I was still thinking it, sitting outside in the sunshine, about to pull my Kindle out of my purse and catch up on my latest Game of Thrones novel, when Mateo appeared in front of me.
My heart slowed and I slowly looked up.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, hands in his jean pockets. He was now wearing his casual garb again—grey fitted t-shirt, worn jeans. His hair was all messy black waves and hanging a bit in his face, begging to be touched. His eyes were luminous, like starlight.
“You were?” I asked.
“I was worried about you after last night.”
I smiled awkwardly. “Yes, well…I am better now.”
“Good.” He held out his hand for me. I noticed he wasn’t wearing his Rolex and there was a faint tan line where it had been. He was still, of course, wearing his wedding ring. “I noticed we have a session after our break. Would you like to go for a walk with me?”
I stared at the ring on his finger. I thought about what it meant. Then I thought about what he meant to me. Cautiously, I reached out and gave my hand to him. He pulled me up to my feet, my long skirt flowing around my legs like water.
“I’d love to go for a walk with you,” I said. “Maybe we can find a tree to sleep under.”
His eyes danced and he squeezed my hand, causing the nerves in my arm to quake. “Maybe.”
He didn’t keep holding my hand, however, not that I expected him to. But as we walked down the hill toward the country road, he kept moving closer to me, our hands brushing against each other. After knowing what his kiss was like, I was still surprised that the lightest bit of contact between us set my skin alight. The man was ruining me, bit by bit.
We strolled up the road away from Acantilado, not saying very much, just enjoying each other’s company, the sweet-smelling breeze, and the heat that baked us between the sun and the hard earth. The air buzzed with cicadas and floated with butterflies. The fields shimmered with haze. Summer was officially here.
“Tell me, Vera,” he said. “What are you going to miss the most about Spain?”
“You,” I said automatically. It was the truth, there was no getting around it, not anymore.
He had such a beautiful smile. “I am glad for that. But you’ll miss the country too, yes?”
I nodded. “Definitely. In fact, I think I belong here more than I do back at home. This place…makes you feel alive. It gives you, I don’t know, spirit.”
“Spain looks good on you,” he said. “You can see it on your face. I think you could be happy here.”
My smile shrank a little. “I think so too…”
“Sometimes your home isn’t where you were born,” he noted.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, though I knew what he said was true.
Mateo suddenly grabbed my hand. He took me to the side of the road and lifted up the top wire of a fence, about to lead me through it. I stepped under, careful not to trip, and we walked, hand in hand, across a golden field of tall grass and brilliant wildflowers. In the distance was a picturesque oak tree, its shimmering green canopy leaning over the tawny ground.
We went over to the tree, the grass tickling my bare legs as I held up my skirt and stood at the edge of the shade, looking at the field, at Mateo. The grass and the flowers practically swallowed the trunk of the tree, and there wasn’t really a clear area to even sit.
“Not really the best tree to have a nap under,” I said.
He shrugged, the sunlight dappled on him through the leaves above. “It looked better from far away.”
He was still holding my hand. As if we both noticed this at the same time, he went and grabbed my other hand and squeezed both. He dipped his chin and gazed intently at me. Whatever polite façade we were demonstrating a few moments ago was quickly disappearing. I could feel the change between us, the tension growing thicker, calling attention to it, to us. To what we were and what was unresolved.
It called attention to everything. And each moment that Mateo held onto me with his strong hands, every second that his deep eyes bore into mine, seeking and searching, the tension intensified.
“Vera.” He said my name like silk and I knew I would never grow tired of hearing it. I looked down, unable to bear the impassioned look on his face. “I never got a chance last night to tell you how I feel.”
The cicadas chirped, matching the rhythm of my skipping heart. A light breeze blew past, tousling his hair.
“I know.” I swallowed thickly. I took in a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “And I’m afraid to hear it.”
“Why?” he asked. “Because you don’t feel the same way?”
I looked up to see pain pinched on his brow as his eyes sought mine.
“No,” I told him, mustering a scared smile. “Because I do.”
I expected him to return the smile, but his frown only deepened, and the fire in his stare smoldered to hazardous levels. He put one hand at my cheek, cupping it, while the other gripped the back of my neck. He held me there, his gaze penetrating, and I didn’t dare move. I couldn’t. I was completely, totally, one hundred percent his for the taking.
“My life used to be chaotic,” he said quietly. “It used to be more of a life. Then the accident happened. And I met Isabel. She took the chaos that was my life and organized it. She trimmed it, separated it. and put it into these tiny boxes, boxes I was too scared to touch. You, you, Vera, you found those boxes and you opened them up. You ripped them apart. You let the chaos loose, filling my life with energy and stars again.” His lids drooped seductively, the grip on my neck becoming firmer. “You burn so brightly,” he said, his voice low and rough to raise the hair on my arms. “I would like to burn with you.”
I felt like my knees were about to give out.
Then he kissed me. Hard. Passionately. With so much intensity I could hardly breathe. His lips and tongue caused shockwaves from my mouth to my toes, flooding every part of me with bubbles and sunshine until I felt like I was soaring.
I grabbed on to his head to stay grounded, sinking my fingers into the smooth hair at the back of his head, gripping it tight. I gave his strands a tug which caused him to moan inside my mouth, a moan that only added to the heat that was combusting between us.
I felt like I was slipping away, becoming nothing but desire.
Desire was a python, wrapping itself around us, squeezing us to a radiant death.
“Estrella,” he said as he pulled his mouth away and began kissing along my jawbone to my neck. “I have never wanted anyone, anything, quite like I want you.”
I groaned as his lips went behind my ear, sucking on my sensitive skin. “I promise you, you can have me. I am yours,” I said, my breath hitching.
“You are my star,” he murmured. “You are my Estrella.” He trailed his lips down to my collarbone, nipping gently at the tattoos there. “I don’t think I can take much more of this. I’m afraid I am too impatient, too greedy now that I have you here, have you now.”
Before he could say anything else, I grabbed his shirt and pulled it up over his head, flinging it toward the tree. My fingers pressed against his firm, tanned pecs and I could feel how fast his heart was beating. I curled my fingers into the short hairs on his chest and tugged at those too, smiling when I got another moan out of him. My god, he was such a man, a man I had never had before, a new, beautiful breed of maturity and machismo. I almost felt like I was a virgin again.
But I certainly didn’t want to behave that way. I put my hands at his jeans and quickly undid the belt buckle and zipped down his fly. Instead of pulling them off right away, I slipped one hand down his pants and got myself a handful of him. If I was wearing underwear, they would have been soaked at the feel of his cock in my hands. He was hard as cement and big enough to get me very excited.
His eyes rolled back into his head and he said with a groan, “You are greedy too.”
I bit my lip then shot him a coy look as I started to pull his pants off. “You bet I am.” I looked down
and immediately dropped to my knees, pushing the grass out of the way. I pulled his pants off, then ran my fingers underneath the band of his underwear. I was right—they weren’t David Beckham’s, but they were black boxer briefs and showcased the hot little ridge of his hipbones. I quickly ran my tongue over one, tasting the salt on him.
“You are torturing me,” he said in a hushed tone. “La tortura.”
“Bueno.” I grinned. I slowly peeled them off until his cock was in full view. It was impressive—beautifully cut, thick girth, nice length, his hair trimmed. I put my hands under his balls and felt the weight of them. I loved doing that. I also noticed that he had no tan lines. He must sunbathe in the nude.
Jesus, that image was almost as hot as the one in my hands.
Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than for him to be inside of me, and from his rigid length, I knew he felt the same. I started with my mouth. I took his cock in my hand and placed him through my moistened lips, my other hand grabbing onto the firm roundness of his ass. I dug my nails in as he twisted his hands into the thick of my hair and pulled gently. I loved the feel of him, the taste of him, too much. Before I realized it, I was moving fast, wanting nothing more for him to come in my mouth, that I almost forgot about myself.
“Alto,” he hissed, regressing to his Spanish. I wasn’t about to correct him. He could speak Spanish to me all he wanted. “Alto, por favor.”
I slid him out of my lips and gazed up at him with a coquettish smile. “Is this turning you on?”
His eyes blazed as he stepped back and kicked off his pants, briefs, socks, and shoes until he was totally naked, so wonderfully sleek and bronzed, his well-trained muscles primed for vigorous activities. I remained on my knees, watching in awe as he stared down at me.
“I am used to being in charge,” he said. Then he dropped to the ground, ripped my tank top over my head and undid my bra in seconds flat. His eyes feasted on my breasts for a long moment before he pushed me back, the long grass folding under my bare body, and he hiked up my skirt until it was around my hips. I watched as his eyes widened at the sight of me, my legs spread in the stark sunshine with no underwear and a Brazilian wax.
“Bella,” he murmured huskily, sliding his hands down my thighs toward the inside. A pair of hands never felt so good, especially when they found my folds and began to ease themselves into me. “Bella Estrella.”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back into the grass, feeling so unbelievably turned on and free. And as scary as it was to be doing this with Mateo, to be so open, so exposed, so vulnerable in so many ways, I felt safe. I knew deep down it was just for the moment. I knew the aftermath would be painful. For now, in the grass, with his fingers fucking me deep inside, I was in his hands and I knew no hurt could come to me.
He made the come hither motion on the mound of my g-spot and I found myself clenching around his finger, begging for more, for all of him.
“Wait,” I said with a breathy moan. I pointed over to my purse that I had tossed on the ground. I momentarily wondered if I had damaged my Kindle when I threw it but I didn’t give a fuck. I only gave a fuck about fucking. “I have a condom in my purse.”
His raised his brows in surprise. “I can assure you I am clean.”
I gave him a promising smile. “And I am on the pill. But I like to be extra careful.” And definitely at first, when I don’t really know everything about a guy’s past and when I’m leaving him forever in a few days. No one wants an STD or a baby as a souvenir.
Mateo nodded, understanding my concern, and in moments he was sliding the condom over his cock. God, it was beautiful; he was beautiful. Especially when he stroked himself, his eyes closed, his lip curled in pure pleasure. So fucking hot.
“Are you going to fuck me or what?” I asked, my fingers rubbing at my clit, my patience running thin as I swelled thick.
His eyes snapped open, his smile deliciously devious. “I told you I was in charge,” he growled. He removed my hand and placed it behind his ass and leaned over me, guiding his cock inside me. I expanded for him as he slowly, deliciously, plunged in to the hilt.
His tongue lapped and teased at my nipples as one hand squeezed and kneaded my breasts, the other hand back behind my neck, holding me in place. I didn’t know it was possible for me to almost come from nipple stimulation, but I was gasping and moaning until his hand went down to my clit and his lips came up to mine. Our kiss built with the pace of his thrusts, slow at first, then faster, wetter, frenzied.
When I was almost pushed over the edge, my hands gripping his ass so tight, driving him in deeper, my heels digging into the sweaty small of his back, he groaned into my mouth and pulled away until he was staring at me. There was a heady kind of madness in their depth, like the lust was driving him insane.
“In Spain, we both fuck and make love at the same time,” he grunted. “You need to look at me, Vera. You need to stay connected to me, stay with me.”
That was something else new to me. I didn’t make a lot of eye contact during sex. It made it too intimate, too…meaningful. I never wanted any of that—until now.
I swallowed, finding my breath, and let him stare right into my eyes. After a while though, I started really staring back at him. I returned the intimacy he was giving me, looking deeper and deeper until I thought I saw the universe, our universe, being created. I was so turned on and in so deep that I could have been on drugs.
The image of our lovemaking burned into my brain. The blue blue sky behind his head, his dark hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, the golden grass laid out at our sides, my inked skin beneath his rich bronze, the sunshine washing us in its heat.
I’ll never forget this, I told myself. Never.
And that’s when it started to hit me. The combination of the mounting orgasm, the beautiful pleasure that Mateo was gifting me, the intensity and intimacy of our locked gaze. All of it began to smash into my heart, smash into my soul, letting my feelings for him flow out. I felt flooded with love, big, burning, bright love, filled to the brim and ready to burst out of me, to erode those walls that I’d put up and ensure they’d never go back up again.
Seconds later, I came and came hard. My orgasm ripped through me, shockwaves and tremors and ripples that satiated every crevice of my body. I cried his name in release, my voice drifting into the air. The flood took over and tears began to fall out of my eyes as they rolled back, staring at the sky, at the day moon that was hanging in the still blue.
“Estrella,” Mateo whispered huskily as he kept pounding me, driving himself to completion. “My Estrella.”
I recovered enough to tilt my head and look at him as he came. His eyes, too, were wet and shiny, a look of shock and wonder on his handsome face until his lips curled in a groan, his face contorted with the agony of pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut to keep all the senses in. He cried out, low and primal. His body slowed the push and pull into me and I held him tighter between my legs.
Eventually, he collapsed onto his elbows, his sweaty chest pressing against mine, his fingers nestled in the hair at my temples. His thumbs caressed my cheekbones, wiping away the tears I didn’t know were still there. Our eyes were fixed to one another’s, addicted to the view of seeing each other so clearly.
He smiled softly and let out a small laugh of disbelief. He ran a finger all over my face, tracing my features as if he was memorizing me for a sculpture. He stopped at my lips and then kissed them, passion still burning between us.
“Now that is a real siesta,” he said quietly, as if we weren’t all alone in that field.
I giggled and grinned up at him and wrapped my arms around his back, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the strength of his muscles, the heat of the sun. “I think I prefer this siesta a bit more.”
A cloud moved past the sun and then it was bright again.
His smile turned sad and he sighed. “I can’t let you leave, Vera.”
All of a sudden his weight felt like the weight of the world, of o
ur world, was on me. “I don’t think we can lie here forever. I have a session with Frog—I mean, Juan Carlos.”
He brushed his fingers down my cheek, so softly they felt like butterfly wings. “I can’t let you leave Spain. I can’t…I can’t let you leave me.” He took in a deep breath and swallowed thickly, his lips pressed hard together.
My heart felt like it was being crushed. “I wish I could stay…”
“Then stay,” he said. “Find a way.”
I gave him a quizzical look. “That is impossible.”
“You keep saying we are impossible,” he said. “But you don’t have enough faith. You have faith in the stars, but not in us.”
“But we are impossible. You’re…goddamn it, I don’t even want to say it anymore.”
“I’m married, I know this. But—”
“No,” I cried out softly, my hands curling into fists. “I don’t even want to talk about it. It is killing me, Mateo. I can’t even entertain the idea because nothing will come of it. I can’t stay here. I have no money. I’m not allowed to stay in your country for as long as I want. I have to go home. You have to go back to your family. To your daughter. To your wife. To your universe.”
He frowned, confused. “I told you I was creating a new one. And I want you in it. To be the center.”
There was so much conviction in his eyes, so much belief in his own words, that it sliced me thin like paper cuts.
“What do you propose we do?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking with desperation. “I don’t. But…you could stay and then we could figure something out.”
“Mateo,” I said slowly, feeling so scared and hopeless. I didn’t want to leave him but I couldn’t imagine being his mistress either. How did everything get even more complicated than it was before? Hadn’t Mateo said that the good relationships were uncomplicated? We were certainly fucked in that aspect, too.
But Mateo was passion. He was now full of the life we both sought after all these years.
Keep This Promise Page 69