The Younger Man: A Novel

by Halle, Karina

  I’ve had sex with a lot of women.

  Some of those women I had feelings for.

  But whatever we had wasn’t like this.

  It wasn’t even close.

  I’ve never felt this before, the melding of hearts, bodies, souls, and minds.

  And I can’t be the only one who feels this.

  I need her to feel everything.

  I continue to pump into her, driving in deeper, pulling out further, making sure every stiff slide of my cock is hitting her in all the right places. She’s so fucking tight like this with her thighs together, that each time I push inside I feel another thread inside me snap, the tension threatening to unspool.

  Sweat breaks out on my forehead, running over my nose and onto her back. Her face is against the bed, one cheek exposed to me, slowly turning a patchy shade of red as the intensity ramps up.

  Her eyes are pinched shut, her mouth open.

  I reach forward and gather her shiny hair in my fist and pull back so her head lifts off the bed, her neck and back arched. I hold her hair like the fucking reins of a wild horse.

  She cries out, but from the throaty sound, I can tell that she likes it.

  “That’s it,” I tell her, my voice starting to shake along with the bed as I start pounding her faster, harder. “That’s it, Thalia. Come for me.”

  After a while, I let go of her hair and she falls forward on the bed. Then I push back against her ass until my cock slides out. I slip my hands under her hips, lifting them up slightly, and move back enough so that I can lower my head to her level. As I hold her in place, I bring my face to her ass and pussy and start going fucking wild.

  “Oh my god!” she cries out, and I press my lips and tongue and teeth to every wet, slick inch of her, eating her out everywhere until she starts to tremble violently, coming hard in my mouth.

  As she’s still riding the wave, I quickly get up into position and thrust my cock back inside her, just as she’s squeezing me tight, her orgasm still milking me.

  “Alejo!” she cries out again, and I can barely speak, I’m so crazed and hell-bent on coming that I fuck her deeper and faster than ever before, my hips pistoning against her bouncing ass, the headboard banging against the wall so hard that the lights in the room flicker, and the painting on the wall threatens to come down.

  “Fuck!” I can’t help but yell, my neck arched, face to the ceiling, the words rising up from my gut. Explosions go off along my spine like a controlled demolition, and lights flash behind my eyes, which are pinched shut in delicious contortion.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cry out hoarsely, and I’m delirious and coming harder than I’ve ever come in my life. Just fucking out of my mind.

  I can’t feel anything but her.

  I nearly collapse as the exertion rushes back into my body, and I come back down to earth. Slumping against her, I kiss her back between her shoulder blades, tasting sweat and skin, and then roll over onto my side.

  She flips onto her back and her head lolls to the side, staring at me.

  She never looks quite so beautiful as she does right after I’ve made her come.

  Her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips red and swollen, her eyes liquid. There’s a faint rash on her white chest, the kind she gets when she’s turned on, and her golden locks are the most gorgeous example of sex hair.

  “Hola,” she says to me in a sweet, quiet voice.

  I lean over and kiss her on the nose. “Hola.”

  We’re both still breathless.

  She licks her lips and stares at me. “I don’t have words.”

  I give her a knowing grin. “You’re in luck, because I always have words.”

  She lets out a soft laugh. “That’s true. You do.”

  “So, what was more impressive tonight? This or the game?” I ask, half-teasing.

  Her eyes roll to the ceiling. “You know you can’t make me choose.”

  “But I am. Pick one.”

  She seems to think. “This was. Only because it’s the freshest thing in my mind. But ask me again the next time you play and win, and the answer might be different.”

  “What if I fuck you a million more times between now and then? Then what?”

  “You certainly won’t hear me complaining, I can tell you that much.”

  My smile starts to fade a little as something hard surfaces in my chest. A knot. I swallow. “So, how long do you think we need to keep this a secret?”

  She stills, and stares at me, blinking. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, see, I had a hell of a time sneaking in here tonight. The boys are out partying—”

  “You could have gone with them.”

  I give her a steady look. “I know I could have. I didn’t want to. That’s not what this is about.”

  “Then what is this about?”

  I sigh, wishing I didn’t have to spell it out for her. “I don’t want to sneak around. Not anymore. It was fun at first, but I just want to be with you. Easily, around everyone. I want us to…be.”

  “Alejo,” she says, twisting so she’s on her side, propping her head up with her hand. “You know this has to be a secret. I’ll lose my job. You know that.”

  “But maybe you won’t have to. Maybe I can negotiate for us. With Jose. Give him an ultimatum.”

  Her eyes flash and narrow. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t do that. And you’re under contract for two more years. They know they have you where you are. And I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “God, no, Alejo. Not even a little. I just…it’s complicated. You know it is. I’m in a tough position, and we have to make the best of it. I’m sorry but this just is what it is.”

  “Then what is it? What are we?”

  I hate how desperate I sound, but my emotions are running all over the place.

  “We’re two adults who enjoy being with each other very much,” she says.

  “But I don’t think you get it,” I tell her, getting frustrated.

  “What is there not to get?”

  “You’re making it sound simple. It’s not so simple. Or maybe it is too simple, I don’t know. But I feel for you, Thalia.” I swallow, my heart pounding. I know I can come on too strong, and I don’t want to scare her, but on the other hand I’ve only ever told her the truth. “You mean everything to me. You are the world. More than the world. You are the sun, Thalia. El Sol. And the sun doesn’t worry about being too bright for the moon or the stars, it just burns and shines. Just like you. You shine. You’re el sol de mi corazón.”

  I reach over and kiss her shoulder and whisper the translation, “You are the sun of my heart. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

  I dare to meet her gaze since she’s fallen silent.

  To her credit, she doesn’t look away. She just holds my gaze with longing burning in her eyes. Longing for me, longing for what could be, I don’t know.

  Finally she looks away, rubbing her lips together for a moment before she says, “I like hearing that. Don’t ever stop telling me things like that. I like your truth.”

  I frown. “Why do I feel there’s a but at the end of that sentence?”

  “There is no but. It’s real. It’s honest.”

  A silence falls over us, and I’m troubled by how much she’s holding back.

  “You know,” I say slowly. “You can’t keep me out.”

  “Keep you out? I let you in the room, didn’t I?”

  “That’s not what I mean. You know that’s not what I mean. I mean here.” I tap my fingers along her breastbone, right above her heart. “I know there is room for me here.”

  She nods, blinking away.

  I slide my hands up into her hair and bring her focus back to me.

  I’m going to give her an easy way out.

  For now.

  “Kiss me,” I tell her.

  Her eyes flutter with relief, and she leans forward, pulling me into a deep, dark kiss.

  Ch
apter 19

  Thalia

  I’m running again.

  Down by the river, my feet smacking the pavement as my ponytail bobs behind me.

  It’s early, seven a.m., just before the dawn, but since it’s early November and the clocks fell back last week, I’m grateful for the little extra light, even if it’s cold.

  I’m running because I’m trying to outrun my nerves.

  Two weeks ago, Alejo jumped right back into the game with flying colors and Real Madrid defeated Barcelona in an extremely close El Clásico game.

  Two weeks ago, Alejo snuck into my hotel room and gave me what can only be described as very passionate love-making.

  He also told me I was the sun of his heart. That his world revolved around me. That he didn’t want us to be a secret, and that I needed to let him in.

  I know Alejo’s personality is very bold and romantic, I know he speaks from his heart so purely and unabashedly that it sometimes seems like too much. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and he’s not ashamed to show them. It’s refreshing and I like that about him.

  A lot.

  But the things he told me were not the things you tell someone you’re just having a fling with. They aren’t the things you say to someone who is just in it for sex.

  They were words that came from his heart, telling me how much I mattered to him and how much he wanted me. Not just for now, but beyond the now.

  And as much as they made my heart melt, they scared me.

  Because all this time we’ve been fucking each other, I did my best to not get attached to him. To keep my heart guarded and at a distance. To revel in his touch but not let myself get carried away with thoughts about the future or the next step. I haven’t been letting him in the way he has with me.

  I guess I just assumed we would keep sleeping together, and eventually, one of us would put an end to us. It would hurt and sting and be a little awkward between us, but with me no longer giving him one-on-one attention at work, we could both walk away from this with our hearts and pride intact.

  But…

  I don’t think that’s the case anymore.

  In fact, the thought of ending it and walking away cuts right between the ribs.

  And yet, I also know that this can’t possibly go anywhere, and if things between us start to get deep and complicated and emotional, it’s going to be trickier to break apart with everyone unscathed.

  Because, eventually, we will have to break up.

  What future does a forty-year-old woman have with a twenty-four-year-old man? A man that happens to be on the team I work for, one that is forbidden to me for the sake of my career?

  As much as I want this continue, as much as I can’t stand the idea of not slipping over to Alejo’s every night or him coming to my apartment, I know that eventually, the good times are going to come to an end and I’m going to have to wake up and face that bitter music.

  So that’s why I’m running. I’m trying to clear my head and run from my problems at the same time.

  And what a problem, right? Oh, this young football sex god says his world revolves around me, wah wah waah.

  The thing is, he has to know that we don’t have a future together.

  Right?

  Forget about him, do you even know that?

  I shake that voice out of my head.

  Keep on running.

  I’m also running because Helen is coming to visit today. I’m supposed to pick her up at the airport after work in my new Audi. Since I decided to lease a car and drive myself around the city in an effort at permanence here, Mateo and Jose were both adamant that I have an Audi since they sponsor the team and all the players are given free ones. I wasn’t given a free one, but I got a great discount at any rate.

  I’d been trying to convince Helen to come visit me (on her own, without her husband, Frank) for a while now and almost got Kazzy and Liz on board too, but they both cancelled at the last minute. I would have loved for them to be here, but since it’s just going to be Helen now, I’m a little anxious about the whole thing.

  I know it’s weird to be nervous about your friend visiting, and maybe that’s saying something right there, but Helen and I have been drifting apart ever since the divorce, ever since she very firmly decided to stay friends with Stewart. She wasn’t even that good of friends with him to begin with, it was all her husband, but ever since I left, she’s really tried to up the ante. The gap has widened even further since I moved to Madrid, so I feel like this is sort of our last shot to save the friendship.

  If it’s even worth saving. I’ve never been that good at having friends. I’m so focused on my job, and I’m so lost in my head most of the time that I have a hard time remembering to reach out. My best friendships have always been the people I can call at any time and pick up where we left off, the ones that know you deeply and don’t make demands, like my best friend growing up, Ainsley, or even Liz, who is also low-maintenance.

  But who knows, maybe I haven’t been fair to Helen. Maybe I’ve been pushing her away too much and she’s reacted in kind.

  I’ll know soon enough.

  * * *

  “Me cago en tus muertos,” I repeat after Alejo.

  He immediately starts laughing, covering up his face with the Spanish to English textbook.

  “What? What did I say?” I ask. “Don’t make me come over there.”

  Alejo is sitting at my desk, going through a textbook in an attempt to give me a real Spanish lesson, while I’m leaning against the doorframe, trying to learn.

  The door to my office is wide open.

  On purpose.

  Nothing funny to see here.

  Except that something is funny and it’s whatever the hell Alejo has me repeating.

  We’re supposed to be discussing dialogue and terms that have to do with business, something that would be quite helpful to me if I ever hear Jose and Mateo speaking freely without knowing I can understand them. My Spanish is starting to come along and I’m up for the challenge.

  I just wish Alejo would stop pulling my leg.

  “It means,” he says through a laugh, “I shit on your dead relatives.”

  “Oh my god,” I say through a gasp. “That’s awful! Is that really in there?”

  He shakes his head, clutching his stomach. “No.” He takes in a deep breath, calming down. “No. But I figure it’s helpful in negotiations.”

  “You’re the worst. Give me something real.”

  “Oh, I’ll give you something real,” he says, biting his lip.

  “Knock it off,” I warn him, my eyes darting to the open door and back.

  “Vale, vale, vale,” he says, which I know means “okay.” He flips through the pages, frowning. I didn’t realize until today that he wears reading glasses and I also didn’t realize how fucking sexy he is with glasses on. He’s like my own Clark Kent.

  “Pollas en vinagre,” he says, glancing up at me, straight-faced.

  “Pollas en vinagre,” I repeat. “Something about vinegar? What’s pollas? Chicken? Chicken in vinegar? Is that slang for a bad business deal?”

  He swallows, eyes steady on me, unblinking.

  Then they flit over my shoulder.

  I look behind me to see Mateo standing in the hallway.

  “What’s going on here?” Mateo asks, his eyes volleying between the two of us.

  “Pollas en vinagre,” I say to him. “The chicken is in the vinegar. Right?”

  He runs his tongue over his teeth and looks over at Alejo, mildly amused. “Is this what you’re teaching her?”

  “Did I say it wrong?” I say.

  “No,” he says. “You didn’t say it wrong. I know exactly what you mean. Do you know what you mean, that is the question?”

  I look over at Alejo who is trying so hard not to crack a smile, it’s killing him. He’s practically shaking.

  Damn it. Fooled again!

  “Look,” Mateo says. “I hate to interrupt these bizarre Spanish lessons you
have going on, but we need to practice.” He gives Alejo a pointed glance. “¡Vamos!”

  “Sí, sí, sí,” Alejo says, putting the textbook back on my desk and getting up, heading over to the door. He smirks at me just as he passes through the doorway, and then he’s bursting into laughter once he’s in the hallway, following Mateo.

  That capullo. I’m going to have to Google that later to figure out what he just made me say to my boss.

  Anyway, since it’s his practice time, then it’s probably close to the time for me to pick up Helen.

  I lock up my office and head out to the car park, taking a moment to admire my car. Alejo has a grey e-tron, while I have the teal, but he also gets his own parking spot with his name and a twenty-eight on the placard, right outside the first team building, while I have to park in the boonies.

  I put on some Lynyrd Skynyrd which always reminds me of being young and getting to tag along and go camping with my dad and my brothers on their “boys” trips to Olympic National Park in Washington, an instant mood-lifter, and head down the motorway to the airport, which isn’t that far away.

  By the time I’m parking in the short-term lot, I feel more excited about seeing Helen rather than nervous, and because I’m early, I head into the airport to grab some flowers for her. Who doesn’t like getting flowers when they get off a plane?

  They don’t have much of a selection, so I get roses that were probably grown in a factory somewhere. They don’t smell, don’t open, and they don’t have that same beauty as the ones that Alejo first bought me.

  A thrill runs through me, making my insides feel buoyant and fizzy like champagne. I get that feeling every time I think about Alejo, but especially that night. That night he showed up, not wanting to let me get away. That night he made me speak my truth and admit to him the things I carried deep. I mean, I hadn’t even told Helen about my miscarriage, but I told Alejo. It’s like he knew there was a part of me that was dying to trust him, dying to let him in.

  But I haven’t really let him in, have I?

  Before I can dwell on it, I spot Helen coming through the arrivals with her Louis Vuitton luggage in tow, waving at me.