Chapter 35 Rafael Santos
THIRTY-FIVE
RAFAEL SANTOS
On autopilot, I sink to the floor next to her, the spray of the shower scalding, but I barely notice. Even through the steam and vicious spray, I see the tears burning across her perfect cheeks. They’re heavier and full of the kind of heartbreak I can’t even try to understand.
“Valentina?” I whisper her name, worried I’ll startle her. To my surprise, she reaches out, wrapping her slender fingers around my own.
“Will you hold me?”
I doubt she’s ever asked someone that, and the fact that she’s choosing to be so vulnerable with me is enough to shatter any reservations.
Instead of answering, I scoop her into my lap, laying her head against my shoulder. Her legs encircle my waist, and her arms wrap around my neck. I brush a wet curl off her forehead and lean myself against the closest wall to the water. “Is this okay?”
There’s an electricity crackling around us; I could be walking through a power plant fueling an entire city, and there’d still be less current zinging over my body.
The hot water dampening our skin, our clothes, seems to only intensify the force, and even wet, the hairs on my arms stand at full attention.
I can’t tell if I’m breathing anymore, and I don’t even care.
I could die here, holding her, and feel at peace.
A finger running down the column of my neck, pausing at the hollow of my throat has me swallowing. “Are you real?” Her voice trembles, sounding far away.
“I’m not as good as you think. Not by a long shot.”
“I don’t care about good.”
It’s a devastating revelation. “What do you care about?”
She stills, and it’s clear I’ve caught her off guard.
When she finally tips her face toward mine, beads of water pebbling on her skin before spilling off her chin, she shoots me the saddest smile.
“Loyalty. Honesty and determination. Safety.” Her finger runs back up my throat, almost absentmindedly.
Only, it doesn’t stop, tracing the line of my jaw before sweeping over my bottom lip.
Her eyes follow the path of her finger, snagging on my lip.
Her tongue sweeps out over the plump part of her own, and I suppress the need to groan.
Instead, my fingers tighten their hold on her hips, and her eyes shoot to mine, reading my mind.
“We…we can’t—”
“Why?” Her voice is breathless, and I do groan, unable to stop it this time. Why? Because I’m lying to her, about everything. I’m deceiving her. I planned to destroy her.
And even though all that has changed, I don’t know how to even begin to tell her. She deserves better—so much better.
I can’t do this with her, not without her knowing the truth. Because if I do it with her, I’ll never let her go, no matter the cost.
Instead of spilling the truth, I say, “You deserve someone good, someone better. Especially when you’re hurting.”
Her eyes flash, and I see the spark of the woman I always thought she was burning within them. “I deserve to say who I want and when I want them.”
I open my mouth, but only a wheeze comes out.
She’s right, of course. But that’s not why I can’t have her. Can I really tell her that, though? Can I tell her everything?
For the first time since I’ve met Valentina Reyes, I’m terrified of losing her.
“I want you, Santos. Not because I’m hurting or because I want to forget the pain. I want you, the man you are and for the way you make me feel. I want you because I l—”
I slam my mouth against hers, driven by something deep and primal, claiming her mouth with a desperation I’ve never felt before. I’m starved for her touch, her taste, her scent, and with each swipe of my tongue, I only grow hungrier.
Her fingers sink into my neck as she scoots deeper into my lap, her center right above my cock, already hard and aching as she rubs against it.
She gasps, and I consume that too, my fingers running through her hair, pulling her head back slightly to gain better access to her mouth. My tongue tangles with hers, inviting her into my mouth as my lips devour her.
Valentina gives to me willingly and without reservation—completely and totally surrendering—and I know it’s not out of forced habit, but out of total trust. She trusts me to take care of her, to protect her, but she also trusts that for the first time, she can protect herself.
It’s clear in the way she gives and takes, how she opens for me, her hands still demanding more. It’s intoxicating, and I realize too late I’ve completely lost myself to her.
“More,” she moans against my mouth, and even though I know I shouldn’t, there’s no way of stopping. Not now, not ever.
“What do you want?” This time, it’s not about punishment or power, or even well-hidden curiosity. This is about giving and taking parts of ourselves we’ll never get back.
“Anything. Everything.” Her fingers begin reaching for the hem of my t-shirt, and she pulls it over my head, the water drenching through making it harder to peel away.
When she at last succeeds, she pauses, her eyes and fingers roaming hungrily over my shoulders and down my torso. “You’re beautiful.”
I smirk. I can’t help myself, and she rolls her eyes, but a teasing smile threatens her lips.
I reach for the buttons lining the front of her top, pausing to look at her, and she unfastens the top one in response.
I drink in her face—the perfect slope of her nose leading to the prettiest pink lips, swollen and parted as she waits for me.
The skin around her mouth is reddened from my facial hair, and the primal part of me beats his chest in triumph at the sight.
She huffs, reaching for a second button, but before she can undo it, I tug, ripping the front of the shirt in two.
The buttons scatter, pinging off the shower walls.
Her gasp of surprise is matched by the heavy heaving of her chest, the swells of her large breasts pressing against the dark lace of her bra.
Water streams over her silken skin, running in a ribbon between her tits, and I lean forward, licking at it for the briefest moment.
She arches into me, her finger nails digging into my scalp. I bite the tops of her breasts, hard enough to leave red crescent marks as she claws at my back.
“More,” she says again, her voice as frantic as I feel.
I reach around, unclasping her bra, and slide it and her shirt off, shucking them to the wet pile in the corner. “These’ll be impossible to get off,” I groan into the crease of her neck as my finger traces the inside band of her jeans.
“I’ll cut them off if it means you’ll keep touching me.”
I chuckle, raising my head to look at her. The water’s still running at full blast over us, its boiling spray burning into my skin, but I barely notice. Valentina’s desperate, for me, and it’s the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen.
“Stand up and face the wall.” She looks like she might challenge me, but she does as I ask. The chill that sweeps over my body as she pulls away is instant, and I scramble up to feel her heat once more. “Put your hands on the wall.”
She sighs deeply and then raises her hands to the wall in front of her. The motion pushes her pert ass out, her legs spreading for balance. My dick pulses in my jeans, begging to be freed, and I run a hand over the hard ridge in silent promise.
Reaching out, I skim my fingers down her spine, and she hisses, her head dropping between her shoulder blades.
I admire her velvety expanse, and the tattoo I now recognize as the trophy of war it’s meant to be—Valentina might not yet know it, but she’s won.
She’s the victor in the war against her mind, body and soul, regardless of how many battles she lost. I’ll always reminder of that. She. Won.
I want to fall to my knees and bow for the woman she is, but she wiggles her hips at me. So instead, I press a single kiss on the tattoo—a seal to the vow I’ll uphold until the day I die.
I reach for the waist band of her jeans, and with deft, well-practiced fingers, I reach around and unclasp her button. As expected, the blue jeans are suctioned to her skin, making them damn-near impossible to remove.
I’m a determined man, though, and make quick work of it, stripping her down until she’s standing before me in nothing but a deep purple thong, the curve of her ass begging to bare my handprint.
My fingers twitch. “Are there things you like? Or don’t like?”
“I don’t like gentle. It’s all anyone’s ever been with me. Keeping me pristine for the next guy.” There’s bitterness in her voice, and I promise, even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll wipe every foul memory of someone else on her skin away.
My hand lands across her ass, the sound ricocheting around the shower, surprising us both. She gasps before leaning back into me, her pussy pulsing behind the thin fabric of her panties. “Yes, God. Please, more.”
It’s clearly something she’s not used to asking—wanting more from anyone means admitting liking or needing, and Valentina Reyes has made it her life’s mission to not need or want anyone or anything she can’t get for herself.
It’s a heady feeling. I smack her again, this time across her other cheek, and she moans louder. “I bet if I pulled off these panties,” I draw a line down her crack, over the fabric there, “you’d be fucking soaked for me.”
I hear her lick her lips. “So wet.”
It’s my turn to groan, and I twist the thong, pulling it to the side to expose the perfect, pink flesh of her pussy.
It’s dripping, just like we both knew it would be, and it pulses again and again.
Cream glistens on her thighs, and I glide a finger through it, pulling it to my mouth to finally get a taste of her.
She’s sweet and salty, a mix of everything good and evil, healing and addictive, and I sink to my knees behind her. Gripping her thighs, I pry her open wider before leaning forward and inhaling deeply. She moans but tries to step away from me, and my fingers dig into her.
“Why are you trying to hide from me?”