Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  At least that’s how I was feeling.

  Mateo was never one to overanalyze.

  He suddenly marched right over to me, a madness in his eyes, and for a heady moment I thought he might consume me.

  He put his arms around me and brought me into a tight, hard, nearly painful embrace, holding me as if I were to be ripped right out of his hands. I was engulfed by his intoxicating smell, that mix of fresh ocean breezes and sensual musk, and strengthened by the feeling of his hard chest pressed up against me. I let out a muffled cry, my body overcome with hunger, my heart desperate for his. I could have been standing in the middle of the Arctic tundra for all I cared; as long as I was in his arms I felt home.

  “I can’t believe you are here, my Estrella,” he murmured into my hair. “I can’t believe it. I pray I am not dreaming.”

  “I pray for the same thing,” I said, my fingers pressing into him, afraid to lose contact.

  He pulled back slightly and cupped my face in his hands, gazing down at me with eyes that burned with liquid intensity. “But you are real.”

  He kissed me deeply, our lips feeding the passion in each other, our tongues melding together, sweet and spicy. That python of desire was back, squeezing me until it hurt, making me want, need, crave nothing but him, nothing but this moment. We gripped each other, fire in our fingers, pressed against each other as if we couldn’t get closer. I’d never wanted his cock inside me so badly, that physical link between us, to feel him so deep and thick.

  Before I could even tell my hands to act, they were already reaching for his pants, unzipping them, sliding into his briefs and pulling out his cock, long, hard and heavy in my hands. Jesus. I almost came just from touching him.

  He groaned at my grip, and that only made me throb even more, my underwear soaked. They needed to come off, now.

  We fumbled for each other frantically, Mateo’s kisses growing deeper, his tongue fucking my mouth, and I felt my knees buckling. I nearly fell back to the floor but his hands had a stronghold on my arms. With a flame in his eyes, he lowered me to the rug until I was flat on my back. I hiked up my dress and wriggled out of my panties while he managed to only get his pants and briefs off. He attempted to unbutton his shirt but growled, “Fuck it,” and came down on top of me.

  His head immediately went between my legs, and I made fists into his hair, already squirming. “My God, I have missed this taste,” he moaned, the vibration against my clit causing me to gasp and tug hard on his hair. It took no time before his tongue was swirling me to an orgasm. I wasn’t seeing stars—I was the stars.

  There was no break, no respite. With my body still riding the wave, trembling with ecstasy, he was positioning his cock at my entrance.

  “I must have you, like this, right now,” he said adamantly. “I am clean. Do you trust me?”

  Of course I did. I wasn’t going to put a condom on him anyway. If I didn’t trust him by now then I shouldn’t be here. Thankfully, I was religious when it came to the pill.

  “Yes,” I said, nearly begging. “Please come inside of me.”

  With his hands planted on the rug on either side of me, his answer was a single thrust, going in deep, expanding me. I gasped and he slowly slid out. Then back in again. Then out. Taking his sweet, beautiful time. I stared down at him as he pushed in and out, with his slick cock and his white work shirt. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. I started playing with my nub but soon my hand was replaced by his.

  “That is my job,” he grunted, his fingers sliding back and forth between my clit and his cock.

  Soon, his thrusts became faster and faster, and he was so adept at control, playing me just right, that I wasn’t coming until he was. Both of us cried out, moaning and jerking from the spasms, riding an endless wave that made my mouth gape open and my eyes roll back. When he began to slow, he remained inside of me, kissing my face gently and everywhere. My eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, my chin. Our breathing eventually returned to normal, but I didn’t want him to pull out yet. I wrapped my arms around his toned back and held him to me, his face in the crook of my neck.

  I’d dreamed about having him like this again. It’s what kept me going on those nights where I felt alone and cold and unloved.

  A tear rolled down my cheek.

  I was finally home.

  I awoke before the break of dawn, the world saturated in a grainy ink blue. After the night of sex—on the floor, on the couch, against the wall, in the bed, in the shower—I would have thought I’d sleep for days. But despite all the frenzied activity, I was wide awake, my internal clock all messed up thanks to jet lag. I stared down at Mateo sleeping soundly beside me, so tanned and dark against the cool white of the sheets. I could still hardly believe he was here.

  I wanted to run my fingers over his nose, feel his soft lips, his solid jaw, his chin, his cheekbones, but I didn’t want to wake him. I was somewhat surprised at his stamina last night—I had been with guys my age who tuckered out after two vigorous sessions in the sack, let alone five. I wanted to wear Mateo out until he couldn’t possibly go on—that was my new goal.

  I smiled to myself at that thought and slowly got out of bed. The light outside was already turning from ink to sky blue, and through the thin glass of the windows I could hear the birds chirping. The only thing this apartment was missing was a balcony. It would have been nice to start the day outside.

  I slipped on my boy shorts and my t-shirt since we’d slept naked, and went out into the kitchen to make myself some coffee. He had a fancy espresso machine that would put my barista skills to good use, but I knew it would be messy and noisy. I rummaged through the cupboards, full of food that looked untouched, and finally found a container of instant coffee. While the kettle was heating up, I leaned against the counter and hugged my arms across my chest. The apartment was cool in the morning, which was good considering that Madrid was apparently going through a heat wave. I was so in and out yesterday that I barely had time to feel it.

  I went through three cups of coffee, black, my heart being jumpstarted again and again, and just took in the look of my surroundings, my new home. It was going to take some getting used to, especially with jet lag. I know when I was in London, the first few days were spent in a fog and I had done stuff that, looking back now, I could barely remember. I wondered if I would look back at this exact moment and remember everything I was thinking, everything I was feeling: excited, nervous, hopeful, and scared.

  Compared to yesterday though, I felt a lot better now that I was with Mateo. He made a lot of the fears go away, though there were still some dark worries lurking around in the back of my heart. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to fit in here—yes, I did well with the Spaniards at Las Palabras, but this was the city of Madrid, and in some ways a whole new game I knew nothing about.

  I worried that his friends and family wouldn’t like me—while Lucia was darling, and according to her, her parents were accepting of me and Mateo, I didn’t know that for sure. As for his friends, I had absolutely no idea. His friends were all going to be in their mid to late thirties. What the hell were they going to think about me? I still liked to party, go out and get drunk, go to concerts where you got stale beer thrown in your face and people kicking you in the head from crowd-surfing. I wasn’t a martini-sipping in a fancy lounge, gossiping about boring shit kind of girl. I didn’t have children, or even a pet. I didn’t have a prestigious career or a well-paying job or a job in general. Fuck, I didn’t even speak Spanish.

  And of course my biggest worry was the divorce itself and all that involved, particularly Chloe Ann. I was worried that the little girl would resent me for doing this to her, for taking her father away from her. I worried that Isabel and her semi-royal family would turn hateful and come after me for being the other woman, the villainous homewrecker. And more than anything, I worried that it would become too much for Mateo and I to carry on. We’d survived Las Palabras and seeing each other every day; we’d survived a long-distance relations
hip where we never saw each other, but this would be the final test. If we could survive my moving to Madrid and being with Mateo while all of this shit was whirling around us, then we could truly survive everything.

  I just had no idea how things were going to pan out. I’d have to start living in the moment, not worrying too much about the future, or I’d go insane. I already made all the right steps—now it was time to see where they would lead.

  Eventually Mateo came out of the bedroom, having slipped on his boxer briefs, and stood in the hallway, staring at me with sleepy eyes while scratching his bedhead. As usual, he skirted the line between sexy as hell manbeast and being absolutely adorable.

  “I had the most wonderful dream,” he said with a yawn, padding over to me. “That you had come to live with me in Madrid. Now I see you in my kitchen, drinking my shitty coffee, and I have to ask…am I still dreaming?”

  I grinned at him. I don’t know why I bothered with coffee when the mere sight of him made my heart turn into a rocket. “I may be dreaming too. Some things seem far too good to be true.”

  He came and kissed me on the forehead. “I like you like this, my dream Estrella.” He walked over to the fridge and opened it, and I took a long moment to admire his ass. “You, in my kitchen, like a vision.”

  “Well, I like you in the kitchen too. Especially when I’m up here,” I said, patting the counter with a wicked gleam in my eye. I jumped up so I was sitting on it, opened my legs, and gestured to my pussy. “And when you’re right here.” I expected him to laugh. I didn’t expect him to be interested right away, not after the night we had, but he closed the fridge door and strolled over to me, a smug look on his face.

  “You want more?” he murmured, reaching for my underwear. I lifted my hips and he pulled them right down my legs. I kicked them off to the floor as he pulled his cock out of his briefs, already thick, hard and at attention.

  I bit my lip, wondering how the fuck I got so lucky. “Of course I want more. What about you?”

  “Vera,” he whispered feverishly, coming up against me, my legs around his hips, his hands in my hair. He gazed at my face, blinking as if in disbelief. “I can never get enough of you, ever. I could fuck you every day, several times a day, for the rest of my life, and I’ll still never get enough.” He kissed me, soft and wet, then slid a finger down into me. I gasped at the intrusion, immediately wanting more.

  “Tu coño es mi hermosa prisión,” he said breathlessly.

  I grinned and pulled back, trying to look at him. “What did you say? Something about my pussy?”

  “It is a good thing and it is the truth,” he said, lazily returning the grin. He then proceeded to fuck me right there on the counter, my legs wrapped around him, my nails digging into his ass.

  It was a good morning.

  My first week in Madrid flew past in the blink of an eye. Maybe jet lag had something to do with it, but it felt like one big airy dream filled with nothing but sex and food. If we weren’t in the apartment making up for lost time, we were out exploring Madrid. We ate at a lot of tapas bars in very youthful and vibrant parts of town. It was not at all what I would have expected. I thought once I was with Mateo, he’d be taking me wining and dining to the fancy restaurants, the trendy bars where everything was made of ice and the waiters didn’t smile, the lounges for the elite.

  Instead, we were almost slumming it. When I brought it up, he told me that he didn’t care much for those types of places anyway and thought I would be more comfortable in laidback environments. Frankly, I thought he was probably trying to avoid running into his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s crowd and I couldn’t fault him for that. I enjoyed living in the happy bubble that the first week brought me, and I wasn’t looking forward to the reality that would come crashing into us one day.

  On a sunny Saturday, the city still sweltering and strangely empty with most of the locals escaping to Mallorca or the coastal beaches, I finally got to meet up with Claudia. She was working longer hours at her job since so many of her colleagues were on vacation, and we hadn’t had a chance to hang out. Ricardo was now living with her in Madrid as well, having been able to get a job transfer.

  Mateo and I walked down to Plaza Mayor where we were to meet them at an outdoor café that had an assortment of beers on tap. That’s really all I required when the weather was like this—a patio and beer. Though being sticky was never fun, I always took advantage of the sun and heat whenever I could, thanks to Vancouver’s mild and rainy weather. You’d never hear me complaining about hot weather.

  “It will be nice to see them again,” Mateo remarked to me as we waited to cross the street. When the coast was clear, he grabbed my hand and led me across the road. It was the little things like that that made me do an internal squee, that got the butterflies racing. I loved it when he held my hand or put his arm around my waist in public.

  It especially meant something to me because I often saw the looks that other people gave us, the sight of the business man with the tattooed girl. The men looked envious and the women looked disgusted. The good thing was that Mateo certainly didn’t look thirty-eight, so really, it wasn’t that scandalous, people just liked any reason to pass judgment. It also helped that Mateo started dressing down a lot more, like he did at Las Palabras—his signature “business” look was jeans and a blazer—and I’d made sure to start dressing up. It wasn’t a stretch for me, especially in the summer—I loved a good sundress.

  “Look who it is, the Anglo and the Spaniard!” I heard Claudia yell from across the square. Sure enough, there was Claudia and Ricardo, getting out of their chairs, big smiles on their faces. Claudia looked radiant, her skin deeply tanned, wearing a plain green v-neck and a white skirt. Ricardo was clean-shaven, and in shorts and a soccer jersey.

  I hugged her and we exchanged pecks on the cheek. “You look great,” I told her, looking her up and down.

  “So do you. Like Marilyn Monroe,” she said. I was wearing a white retro-styled dress with cherries on it. I wasn’t sure if I looked Marilyn or just very Rockabilly. Either way, the boobs were definitely getting some sun.

  While she greeted Mateo, I greeted Ricardo. “You must forgive me,” he said, pecking me quickly. “Our English has not been so good since we got back from Las Palabras.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Claudia admonished him with a grin. She looked at me, her eyes dancing. “I was promoted the other day to take care of the international accounts.”

  “Congrats!” I told her.

  “That is fantastic,” Mateo said, casually jamming his hands in his pockets. He was wearing black knee-length shorts, Keds (no socks), and a plain white polo shirt, his face erring on the side of stubbly instead of beardy thanks to the heat. “I could barely put together a sentence before Vera showed up.”

  “Oh, that is not true,” I said. I wanted to remind him that we were speaking English and talking on the phone nearly every day until I got here. But even though Claudia already knew that about us, something made me clamp my mouth shut. Maybe because now that I was finally here and we were finally together, all the time leading up to now had been part of an actual relationship. It had been an affair—a short one, a distant one, before he had come clean and filed for divorce—but definitely not harmless.

  We sat down with them, and like that time at Acantilado, Mateo and Ricardo went off to get us drinks. I watched as his tall, broad-shouldered form disappeared into the dark of the bar, unable to take my eyes off of him.

  “Well, look at you, so in love,” Claudia teased.

  I rolled my eyes. “Look at yourself.”

  She waved at me in dismissal. “Maybe a month ago, when Ricardo first got here. Now I’m already tired of him pissing on the toilet seat, never closing the lids on things.”

  “Then I’m sure that will be me soon, so let me have my googly eyes, mmmkay?”

  She smiled and studied me for a few moments while she finished her beer. The she smiled, wider this time, until I could see her canines, and e
xclaimed, “I am so happy you are here! I never thought you would actually do it, to be honest with you.”

  “Neither did I,” I admitted. “Until it seemed like it was the only thing to do.”

  “Well,” she said, reaching out and laying her hand on mine for a moment. “I am glad you did. This must be such a change for you though. How are you coping?”

  “I honestly can’t complain,” I said with a coy smile.

  She wagged her finger at me. “I know that look. You had it on the last day of Las Palabras.”

  “I was crying on the last day of Las Palabras.”

  “We were all crying. But in between your tears you had this same look. Utterly satisfied. Like you just had a great meal.”

  “Satisfied. That’s a good word,” I said, leaning back in the chair. I titled my head to the sun, glad for my shades. Pigeons cooed from below, walking among the cobblestones. I’d been dreaming about exactly this for so long, being in the sun, being where there was life, being with my friends and love again. I needed to soak it up like the rays.

  “When does fall come?” I asked her, keeping my eyes closed and face to the sky. “More specifically, when does summer end?”

  “Are you tired of the heat?” she asked. “Weak Canadian.”

  “Not at all, I love it,” I told her. “But I know that the seasons will change soon. I like to hang on to this—to summer and sunshine—for as long as I can.”

  She peered at her arm, as if her tan could tell her. “I say another two weeks. Then it will start to end. October, you will feel the difference.”

  I didn’t dare think that far ahead.

  Soon Mateo and Ricardo came back with our drinks and we spent the whole afternoon just relaxing under the sun, chasing away the heat with ice cold beers. I was buzzed—summer buzzed, the best kind. And no, not like a bee. We literally sat there for hours and hours, all chatting away like it was old times. Near the end I was starting to feel guilty for having them adapt to my language, so I made them speak Spanish at the end to help me learn. I was lost, but after a while I started to pick up on things here and there.