Free Loving Me, Trusting You by C. M. Stunich

want to go back to joking around and pretending that I just want to be friends with benefits like she and Austin were.
    I watch as Mireya pulls out a pair of faded jeans and sets them aside. It's just busy work, what she's doing, pretending to set out her outfit. I've never seen her plan out her clothes even an hour in advance. She's avoiding me. I think about whether I should talk about what happened downstairs and decide against it. No. No. Maybe Beck, asshole that he is, is right? Maybe I've been going about dealing with Mireya in all the wrong ways? She's a woman, sure, but that doesn't mean she necessarily wants to talk everything out.
    Instead, I step forward and come up behind her, pressing my erection against the silken crease in her panties, smelling her floral perfume and letting it sit on my tongue when I open my mouth to whisper in her ear.
    “Somehow though,” I begin as she stiffens in my arms. “The only woman I can imagine that's prettier than Old Barb is standing right in front of me.” Mireya shakes her head and her wet hair slides along my face.
    “I'm going to tell her you said that,” she says, grabbing the zipper on her duffel and sliding it closed. All she's managed to dig out are a pair of jeans and a black thong. I smile when she spins and turns to face me, our mouths so close we could kiss if either of us took a single breath. “She's a jealous bitch, too. I once saw her shoot a man in the foot for even looking at another woman.” Mireya shrugs, but I can tell from the look in her eyes that even she knows we're past the jokes and the silly sayings and the gossip. I don't want that anymore and she knows it. “I don't want to belong to anybody, Gaine,” she says and her voice starts off more tender than I've ever heard it, fading just a bit when she says my name so that her callous attitude is plastered across her face when she's finished.
    “Babe,” I tell her, leaning towards her and pressing my forehead to hers. “You don't need to be.” I lift my face up and press a kiss to her hairline. She's frowning and the skin around her nose is wrinkled, but she isn't pulling away. Or punching me in the balls, so I think we're doin' good. “Because no matter what you say, no matter what you do, I'm yours.”
    My hands rise up and slide around her waist, pulling her tight as my lips find hers, hot and bothered and sticky with moisture. The air conditioner doesn't seem to be working right in this room, so it's a bit hotter than it should be, making Mireya's skin slick where my fingers find it underneath the edge of her lacy nothing. I kiss her the way a woman should be kissed, like there's nowhere else I'd rather be, like I'm worshipping her with my mouth. She's always wearing these fruit flavored lipsticks and whatnot, so I'm used to that taste. Only problem is, it isn't her. The lipstick isn't what I want to savor when my mouth is up tight to hers. Tonight, for what may very well be the first time, she's au naturel, no makeup, just soft skin and lips that hold no lies, only secrets. Wonder if I can kiss them all out of her?
    I hold her gentle at first, like she's made of glass. I can't help it. I'm a man, and I love a woman. I want to protect her, to treat her nice, keep her safe. But then I think about how strong she is, how independent. Maybe I don't need to be so careful? Maybe my slow approach, my caution, that's what's fuckin' me hard?
    So I squeeze tighter, flexing my muscles so that Mireya's pressed so hard into me that her breasts bulge out above the wire in her corset, rising full and golden against my chest. I can't hold back any longer, so I dig my fingers into her back, pressing against her skin through the ribbons that lace up her top, and hold onto the edges. It doesn't take much. Just a quick surge of strength and the two sides pull apart, bows unraveling until the purple ribbon is sliding to the floor in a pool of satin.
    The whole time, I don't take my mouth off of hers. If I