“No, we can’t.” I shake my head, still smiling. “But next time . . .”
His entire expression changes to happiness, leaving us to stand and stare at each other. My body vibrates from the good feelings he gave me. His hands gently caress my back while mine wiggle into the waistline of his jacket, protected from the crisp temperature.
“You know.” He suddenly frowns, and his voice becomes quieter and more intimate. “I wasn’t just being rough to be rough.”
I cast him an inquisitive look, searching for the meaning behind his words.
“It was deliberate. I meant to take control. I wanted you to feel helpless.”
His eyebrows are drawn together when explaining himself.
“Helpless?”
It’s such an odd word choice that I don’t hide my disdain for it.
“No, maybe that’s not the best word. Uncertain or disoriented? I wanted to take you outside your comfort zone. You challenged me, wanting me to teach you a lesson. I wanted you to see me how I am.”
I nod slowly, still wondering where he’s going with this.
“And how are you, Diego?”
His gaze drifts away as if my question asks the mother of all questions. As if he’s thought and answered it a hundred different ways and is deciding which one to go with.
“Your equal.”
When he looks at me, there’s a seriousness.
“Your equal? What do you mean?”
He sighs, dragging a knuckle over my cheek and tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Just don’t put me on the other side of the wall.”
The words ghost out of him before he kisses me softly. My eyes close as I kiss him back, but my brain analyzes his cryptic words.
What wall?
Is there something he’s hiding from me? Something I should know about him?
He ends the kiss as quickly as it starts, capturing my hand and silently guiding me back to his bike.
“What wall, Diego?”
He shakes his head, picks up my helmet, and is about to put it on me when I stop him.
“What wall?” I repeat, when he continues to fiddle with the helmet instead of responding.
He pauses, his jaw tightening as he looks away, avoiding my gaze. I think he might ignore the question altogether, but then he sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly.
“It’s not something I can explain in a few words.”
His voice is rough around the edges as if he’s struggling to get out whatever bothers him.
“Try. You can’t just say something like that and expect me to let it go.”
I intentionally add an edge to my tone. He’s never not communicated effectively before, so why is he having trouble now?
The pink helmet dangles in his hand. His thumb flips the strap back and forth, releasing nervous energy. His eyes flicker with something raw and vulnerable when he finally looks at me.
