Bronte Montoya was cursed with lateness. She was late being born, late to start school, late to her prom, late to her wedding, and from the looks of it, she was going to be late to her divorce.
…
Roman Ernesto Montoya looked at his expensive watch. He was going to be late. The elevator was nearly full and would likely stop at every floor on the way up. When a guy carrying a bunch of shiny, silver-backed balloons hopped on, his mood darkened. This month used to be a special time for him and his wife…used to be. So far she had refused all the flowers he’d sent to her and turned down nearly all his calls and invitations to meet. They’d only spoken twice in two months.
…
The elevator bounced once and then stopped. Ernesto waited a moment until he felt safe moving.
He could only partially see her face but he knew who she was. Her hair was totally different, parted down the center and falling in a cascade on both sides of a beautiful oval-shaped face, which had been his morning Renoir for the last ten years. He’d seen that face filled with joy when they’d gotten married, contorted in pain during the birth of their children, wrinkled in concern when he was feeling ill, and awash in ecstasy as he bought her to pleasure during their lovemaking.
…
Hanging up, Ernesto looked over to Bronte whose body was silhouetted by the glow from the buttons. It was amazing how far away she seemed even in the tiny elevator. He’d done that to them, all in the name of protecting what he now realized didn’t really matter. If he lost his family in the process… If he lost Bronte…
You are not going to lose her. All this will be over, today. Then the hard part begins, he assured himself.
“So, what do we do now?” Her voice was clipped as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked forward.
Ernesto could see her stiffened spine in the soft lighting. It was then that he fully noticed all her changes. Gone were the soft, feminine pant suits, and comfortably low heels. In their place was living breathing sexiness. To his dismay, Bronte had lost a good bit of weight since he’d last seen her. He’d always rejoiced at her curves, loving the slightly protruding flesh of her belly and her curvy hips, which led into thick thighs. Her breasts were small and flat, more nipple than anything else. Bronte hated her breasts, always wanting them to be bigger, fuller. Ernesto preferred them the way they were. He loved the way her nipples jutted out, so prominent and bold. Perfect for his tongue to flick and suckle, perfect for him. Bronte was the quintessential pear shape and he relished sinking his teeth into her juicy goodness. The thought of tasting her lips and sucking her large nipples, which were nearly obsidian against her dark brown skin, had his mouth watering and his cock stiffening.
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