CHAPTER THIRTY
Lennon
Finally, my shift has come to an end. The last twelve hours at the hospital have been brutal. We lost a patient today. A teenager who came just yesterday to the hospital due to an overdose. He came to the unit after being stabilized in the ER, his body slowly giving up. In the same way, his spirit refused to keep fighting. I overheard while his mother spoke with one of the assistants about the bullying he was suffering at school just for being different, because his family has a different background.
I was there when Doctor Ramos delivered the news to his parents. I saw the guilt in their eyes, the deepness of their grief. The broken hope. We have been trained to stay professional, to stay aloof from our patients. But sometimes it’s so difficult. Sometimes this job takes a toll on all of us. And today is one of those days.
I’m practically dragging myself through the store, tossing a few things into my basket: fresh fruit, some dark chocolate he loves, the creamer he insists is better than mine. I pick up salmon and a pre-made salad, something simple and delicious for dinner. We are eating way too much carry out lately, exhausted after work and even more after spending the few hours we have free filled with moans and cries of pleasure. With smiles and kisses, passion and gasps. My cart’s contents are modest, but somehow it makes me smile to do this for both of us. The thought of going back to his place and seeing him fills me with an excitement that makes the exhaustion melt away.
It’s funny how quickly his place is becoming ours. My clothes are hanging neatly in the closet. My toothbrush rests on the bathroom counter, and a little dish on the nightstand holds my earrings. My freaking earrings. My nightstand. It feels surreal, but also perfect. My favorites are those lazy mornings when neither of us have to leave early and the luxury of time is at our reach when Ruben walks in to bring me my first cup of java wearing just his boxers… ah, what a great way to start the day. We’ve created a bubble, our own pink cloud where the rest of the world’s problems don’t exist.
I’m sitting at the kitchen island, trying to compose myself, when I hear the front door open and close. My heart leaps, and while he is taking his shoes off, it’s my time to paste a smile on my face.
“Lennon.” His tone is warm, a smile evident even in that single word, but his expression changes as soon as his gaze finds mine. Ruben always knows when something is wrong. “What happened?”
No, I’m not doing this. I’m not crumbling in front of him. I’m a strong woman, not a delicate little flower who wilts after a strong wind.
However, there is something in the tenderness of his fingers touching my skin. There is something in the intensity of his gaze that unveils my feelings, tearing the mask apart.
Before I can stop it, a single tear rolls down my cheek. The first of many.
Ruben doesn’t hesitate. As he never does.
“Come here,” he murmurs. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge of quiet urgency beneath it, like he needs to hold me as much as I need to be held.
I don’t resist when he guides me toward the bathroom, our steps slow and unhurried, as if the world outside doesn’t exist for just a little while. The warm glow of the vanity lights casts a soft golden hue over us as he turns on the shower, testing the water with his hand before facing me again.
His fingers trail to the hem of my uniform top and the long-sleeved shirt I always wear underneath, a silent question in his gaze. I nod, and he lifts it gently, peeling the fabric from my skin as if he’s unwrapping something fragile. My pants and underwear follow. It’s a slow, methodical process, like he’s taking care of me in the only way he knows how right now. I do the same for him, my hands trembling while I take care of every little button of his dress shirt, revealing the firm, steady plane of his chest. When we’re finally naked, he pulls me in, wrapping me in his warmth before leading us under the stream of hot water.
As the first drop touches my skin, everything unravels.
The weight of the day, the sorrow lodged deep in my chest, the helplessness—I don’t hold it back anymore. My shoulders shake as the sobs come, raw and aching, my forehead pressing against his collarbone.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Ruben whispers, his lips brushing the crown of my head. “Just let go.”
And I do.
His arms tighten around me, his palms smoothing up and down my back in slow, soothing circles. He’s steady, anchoring me as the storm inside me rages on, and I give him bits and pieces of what happened. His touch is patient, never demanding, letting me fall apart knowing he’ll catch every broken piece.
“I hate it,” I choke out, my fingers digging into his sides. “I hate that we lost him. He was just a kid, Rubén.”
His hold on me tightens for a moment before he exhales slowly, pressing another kiss to my hair. “I know, baby. I know.”
His voice is thick, heavy with emotion, but he doesn’t try to tell me that it’ll be okay, because we both know it won’t. Not for that boy’s mother. Not for the people who loved him. Not for the countless others who slip through the cracks.
He lets me cry, lets me grieve in the comfort of his arms, while the water cascades over us and I give him more pieces of what happened today.
After a while, his hands shift, reaching for the bottle of body wash. He lathers it between his palms before sliding them over my arms, my shoulders, and my back. With every bubble, he’s washing away nothing and everything all at once. He’s here, reminding me that I’m safe and that even after the hardest days, I’m not alone.
When his fingers find my chin, tilting my face up to his, his eyes search mine. “You’re carrying too much,” he proclaims.
I nod, fresh tears burning my eyes. “I don’t know how to put it down.”
He presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there for a long, quiet moment. “Then let me hold it with you.”
Something inside me cracks wide open at that, a fresh wave of tears falling. But this time, it’s not just grief. It’s love. It’s relief. It’s him .
I curl my arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that is neither urgent nor demanding—just steady. Just home.
And for the first time in hours, I let myself breathe.
? ? ?
Later, when my fingers are like prunes, we get out of the shower. I’m exhausted, my body depleted, but my heart is humming a new tune.
“I’m hungry,” my whispered words make him chuckle.
“Of course you are,” he replies before kissing my shoulder while drying his dark hair. “Tell me at least you had some breakfast.”
I give him a shrug before shrugging. “Some.”
I’m rewarded with a hard look. Ruben is the food police of the household, always making sure I’m properly fueled during my shifts. But today, my shift was too manic to pay attention to the wrap that was delivered a few minutes after eight.
“Let’s get you fed,” he states as he takes a pair of grey joggers. “There is no way I let my woman die from exhaustion or hunger.”
I give him an exaggerated eye-roll, but my feet follow him to the kitchen. Parking my butt on one of the stools on the island wearing the shirt he wore today, I watch the hard lines of his back undulate as he moves with quiet efficiency, opening the fridge and pulling out a glass container full of birria and its broth.
The woman who helps keep the apartment clean made it for us, tucking it away like a small gift for when we needed it most. And right now, it’s exactly what my belly demands, something warm and comforting that reminds me that even in the hardest moments, there is still goodness in the world.
Ruben sets a pot on the stove, pouring in the deep red broth, thick with the slow-cooked meat. He’s quiet as he works, but his silence isn’t empty. It’s full… of care, presence, and love. He moves with purpose, pulling out red rice, then heating tortillas on the burner, and chopping fresh cilantro with practiced ease.
“You want salsa? Cotija cheese?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.
I nod, enraptured by him. “Always.”
His lips twitch, just a flicker of amusement before he sets the small dish of salsa on the counter. He doesn’t make a show of it, but I notice the way he fills my plate first. He makes sure my tortillas are just the right level of toasted, and then he squeezes a little extra lime over my broth before setting it in front of me.
The first bite feels like heaven. The meat is so tender it falls apart on my tongue, soaked in a broth so deep with flavor that it makes my toes curl. The rice is fluffy, the tortillas warm and soft, and the salsa is just the right kind of spicy.
Ruben watches me take another bite, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “Good?”
I make a small, appreciative noise around my food, nodding. “So good.”
We don’t talk as we eat, just hums of appreciation filling the silence, the warmth of the food settling in my belly, and soothing my insides. But as the plates empty, as the spice lingers on my tongue and the last sips of broth disappear, another kind of hunger starts to rise.
A different kind of craving.
I glance at Ruben over my bowl, and my breath catches when I see the same heat in his gaze, the same slow realization blooming between us.
He knows.
His jaw shifts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and I swear I feel the stroke of it against my skin even from across the kitchen. The air thickens, the space between us charged and crackling with the shift from comfort to something else.
Something primal. Something deep.
I set my spoon down carefully, watching the way his eyes track the movement, the way his fingers tighten just slightly around his glass of water.
“I think,” I say slowly, my voice softer now, laced with something warmer. “I still need something else.”
Ruben leans forward, his hands bracing against the island, his gaze locked on mine.
“Dessert?” he asks, voice low, rough.
I swallow, my skin prickling in anticipation. “Something sweet.”
His smirk turns wicked, his eyes dark and knowing as he pushes his empty bowl aside.
“Well, then,” he growls, “let’s take care of that, too.”
In a swift motion, he lifts me off the stool, carrying me to the couch. He sets me down gently, his gaze dark and smoldering as he kneels between my legs. His fingers trail up my thighs, sending shivers across my skin.
“This,” he murmurs, tugging at the shirt, “has to go.”
“Make me,” I challenge, my voice playful but dripping with anticipation.
He doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt open, tearing the little buttons apart, leaving me in just my lace panties. His eyes roam over me appreciatively, his hand tracing a path down my torso, over the curve of my waist, and to the edge of the lace.
“You’re stunning,” he says softly, his voice reverent.
“And you’re still overdressed,” I counter, reaching for the cord of his now tenting joggers. He lets me undo the knot, his hands never leaving my body as I work.
“Touch yourself for me,” his voice is a command. “Show me what you like.”
Keeping the panties on, I start to follow his orders. Slowly at first, until my hips are swinging looking for more. I’m so turned on that my body is aching for him. My fingers are a poor replacement, but the fire in his gaze urges me to keep going.
I’m thirty-one; so, of course, I know what turns me on, but I’ve never done anything like this before. Like ever. Never before have I felt this comfortable with anyone. Ruben makes me feel safe, sexy. He awoke the beast inside me, or maybe just freed it. The feeling is exhilarating.
My back tenses, my peak is approaching as a moan leaves my dry mouth. Then his hand catches mine, stopping my movement. My eyebrows lift in a silent question, and his lips turn into a smirk. The fucker is going to make me beg.
After a couple of seconds, his fingers let my wrist go as he gestures with his chin. “Keep going.”
Oh, fuck. It doesn’t take me a lot to get to the edge, but this time, he doesn’t stop me. Ecstasy hits me like a tsunami, blinding me for a second. I come back from my high to find him looking at me intensely.
“We need to do this again,” he says and if this is a game we are going to play often, I’m in.
“What about you, big boy?”
He leans in, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below my ear. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin.
“Show me,” I reply, my voice barely more than a gasp.
And he does. Slowly, methodically, he kisses his way down my body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every touch, every kiss is deliberate, designed to drive me mad with want. By the time he slides my panties down my legs, I’m already trembling, my body aching for him.
“Rubén,” I breathe, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Hurry up.”
His response is a low growl, his hands gripping my hips as he lowers himself to press a kiss against the inside of my thigh. The sensation is electric, a spark that shoots straight through me. He takes his time, savoring every inch of me, his touch alternating between gentle and commanding. It’s a symphony of sensation, and he’s the maestro.
When he finally rises to kiss me again, his body presses against mine, and I’m already on the verge. His lips capture mine in a kiss that’s both tender and wild, a perfect reflection of the man himself.
“I need you,” he rumbles against my lips, his voice rough with restraint.
“Then take me,” I demand, wrapping my legs around him.
And he does. Every movement is deliberate, every touch a declaration. He moves with a confidence that leaves me breathless, his body a perfect match for mine. Together, we create a rhythm that’s as natural as breathing, each sensation building on the last until it’s impossible to tell where one of us ends and the other begins.
The world fades away, leaving only the two of us in our bubble. At this moment, there’s no hospital, no theater, no Aiden, no outside world. There’s only Ruben and me, our bodies and hearts in perfect harmony.
When we finally collapse together, our bodies tangled and our breathing ragged, he pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“You’re incredible,” he says, his voice soft but full of conviction.
“So are you,” I reply, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
And as we lay there, wrapped in each other, I can’t help but think that this—this bubble, this love, this man—is everything I never knew I needed.