Free Shelter by Lauren Gilley

muscle on top of her. The bed springs creaked in time to the rush of exhaled breath in her ear that accompanied each thrust. Carlos pounded inside her: slow and hard, just as she’d wanted. Forward and retreat. God, he was thick, rubbing her wet walls in all the right places. Her legs were tight around his waist, his hip bones digging into her inner thighs. His weight pushed her down into the mattress, the smell of man sweat and cologne on his neck filling her nostrils as she clung desperately to him.
    But she had to keep her eyes open, because every time they fluttered shut, she saw Sam. So she watched the ceiling and let every conscious thought dissolve, until she existed only in this moment, with this man, lived each stroke of his cock inside her.
    He pushed her knees up further and came with a curse and one last hard thrust that sent her over the edge. This time when she shut her eyes, all she saw were starbursts against a black backdrop. He was heavy and still on top of her a moment and she welcomed the weight, the way her inner muscles still pulsed around him. When he finally withdrew and rolled over to lie beside her, she felt cold and exposed. And then shame slammed into her headfirst.
    “Oh, God,” she murmured. Her body was still flushed, her heart rate still uneven, but the reality of the very real, very primal act wouldn’t be ignored. Alma put a shaking hand to her lips. “What did we do? Oh, shit what did we…” she trailed off because she thought she might cry. Her emotions felt like they’d been tos sed around in a cocktail shaker; she had no idea what she was feeling.
    She sat up and made a move to leave the bed, but a hand curled around her wrist. Stopped her.
    A light sheen of sweat had left Carlos glowing. The veins in his arms and neck were popped out from exertion, his eyes still scary-intense…in a way. It was a good kind of scary: the kind that left her shivering and flushed even as tears spilled over her eyelids.
    “It was wrong,” she said weakly, voice breaking.
    His thumb rubbed up and back over her pulse point. “He asked me to look after you,” he countered, voice thick. “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. You know I…”
    He didn’t have to say it. She knew. Alma nodded, took a deep breath, and weighed her alternatives. If she put her clothes on and went home, she’d spend a sleepless night curled up alone, berating herself for her lost job, her lost self-control.
    So she lay down beside him again, welcomed his kiss. Let his mouth take away her protests. The few minutes their bodies had been joined had been the first time she hadn’t felt anything but good, so she hooked her leg over his hip and resolved not to say another damn word the rest of the night.
     

 
     
     
     
     
    6
     
                  The sun was shining. Brightly. Its rays making him squint even though his eyes were still shut. Carlos didn’t understand how he could possibly have slept so late considering he couldn’t really sleep at all lately, and then he shifted around and realized that he wasn’t alone in bed.
                  His eyes flipped open. Alma was on her side, facing him, her mahogany hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. One smooth arm and a creamy stretch of her back were exposed, and he felt the soft touch of her breasts against his chest. Morning sun skimmed her face, painted her cheek gold, highlighted the soft curve of her lips.
                  A thrill ran through him as he recalled their night together and stared at the living proof of her sharing his cramped little bed. How long he’d dreamed idly of having her naked skin against his, and though that reality was tainted by the grief that had brought them together, he wouldn’t have traded this moment.
                  Alma’s lashes fluttered and those pretty brown eyes opened slowly. She lifted her head and he watched panic flicker across her face. “Oh,” she pulled in a little gasp.