Chapter 34
Charlie
Oh, Neptune .
I did it.
I told Mateo I love him.
And he’s yet to say a single word.
If he wasn’t clutching on to me like I’m the most precious thing in the world, I would feel sick to my stomach, but his gentle touch is settling any fear in taking the leap of faith.
Perched on his lap, I run my fingers through his hair. The cool sea breeze sends goose bumps along my flesh, and I burrow deeper into his chest, savoring his warmth.
Now would be a good time for him to say something. I’m pretty sure he loves me—I can feel it in my chest when he looks at me—but I’d like to hear the words, revel in the way they wash over my skin like a balm, healing everything I thought was once broken.
“You can speak now,” I whisper, in case he thinks I have more to say.
I’ve said all I can right now. Maybe more will come to mind later, but it took me two hours to put together the small confession. I’m not a great speaker, and I am even worse at expressing emotions in a logical manner, so I’m tapped out.
His mouth opens, then closes, and his grip on my sundress tightens.
“I’ve spent the last two years falling in love with you,” he says in a thick voice.
“Only I didn’t realize the depth of what I feel for you until you gave me the final piece.
Like you amass trinkets, I’ve been collecting the small pieces of yourself you offer.
An addiction to chocolate. An obsession with crystals and Charles Darwin.
A brilliant mind and an even sharper tongue.
The queen of trivia and proud owner of an alien dildo. ”
“It’s a normal penis,” I grumble.
His laughter strikes my solar plexus. “But when you let me see behind the wall—trusted me with your fears and worries—that’s when I knew I was a goner.
” My hands shake from his confession, reality setting in.
“Te amo, bruja . I love you. Deeply. Unconditionally. It transcends logic or reason, time and space. There is no fear you could show me, or insecurity you could whisper, that would change how I feel.”
The smile on his face shines like moonlight against the water, and my heart is so full it could burst out of my chest. I pour every emotion I couldn’t quite place or put words to into a gentle kiss.
The sundress I borrowed from Sofía billows as I shift on his lap, straddling his hips to deepen the connection.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” I chant the declaration—full of promise and hope—until my voice is hoarse and he’s cutting me off with another kiss.
There’s this throbbing in my chest, a small kernel of heat lodged in my diaphragm. It flares when Mateo enters a room or calls me bruja.
I’ve sat on the feeling, trying to uncover every intricate layer, but I don’t think it’s something meant to understand, at least not fully. Love is meant to be felt. It is meant to be given and received without judgment or forced reciprocity.
Before Mateo, love was obligatory. Amy loves me because we’re best friends; my family loves me because we’re related.
It’s never felt like someone loved me simply because they could, and I had never fallen in love with somebody.
Uncovered small pieces of a person until they became a work of patchwork art.
There’s so much I still don’t know, like how he celebrates holidays or if he has any superstitions. If it was possible, I would enter his mind through his nose and go on an expedition like Charles Darwin, learning and uncovering everything unknown to me. Like Osmosis Jones, minus the evil bacteria.
I’m not convinced I’m not insane for telling a man I’m in love with him after only a few weeks, but there’s a fine line between love and hate, and I’ve walked the line for so long it was an easy push.
His fingers are in my hair, tangled in the strands, as he works down my neck, peppering kisses against my skin, pausing to nip at my small scar.
“Say it again,” he demands, his grip tightening around my hair until the column of my throat is exposed.
“Won’t it get old if I say it too much?” I tease, grinding my hips against his dick, which is begging for freedom.
“Never.”
“I love you.”
The words give meaning to the sensation in my chest. There’s another living presence lodged there, right beside my heart. It’s where Mateo has taken root in my soul.
He pounces the moment the words are out, and the kiss is primal—it’s overflowing with emotion, with words unsaid, but I understand every one, like a secret language between only us.
“I need you,” he whimpers, and holy fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever hear anything hotter than Mateo begging. His hand slips under the dress and between my thighs, dragging a finger along my soaked panties. “So wet for me.”
“ Mateo .”
He pushes the thin fabric to the side, plunging a finger inside me, and a loud moan tumbles from my lips.
“You need to be quiet, bruja, or we’re going to get caught.”
It’s that comment that clears the haze enough to recognize that anyone could walk up the stairs to the top deck and catch us. A tingle travels down my spine, my core clenching.
“Oh, that excites you,” he murmurs, adding another finger as he increases his pace.
I scramble at his belt and zipper, tugging at his belt loops so he lifts his hips. I slide his pants down just enough to free his erection.
There’s no lead up as I reposition myself over his lap and guide him until his tip is pressing against me.
He slips inside me easily, stretching me until I’m fully seated and have to take a moment to breathe.
His hips thrust upward, and I have to bite down on his shoulder to suppress the small scream that wants to escape.
The angle is glorious, but his pace is tortuous—slow, deep thrusts, both too much and not enough.
“ More ,” I demand. His chuckle is sinful, and his movements stop. “That’s the opposite of what I asked,” I growl.
I’m on the precipice of a mind-blowing orgasm; this is not the time to stop.
“If you want it, take it, bruja.”
He leans back on the deck chair, his arms folded behind his head and a mirthful smile on his lips. His pupils are blown, hair unruly. Mateo looks undone, and it only pushes me closer to the edge.
I sway my hips, back and forth, palms pressed against his thighs for leverage as I take what I want, and he watches like I’m the center of the universe—his point of gravity.
“You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “Look how you take my cock so well. ”
He sits forward to lift the hem of my dress, guiding my gaze to where we meet. His finger brushes against my clit, and I nearly levitate from the sudden zap of pleasure. His touch is feather soft, and I begin to unravel, my movements choppy, breath labored.
“O-oh, fuck .”
Stars flicker across my vision as he pistons into me.
“Come for me, bruja.”
The demand sends me over the edge, and I tumble into oblivion, riding the wave of ecstasy as far as I can. He continues to move inside me, his thrusts shallow and uneven as I tighten around him. He releases a shuddered breath before his head falls against my chest and he erupts into his own orgasm.
Labored breaths mix with the sounds of the waves crashing into the side of the vessel.
Mateo’s erection softens, and he pulls out, cleaning the both of us up the best he can before sliding my underwear back into place and pulling me against his chest.
His heartbeat pounds beneath my ear—a heavy drum with a steady beat.
“I love you, Charlie.”
His words are a declaration, but they’re also a balm over unhealed wounds.
When you have days where it’s hard to admire yourself, it feels impossible to believe someone else could desire what you find lacking. How could anyone love me if I don’t feel that way about myself?
That’s what everyone says. You need to learn to accept yourself before you can offer or accept love from someone else.
While I believe there’s a sliver of truth in the phrase—it’s important to grow, to accept who you are, and find pride in yourself—I think they’re missing one crucial piece: It’s easier to believe in something when someone else also shares the belief.
To have someone in your corner who says “I’ll love every part you’re still learning to accept, and I’ll hold your hand while you work through it. ”
I’m not healed—far from it—but I know I wouldn’t be on the deck of a research vessel confessing my feelings if it wasn’t for Mateo’s unwavering confidence in me.
I’ve stood on my own for a long time, learned how to operate in a world where I felt judged and examined, but in doing so, I lost pieces of myself along the way.
Over time, I regained a few, clawed and hustled for each one, but I was far from whole.
I stopped hiding inside the house, but I was still hiding from the world.
Covering my scars with clothing. Avoiding social interactions.
Missing two years of flirtatious cues because I struggled to believe anyone could see who I am and decide what they saw was worthy.
The things I love most about you have nothing to do with your beauty.
His words have played in my mind every time I look in the mirror and question what reflects back. It’s knowing what he loves about me—wait a damn minute.
“Mateo?”
He hums, his thumb stroking against my thigh.
“When you found me crying after the comments on the video, what did you say to me?”
“That I wanted you to ride my cock?” There’s both a furrow between his brow and a subtle, cocky smile on his lips, like he’s confused by the question but proud of past Mateo.
“No,” I say, trying to fight a blush, “the other thing.”
“That the things I love most about you have nothing to do with your beauty?” I nod, and he adds, “I do think you’re beautiful. Is that what you’re getting at?”
Ugh. Dense man.
I wanted one thing. And it was to tell Mateo I love him first, and he still inadvertently managed to beat me to it.
I want to laugh at the irony of it; I used to despise him because he always beat me, whether it was a better grade or a more prestigious paper submission, and here I am, once again beaten to the punch.
It’s hard to be annoyed by it this time, though.
“Say the first half of that again.”
“The things I love most about you…Oh, Dios. ”
His smile slips, before it blossoms into something extraordinary—a rare thing of astonishing beauty. His laugh is like melted honey, sweet and warm, as his head tips forward and a soft kiss is placed on my temple.
“I’ve never been able to keep my faculties around you. Hell, the first time we met I got so flustered by you, I tripped and spilled my wine all over your dress.”
I scramble to lean back so I can see his face. “What?”
He’s silent—contemplative—and his finger runs along my scar. Every time he touches it with such reverence, like now, it’s hard to keep the tears away. I’m not sure I’ll ever get comfortable with how openly he admires it.
“You were laughing with Cheryl when I was walking over to introduce myself, but when you spun to look at me, I was so shocked by your beauty, I faltered a step, which caused me to trip and spill my wine all over you.” He sighs deeply.
“I felt so bad, but I couldn’t get my tongue to work—didn’t know what to say to you—so I panicked and ran away. ”
When I reminisce about the day we met, it was always clouded by my annoyance at a lost dress and the embarrassment of being in the center of a scene when I wanted so badly to stay on the outskirts of a crowd. But beyond it all, he intrigued me, too.
Instead of leaning into the pull, I ran far away and put up as many mental shields as possible.
He’s stuck with me now, so I can admit the one thing I haven’t said out loud, not even to Amy, and barely allowed myself to ponder since we met—in fear I would never stop thinking about it. “I thought you were hot as fuck . ”
He laughs, a confident smirk taking over his features. Can’t have him get a big head, though, so I add, “And then I wanted to melt you with my laser eyes.”
Mateo drags me back into him, his chest rumbling with laughter as he locks me in a tight embrace.
“Forever,” he says with unquestionable conviction. “You can disintegrate me with your lasers forever, as long as I’m the only one being melted.”
“How romantic,” I tease, but the truth of it is, I couldn’t imagine looking at anyone else.
And now I’ll never be able to.
He’s the one thing I never expected to uncover, but he’ll forever be my greatest discovery.