4. Alex
CHAPTER 4
ALEX
T hrough a series of clumsily translated WhatsApp messages, Isidoro and I reconnected, and yes, he was still in the area. Apparently he’d been gone for a few weeks to visit family in the Basque region, and after he’d come back, he’d started seeing someone. That had lasted all of a month, though, and he was now as single as I was.
Perfect.
And it was perfect. That Friday night, we shook the walls of his apartment in El Puerto de Santa Maria, the next town over from Rota. All the tension and frustration I’d been carrying all week long went down his throat, then an hour or so later, into his ass. By the time I collapsed beside him, shaking all over and drenched in sweat, I was exactly as wrung out as I’d desperately needed to be.
He sank onto his stomach, and his beard scuffed on the pillow, almost muffling the slurred Spanish profanity rolling off his talented tongue.
I gave a quiet, breathless laugh, but his words and the brush of his beard on the pillowcase jolted me uncomfortably back into reality.
You’re not him.
What the hell, Alex? Who did you think you were fucking?
Oh, I knew who I’d been fucking. I’d just… gone somewhere else in my mind for a moment, and that was where I’d been when I’d come in Isidoro. Both times.
Fucking hell.
I murmured to Isidoro that I’d be right back, kissed him on the shoulder, and then levered myself up out of bed. I stepped into the small bathroom and got rid of the condom, and as I washed my hands, I met my own gaze in the mirror.
What is wrong with me?
Isidoro was one of those passionate, attentive lovers who could usually keep my focus like no other. When his hands or mouth were on me, or when one of us was balls deep in the other, there was no thinking about anything except him and the things he did to my body. If he was kissing me, I was right there in the moment until he was good and done with me.
But tonight…
For fuck’s sake, Alex. Stop pining after what you can’t have.
I rolled my eyes, dried my hands, and schooled my expression before returning to the bedroom.
Isidoro had rolled over and cleaned himself up, and now he was lying there on his back, gazing at me with hooded eyes.
God, he was sexy. His olive skin was tanned and his near-black hair was cut short. That toned, tattooed body—oh, fuck me, I could lick every inch of it. I had, in fact. I had tonight.
Except tonight, I’d spent the whole time imagining I was exploring someone else’s body with my lips and tongue.
Something must’ve registered on my face, because Isidoro’s sultry expression shifted to one of concern. “?Hay algo mal?”
Though my Spanish was limited, I’d picked up enough to know that one— “Is something wrong?”
Fuck. Not the time to be wearing my frustration over Lieutenant Commander Marks on my sleeve. Especially because, knowing Isidoro, he’d immediately worry that Tobias was the problem. He had firsthand experience with the asshole, though he’d been smarter than me and only hooked up with him twice, and I could tell when he was worried Tobias was sinking his claws into me again. We may have just been casual hookups, but that didn’t mean we didn’t care about each other.
I forced a smile and rejoined Isidoro in bed. “Nothing’s wrong.” I stroked his short hair and claimed a kiss before he could ask any further. He relaxed, and we just lay like that, kissing lazily and sliding our hands all over each other.
At least when we were making out like this, I couldn’t mistake him for anyone else. Not Marks, anyway. While American service members had to be cleanshaven, Spanish Marines were allowed to have neatly trimmed beards, and oh, fuck, they rocked that look. The highlight of my commute each morning was coming through the gate and being greeted by a sexy, uniformed man with a beard. Too bad Isidoro wasn’t on sentry duty anymore; those winks and grins we’d exchange while he “checked my ID” could carry me through the most awful shift.
He was here right now, though, and the coarseness of his beard kept me from forgetting whose tongue was teasing mine.
The problem was that it didn’t keep me from thinking about whose tongue wasn’t exploring my mouth. Whose hands weren’t drifting all over my skin. Whose body wasn’t pressed up against mine.
Seriously, what was wrong with me? I’d been attracted to men I couldn’t have before. It was frustrating, but not like this. And this was hardly the first time I’d thought about a guy I wanted while I was with someone else. I’d come, and I’d be satisfied, and the man I was with wouldn’t be any the wiser.
This time, I wasn’t satisfied, and Isidoro had caught on that I wasn’t entirely here. Yeah, I had him distracted for now, but sooner or later, he was going to ask again.
He didn’t keep me waiting long.
He drew back and met my gaze, his lips slightly swollen and his eyes very concerned. “?Hay algo mal?” he asked again.
I shook my head, trailing my fingertips along his collarbone. “No. Estoy bien.”
His eyebrow arched. Maybe we didn’t share a language—his English and my Spanish were equally limited—but body language was hard to misinterpret. Then he sighed and let go of me. I had a second to worry I’d pissed him off and he was about to get up and boot me out, but then he grabbed his phone off his nightstand and came back.
The screen added a cool glow to his face and lit up his eyes and his furrowed brow as he typed something. I didn’t mind; this was the only way we could communicate beyond the most basic phrases we both understood. Most of the conversations we’d had went like this.
After a moment, he showed me the screen. Beneath where he’d typed out something in Spanish, the app had translated it to:
You are distracted. Have I done something wrong?
Guilt twisted beneath my ribs. I felt bad enough about not being completely here; that he was blaming himself hit hard.
I gently took his phone, tapped out a message in English, then handed it back so he could read the translation.
Work is distracting. I’m sorry. It’s not you.
He frowned as he read. When he flicked his eyes up to meet mine, I honestly couldn’t tell if he believed the lie or not. I hoped he did; I didn’t feel good about lying to him, but I was too ashamed of the truth. Too embarrassed that I was wrapped up in someone like a teenager with a crush on a rock star who didn’t know he was alive. And honestly, it would’ve been cruel, telling him that this whole time we’d been in his bed, I’d been thinking about Lieutenant Commander Marks. Sometimes lying really was the kindest approach, and this was one of those times.
Isidoro took the phone back and typed again. When he showed me the screen:
Is it only work?
Was I wearing my guilt on my face or something? Fuck.
I typed back:
Problems with someone else at the hospital. It will be fine. Just frustrating.
That was technically the truth, though I still hated being this cagey.
Fortunately, it seemed to be enough, and Isidoro put the phone aside. Pulling me back into his arms, he murmured something that I thought roughly translated to, “I can make you forget.”
And for the most part, he did. I was too close to forty for three orgasms in a night, but Isidoro was barely thirty, and he definitely had a third one left in him. A third one that I made sure to wring out of him slowly and decadently until he forgot that my mind had ever been anywhere but here.
When I finally left for the night around 0200, I was satisfied that he thought he’d distracted me from everything.
But the whole way back to my apartment in Chipiona, all I could think about was Lieutenant Commander Marks.