Capitulito VIII

The sex was usually pretty good.

A little rougher than I was used to, but delicious all the same.

Nick had that mouth, those beautiful lips. They kissed and nibbled and sucked and bit.

A few times afterwards I’d have bruises, from his lips and his strong, gorgeous hands.

He was passionate, under the sheets or not, he was just that kind of person.

It never really hurt, only pleasure pains, but sometimes I would cry.

The second Nick would see my tears, he’d flip. He’d freak about how he was hurting me.

Then he’d get mad and defensive.

Why did his love hurt?

I would try to kiss and cuddle and caress and soothe, and sometimes he’d be fine. He’d laugh, and attempt to wipe away the dry tears on my cheek.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Baby?” He’d smile.

“I’m perfect.”

And then we would continue.

But sometimes he’d just get madder. He’d go downstairs and watch infomercials all night, or go outside and bounce a basketball around.

The next morning he’d barely even notice me as he got ready to leave. He’d walk out the door with only a slight peck on the cheek, and wouldn’t say a word until he got home that night.

If I was around when he got home, he’d smile and be all lovey-dovey. That night he’d be especially gentle and tender, lighting candles and burning incense. Or he’d fill a bubble bath and we’d make love in the tub.

“See, Amber, I can be gentle. I love you, and I’ll never hurt you.”

And I’d smile and run my hands across his chest, “I know Nick, you never have hurt me. I love you always.”

He’d kiss me again, with those beautifully painful lips and I’d get all weak in the knees and he’d laugh gently.

“See, Amber, I can be gentle. I love you, and I’ll never hurt you.”