Chapter 27 Ev
TWENTY-SEVEN
ev
“What’s on your mind?”
“You keep scaring me,” I complained.
Sure, this time, we’d been snuggling in bed like I’d wanted the other day after waking up together, but I’d been thinking. Deep thoughts. Thoughts I should leave well along, but clearly, that wasn’t happening.
Fucking Tony.
He was supposed to be the level-headed Dom, not the one pushing ideas into my head.
Could I even blame him? I’d disregarded the idea of a Dom for the two of us five minutes after dropping my phone.
I’d certainly done it after finding Santos in his room the other day, and after seeing that maybe playing with the power everyone said subs had wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
But he had still planted the seed, and now I was thinking about it for different reasons.
Reasons I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud.
I’d already terrified Santos enough, making him feel inadequate, like he had to be one specific thing or another if he wanted to keep me.
As if we weren’t a given.
“You keep thinking too loud,” he teased. I grumbled when he snuck a hand across my stomach that was colder than it had any business being. Why he could never stay fully under the covers was a mystery that would remain forever unsolved. “What is it?”
“Ugh.” He was way too awake for whatever time it was. 08:13, according to the alarm clock I’d turned off last night. So…not that early, but it felt like I hadn’t slept at all. “It’s nothing.”
“Sounds like nothing, yeah.”
He was teasing, too, great.
“I need to pee.”
And chuckling, too.
Morning people were a fucking enigma.
“Go forth. But you’re not getting out of telling me.”
We’d see about that.
At least, I wasn’t asleep enough I lost all filters, and kept that as an inside thought.
Of course, keeping it as an inside thought didn’t keep the whole thing in forever.
Santos pretended it was all good after I was out of the bathroom, and he declared he was baking muffins for breakfast. I didn’t even know he could do that, but apparently he’d spent a lot of time around the cooks on base or something.
Not sure they ate a lot of muffins while at work, but maybe they just exchanged recipes to kill the time?
Santos had always had a better memory than I did, so it would track.
It was after I’d insisted on cleaning up, and he’d insisted that we should go to the beach or something, and I had nodded right away, that he brought it up again. I’d just started to get used to the salty smell that got stronger by the cliffs when he nudged my arm.
“So?”
“So?” I frowned.
Since when did he just ask one-word questions and hoped for the best? That was more my style. Santos asked what he wanted to ask, or he said his piece, and left me in awe because there was no way in hell I could’ve done the same if the roles were reversed.
“You’ve had something on the tip of your tongue all day.”
“That’s not…” I squirmed. I might be shy, maybe, but I was a terrible liar. “Fine. It’s not… I blame Tony.”
“Tony?” Santos straightened at the mention of the name.
I wondered if he was aware, or what he’d say if someone pointed it out.
Someone who wasn’t me, obviously. I could already feel heat rising up to my cheeks.
Thankfully, my genetics meant that I didn’t turn as red as a tomato, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed the sensation.
“What about him? Did he say something about the other day? I haven’t texted him, but if… ”
“No, well, kind of? Not exactly.”
I grimaced. Averting my gaze made it easier. Fuck, I wasn’t making any sense, and there was no way I wasn’t making it worse.
“Okay?”
Note to self: one word answers coming from Santos were especially bad.
“Okay, so just so we’re clear, I’m perfectly happy with how everything is.
” I took a deep breath before I started talking so fast he couldn’t keep up.
It didn’t happen often with him, but today wasn’t the day to test it.
It was bad enough that not even the skirt and fishnets I’d dared to put on were getting rid of the itchiness under my skin.
“But he said that if you felt more confident both when Sir Ismael was part of this, and when he was there the other day, maybe we needed to find a Dom to scene with? The two of us?”
“Oh.”
Fuck.
Oh had to be even worse than a one word answer. Did it even count as a one word?
“Yeah. I don’t know, it’s been bugging me.”
Santos frowned. “Do you want that?”
“No!” I fought not to make any big gesticulating.
A family was passing by where we were sitting on the rental hammocks because I didn’t feel like dealing with setting a towel surrounded by people, and I couldn’t remember where my mother had stored ours.
“I mean, I don’t have anything against it, and Doms are fun, but I don’t need it.
It’s just…I don’t know if Tony has a point or not. ”
“Can I…” He licked his lips. Maybe two word answers weren’t a good sign, either. I held my breath as he sat up on the hammock. “Can we wait until I have a couple months of therapy under my belt or something?”
“Yeah.” I bobbed my head up and down like one of those toys I’d never got the appeal of. “Totally.”
If it was about him and not me, anyway, it would make sense that he’d be the one to bring it up, when or if he was ready for it.
If I was going to be second-guessing everything and imagining a million scenarios where we went through that talk and what would come out of it? That was my own issues, not his.
“Have you texted more with him, anyway?”
“With Tony?” I frowned. I ignored how my throat tightened because there was a large possibility Tony wasn’t who he was talking about. Yeah, the narrowed eyes confirmed it. “Uh, no. We texted when I ended things. That’s it.”
Santos hummed. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah.”
I cringed. This was a conversation to be had home, where I could hide under the bed and it wouldn’t be obvious that I was trying to not be scrutinized lest I broke apart.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Well, I know that.”
Before I could try to defend myself—was I being attacked?—he dragged me closer to him until my nose was squished against his chest. Not particularly sexy, but his skin smelled of my soap he kept stealing, and I soaked in the comfort that brought.
“Are you not okay because breaking up with someone sucks, or because you want him back?”
“I hate you.” I didn’t mean it, obviously.
The soft tilt of his chest as he fought a snort told me he knew I didn’t.
“I think I had feelings for him, which is pathetic, probably, and I know I never even saw his face, but I liked him. I… He was so intense, you know? And I was gone for that intensity.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I hummed. I supposed he did. I’d never taken the time to ask him how he felt about it. They might have shared even less—they hadn’t even exchanged a word—but they had a silent understanding. Or I supposed I could just be deep in my head, seeing things where there were none.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I think I feel bad about getting so caught up in it, but it’s…not easy to come down from that high, I guess? Which just makes me feel worse about it.”
Santos nodded. I only caught it from the corner of my eye because I was terrified of looking and seeing that he was disappointed, or that I was sending him back to square one with my own insecurities.
Truthfully, I didn’t think about Sir Ismael that much.
Not as much as I thought I would. It hurt, but it was mostly a matter of my pride.
He wasn’t the first Dom I’d ended things with.
I knew the drill, the gap between having all that power handed to someone, and getting it back when it was barely wanted.
It fucked with someone’s head. Erika had actually done a workshop about it.
Not in the regular sense of a workshop, but she’d invited a kink-aware therapist, and they had spoken a lot about the power exchange that came with the dynamics we engaged with, and what happened when one ended, even if nothing traumatic had happened.
I’d attended, and I’d paid attention. I just hadn’t thought it would apply to me until it did, which was a huge mindfuck. It still kind of was.
The point was, I had coping mechanisms, and I knew how to take care of myself. Sure, this time, part of it had consisted of leaning on Santos and focusing on him more than I would any other person. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. I should probably ask someone.
The last thing I’d need was for Santos to find a good therapist, work through his stuff, and realize that I was the fucked up one. Which, I was.
Things weren’t as easy as they used to be when we were in school.
It wasn’t even the sex or the love stuff.
We didn’t have kinky sex then, obviously, but we fooled around.
There were lots of talks—which, fine, were mostly initiated and carried on by me via texting at times I should’ve been sleeping or studying about my family history, which I’d refused to do for many years on principle alone.
The point was, Santos saying it was us against the world when he came back here didn’t come out of nowhere.
The two of us were the closest to fated as two people could be.
But back then, our baggage was only about the families we’d been born into. There were no insecurities from having jobs that were a farce, or from abusive figures, and whatever else was weighing in on Santos.
“I’ve got you,” Santos whispered. I froze, wondering if he’d said anything before. He didn’t look upset or exasperated, though. I’d take it as a win. “I’ll figure it out.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
It took a lot to let the words out without dying of own personal embarrassment, but they felt important.