Chapter 15: Friction Points and Fault Lines

Carla kept her eyes on Eli as she moved through his living room, not bothering to pick up the blouse she’d dropped earlier. She wasn’t stalking, exactly. But she was circling something she wasn’t ready to face.

He stood shirtless in the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink like everything was normal. Like she hadn’t just whispered how badly she wanted him again ten minutes after they finished the last round.

“You’re still hard,” she murmured.

Eli looked over his shoulder, smiled, and reached for a towel. “Maybe I’m still thinking about how you kissed me when you came.”

She swallowed and stepped forward, barefoot, the hem of his boxers riding high on her thighs. “Or maybe you just like seeing me beg.”

“I haven’t seen you beg.”

“Yet.”

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Carla kissed him hard, then dropped to her knees and pulled his waistband down.

“Fuck,” she whispered when she saw him fully again. “¿Cómo sigues así?” How are you still like this?

Eli opened his mouth but nothing came out. Carla gripped his thighs and took him into her mouth, slow and deep, until he hissed and braced himself on the counter.

“Trágatelo,” she said between strokes, her voice almost a growl.

He tried. Her hands never left him. Her mouth moved like a promise.

When she pulled back, he reached for her, but she shook her head. “No. You’re not done.”

She tugged him toward the dining room, climbing onto the table. Her back arched as she spread her legs. “Look at me, Eli.”

He stepped between her thighs, kissed the inside of her knee, and pushed in slowly.

She cried out, grabbed his hair. “Mírame cuando te vienes.”

His eyes stayed locked on hers until he shattered.

They collapsed onto the couch, sweaty and breathless. Carla curled against him, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

But something in her stilled.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing her hair back.

She hesitated. “I hate how much I need this.”

He frowned. “Need what?”

“You. This feeling. Like I’m not broken when I’m with you.”

“You’re not broken.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then: “You think I’m strong because I take what I want. But I only take it when I think it’ll leave.”

Eli turned to her. “I’m not leaving.”

“You all say that.”

She tried to get up, but he pulled her back gently.

“I mean it, Carla. I’ve meant it since we were kids.”

Her breath hitched.

“You should’ve kissed me back then,” she said softly.

“You would’ve punched me.”

Carla smiled through her tears. “Yeah ... probably.”

Across the street, Mama Caceres watched from her home office. She’d checked the feed expecting silence. Maybe empty rooms.

But the camera in the dining area was still rolling.

Still recording.

And she had seen it all.

She told herself it was concern. That she needed to know Carla was safe. That Eli wasn’t hurting her.

But her hand was already inside her robe.

She watched Carla command him with her mouth, then ride him on that table like she’d been starving.

Her fingers moved as she watched Eli fall apart in her daughter’s arms.

And then ... the couch.

The afterglow.

The softness Mama hadn’t expected to see.

The tears.

She froze.

Her fingers still.

Her chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with sex.

“Ay, Carla... ” she whispered.

But she didn’t look away.

Not yet.