The Younger Man: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

I laugh. “Right. So, what do you want?”

  “For my birthday?” I nod. He gives me a breathtaking smile. “Right now, at this moment, I have everything I could possibly want.”

  A warmth spreads through my chest, radiating outward.

  God, this man is setting my soul on fire.

  We finish the rest of the movie and once the credits roll, Alejo begins to adjust himself.

  “Well, I think that’s a sign I should probably go,” he says. “It’s past midnight and I know you’ve got work.”

  “You have work, too,” I tell him, but my heart is chilled at the thought of him leaving so soon.

  “Barely,” he says.

  I sit up and move out of his way as he gets to his feet. I watch as he heads to the kitchen to collect his bag. I get up and walk over to him, standing a few feet away, my hands at my sides, unsure of what to do with myself.

  I don’t want you to go.

  The words rest on the tip of my tongue.

  Stay with me.

  But so far, Alejo has kept to his word. He hasn’t made any moves on me, just giving me the comfort that I sorely needed. His eyes might say otherwise. Even now, he’s stealing a heated glance at me as he slings the bag on his shoulder. In his gentle touch I felt sparks and desire. And yet he’s aimed to keep things as professional as possible between us.

  Something I asked for.

  Something I need to hold strong for.

  Think about your career, not the beautiful boy.

  But it’s hard for me to think about anything else.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says to me. “We can continue your Spanish lessons then.”

  For once I know he actually means it, and Spanish lessons aren’t a euphemism for sex (though it’s a pretty good euphemism, if you ask me).

  “Okay,” I say, walking over to the door.

  He opens it and steps out.

  “Buenas noches,” he says.

  “Buenas noches, Alejo.”

  I close the door on those beautiful, smoldering eyes.

  Exhale deeply.

  Rest my head against the door, close my eyes.

  Go after him.

  Open the door and go after him.

  Tell him not to leave!

  I inhale, resting my hand on the doorknob.

  If I open it, my life will change again, and I will move on.

  If I keep it closed, I’ll never know what could have been.

  I turn the handle.

  And open it.

  Alejo is still standing on the other side.

  Like he was waiting for me.

  His eyes glint with fire as he meets my gaze.

  I can’t help but smile. “Alejo, I—”

  He cuts me off.

  Hands in my hair, mouth covering mine, moving together as one, we step back into the apartment. He manages to slam my door shut with his foot, and we are a mess of lips and tongue and teeth as we try to devour each other.

  My hunger for him is acute, a burning, aching pit inside me that won’t be satisfied until I’ve run my hands all over him, until I’ve tasted every inch of his body, until he thrusts inside me and makes me scream his name.

  One of his hands makes a fist in my hair while the other slides down my neck, down over my breasts until my nipples harden underneath my shirt. A moan falls from my lips, and he tugs my hair in response and suddenly things get feverish, desperate, like we both just realized how badly we need this. Tongues tangling, hands everywhere, we stumble across the living room, knocking against a wall that rattles a painting.

  He pulls back just enough to stare into my eyes with this dark, raw desire. “I’m going to worship you.” He nips my lip between his mouth and sucks until I groan. “Turn your body into an altar. Use my tongue to bring you to heaven.”

  Oh. Oh.

  He pulls away and tugs me toward the dimly lit bedroom, and I am reeling with lust and impatience and raw nerves as we spill toward the bed.

  I’m falling back on it and he’s prowling on top of me, holding my hands above my head at the wrists, gazing down at me. He runs his thumb along my bottom lip and slowly sticks his thumb in. It tastes like sangría.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmurs roughly as I gently suck and lick. “When you started eating those cherries from the glass, it was all I could think about. All I could see. You’re all I can see.” He gently removes his thumb and then slides it down, down, down, until his hand is slipping between my leggings, under my panties, and moving slickly over my clit.

  I arch my back, legs falling open, greedy for his touch, and press my hips up into him.

  “You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he says. “How real you are right now, when I’m touching you, when I’m making you wet and hungry. I want to do this all night, every day. Just to see that perfect mouth of yours open and wanting, to hear those sweet little sounds.”

  He removes his thumb and brings it up to my lips. “Suck,” he says. “Taste what you taste like to me. Pure woman.”

  I take in his thumb, not minding how I taste, then he puts his thumb near his lips and licks up the side of it, his eyes on me the entire time.

  I feel like sinking into the bed. I’m so turned on and this is so intense.

  “This is part of the worship,” he says as he reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it up over my head until I’m completely bare before him. The first thing I do when I get home is take off my bra, so I’ve been without one all night.

  “These breasts,” he says, his lips curling into a wicked curve. He spreads his palms over them, giving them a light squeeze. “Tell me what you like.”

  Normally I don’t have a problem being vocal in bed, but right now I am tongue-tied.

  It doesn’t matter anyway because he lowers his head and sucks a nipple into his mouth while squeezing the other with his hand. “Do you like that?” he says against my skin, causing goosebumps to erupt all over my body.

  “Yes,” I whisper, wanting more. My heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my neck.

  He responds by taking my nipple between his teeth and giving it a tug, a sharp pinch of need that makes my skin feel hot and tight.

  “Do you like that?”

  I make a whimpering sound.

  He pulls his mouth away, blowing on it until I’m squirming, then starts flicking the hard pebble with his tongue until my hands start grasping the bedcover and I feel like I’m going to die from the tension.

  “What do you want me to do?” he says, and I stare at his wet mouth. “How do you want me to touch you?”

  “By fucking me,” I tell him. My voice sounds so desperate and needy but I can’t help it. I’m wound so tight, it’s agony. “Please, just fuck me. Fuck me until I don’t know my own name.”

  “Okay,” he says, his voice nearly inaudible from the rasp of it. “Si.”

  He kisses me, pressing his fingers into my jaw while his tongue delves deeper, teasing me, making me want his tongue on my clit, plunging inside me. He’s fucking my mouth, getting me riled up to the point of desperation and I feel crazed and delirious.

  We don’t talk. There is no space between us for words. We just communicate through skin on skin as I run my hands under his shirt to his bare stomach and firm chest. His skin is hot to the touch, and I’m pulling his shirt off, wanting the softness of my body to meld against the heat of his.

  His shirt is off, then his pants and underwear, my leggings and panties are pulled down and discarded, and every time we break apart to remove our clothes, our lips rush back to each other like long-distance lovers.

  His head dips down to kiss and lick my breasts again and I’m reaching over his shoulders, feeling his soft skin and taut muscles, giving him a light scratch with my nails.

  A moan comes out over my nipple, the vibration rolling through me, and then I feel him grabbing his cock, adjusting himself between my legs.

  I spread them a bit to let him in, but he just rubs the thick h
ead of his cock against my clit in circles.

  “Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely, and then mumbles off a bunch of words in Spanish that I would normally want the translation of but right now I think I get it.

  Whatever he’s feeling, I’m feeling the same, especially as he dips the head of his cock inside me, just briefly, and with a sucking sound, drags my wetness back over me.

  “Ah,” I gasp softly, my hips starting to press against him in urgency, my nails digging in so deeply I know they must be breaking skin. I don’t think I’ve ever needed sex this intensely in my entire life.

  “I love it when you hurt me,” he says, before bringing his mouth to my throat and sucking along my neck. “Knowing you can heal me too.”

  I take my hands away from his shoulders, not sure if I’m really hurting him or not, but he pulls back to gaze into my eyes. “Put them on my back, on my ass, and make it harder.”

  And at that, he thrusts himself inside me.

  I still for a moment, my lungs constricting as I unfold around his girth, then as he slowly pulls back out, my hands are at his ass and I’m tugging him back, nails digging in deep.

  Damn this ass. Most footballers are blessed in the booty department, but Alejo’s ass practically needs its own orbit, a bouncy, muscle-packed piece of machinery that knows how to make it count on the pitch and in the bedroom. It’s the fuel behind his thrusts that makes me lose my breath each and every time his cock pumps in deeply, dragging against my most sensitive spots.

  His mouth finds mine again and he pulls me into a long, hard kiss as he keeps working me, and I’m so fucking wet it’s obscene. I raise my head and look down, watching him fuck me. The sight of him moving in and out of me, his thick shaft shiny with my desire, the sound graphic, it’s like watching a porn come to life.

  “You see how wet I make you?” he says before determination flits on his dark brow. “I can make you wetter.”

  Then he’s straightening up and grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed, lifting up my hips and shoving the pillow underneath.

  He leans back on his knees and I can’t help but wince.

  “Your knee?” I whisper, knowing that it’s probably okay on the soft mattress but still.

  “Never been better,” he says, his mouth open as he grabs my hips and starts pulling me on to his cock, the angle changing.

  Shit.

  My eyes flutter closed as my body winds itself tighter and tighter.

  I can tell Alejo wants to go all night, but I can feel my orgasm in the distance, getting closer and closer. If he starts playing with my clit, I am done for.

  He grins at me, deliciously sinister, and I know he knows this.

  “I’ll touch you when you tell me to touch you,” he rasps, his strong shoulders moving overhead as he pumps in and out. “I won’t send you over the edge until you’re ready.”

  I nod, biting my lip, and it causes him to lean down and kiss me, hard and rough and violent. When he pulls away, I can see the shadow of a vein on his temple, sweat on his brow, his neck corded with restraint. He’s ready to come and he’s doing what he can to hold it off.

  I roll my hips up into him, tiny noises escaping from my throat each time his hands skim over my body, pinching at my breasts, tugging at my hair, his fingertips ghosting over my hips like whispers. They go everywhere but where I’m hot and swollen and begging to come undone.

  “Just tell me and I’ll release you,” he says, bracing himself with his hands planted on either side of my head, slowing the pump of his hips until it becomes this slow, decadent, rhythm intent on driving me mad.

  Somewhere outside my bedroom, on the street below, a bottle smashes. People laugh. But these sounds seem to come from another place. In this room, there is only Alejo. I’m starting to think he’s the only thing I focus on in each room I’m in.

  Right now, I’m so focused that I can’t even think.

  I can only feel.

  He rocks into me, the exertion apparent on his face, his muscles straining from each and every thrust.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked like this. In all my forty years, there’s never been one man to be this attentive, to be this involved. Sex to me always had a barrier between me and the other person, a veil that kept me from truly committing to them in the moment. Something stopped me from being open and real. Maybe it was self-consciousness, maybe it was self-protection. Either way, I was always disconnected. I liked sex, I knew what I wanted from it and I could get myself off easily if I needed to (and, yeah, sometimes I needed to), but it wasn’t everything to me.

  But now…I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but with Alejo it’s different. There is no veil, there is no wall. It’s just me at my most vulnerable with him, our bodies connected, our hearts racing at the same pace, sharing the same space.

  “Come back to me,” he says, and I bring my attention to his eyes as they stare down at my eyes, at my mouth, at my breasts. His mouth is open, wet, his hair sticking to his damp forehead, and he’s the most gorgeous sight I’ve ever seen.

  I try and commit him to my memory, knowing full well this is a moment in my life that I will never forget.

  Perhaps it’s the moment I’m set free.

  “Tell me when,” he whispers roughly, his eyes pinching closed as the pace starts to pick up.

  “When,” I say softly, pulling my thighs up to wrap my ankles over the small of his waist.

  His hand goes between my wet thighs and slides along me in one long wet stroke.

  I am a butterfly caught in a net seconds before it finds the way through.

  My body explodes into shards of light and liquid hot pleasure radiates outward, making my fingertips buzz and my toes curl and my limbs quake and shake from the violence of my orgasm.

  “Alejo,” I cry out, and it sounds like the voice of a woman gone mad. I dig my nails into his ass, I keep him pumping even though the sensation is nearly too much to bear. “Oh god. Fuck.”

  I am a girl dissolved.

  Alejo makes a sharp grunt as his hips snap into mine, and I manage to open my eyes in time to watch him come undone, from the rigid tension in his shoulders, arms, chest, to his clenched jaw, seething out animalistic noises through clenched teeth. His eyes pinch shut and his head goes back before it falls forward, droplets of sweat falling on my rising chest, his pumps gradually slowing.

  He almost collapses on me, his elbows taking the brunt of his weight at the last second, and he stares down at me with a dopey smile, smoothing my hair off my forehead.

  “You gave in too easily,” he teases, his breath ragged. “I could have gone all night. In fact I will, if you just give me a second.”

  I let out a soft laugh, my body full of stars and butterflies and everything delirious and happy. “You’re going to wear me out. And you really shouldn’t do that to your knee. I’m serious.”

  “Yeah,” he says, kissing my nose, the corner of my mouth. “You’re always serious. How about next time you give your knees a workout, sí?”

  I reach up and run my fingers over his strong jaw, his stubble tickling. “I can do that.”

  “Okay,” he says. He rests his face in the crook of my shoulder, still breathing as hard as I am, waiting for our bodies to recover. For a moment I think maybe he’s fallen asleep on top of me, then suddenly he pushes himself up and gets off the bed.

  I sit up, watching him walk to the washroom, admiring his full body from the rear, marveling that a warrior like that was actually inside of me, giving me the best sex of my life.

  I’m so giddy and delirious, I’m smiling from ear to ear.

  I can’t help myself.

  And I can’t believe that just happened.

  God, how I want it to happen again.

  When he returns, he walks to the edge of the bed, grabs his cock, which is somehow erect again, and grins down at me, white teeth, bronzed skin.

  “Well,” he says pointedly.

  “You can’t be serious,” I say through an a
wed laugh as I sit up, my eyes darting between his cocky gaze and his very resilient erection.

  “I am. Get on your knees so we can give my knee a break.”

  I get on my knees.

  Gladly.

  Chapter 16

  Thalia

  Mateo Casalles is in a mood.

  I can’t really blame him. As a team, we’ve all been in moods. We ended up winning a game last week, barely, but then lost the game last night, so the team’s confidence has been shattered again and it’s all resting on Mateo more than anything.

  We’re sitting in Manuel’s car, me at the front, the married couple in the back, heading from Vera and Mateo’s house in the fancy Salamanca barrio where I was having pre-drinks, to Alejo’s house.

  It’s Sunday night.

  It’s Alejo’s birthday.

  And it’s a surprise.

  So, really, we should all be feeling pretty excited about this. At least I am, not only because I don’t think Alejo has any idea about the party, but because I haven’t seen him outside of work for a few days. When he came over to my apartment, that was actually the last time we had been alone in that context. Granted, he railed me all damn night, so it’s like I got my sex fill for the next year, but even so, I’ve been missing his touch.

  Oh, I’m still touching him every day and he’s valiantly trying to teach me Spanish, but we made a point not to do anything at work, and I suppose our schedules just haven’t aligned these last few days. While I’ve been sitting at home, he’s had some football gala to go to and dinner with his family and the like.

  On the plus side, his knee really is getting better. In fact, I’m optimistic about it and think he can return in two weeks or so. But I’m also a little hesitant to say anything, just in case the team starts counting on him and it all falls through. Every injury is unique, and you never really know until it’s put to the test.

  “You can at least give me an estimate,” Mateo says. “¿Más or menos?”

  I glance over my shoulder at him.

  Mateo won’t stop asking about Alejo’s progress, and the more I withhold, the moodier he gets.

  “I would give you an estimate but I don’t want to get your hopes up, and I don’t want you to bank on him.”