Wrong for Wrong

𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘

~~~

"Room 401."

The receptionist's light blue eyes stare at me judgmentally for a brief second before she nods, then grabs the telephone, putting a call through.

I look around again, worried that someone might catch a glimpse of me and report back to base or anything like that. But there are no familiar faces around.

"A Ms. De la Cruz is here to see you..."

I blow the gum in my mouth, forming a pale pink balloon just at the tip of my lips before it pops noisily.

I completely ignore the eyes that flutter my way and tap on the polished wood counter of the reception.

Nodding and speaking into the phone in the affirmative, she places the receiver back in the cradle, then pulls a smile.

"He's expecting you."

"I know." I switch my weight from one heel to the other. "Directions?"

"Elevator’s at the end of the hall"—she points—"Fourth floor." Her smile a little too sweet for my taste.

With a gruff sigh, I strut off, the sharp click of my heels echoing against the marble tiles, bubblegum still lingering on my tongue.

Once inside the elevator, I dig into my purse, pull out my compact mirror, and flick it open.

"¡Ay, no mames!" I hiss under my breath.

The pink gum smeared against my lipstick like a bad joke, a streak of candy-colored disaster ruining my perfect cherry-red.

"¡Pinche chicle!" I mutter, glaring at the mirror.

With a sigh, I fish for a tissue, spit the gum, then proceed to dab the sticky mess off my lips. My reflection glares back at me, bold brows raised like it’s mocking me.

"Great. Just great. The one time I need to look like I have my life together, and I look like a damn piñata exploded on my face."

An uncomfortable movement beside me draws my attention from the mirror, and I look up, smiling awkwardly.

The man who's unfortunate to share the elevator with me gulps, nodding his understanding. I nod back then return to fixing my makeup.

The elevator dings, and I snap the mirror shut with a little more force than necessary.

Without waiting for the doors to fully slide apart, I jump out, but remain rooted in a spot.

Bouncing repeatedly on my feet, I fist the air. "You've got this!"

With a long sigh, I move further into the hall.

Locating the room isn't a hassle, and a little push makes the wooden door give way.

I stumble inside, almost unsure.

My legs are gradually softening beneath me, but I try to steady myself anyway. I've been through the pains and the betrayals, it's time to get my lick back.

The room is dimly lit, the kind of low light that makes you second-guess every corner. Heavy curtains smother what little daylight there is, turning the air stale, like it hasn’t been aired out in weeks.

The carpet squishes faintly under my heels, patterned in something that might have been elegant thirty years ago—a swirl of muted gold and burgundy now dulled to rust.

A single lamp glows on a side table, casting an amber pool over a scratched mahogany desk buried under a mess of bottles and half-empty glasses.

My eyes wander to the bed, and I almost puke at the sight of all the 'effort'.

There are rose petals sprinkled all over the king-sized bed, a desperate attempt at romance that feels as cheap as it looks. The petals are bruised and browning at the edges, scattered unevenly like someone watched a soap opera and decided this was how seduction worked.

A satin sheet—champagne gold—stretches tight across the mattress, glinting under the dim lamp like liquid metal. Two heart-shaped pillows sit awkwardly in the center, trying too hard to be cute.

And at the foot of the bed, there’s a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, water pooling at the bottom because the ice is already half-melted. One glass. Not two.

I shake my head, deciding this isn't worth it, but before I turn, a heavy weight crashes into me from behind and I squeal.

"Miss me, Bombón?"

The spicy cinnamon scent of his perfume invades my nostrils like a wall closing in where there was once space.

He sways us gently from side to side, massaging his erection into my ass—somehow, that turns me on.

Once a slut, always a—

I wriggle myself free, allowing only enough space to turn to face him.

Immediately our eyes connect, he crashes his lips on mine, kissing me desperately, licking on my lips like a man who's just found salvation.

"I missed the taste of you so much." He breaks the kiss just short enough to let those words out.

Soon, he's backing me up towards the bed. I crash on the soft material, rose petals flying all around, the sweet smell of the flower clouding my senses. I try to move, but before then, he crashes on top of me, his heavy weight pressing me further into the mattress.

This is all moving too fast, but I have a feeling that I won't be able to stop it even if I wanted. And why would I want to?

Guilt? Pft! That died with all the pains three month ago.

Besides, I've been with Sebastián countless times before, and he's good sport. One 'last' time won't hurt.

While I'm in a little hesitation crisis, Sebastian, on the other hand, doesn't seem to care about consequences.

His hands are hungrily rummaging through my body, squeezing my breasts, then my ass, then my thighs.

All his touches elicit a moan, or a shiver, or an arch of the back, from me.

Before I realize it, I'm also fuddling his body, tearing his buttons off, ripping his jeans open.

"Hmm." He hums, the sound vibrating in his throat and penetrating my already weak body. "You are just as hungry for me as I am for you."

His thick Mexican accent filters through, threatening to kill the mood.

I slap my lips against his, effectively shutting him up.

Yes, I am hungry. But not for him, just for this.

It’s been three whole months.

Not since I last had sex—that, I’ve lost track of. But three months since the pains hollowed me out, since my body became a tomb for something I once called hope.

Three months since I walked in on Ryat shagging a hooker in some cheap motel room.

I bury my fingers in Sebastian's hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan, because I need to feel something that isn’t grief. I need a sound that isn’t my own sobbing in the shower when I remembered how he was touching someone else while I was eight months gone.

While I was pregnant.

Carrying his child!

My breath hitches, and I swallow the lump in my throat with another bruising kiss. I hate that I still taste salt—my tears—but he doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. Men like Sebastian never care. They just devour.

And right now, that’s what I want—to be devoured. To disappear in the heat, in the sweat, in the rawness of his body.

My nails rake down Seb's chest, carving red lines like I’m punishing someone else. Like every gasp he gives me is vengeance.

"Still wild as siempre, huh Mamacita?"

He falls back on me, and I let him press me into the mattress, his weight crushing the last pieces of the woman who believed in forever.

His mouth trails fire down my neck, and I let it burn. I welcome the sting, the bite, because pain feels cleaner than betrayal.

"Dios mío…" he murmurs against my skin, the words vibrating into me, but I don’t want sweet nothings—I want destruction.

“Don’t talk,” I whisper harshly, shoving his face back to my mouth.

Talking makes this real, and nothing about this can be real. This isn’t love, or even lust—it’s a declaration of war. A war I didn’t start but one I intend to finish.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading me like I’m something sacred, he disconnects our interlinked mouths again, but this time, he does something useful with his.

He drops to my core and cups my sensitive folds in the wet sweetness of his mouth.

I inhale sharply, clutching a handful of his hair as my back arches, a low moan climbing through my lungs.

He moves, tongue-fucking me with an intensity that I've forgotten to be possible.

"Seb..." I bite down on my lips, swallowing my sex sounds.

He continues. Mindlessly, pleasuring me like it's the source of his own pleasures.

His tongue slowly leaves my cunt and I grunt in disapproval, but soon start moaning in pleasure as he swallows my clit, flicking—over, across, around—eliciting all sorts of pleasure in my core.

"Sebastian... fuck!" My back arches and I throw my head back, eyes shut.

Soon, the pressure starts building in my core, and I know I'm more than close.

He notices too and ups his tempo, licking angrily at my sensitive bean. My lower body tightens, my legs spasm, and I explode into his mouth—offloading my burden.

I'm still recovering when I feel his hot breath trailing along my skin as he peppers kisses up my torso.

He lands the last kiss on my lips, and I draw him closer, pressing my chest to his, tasting not just him, but me now.

"Did you like it?"

I draw him closer—responding with my actions.

Reaching for the bedside table, he retrieves a lone condom from the mess and tears it open.

He pulls away slightly to allow space to pull the latex over his cock, and I lose myself staring at his member.

After he's done, he draws closer, resting on one arm while he pulls my legs apart using the other. I let them slide open—wide.

The first thrust steals my breath.

It’s brutal, almost punishing—and that’s exactly what I want. I arch into him, nails clawing his back, leaving trails of rage and release.

He thrusts again, and I grab a handful of the sheets.

My moan rips free, raw and animal, and it shocks me—but I don’t stop. I ride the sound, chase it like salvation, moving my hips to Sebastian's savage rhythm while he rides me off the edge of the cliff.

"Mar-r-i..." He groans my name like a prayer.

I bite his shoulder to swallow the scream clawing up my throat.

He continues with his rough thrusts, and I find myself begging him to continue. Asking him to thrust harder, move faster. He does just that.

The room fills with the sounds of our pleasure, bouncing off the walls and hitting us in our tangled state, mixing in with the chaos that is us.

We climax together. Our bodies shudder as we explode in each other's arms.

Still holding me, he places a deep kiss on my forehead. "That was mindblo—"

CRASH!

The door explodes inward, wood splintering around. The sound is so violent it rips the breath from my lungs. I jerk upright, clutching the sheets to my chest, heart pounding like a war drum.

Seb curses behind me, spitting venom. "What the fuck? I’ll kill the motherfucker who—"

But I don’t hear the rest. My gaze locks on the gaping frame where the door used to be, dust swirling like smoke after a blast.

Shadows shift in the haze, slow and deliberate, and dread coils tight in my stomach.

Then, his tall silhouette solidifies, emerging from the dust like a shadow dragged from hell.

Ryat.

He steps through the wreckage with a scowl carved in his face and a gun gleaming cold in his hand.

Having confirmed his identity, I let the sheet fall, baring myself to him. "You're a little late... husband."