And there isn’t anyone else but him.
It’s only ever been him.
Something inside me threatens to break at that moment, and it’s not the orgasm that I can feel around the corner. It’s something different, something new, something delicate and fragile and beautiful. It’s coming alive inside me, unfurling in my chest, and wanting to consume me whole.
Don’t make me fall in love with you.
Spare my heart from that pain.
“Thalia,” he whispers against my mouth, his voice breaking. “I need you to come. I need to know what I still do to you.”
His fingers slip down, pressing against where his cock is disappearing inside of me, swirling around until my mind splinters and I’m brought to dizzying heights.
Like a match trying to light, it finally strikes the right place.
I come so fucking hard and so fucking fast, captured between his lips one moment and spiraling out of control the next. “Oh god!” I cry out, not caring that my voice echoes across the room, that there’s a world out there with people who could find us, find this.
I don’t care anymore.
I only care about him.
“Fuck,” he says through a groan. As my body feels like it’s being shot through a kaleidoscope of colors, he drives into me with one final, brutal thrust. His eyes are pinched closed in bliss as the orgasm rips through him. “This is my heaven…my heaven…”
His words trail off as his pumping slows, and I stare up at him, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, at his wet and open mouth, the way his eyes are heavy and sated as they stare at my lips, my nose, my eyes.
“If you’re going to be with me, you’re going to be with me,” he says hoarsely, still inside me. I’m trembling, my hips cramping from my thighs squeezing him so hard. He brushes a strand off my face and kisses my temple. “No breaks. No complications. I’m yours and you’re mine. Promise me this.”
I nod, swallowing, my heart still racing in my throat. “I promise, Alejo.”
He pulls out slowly and then gently lowers me to the ground. I yank down my dress and shoot him a shy glance.
He’s staring at me with such hope and tenderness that I fear I might turn into more of a puddle, and that seems impossible after what his orgasm did to me.
This morning my father asked me a question that I wasn’t sure I had the answer to.
Does it feel wrong or right?
Now, looking at Alejo, trapped in his gaze, my heart warms, expanding and beating for him, and I know what the truth is.
This feels right.
This feels more than right.
Alejo comes over to me, kisses me hard and long and soft, and it’s enough to make my toes curl, for the butterflies to flutter in my stomach, even though he’d just been inside me.
“Let’s go congratulate Luciano on his award,” he says, still cupping my chin.
“I feel bad I missed it.”
“He wins every year. It’s rigged.” He then pats me on the ass, gives me a wink, and leaves the room.
I wait a few minutes to put enough space between us, taking the time to gather my thoughts and catch my breath before I follow.
Chapter 23
Thalia
Madrid during Christmastime is a magical place. Usually when people think of a European Christmas, they think of the German markets or ice skating in Paris or sparkling winter villages in the Austrian alps. But Madrid spares no expense in pulling out all the stops.
There are lavishly decorated trees everywhere, with a one hundred and fourteen foot golden Christmas tree in Puerta del Sol. The whole city is lit up with festive lights, there are roasted chestnuts at every street corner (making the air smell fantastic), there are puppet shows and mulled wine and churros dipped in chocolate, and everyone is telling you Feliz Navidad.
But maybe the whole reason my first Christmas in Madrid feels magical is because I’m with Alejo.
After our tryst at the gala, I decided to throw myself into us with an open heart. I’ve blocked out the voices that warn me that I’m going to get hurt, I ignore the fear that this isn’t going to last, I stop the negative thoughts in their tracks.
I’m committing to being with Alejo, and more than that, I’m committing to the moment.
Life isn’t happening to me; it’s happening for me.
Alejo is for me as much as I am for him.
We’re in each other’s lives for a reason, whatever that reason may be.
I’m taking that green light.
“What are you doing right now?” Alejo asks me over the phone.
“I’m perusing the stands at the Christmas market in Plaza Mayor,” I tell him. This market isn’t as good as the ones in Germany or Holland, but it still packs a punch, and since the plaza is close to my apartment, I’ve been coming by here after work to try and soak in some of that festive flavor.
“Again?”
“I like the food here,” I tell him. I’ve eaten my weight in Christmas cookies, but I’ve decided to worry about it after the holidays. Until then, I’m stuffing my face.
“How fast can you be packed?”
I stop outside a giant gingerbread man display. “What do you mean? Packed? Where?”
“How fast can you be packed?” he repeats. “For some place a little warmer and sunnier than this.”
“What are you talking about?”
He sighs. “It won’t be a surprise if I tell you. Just go home and pack. I’ll give you forty-five minutes. Vamos.”
“Vale, vale, vale,” I tell him before hanging up and turning back to my apartment.
Today is actually the start of our holidays, the team having played against Atlético last night for the final game of the year (ending in a draw, which luckily didn’t hurt our standings in La Liga), and none of us have to be back until right after New Year. I know I get more of a holiday than most since the players still have to keep training and practicing on their own accord, but it’s a relief to have the time to enjoy life and breathe.
Of course, things have been kind of weird for me since I have no place to go on Christmas. Alejo has asked me what I am doing and I said I might go to Vera and Mateo’s, which still seems like a viable option for me, you know, instead of eating gingerbread cookies by myself in my apartment.
I would never infringe upon Alejo. He has his mother and brother and some family elsewhere, I forget where. I’m with him but we’re still not public, and honestly thinking about the fact that we likely never will be gives me anxiety, so I try not to. Whatever this relationship is, it’s not the kind where he can introduce me to his family as his girlfriend or anything like that.
It’s not perfect.
But it is what it is.
And I would rather have Alejo like this than not have him at all.
I go back to my apartment, feeling the excitement build through me. Perhaps he’s taking me away for the night. We have a couple of days before Christmas so a quick trip somewhere hot might be in order. Or maybe he’s not spending Christmas with his family at all, who knows.
All I know is that my heart is practically tripping on itself at the thought of going away with him.
I am a fucking smitten kitten.
And I am falling for him, hard.
No safety net with this one, I think to myself, but I don’t dwell on it. To dwell is to stall.
Grinning, I start throwing shit in a carry-on. Sunglasses, sunscreen for my sun-hating skin, a “packable” hat that will resemble a blob after I unpack, shorts, bathing suits, workout clothes in case he wants me to work out with him, some light layers, and a few sundresses.
Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock at my door.
Alejo is there, wearing his leather jacket and a scarf, his car keys in hand.
He comes in and kisses me. “You ready?”
“I think so,” I say, smiling up at him.
“Okay, get your passport, and let’s go,” he says.
I swipe it off my counter, lock up my apartment, and h
ead down to the street. He throws my luggage in the trunk of his Audi and we’re off to the airport.
“Are you going to give me any hints of where you’re abducting me to?”
“No,” he says, and I notice he’s palming the steering wheel as if he’s nervous. Hmmm. That’s interesting.
“I guess I’ll have to figure it out at the airport,” I muse, trying to figure out why he’s nervous. Is it because this is the first trip we’ve taken as a couple? That could be it.
Though Alejo doesn’t seem like he’d get nervous about that. He’s definitely not one to shy away from grand gestures, or worry if things are moving too fast.
Once at the airport, he takes me to Iberia Airlines and scans his passport at one of the machines. I don’t want the machine to ruin the surprise yet, so I keep my eyes on the passersby in the airport, a busy time of year for sure.
A few of them seem to recognize Alejo, but they keep walking. They don’t give me much of a glance but it does make me wish I had my blobby hat out of my suitcase so I could pull it down over my face.
It gives me pause. Even though we’re not holding hands or being affectionate in any way, there’s still a chance that someone could spot us together and make some kind of assumption about why we’re together at an airport. I mean, I’m fairly recognizable, too. Thankfully I’ve never seen anything negative about me in the Spanish press, but I know a lot of people know who I am. A lot of the press use me as an example of the women’s right movement, for better or worse.
But I forget about all that when he hands me my boarding pass.
Tenerife.
I look up at him in surprise. “Tenerife? The Canary Islands?”
“Sí. Have you been?”
“No, I just heard it’s pretty popular. Isn’t it kind of far away though for such a short trip? It’s off the coast of Africa.”
“Only a three-hour flight.” He takes in a deep breath and gives me an awkward smile. “And it’s not a short trip. My family is there. Aunts and uncles on my father’s side. My mother and brother flew down yesterday. I want you to spend Christmas with me, with all of us. I want to show you off as my girlfriend.”
I feel a pull, a physical draw to be with him, and it takes everything to stand my ground, knowing we could be watched.
This. Fucking. Man.
He wants me to meet his family, show me off like I’m some jewel. He makes me feel like…like I’m the rarest, most precious thing. He makes me feel like I shine and that it’s okay to take up the space I do.
“Is that okay?” he asks warily, searching my expression.
“Yes,” I cry out. “Yes, yes it’s okay. I’m just…are you sure it’s okay? This is a big move. I mean, how are they going to understand us or any of this?” I gesture to us, making wild circles with my finger in the air.
“They’ll understand, you’ll see.”
“Your mom hates me.”
“She doesn’t know you. After she meets you, really meets you, she’ll love you to pieces. Just like…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just gives me a quick smile and nods at the ticket. “We are running a bit late though, so we should get going.”
That is the understatement of the day. Fortunately we make it, and secure our first-class seats just before the doors close.
I take a quick, furtive peek at the other passengers around us as we’re taxiing down the runway.
They’re staring at us.
Well, they’re staring at Alejo.
When they meet my eyes though, they look away.
I lean into him, my nose close to his neck. He smells like mint and oranges, whatever fancy schmancy Hermés body wash he uses. “People recognize you,” I whisper.
“They usually do,” he whispers back, stroking his chin and mugging for me. “Come on, look at this face.”
I can’t even roll my eyes at that because it’s true. “I know, but don’t you think they’re going to talk? They might recognize me, or maybe they don’t, but they’re going to wonder who I am.”
“I’m really not concerned about a bunch of passengers.”
“But I am. Should we have some story just in case?”
He sighs, closing his eyes. “I hate this,” he says softly. He lets his head fall to the side and looks at me. His eyes seem to dig straight into my heart. “Why do we have to hide? I don’t want to hide.”
“You know why,” I say quietly, making sure no one can hear us over the drone of the engine. “I don’t like it either, but that’s just the way it is.”
He searches my face and then nods reluctantly. “Okay. I don’t know. Just say you were alone at Christmas, and we’re friends and you came over for the holidays. Simple as that.”
That doesn’t sound very simple to me, but if it comes up it will have to do.
The jet takes off into the sky.
The flight goes by fairly quickly. We’re picked up at the airport in South Tenerife by a private car, but it’s fairly late and too dark to see anything. The driver zips us along a highway, and here, in the dark in the back of the car, we fold into each other.
His arm around my shoulders, my head in my favorite spot, the crevasse between his chest and his arm. Our hands entwined. I hold on to him, knowing how precious moments like this are, especially after a period where we aren’t allowed to touch each other. When I have to be apart from him like that, I become so aware of what a connection we have. My body trembles inside the way that magnets do when they’re held too close to each other.
Soon we enter the seaside fishing village of La Caleta. The moon reflects off the Atlantic, giving a sense of desolation, and the town seems to be only a few streets long. The car veers along the rock coast and comes to a stop at a set of massive gates framed by palm trees.
The gates slowly open, and the car goes through a long gravel driveway until it stops in front of a Spanish-style hacienda lined with a few weather-beaten trucks.
“This is where your aunt and uncle live?” I ask him, incredulous. “What do they do for a living.”
“He’s a fisherman,” he says, opening the door.
“And are the fish he’s catching filled with gold?”
He laughs. “I bought them the place. They’re all I have left of my father, really. They deserve it.”
Wow. Alejo is certainly putting his money to very good use. My heart warms at the thought.
“In fact,” he says as we step out of the car, “I’ve offered to buy them a place in Madrid, so we can be closer to them, but my uncle won’t give up his fish.”
“Ahhhhh!” someone yells from the house as the door opens and a whole load of people pile out. “Alejo!”
I stand back politely as the small crowd swarms around him, chattering away in highly excitable Spanish that my newbie ears can’t pick up on. There’s an elderly woman who must be in her late eighties, a middle-aged couple, an older man with white hair, two men my age or maybe older, his mother, Armando, and a girl who looks a bit younger than Armando. There are lots of kisses and hugs and ruffling of his hair. It’s like watching the Pope come to town (minus the hair ruffling), and they’re all staring up at him with such reverence.
This is your man.
The realization is a sweet arrow to my chest.
He catches my eye and gives me a smile that’s both warm and slightly embarrassed.
“Todos, todos,” he says to everyone. “Quiero que conozcáis a Thalia.”
At that, every head swivels toward me.
I lift my hand in an awkward wave. “Buenas Noches.”
“¿Quién es ella?” an elderly woman asks him.
Who is she?
“Alejo,” his mother says in a hushed voice. “¿Por qué está aquí?”
Why is she here?
Alejo just gives his mother a kiss on the cheek and strides out of the group, coming over to me. He holds my hand, gives it a much-needed squeeze for my own personal bravery, and faces them.
Then he starts spouting a bunch of thin
gs in Spanish while his captive audience looks on. I can only pick out a few words here and there: therapist, girlfriend, secret, lovely, and Christmas.
That pretty much sums it up.
The elderly woman comes to me first, a big smile on her lined face, her eyes shining. “Hermosa,” she says, calling me beautiful as she pulls me in for besos, kissing each cheek. “Muy Hermosa! Alejo, tienes suerte.”
He is lucky.
I point to myself. “I’m lucky. Alejo es…” I glance at him, the words failing me. “El mejor.”
The best.
“Sí, sí, sí,” she says, patting me on the shoulder. We know.
“This is my grandmother,” Alejo says. “We call her Yaya.”
Yaya. Even her name is adorable.
After that, after Yaya gives her approval, everyone comes over to say hello.
I meet his Aunt Maya and Uncle Luis.
Their daughter Mila.
His Uncle Nacho.
I meet Santiago and Xavier, Nacho’s sons.
And then of course Armando, who gives me a very cheeky smile, and when he gives me a rather sweet kiss on the cheek, he whispers, “I knew it.”
Last but not least, his mother.
She looks me up and down, one brow raised, her lips pursed.
Then she just looks at Alejo and nods, motioning for everyone to follow her inside the house.
Okay, so I wasn’t expecting her to pull me into a big bear hug and welcome me into the family or anything like that, but still, her distance chills me.
“Don’t worry about her,” Alejo says, holding my hand. “Give her time.”
I have to take his word for it.
The house inside is surprisingly modest for its size, but clean and welcoming with tiled floors and dark wood furniture. The living room is scattered with glasses, so obviously they were all up waiting for us. It’s nearly midnight now, so it’s no surprise that everyone decides to go to bed.
We say goodnight and Alejo leads me to a small bedroom at the very end of the second floor. I don’t realize how tired I really am until I see the queen-size bed and immediately flop down on it.
I barely craw under the covers before I pass out.
Sleep comes for me quickly.
The Younger Man: A Novel Page 29
