Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,48

gorgeous eyes of hers flying wide as I climbed on top of her and slid into her. She was warm, wet, and waiting.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” I groaned in her ear. “That’s my good girl.”

Did she dream of me? Was that why she was wet? Fuck, I wanted to know, but she felt so fucking good and I was enjoying the hell out of her.

I curse the fact that I was too fucking drunk to immediately realize that she wasn’t enjoying herself – not one bit. I was several strokes in when I realized she was stiff as a fuckin’ board and unresponsive beneath me. It took me even longer to realize the wet against my palm wasn’t from her mouth, but from her tears.

I pushed up and took my hand off her mouth.

“Zaychik?”

She sobbed and I scrambled to my feet, my cock instantly shriveling.

“Marisol? Baby, what’s wrong?”

She rolled off the opposite side of the bed, hands pressed over her mouth as she sobbed striding for the bathroom. I heard the spatter of her vomit hit the threshold before the scent assaulted my nose.

What the fuck?

“Marisol!” I went for her and damn my drunk fuckin’ ass was too slow. I got to the bathroom just in time for her to shut it in my face, the lock clicking into place.

“Marisol?” I knocked and then I helplessly listened while she retched around uncontrollable sobs into the toilet on the other side of the locked door.

Shit.

I sobered up to the sound of her weeping as the shower ran. I couldn’t do anything but wait her out, and I didn’t want to make shit worse by pounding on the door and demanding fucking answers that I didn’t have a fuckin’ right to.

I’d stepped hip deep into one hell of a fucking hornet’s nest, but I didn’t know.

At any rate, it wasn’t fucking about me right now. It was about her. It was about getting the truth and if I had anything to say about it? It was about settling a fucking score.

The sobbing calmed to weeping, the weeping calmed to sniffles, and I waited calmly, ass planted on the floor, back to the wall beside the bathroom door, sobering up and patiently waiting her out.

The shower eventually cut, and I listened to the silence that echoed in its wake. A slight sniffle. Another. A shuffling movement. Another. The lock clicked and I bounded to my feet and waited. Several seconds went by, and my palm itched something fierce to put the fuckin’ doorknob in it and twist, but I waited, and I waited some more, hands to my sides and finally the door opened.

Her sleek black hair hung limp and wet around her face. She wouldn’t look at me. She just stood there looking small and afraid, defeated, wrapped from armpit to mid-thigh in one of the lodge’s fluffy white towels.

“Come here,” I whispered, and I held my arms open and waited.

She hesitated only briefly and practically fell into my arms, burying her face in the front of my tee beneath my cut as her pain welled fresh and hot from her beautiful eyes.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I am so sorry,” I whispered against her hair and I held her tight against me while her emotions raged, swamping her, sweeping her under and drowning her in pain and sorrow.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe with me, I promise,” I whispered, and she was. I hadn’t known. I hadn’t even guessed, and I felt like a fuckin’ fool.

It took some time for the second squall to pass, but eventually it did, and I simply stood with her, waiting for her to make a move. By now, I was as sober as a fuckin’ judge and in that place where I was so white hot angry, I was as calm and still on the inside as a winter’s day – cold and ready to kill. I just needed a fuckin’ target.

“Who did what, baby? You gotta talk to me, now. No more secrets.”

She sniffed and pushed back from me and I let her, but I didn’t let her go. Instead, I helped her to the bed and sat her down on the one side of it, taking a seat beside her.

She wouldn’t look at me, and I didn’t like it. I preferred her silent defiance and iron resolve much more, but I guess there wasn’t any fronting now. The cat, as it were, was out of the bag. The genie out of its bottle and there