5. Ana
5
Ana
C harlie exceeded my expectations, his desperation to please me obvious as he made sure I came again and again. It was more than I’d ever experienced in such a short amount of time. Jake had always been generous, but he was more focused on his own desires. He wasn’t interested in the fantasies I craved. He preferred to take charge in the bedroom, and on the rare occasions when I did, he didn’t seem to enjoy it much. After he was elected to office, something shifted in him. And clearly, he started seeking his pleasure elsewhere too.
I hadn’t even caught my breath or pulled away from Charlie before he sat up, wrapping his arms around me tightly and kissing me passionately, taking me by surprise. I could see the shift in his expression, like he was lost in thought, right after we came together. A part of me was afraid to know what was going through his mind. He really did seem like the sensitive, hopeless romantic type, and I hoped he hadn’t started feeling too strongly about me yet. As fun as this was, I knew I needed to pull away before I let myself like him even more—and I already liked him a lot. Too much, in fact.
We broke the kiss and I rested my hands on his muscular, tattooed arms. He was more built than I’d expected, with a defined six-pack and that sexy V-line leading straight to his very well-endowed cock. The man certainly knew what to do with it, and that mouth of his…
His gentle voice broke me out of thoughts. “Why don’t I fill your glass of wine? Maybe we can put a movie on?”
I hesitated before I finally crawled off of him, searching for my clothes. “Oh, um…”
“You said you’d finish your glass of wine and we’d have a chat, didn’t you?” he asked playfully.
I glanced over at him and couldn’t help but smile. He sat there with wide, hopeful eyes and a smirk on his lips. My eyes drifted down to his semi-hard cock, still on full display, and he didn’t seem to mind lounging around completely nude. I didn’t either, but I didn’t want to get too comfortable.
“I caught you on a technicality, didn’t I?” he teased, his smirk widening as he watched me.
“It could be thrown out in court since we already had sex,” I replied, matching his playful tone with a grin of my own, but then his face fell.
“I need to be honest, Ana,” he began, crossing his legs and looking down at the ground before meeting my eyes again. “I need to see you again. I absolutely need to. We don’t have to have sex, and we don’t need to be in a relationship. I just think you’re so fucking amazing, and I want to be around you in any way I can.”
His expression was so sincere, so heartfelt. He had no reason to tell me any of this unless it was the truth.
I glanced down at my underwear in my hand, my heart torn. If I kept seeing him, I knew I’d fall for him. But if I walked away now, I would always wonder what could have been. Could we even be just friends, or was that impossible at this point?
“Sorry, Ana. That’s…that’s a lot to put on you. Just forget I said that,” he muttered, defeat clear in his voice.
I couldn’t even begin to express how I was feeling, so I simply muttered, “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed, standing up and pulling on his boxer briefs. “So then, now what?”
I kept my eyes down, unable to look at him as I pulled my jeans over my hips. I made everything awkward, and it was clear I’d broken his heart. I warned him, though. But did that justify what I’d done?
“What if…” he trailed off, his voice soft as I glanced up to meet his sad eyes.
I stood there, unsure of what to do next. Just as I was about to turn away, to tell him that I needed to leave, he gently caught my hand. He turned it over in his, his thumb brushing softly over my knuckles. The simple touch surprised me, stopping me in place.
He didn’t speak, but the way he touched me was enough. It was intimate, unexpected. I stared at our hands; I should’ve pulled away, kept moving. But instead, I stood there, letting the moment sink in, second-guessing everything. My thoughts raced, but I knew I couldn’t give him more than I was ready for.
I cleared my throat, breaking the silence. “Maybe…maybe we could meet for coffee one day. Or lunch. Just as friends.”
His eyes softened, and a small smile lifted at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly, nodding. “Lunch sounds good.”
The tension eased slightly and I felt like I could breathe again. His hand lingered in mine for a moment longer before he slowly let go.
“As friends,” I repeated, more to myself than him, as if convincing myself that I could handle it.
“Friends,” he echoed, still holding onto that gentle smile that made it hard to walk away.
Twenty minutes later, I was back home. I slipped back into the pajamas I’d worn earlier and sank into my bed, my thoughts racing. Part of me was excited about this new “friendship” with Charlie, but another part was terrified of falling for him. There was something about him that I couldn’t quite shake. I was used to attention, but his felt different. Was it the freedom to finally explore after a twenty-year marriage? Or was it simply him?
I turned off the lights, ready to finally rest, when my phone buzzed with a text. I knew it was Charlie. Sure enough, when I unlocked my phone, I was right.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
I smiled, but it almost felt like too much. I kept brushing it off. Maybe I was just overthinking it. He was sweet, attentive, probably just caught up in the excitement of something new. People always get like this in the beginning, right? After everything I’d been through, didn’t I deserve to enjoy that? I was still in control. If it got to be too much, I could always pull back. Besides, the intensity and excitement would wear off eventually. It’s just a friendship…for now.
You’re sweet, Charlie. Get some rest.
His texting bubbles popped up immediately.
I’ll try, but it’s hard to sleep when all I can think about is you. Sweet dreams, mi diosa.
I’m sorry. That’s too much, I know. Can’t wait to see you again.
As much as his words should have worried me, they didn’t. Because I couldn’t wait to see him again either.
Mierda .
* * *
I woke up late, allowing myself some much-needed rest. When I checked my phone to see if I’d missed anything, I was surprised by the disappointment that washed over me; Charlie hadn’t texted me again.
Maybe I should text him. No, why would I text him? As much as I thought about him, I was certain he was doing exactly the same. Was he trying to give me space? Was he offended that I didn’t text him back last night? Why was I overthinking everything so much? Why do I care so much? Why am I letting his attention—or the lack of it—get to me?
Before I could stop myself, I pulled up Instagram, already embarrassed at myself. I hadn’t done this before, hadn’t ridiculously stalked a guy’s profile like some teenager, but something compelled me to check his today.
I instantly found him and, of course, he was already following me. His latest story was from several hours ago, a photo of a half-empty glass of wine in his loft. My glass, marked with my deep red lipstick.
And below it, in white letters, the words: Still thinking about you.
My heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t mentioned me by name, but he didn’t need to. I stared at the story for a moment, my heart pounding. It was subtle enough for his followers to wonder, but I knew it was for me. It was his way of reaching out without directly saying anything.
Why didn’t he just text me? I locked my phone, trying to shake off the anxiety creeping in. Why am I letting this consume me?
I had always been independent, in control of how I felt, never needing someone else’s attention to validate me. But now, with Charlie, it felt different. The intensity, the way he quietly hinted at me—it was pulling me in. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give in or push away.
I dragged myself out of bed, determined to shake off whatever hold this had on me. A hot shower would help clear my head. I needed to focus on something else, anything else.
Just as I stepped into the bathroom, my phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen—Sloane.
“ Hola, mija. ?Que pasa ?” I answered, hoping my voice didn’t give away how anxious I felt.
“Okay, Mom, I just have one question.” Her voice was playful, but I could already sense where this was going.
“Just one? That’s not like you,” I teased, pretending I wasn’t panicking inside.
“Whose red lipstick is on that glass of wine in Charlie Ashford’s story?”
My stomach dropped slightly. I hadn’t even thought of Sloane being a little sleuth, trying to find clues about my, or his, night via social media. But she was smart. Too smart, like always.
“What are you talking about?” I asked casually.
She laughed. “Come on, Mom. The caption? The red lipstick that is the exact same shade you wear constantly? Right after he asked for your number?” Her voice was teasing, but she knew.
I sighed, half-amused. “Sloane, it’s nothing. Don’t read into it.”
She scoffed. “So, are you telling me it’s not yours? You’re gonna lie to your only child?” She was still teasing, but I wanted nothing more than for this call to be over.
I laughed. “I’m telling you it’s nothing.”
She let out an exaggerated groan. “Fine. Keep your secrets,” she said playfully. “But if this turns into something, I better be the first to know.”
“Bye, Sloane. Te amo ,” I said, smiling as I hung up.
As soon as the call ended, I exhaled, relieved to be free of her questions. I wasn’t ready to answer anything about Charlie. I wasn’t even sure how I felt about him. His intensity, his texts, his sneaky story, the way he seemed to occupy my mind even when I tried to push him out—it was all too much.
I stepped onto the terrace with my coffee, letting the cool air wash over me, hoping it would clear my head. But just as I finally started to relax, my phone buzzed again, this time with a text. I glanced down—Charlie.
Good morning. I can’t stop thinking about you. I hope you slept well. When can I see you again?
My heart fluttered, the tension building in my chest. Now he was directly pulling me back in, his words filled with the same intensity, the same need, that both thrilled and unsettled me.
I stared at the message, feeling that familiar tug. And as much as I wanted to resist, I wasn’t ready to push him away.