Chapter 13: Cracks in the Clockwork

Beneath the Stillness

The house was quiet.

Carla stood by the window in my shirt, looking out toward her mother’s place.

“She’s not home,” I said softly.

“I know,” she replied, not turning. “She goes to church early when she’s mad at me.”

I moved behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist.

“She’ll forgive you.”

Carla tilted her head back just enough to brush my cheek with hers. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Wired

In the security room next door, Mama Caceres sat alone, barefoot, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor.

She hadn’t meant to look.

She just ... checked the system, like always. To make sure her Eli was safe.

But now she watched Carla slowly lower herself onto his lap, straddling him with slow, practiced control.

The sound wasn’t on.

But Mama didn’t need it.

She saw Carla’s mouth moving. Saw Eli’s hands tremble.

Her breath caught when Carla raised her arms and let Eli guide her wrists gently behind her back.

Knotted

I tied the scarf loosely—more symbolic than binding—but Carla sighed like I’d locked a cage around her.

She looked down at me, eyes glittering. “You like this.”

I nodded, throat dry. “A little too much.”

Her smile turned wolfish. “Mírame.”

She leaned in. Her lips grazed mine once, then claimed them.

I melted into her. Let her do what she wanted.

Carla kissed me like she’d earned it. Like I was hers. Like I had no say in the matter.

And maybe I didn’t want one.

Let Go

“Lay back,” she ordered.

I obeyed.

She kissed down my chest, slow and possessive, pausing just to breathe me in.

“I need you to stay still,” she whispered, straddling me again.

“Sí, señora,” I breathed, half-laughing, half-desperate.

Her eyes darkened. “Así me gusta.”

And then she took me.

Friction

We moved together like we’d done it a thousand times. But it still felt new.

She rode me with purpose—tight grip, shallow rhythm, like she wanted to feel every inch, every twitch.

Her voice came in gasps. Spanish I didn’t fully understand but knew in my bones.

“Dámelo ... así ... no pares...”

I couldn’t speak.

Only feel.

Watched

Mama Caceres pressed her knees together and bit her knuckle.

She should’ve turned the screen off.

She didn’t.

She watched her daughter’s body blur in motion—watched Eli lift his hips in helpless surrender.

And she let herself feel it.

Not just the ache between her thighs.

The envy.

The longing.

The wonder.