Mine

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I flopped on my back in the park, the cool grass tickling my arms as I stretched. It was a lazy late afternoon in Miami. Rafael and I were on a blanket in the shade, and the tang of salt was in the warm breeze coming off Biscayne Bay. Everything seemed in vivid Technicolor, from the green of the tall palm trees to the blue of the sky.

My internship at the Herald was amazing and mentally stimulating, and while I suspected Rafa still wasn't thrilled about my assignments covering crime, he'd stopped worrying aloud.

Plus, he was busy with his job at a real estate agency and, with some money he'd saved, bought his first, pre-sale condo to flip.

I stretched out, smiling. It was the best summer ever—working as a reporter during the days and spending every night with Rafa. Since I was getting paid at The Herald, I'd told my father that I'd support myself.

I didn't tell him that Rafael had moved in and was splitting expenses.

What my dad didn't know wouldn't hurt him. If he surprised us in-person again, Rafa and I would tell him the truth. Until that day, we were going to do what we wanted. Like adults.

I was twenty-one, after all.

"By the time school starts for you in September, I should be making enough money to pay all the rent anyway," Rafa told me.

It had been my idea to live together. There was no way I'd let Rafa live in that hovel in Wynwood, although our place wasn't much better.

I felt Rafa slide next to me on the blanket. Even after years of dating, I still got a charge every time he was near. He kissed my shoulder and placed a perspiring bottle of water next to me on the grass. I thanked him and snuggled next to him, his body giving off the heat of a thousand Miami suns.

"Justi, I put money in our bank account today. Buy groceries with it, okay? Don't use your dad's money for household stuff anymore. I don't want him supporting us at all. And I'm paying for tonight, when we go out to that art show you wanted to see."

I nodded. He was so weird about my father's money.

He picked up his book and began to read. I shifted a few inches so I was closer to him. Sleepy from the heat, I put my book down and sat up, taking a long sip of the water. I lay back down on my side, my face toward Rafa. He sighed and did the same.

"When am I going to stop wanting you so much?" he whispered. "What have you done to me? It's like you put a spell on me, Justine."

"Maybe I did," I giggled.

"Well, I hope you never break that spell. Okay, Justine?"

I shook my head and kissed him, tracing his sharp cheekbone. "Never."

A few hours later, Rafa and I stared at the people around us, all black-clad artsy types and people who were into BDSM. At least that's what I'd read in the show brochure. The words "bondage furniture art show" made Rafael laugh.

We both watched a tall, bald man strut around the room. He wore black boots, black jeans, and was shirtless. He moved like a sexy cat around the art warehouse, which was nearly empty and painted with blood-red walls.

Rafael thought the guy was a bit of a douchebag. He'd already told me that, several times that night. "Justine, what is this crap?" he whispered to me.

"Shh. It's a bondage art exhibit. That's what it says on the flyer. Don't roll your eyes. Stop laughing. We'll only stay a few minutes. There's free beers at the next gallery."

We were at the monthly art walk in Miami's Design District, and Rafa thought a lot of the exhibits were silly and pretentious. He was kind of right. But he'd agreed to go because I had been begging him for a couple of months now. Plus, it was a rare Saturday night off, and there were free drinks. We both liked that.

I was feeling sexy in tight jeans and a black tank top. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bald guy giving my body the once-over. Rafael saw, too, and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like to try it out?" the guy asked me, pointing to a large, wooden X near a wall.

I tilted my head and crinkled my nose. "What is it?"

The guy grinned at me, and Rafael's hands twitched into fists.

"It's a St. Andrew's Cross. I made it. It's meant to restrain someone by the ankles, wrists, and waist. If you'd like to step up, I can strap you in and show you how it works. Of course, I won't whip you like I do with my submissives, but you can get the idea."

Rafa emitted a low grunt that only I could hear and clamped his arm tight around my waist. I suspected what he really wanted to do was punch the guy for even looking at me, but he knew I'd freak if he did that.

"Thanks, bro, but no," Rafa said. "The only one who gets to see her on something like that is me."

The bald guy laughed and shrugged. "Fine. I get it. I'll leave you two alone." He walked out of the room.

I turned to Rafael. "You handled that surprisingly well."

Rafael hugged me from behind. "I don't blame men for trying to flirt—you're gorgeous. I don't like to watch it, though. Or know about it."

We stared for a few moments at the wooden cross. I laughed when we both tilted our heads in one direction, then another, simultaneously, like puppies. A dark, industrial song came on that sounded like it was from the nineties.

"What band is this?" Rafa asked. "You should know. You were a Goth girl in high school."

I laughed. "I was a lame Goth. I hated the eyeliner. It's too difficult to be a Goth in Florida because it's hot. But I think this is a band called Athamay. They sing about torture and stuff."

He kissed my neck and grinned into my skin. That's what we admired about each other. Nothing was sacred; everything was fair game for skewering. We both constantly questioned everything. I even questioned him, which I knew sometimes annoyed him, but he loved me for it anyway.

I pointed to the cross.

"What do you think of that? Would you want to see me tied to that? And what would you do to me?"

He stood back and stared at the contraption, stroking his full bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. "I would tease you. Kiss you. Lick you."

I pressed my chest into his and whispered in his ear.

"I like the idea of being your submissive. Would you tie me up? Hit me? Spank me? Punish me?"

I tilted my face so that we were inches apart. His eyes glittered, and I was breathing hard from thinking about the possibilities. We'd been trying new things in bed lately, different positions and a little role-playing. Things I'd read about online.

"I don't know. I wouldn't want hurt you in any way, Justine. Would you want me to hit you? Spank you? Would you want to be tied up?"

"For you, Rafa? Yes. I'd try anything."

Later that night, after he'd tied my hands to our bedposts with my silk scarves, I begged him to slap me. He did once, across the cheek, softly. He muttered something about how he couldn't keep slapping me on the face, so he undid the binds and flipped me over. He spanked me more. Harder. And harder. The sting and the pain made me feel joy. Made me feel alive. I twisted my head to look at him, and his eyes burned. His face was focused, intense in a way I'd never seen it before, and I knew then we were inseparable.

"Rafa," I whispered. "Again. Please."

He caressed my ass. "I don't understand why you like this. Or why I like it, for that matter."

"Please?"

"Anything for you." He hit me once more, hard. My eyes watered from the sensation.

"Pull my hair." I shuddered when the sting pricked my scalp and cried out as he fucked me from behind. He changed the condom and that's the first night we had anal for the first time, with him whispering wicked words in Spanish and me making noises like an animal.

Once he gave me what I wanted that night, and many nights after, he turned into something different—a man with edge, something I became addicted to. He was the perfect combination of rough and gentle.

He was mine. I was his. Or so I thought.

____

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