again."

Beth shook her head, aware she had to give him something else he wouldn't drop it, "Tell me... when it saves me."

He licked his lips, swallowing the bottom one in the process. The pads of his fingers traced her delicate ear shell, probed through the fine hairs at her nape. "What could you possibly need saving from?"

"Myself."

Beth closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, acutely aware that from now on she'd starve without it. By the time his thumb brushed her bottom lip she already throbbed for one more kiss.

"We should get outta here. You're turnin' into a prune," he drawled, with a hint of a laugh, "A blue one."

"Oh," Beth blushed, violently. She hadn't even noticed that the water had cooled down, or how her skin was crinkled and pasty from lingering too long in the bathtub. Bold of her to assume he'd want to ki—

His mouth clamped on hers, nose bumping her cheek in the urgency. The arm around her waist tightened, wrapping her in an embrace that swaddled her soul and kindled the fire in her lower belly.

Her back arched, flinging her breasts to the solid planes of his chest, urging her core against his hardened cock. Her fingers hooked onto his tricep, her nails dug into the curve of his neck, eyes fluttered closed and a faint moan escaped her throat at the taste of him; tasted like bourbon and tobacco; like fire and ash; like the goodbye she hadn't wanted.

The kiss deepened, moulding their open mouths together. Dark, veiny hands shaped the curve of her buttocks and winched them up. Her legs enveloped the small of his hips as he carried them out, dripping water all over the floor. Her ass was hauled onto a plush towel, folded over the marble vanity. Their bodies glistened, soaked by the bathwater and the ceiling lights.

Then it was like melting; the wet sweatpants clung to him like a second skin, and he clung to her like she was part of him. His lips became soft and compelling, his tongue tentatively brushing hers. And God, she would never understand the way one of his kisses could launch her heart into a fluttering frenzy and the next could rend it to a complete stop.

It summed up their relationship, never a half measured, always driven from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. From elation-full moments to stomach-dropping consequences.

Choice was an illusion and they its casualty. And as the kiss deepened and worked her blood into an effervescent boil, she had to wonder what repercussions this one last blissful moment would bring.

The remaining traces of rationality evaporated when one of his hands cupped her breast and kneaded it, provoking a moan between the ardent lock of lips. The pale globe overfilled his hand, the pink nipple raised and eager for his attention.

Rio dragged her lower lip between his sharp teeth, then cushioned his lips on her chin and caused havoc down her neck, his tongue swirled down her breastbone absorbing drips of water. He nipped at the curve of her breast, pinching the tightening areola into a peak. With a growl, he took it in his mouth, lips latching around it, sucking hard while his tongue whipped at the stiff bundle of nerve endings.

Little needles of pleasure stabbed down her spine and pierced through her loins, gushing fire through her nucleus like a broken dam. Just as well cause he was playing with her folds, feeling the wetness gathering there, making her quiver with little teases to her clit.

She held onto his nape, pinning him against her breast as his middle finger slid easily into her opening. Her hand squeezed the marble edge as he thrust in and out, skilfully circling her clit.

"Now. Please. I need you." She begged, her legs trembling with each stroke of his finger.

Rio released her nipple with a pop, only to seize her underboob between his lips, laving another water droplet into his mouth. He made his way up, pecking at her skin as she tugged at his sweatpants. He got the hint and squirmed out of them, the wet fabric heaped on the floor with a sopping plop, springing his hard, thick cock against her thigh.

He grabbed it, teasing the foreskin back and brushing the smooth crown in-between her wet seam. Her legs fluttered as he prodded further, making her grip the counter with both hands. Rio took hold of them, clutching to the back of her knees and holding her spread apart as he sank into her.

They both moaned as she stretched to accommodate his size. His forehead falling onto hers, his breath stumbling hot and jagged over her lips. She pecked him, sucking his lower lip between her teeth, tasting his tongue as he rocked his hips, sheathing the last of him into her with a growl so guttural it made her weak in the knees.

Then she was lost. She didn't think that she had felt this much pleasure before. Uncertain of which part she should admire first - the tight corded lines of his neck or the broad chest and muscular shoulders; maybe the veins bulging on his arms and hands as he gripped firmly to her legs or the rock hard abs, seesawing with each plunge; perhaps the V of his hips, magnificently dovetailing into vertex of her milky thighs or his cock, glistening with more wetness each time it emerged out of her.

In the end, it was his face that captured her full attention; shaded by thick eyelashes, the deep brown eyes showed more than what she wanted to know; his mouth slightly opened, asking for more than she could give.

Mercifully, her eyes rolled to a close when he buried himself wholly in her, dumbing her thoughts with a painstaking pounding that brought her close to the edge.

"Fuck," He dragged huskily, bitting not so gently into the crook of her neck as he pulled out of her.

She didn't have time to complain. He made his way down her body, nibbling, licking and suckling, flaring goosebump after goosebump all over her skin. With his breath hovering above her navel, he looked up at her and placed a kiss on her shaved mound, tongue dipping between the crest of her outer lips, just sweeping the little hood that hid her pearl of pleasure, plenty to make her toes curl in anticipation.

The flat of his tongue lapped at her, from bottom to top, barely swirling around her clit, enough for her breath to catch. He licked her again, only this time snatching her clit between his lips. He suckled at the little nub hard enough to make her head loll back, then pulled away with a whip of tongue that made her ass fly off the counter in the urge to follow it. He anchored her in place, palms securing her dewy inner thighs, fingers spreading her blush petals like the sun would unfurl a flower.

An abrupt sound left his throat, his indicator dipped inside her just the slightest bit, the pad of his finger emerged, coated with cream. The little sound coming from her was rather embarrassing, she should have been over it. By then he had tasted her in every place humanly possible, but damn her if her cheeks didn't tint from an excited glow to a boiled lobster red while he thoroughly licked her clean off his finger.

"Goddamnit, Elizabeth. You're so perfect here." He muttered, placing a kiss right over her cunt, "You don't even know."

He took her in his mouth again, and there was nothing teasing about it then. He ate her out with one objective only; make her cum.

He licked her, first her seams with slow, long strokes, then gnawed at her inner labia, slurping and releasing the sensitive flesh with gusto. Then lashed at her clit with quick little flicks that drove her into breathless pants. Then prodded her entrance with the stiff tip of his tongue, then one finger, and then a second.

He reached deep inside, curling and fondling, twisting and wheeling his wrist all while he sucked on her clit. Her moans got louder and strained as he built up speed and soon she was jerking and writhing against him.

There was no rest for the wicked, Rio growled, cupped her under-thighs and dragged her to the edge of the marble and into his face, eyes meeting hers over the length of her naked body, ready to watch her blossom before him.

And she did. Her cry of release filled the room and she seeped into his mouth like a burst opium poppy pod. He sure looked high on her, his eyes so fogged in an invisible opium cloud as he kept kissing and licking her again and again until the little shivers rocking her body subsided.

He kissed the inside of her thigh and slithered up her legs, caressing the curve of her hip while his sharp teeth nicked up her ribs, nose nudging the side of her breast with a hum. His tongue flicked over one taut nipple while his hand massaged her tit, his arm wrapped around her waist lifting out of the marble and lowering onto her unsteady legs. His mouth hungrily took hers only to give her a taste of her own poison; tangy and rich, surely addictive.

He pulled away from her lips gently and whirled her around, gathered the damp tuffs of her hair and tossed them to the right side of her neck. His nose and mouth veered into the bared column while he reached for her breasts from behind. He kneaded the bulks of her breasts and teased her nipples with dexterous fingers all while she watched him through the mirror.

She almost didn't recognize the Rubenesque figure in there, her skin lustrous with the post-orgasm glow, her lips swollen and crimson with the scores of his stubble, her eyes so drunk in lust the usual blue irises were all but gone.

His cock was wedged in her thigh gap and he rocked his hips, rubbing it back and forth against her wet cunt. Knowing she was watching, his hot mouth sizzled a hickey onto her pulse point, then licked the brand to ease the pain and flare her pleasure, that thin line he knew to draw so well, that fucking line that drove her crazy. With a little mewl, Beth chucked her buttocks into him, nudging the broad tip of his cock in her.

Rio laced one arm through her elbows, yanking at her arms. Her shoulders jerked back, propelling her breasts sensually up the air. He was rough, eager to drive them to the finish line. Each of his vigorous thrusts granted her abundant bosom a seedy jiggle. Watching him watching her through the mirror was pure lust, in it's all self-consuming, ravaging glory.

He squeezed his hold, driving her arms together, arching her back further and angling him deeper and harder. Beth didn't know which was the most erogenous part; the slap of his taut groin striking her supple buttocks; the feel of him lodged deep inside her; maybe their worked-up gasps; probably how close he was, how undone she was about to be; perhaps the whole pictured reflected in the mirror.

She told herself for the hundredth time it was just lust and hunger, a good fuck, fucking great sex, THE best sex - oh he was pounding her alright but then there was the languid and sweetly contrasting manner he was kissing her neck; the way he surveyed her, hand splayed over her belly like leather over porcelain, the way the calloused palm enfolded her breast and squeezed the soft pillow all so delicately.

"So goddamn perfect," he purred against her neck.

That way he talked… it was enough to make her witless heart flutter with something impossible. Stupid, stupid, heart.

Her breath slumped, heavy and ragged, just like his, falling over the curve of her shoulder, led by the momentum of his thrusts and soon the why and the reason faded away and all that mattered was the feeling itself.

It started so simply, first a rush to the turmoil he'd renew in her core, then heat shrank her, compressing her inner walls tightly around him. Her heart fluttered as he stilted, buried deep inside her. The explosion wrecked through them like a forest fire, scorching their nerve- endings to fucking zenith.

They both reeled forward with the stark jolt, her palms seized the vanity, thighs pressed against the marble for support while he clutched to the dip of her waist as if he was about to crumble. His neck craned and taut as his cock jerked against her flutter, milking the last of him into her kernel.

They stood like that for a moment, his forehead glued to the back of her head, his parted mouth hovering above the first nub of her spine, too jittery to move, too raw to call-out what this truly was - a grand finale.

He was the first to move, sliding out of her. She turned around still shaky on her legs. They just panted and gawked at each other like a duo of chumps, way too much behind said in the hermetic-like silence. Beth looked down and it was even worse, his cock still semi-hard and the tip beaded with their fluids. Her head snapped to the side, cheeks flaming.

He reached for her chin, gingerly tipping her face back to him. His eyes were beaming with the amusement that tugged the corner of his mouth, ready to release one of his jabs - the kind that made her equal parts annoyed and all warm and fuzzy inside. She didn't have enough liquor in her body for that; pretend she was okay with post-coital banter. She wasn't okay.

What a dumb idea, thinking this would bring any sort of closure. She was a fool believing she could beat a rigged game.

"I have to go,"

She pulled away hastily and started to grab her clothes - which were completely sopped by the puddle left by his sweatpants. Something swelled up in her heart at the sight, turning her vision suddenly swimmy. She bit the inside of her cheek, afraid she was about to perform another cringe-worthy spectacle of tear-shedding.

"You drank too much to drive. Besides, where you going? Home? To be alone?" he said matter of fact, "Let me put those in the dryer. Have a shower, relax for a bit, yeah?"

He took the bundle from her, popped the tub drain, walked behind the frameless shower screen and opened the faucet for her, "I'll be back in a minute."

Beth sighed resigned, locking the door after him, aware he was right and there was nothing but a barren house full of awful memories for her to return to. A shower did sound appealing, just something quick to wash the stickiness between her legs, but the waterfall showerhead did its job, relaxing her and she took way longer than planned.

When she finally walked out and into to the bedroom, swathed in a plush grey towel, Rio was leaning against the headboard, just in boxers, chest-height crossed arms, hair sleek with moisture, "You locked me out. I wanted to shower with you."

"I'm sure you'll get over it. We both got wet enough for one day,"

His grin crawled from one corner to the other with a flash of perfect white teeth, "Ah, we gonna have to agree to disagree on that one,"

Beth felt warmth spread up her bosom aware he wasn't talking about the same kind of wet as she.

"Uh, mind if I grab one of your tees?"

"Sure, first drawer on the left,"

Despite all the visits she'd made to his bedroom, it was actually the first time she was in his walk-in. It was perfectly sized for one and like the rest of the house spotless, borderline OCD level, every piece ordered by type, length and colour. Even the shoe rack. Her hand caressed the top cashmere sweater in a perfectly lined stack. Everything pretty much neutral or dark, no flashy colours and honestly, she couldn't picture him in anything different.

She opted for one of his shirts instead and let the towel unfurl down her feet, sliding her arms through the sleeves.

"You belong in one of those Renaissance paintings,"

Beth jumped, his husky purr almost next to her, and just as right he was leaning against the entrance frame, head tilted back, shadowing his dark eyes further.

Beth rolled her eyes at him, pushing the clinging bangs out of her face, pretty sure she was looking more like a wet cat than an oil madonna.

"Don't cut it,"

"What?" She froze confused as he prowled towards her in that fluid panther-footed assurance of his.

"Don't cut your hair. I like to push it out of your face." He said doing exactly just that.

"I've noticed." She said, fiddling with the row of clip buttons, "I've also noticed how you love to order people around."

He hummed, hooking a finger on the button she'd just fastened, yanking down just enough for the material to tighten over her breasts, "And usually I ain't got problems with people followin' them. You being the exception, always."

"Not always. I'm here, aren't I?"

He stepped closer, so close she had to crane her neck to look at him, "You're here cause you want to be here and when you leave it ain't gonna be me holdin' the door for you. None of this is 'bout what I want. If it was, we wouldn't be sayin' goodbye."

It hurt. The words hurt as much as his lips relieved her. The kiss was incredibly tender where the previous had been so urgent. He kissed the tip of her nose, and her cheeks, one eyelid and then the other, then her mouth again, dragging his lips down her chin as if he was trying to make it last.

Beth didn't open her eyes when he leaned onto her forehead, all at once afraid that this was it, that she should've done more or less or nothing at all, that he'd never touch again. But Rio had a different idea.

His hooked finger tugged hard, popping the row of buttons one after the other until a band of ivory emerged. He kissed her just as sweetly as earlier, grabbed her hips and nudged her backwards, their feet dancing, their tongues wagging and before she knew it, they were falling on the bed.

She climbed up his thighs and straddled his hips. Rio gripped her by the thut, bounding her forward. Her chest mashed onto his, his lips lenient and soft while his cock grew hot and harder between her legs.

Beth lifted her pelvis, hand slithering between them and past the elastic band of his boxers and enclosed him. She gently pumped the heated silk in her hand, making it swell and throb. She swallowed his moan and bit his lip, tongue swirling on the triangle of whiskers nestled under his lower lip. She nibbled his chin with her canine and pumped him again applying a tad more pressure this time, earning her a hiss and a toss of his dark head. She took the offering, licking a path down his neck and guzzled a sliver of his golden pectoral into her mouth, her pussy clenching with approval when the stone-hard abs undulated under her sultry breath.

She plucked at the waistband with her teeth and yanked at it and urging him to shift beneath her to free himself. Once fully naked, she cupped him and slowly retracted the foreskin, pressing her lips against the sensitive frenulum, then her tongue trawled up the tip before she swallowed him.

Something that sounded a lot like a fuck, crept up his throat as she devoured the engorged shaft in one big arduous gulp. She slid back up slowly, locked her lips around the rimmed head and sucked on it, one hand worked his shaft while the other played with his balls. He moaned and the tang of precum quickly coated her tastebuds.

She glanced up, his gaze was fastened on her mouth seating his cock deep in her throat. He looked hazed as if he was observing her enveloped in opium smoke. That's when she noticed he was looking at her tits, framed by the shirt flaps and rebounding at each bob of her head.

Beth swallowed as much of him as she could, letting the moisture accumulate around his girth then pulled away. The heavy member fell with an obscene slush over his belly. She inched a bit further until her nipples brushed his cock and made it twitch.

"Elizabeth…" He stifled as she grabbed him by the base and the large globes snuggled him.

"That's my name." She murmured coyly.

"Jesus," he hissed as she raked her nails through his pubis, employing her inner arms to squeeze him tightly between her tits while slowly maneuvering up and down his shaft.

Rio's thick cock was long enough to peek above the swells of her breasts. The deeper tinted skin of his shaft made her translucent, blue-veined flesh even more remarkable. Beth increased her pace, cupping her breasts to better wrap him. His cock pulsed as she slid effortlessly over him and soon the fat tip emerged, seeping with precum.

"Sweetheart," he gasped, "If you keep that up, Imma come."

"Oh, really?" Beth stroked her hand along his veiny length and smiled, bending her head to lick the beaded dome before taking the full length into her mouth. His breath left his body, hips jerking as her tongue whipped around him and she moaned with him deep inside her.

"Come here, you lil' minx." He growled, reaching for her.

Beth slowly withdrew from him, kissing up his shaft and torso, laving the golden skin with her tongue after each kiss. She mounted his hips as he sat up and tugged at her sleeves, slowly exposing her shoulders. She slid out of the garment and laced her arms around his neck. Rio tossed the shirt and kneaded her buttocks eagerly.

"So wet," he hummed, guiding one hand down her cleft and slithering his fingers through her slit, "Y'see, mama? Never enough."

Beth rolled her eyes and her hips, trying to line him to her entrance but he kept her in place by lacing an arm tightly around her waist.

"Just do it already." She chided.

"So demanding! Do you like bossing people around?"

"Oh, shut up!"

He chuckled, "Oh, that's easy."

Raising her by the waist, Rio took her mouth while two fingers parted her labia and angling his cock to her entrance. Beth gasped into his mouth as the bulbous tip pressed in, feeling every vibrating inch of him slowly cramming her.

Rio groaned as she ground against him, her moan followed suit as her clit was stimulated by the base of his cock. A prickling sensation spread through her, spasming her inner walls around him.

He keened, sinking into the mattress, hands clutching tightly onto her hips as she slid up and down his cock and rolled over his crotch, ass hunkered low against his balls. She kept the same slow motion: up, down and coil, grinding her clit against his groin every time. Her nipples felt so taut they almost hurt and she was pre-sure she had a mini-orgasm when Rio teased them between his thumb and indicator. She reached for his pecs, feeling lightheaded as the little tingles accumulated like liquid heat in her head; and in the tips of her fingers; and her toes; and her cunt.

She didn't stop, she held onto Rio's muscular chest and rode back and forth faster and faster conducted by the hands clutched to her ribs, thumbs rooted right under her tits, hurtling wildly at her gallop. Her fingers delved into his flesh, blonde head tilted back, pearled throat and delicate blue veins exposed in open-mouthed ecstasy. She trembled and stilled and trembled all over again as the licks of the orgasmic release whipped through her.

Almost numb she collapsed forward, Rio wrapped his arms around her and began to thrust, driving his thick shaft in and out of her soaking wet cunt. Her juices slid down his cock, providing some more obscene sounds to the already loud&lewd ballsack pummels.

Beth moaned lustily against his shoulder when he brought a hand down her cleft and his middle finger rubbed tiny pressuring circles over her rimmed backdoor all while his big cock pistoned in and out of her at a breath-taking speed.

A familiar searing ball of warmth forged within her belly as he continuously slammed his hips up and down, his cock nearly popping out before it slid back in, perfectly angled to rub against what Beth thought had to be her g-spot because every time it did the immense pressure between her legs increased, her back arched and her pussy clenched in pre-orgasmic bliss.

His finger pierced through her opening with his next thrust and her pussy practically pushed his cock out with a slick pop. He groaned, sounding mildly frustrated, his shaft milling arduously between their tummies while she cried out and coming hard AF, feeling empty and full all at the same time.

Prone over him, Beth dropped her head into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes waiting for the last of the shivers to subdue.

"You didn't finish," she murmured.

The hand travelling up and down her arm stopped mid caress as she flowed her palm from his balls to the tip of his member. The swollen shaft jerked over his belly as she continued her caress up his torso.

"Nah, mama." he drawled, rolling them over until she was on her back and he was between her legs, his glistening cock throbbing over her pussy. " We ain't finished yet."

He planked onto his elbows and thrust his hands into her hair, finger splaying onto her scalp while looking at her through that liquid smoke gaze of his.

" What?" she asked, unable to stop herself from smiling lazily and give his tight glutes a playful squeeze.

"Nothin'," he purred, "Just admiring how beautiful you are."

"That's just the sex intoxication talking,"

"Oh, I'm definitely struck. I'm pretty sure it's from the sun rays comin' out of your pussy."

Beth giggled. "Oh, yeah? What does it feel like?"

Rio shifted his weight, angling his cock just so, and then thrust so deep inside her that her eyes flew open, her breath stolen along with her laugh.

"Like touching the sunrise,"

With the next roll of his hips, Rio took her mouth. He might as well, after that, they were simply past language.

"It's still early. Stay a little longer."

Beth shook her head, sliding her legs through her jeans and leaning back in bed to up-do the zipper and button.

"I'm blocking your number," she advised, running her fingers through her tousled blonde mane.

Rio chuckled, "Ouch. That's cold."

"I'm serious." She chided, head snapping over her shoulder only to snap back immediately, "Would you please put some clothes on? This can't happen anymore. We need to stay away from each oth—"

"Did you mean it, when you said it?" he blurted out.

"Huh?" she frowned, confused not only by the words but by the sudden shift in his tone.

"When you said you loved me, did you mean it?"

"Rio, I—"

"Please, Elizabeth."

There was such a compelling need in his words that Beth found herself facing him, her tone barely a whisper, "Why does it matter now?"

"Cause I finally know what pushes you away." He lowered his gaze, looking almost nervous, something she'd deem impossible. "It's me."

It was her turn to look away. The early morning sunbeams basted the room through the skylights' tinted glass, giving it an old-world charm that didn't disagree with the almost sterile decoration.

"You are right. I'm a dick— a bully." He continued, "Hell, sweetheart, I'm worse than that. I'm capable of things you can't even begin to imagine…" He frowned, and shook his head, "Shit, I guess you can."

"I don't know what you want me to say,"

"I want you to listen," he dragged his body through the bed, stopping way too close to her, "I don't know your full history with Dean but do know it weighs you down heavier than ours. I know it ain't right. He wants to keep you and I understand it, more than I'd like to. I know you have little trust in me after all the shit I've put you through but I'd never be capable of using my own child against you. That's low. You deserve more. You deserve someone that can do better. I want to do better, Elizabeth. With you, I can. I know I will."

A beat passed and then another, his fingers hooked her hair behind her ear, the pads tracing the contour of her cheek.

"I'm gonna ask you again. One last time," he drawled, "What do you want, Elizabeth?"

The question felt like a grappling hook digging through her. He was staring at her with an eager expression of infinite patience and she couldn't look away. That terrible, overwhelming fear consumed her from within all over again. And this time there was no stopping it.

She had never wanted to run so much in her life but the reality was that she had nowhere to run to, not from that deep-seated horror, one that had brewed in her loins for so long and sneaked up her spine, creeping between her ribs and settling in her heart until she finally perceived it as truth — she would never be able to live up to what radiated from his eyes with such intensity, she'd ruin it, and her heart would end up broken twice instead of once.

"I always thought that when I'd have children I would have something truly mine, that no one could take away. But the truth is that the moment they come out of you, you start losing them. They grow, most likely to hate you like you hated your own parents. And it might seem like a long time till mine outgrow the nest but it was just yesterday that I held them for the first time… it already feels like they started hating me."

Beth tore her gaze from his, her eyes hurting with the effort of keeping the tears away.

"I wish it could be different between us but I can't make it just about me, my children come first, they always will."

"I can wait… I'll wait for you as long as it takes."

Beth shook her head, "I can't ask you to do that."

"You ain't askin', I'm offering."

"God, stop!" She said, the tears now impossible to contain, "Listen to yourself! No, Rio. No. It won't work!"

"You don't know that," he insisted.

"We are a mess! I'm a mess! And I won't risk losing my kids again."

"We can fight it, Elizabeth. I have money, lawyers—"

"And Dean has all the ammunition. He knows everything. Us. Book Club. The Oxy… I can't gamble it."

His jaw rocked, a sheen she had seen before glazed his eyes, "I'll kill him."

"And then what? We live happily ever after?" She snapped, "You think our lives will resume to this? To what happened in this bed? Have you really thought about it? I come in a package of five, not two. Even if you were ready, even if we reached that far they would hate your guts, Dean made sure of that."

"So that's it? You're not even willing to try? You just gonna give up?"

No, she wasn't. Giving up would be putting a bullet in her head, take a mouthful of pills, slit her wrists open or driving her car at full speed hurtling towards a wall - which had crossed her mind as she waited for him last night.

"I'm doing what's best for everyone."

He narrowed his eyes at her, sucking in his mouth, "Is that right? Cuz' it sounds like you're doin' what Deansie wants."

"Turns out it's what I want too."

"A'ight then," He nodded with a disapproving curl of the lip.

Then proceeded to lean back, perched onto an elbow, mostly ignoring her. She couldn't blame him for it. Her gaze travelled down the feline-like contour of him, her mouth a tight, swollen-red line as her heart thumped close to her throat. She closed her eyes and snapped out of it, hands trembling as she ran them through her hair again. She slid into her pumps and walked to the stairs, lingering on the first tread, feeling his eyes burning holes through her.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth." He purred, milking her name like he only could, "I'm a big boy. I'll get over it."

She nodded, that was great, someone should.

The heavy wrought-iron gate locked behind her, the sun hit her on the face way too warm and lovely after such a pour-heavy night. Most people would take it as good presage, Beth didn't. She hadn't thrown enough good things at the universe for the heavens to smile down at her.

Car keys already in hand, she walked the short distance to her car and climbed in. She fished for her phone and didn't drag it out any longer. Dean picked up almost immediately with an arid Yeah, as if he'd been waiting, as if he lived inside her head just as he'd claimed to.

"It's over. Bring the children home."

She ended the call not bothering with saying anything else, she didn't think she could anyways, her mouth felt like a pit of sawdust. Breathing was remarkably difficult all of a sudden. The more she tried to pull air into her lungs the most constricted her ribcage felt. Tiny dark dots emerged through tunnelling vision. Hyperventilating, she tapped her way on the door's panel until she found the handle. The warm breeze didn't exactly help but the lurch on her stomach and the following jet of its contents did.

Beth then dropped back onto the headrest, wiping her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. Across the street, the same brick wall she'd stared at the previous night faced her again and it was too easy to imagine her foot slamming the gas the pedal, turning off the hand-brake and just—

Beth shook her head, this strange need consuming her all of a sudden.

She wasn't religious, far from it. The last time she prayed was 30 years or so ago. The last time she stepped into a church even longer; hauled by Ruby's mother, church had produced quite an impression on a 6-year old Beth, at least coming from a home where God's name was thrown in vain every conversation or so.

She peered at the sky through the bug-streaked windshield and brought her hands together awkwardly, the concept of praying was so foreign that she didn't know how to begin. Feeling extremely foolish, Beth cackled out loud only to spring into tears again. But what had she to lose at this point?

With a deep inhale, she settled for a shaky: "Hello, uh, God?"

The next part came a bit more easily after she swallowed a second wave of ridiculousness anyways.

"I… uh, it's been quite a while since we… uh, talked… uh, directly... but it's nice to meet you again, I guess. I— I'm not among the best in your flock… I'm sure you can easily find me easily among the black sheep." She tried a smile through the tears that filled the corners of her mouth, "But I hope I've, uh… somehow expressed my gratitude for all the blessings you gave to me. It's hard to remember them sometimes... when I— uh, when I-I've—"

Beth wavered, her lips trembling too much to continue.

"I'm in serious trouble." She whispered through the snivels, "I don't know how to go through with this."

She brought her hands to her face, burying the sobs in them, "Please, tell me what to do. God, help me, please. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

The chanting continued until she was out of tears. When she dragged her hands through her face, with was with a purging sense of relief. She quickly reminded herself she didn't believe any of this; that God didn't answer to no one's prayers.

She said the same when she lowered the sun visor to look at herself on the small mirror and this eerie beam of light reflected onto her necklace.

Her hand reached up, fiddling with the hanging gold bar, her thumb grazing through the engraved letters there: Elizabeth.

She closed her eyes knowing exactly what to do.

The dainty chain tore easily apart as she yanked at it.

She wished it had been as easy to leave it behind.