Chapter 26
His tongue touches mine, slow and exploratory, and the sensation makes my toes curl.
Every nerve in my body lights up, a wave of heat rushing over me like wildfire.
His hand finds the side of my neck, his fingers warm against my skin, his thumb brushing along my jaw with a tenderness that makes me dizzy.
My heart pounds so hard I swear he must hear it.
My fingers twitch, desperate to touch him, to anchor myself to him, but I stay frozen in place, afraid that if I move too fast, I’ll ruin this perfect moment.
I melt into him, every part of me saying yes, yes, yes, and in his kiss, I feel something unspoken—want, yes, but also care. Intention. Restraint. Like he’s holding back just enough to let me lead if I want to.
Like he’s not just kissing me.
He’s learning me.
When we finally break apart, I open my eyes slowly, breathing hard. He’s watching me closely, like he’s trying to read every emotion playing out across my face.
“Still think we need more practice?” he asks with a smirk that’s equal parts heat and teasing.
I laugh, breathless. “Maybe. You know, just to make it convincing.”
His smile softens. “Anytime, mi amor.” And just like that, I know I’m in trouble.
Esteban pulls back slowly, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer before he clears his throat and stands up.
“I want to get to know you better,” he says, walking toward the kitchen.
“Now that we got the kiss out of the way, I think we should focus on other important things, like figuring out what makes you tick.” He opens the freezer and pulls out a pint of cookies and cream ice cream. “We can make a game out of it.”
I sit there, still trying to recover from the kiss that basically melted every functioning cell in my body, watching him move around the kitchen like we didn’t just share the most toe-curling moment of my year. Maybe my entire life.
My eyes trail after him, shamelessly. I can’t help it.
His joggers mold to his body in the most unfair way, and when he adjusts himself casually as he reaches for two bowls, I catch a full view of just how well-endowed he is.
My face heats instantly, but I don’t look away.
Then his back is to me, giving me the perfect view of his perfect ass, and the fact that I’m practically drooling is proof I’m not thinking clearly.
And he has no idea the show he’s putting on.
I cross my legs, trying to gather some dignity, but it’s no use. I’m hot, bothered, and painfully aware that if he offered to go for round two of that kiss, I’d throw the ice cream out the window and climb him like a tree.
He grabs two bowls and spoons, and looks over his shoulder. “Do you want some?”
“Yes,” I say too quickly. “Please.”
The kiss lit me up, and now he’s scooping ice cream like we didn’t just makeout. My brain is spinning. Maybe he’s not into me like that? What kind of man stops a makeout session after one kiss? But then again, I just saw him adjusting his hard cock, so that kiss definitely affected him.
I swallow the disappointment and focus on not looking too affected as he hands me a bowl and sits next to me again, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“So,” he begins between spoonfuls, “I know what you studied. I know you’re building your skincare business and all that. But I want the rest. What do you do for fun? What kind of movies do you like? Music?”
I take a bite of ice cream and try to settle the tornado of questions still spinning in my chest. “Hmm,” I say, licking my spoon, “I love romcoms. Anything that makes me laugh and has a happy ending, I’m all in.
I also read a lot of romance, like the happily-ever-after, big-feelings, book-boyfriend type of stories. ”
“That so?” He grins. “Then Violet and you have a lot in common. Maybe you can start a book club. Where no man is allowed so you can talk about your book boyfriends freely.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “And music? I listen to whatever lifts me up. I have a whole playlist just for cleaning and pretending my life’s a movie. Lately I’ve been obsessed with Benson Boone.”
Esteban raises his eyebrows. “Never heard of him.”
“You’re missing out. His voice is dreamy.” I look down at my bowl and laugh softly. “Honestly, I’m just a simple girl. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.”
He nods thoughtfully. “I like that.”
I shift, nudging his shoulder. “Okay, your turn.”
He takes a slow bite before answering. “Movies? I’m an action guy. Anything with car chases, shootouts, or spies? I’m in. But I also like romcoms. I’m not afraid to admit I’ve watched The Proposal more than once.”
I burst out laughing. “Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds?”
He shrugs. “It’s a good one. Don’t judge me.”
“No judgment,” I say through a grin. “That movie is iconic.”
“I don’t really read,” he continues, stretching his legs out. “Every time I try, I end up falling asleep. But music? Spanish music all the way. Especially reggaetón. Every time I go to Puerto Rico, my cousins and I hit the clubs to dance. I love that part of going home, it just hits different.”
I can picture it so clearly, him in some dimly lit dance spot, moving like he owns the place, smiling and carefree. The thought makes my stomach flutter again.
“Now that,” I say, raising a brow, “I’d pay to see.”
“Careful what you wish for, mi amor.” He shoots me a smirk. “You just might get a private show.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks again, and I quickly take another bite of ice cream before I say something stupid… again. But I can’t help myself. I love how he says mi amor. When I get out of here, the first thing I’m going to do is google what does that means.
“How does one even dance to reggaetón? I’ve heard that one song that says gasolina and the one with Justin Bieber like fifty times, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.”
Esteban grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, Eva,” he says, taking the bowl from my hands and setting both of ours on the coffee table. “Let me show you.”
He picks up his phone, scrolls for a few seconds, and taps something. Soft violin notes float through the kitchen speakers, gentle and elegant, almost romantic. For a second, I raise a brow, I don’t think this is reggaetón.
But then the beat drops. Deep, sultry, and pulsing like it’s synced to my heart. The bass rolls in beneath the strings, vibrating in my chest and anchoring my feet to the floor. My body reacts before I can even think.
Esteban stands and extends a hand toward me, his grin teasing and full of promise. “Come on. This is ‘Zun Da Da,’ by Zion. I used to blast it when I was younger. It’s the perfect song to teach you how to dance.”
I hesitate, laughing nervously. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” he says, wiggling his fingers for me to take his hand.
I slide mine into his, and he gently pulls me up. Then he positions me in front of him, my back to his chest, placing both hands on my hips. His grip is light, but it burns through the fabric of my leggings. He starts moving me from side to side, guiding me to the rhythm.
“You don’t have to overthink it,” he says close to my ear. “In Puerto Rico, we dance with the girl in front of the guy. The guy follows her lead, moves with her. It’s all about connection.”
I nod, swallowing hard, trying to focus on what he’s saying and not on how every part of my body is starting to tingle.
His hands remain on my hips, gently encouraging my movements, and I find myself grinding my hips against him to the beat.
“Exactly like that,” he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble. “It’s a sexy dance. Usually, couples get aroused just by the movement.”
Feeling his breath against my ear, goosebumps rise on my skin. My heartbeat is a drumroll. I’m definitely getting aroused just by having him behind me and talking to me like this.
“You can be sensual,” he continues, “and the guy can…” His voice lowers, and then I feel his hands trail slowly from my hips to my waist, his fingers dragging along my sides with deliberate pressure that makes my breath catch.“...start touching the girl,” he finishes.
My knees feel like jelly.
We dance, and with each passing second, I feel bolder, more in tune with the rhythm and with him.
My hips grind harder against him, pushing past shyness into something that feels natural and electric.
His grip tightens on my waist in response, fingers digging in just enough to let me know he’s feeling every second of this, same as me.
I can feel him—how hard he is—and it sends a thrill straight through me. Now I fully understand the appeal of this kind of dance. In a dark, crowded club, this would practically be foreplay. Here, alone with him in the soft lighting of his living room, it feels even more intimate. Raw. Honest.
Then, his lips brush against my ear as he sings softly, “Te besaré hasta sentirme tuyo.” His voice is low, almost like a whisper, but it shoots straight to my core. A warm hum follows, his breath teasing my neck.
I shiver. “What does that mean?” I ask, voice shaky.
He chuckles, deep and rough. “It means, ‘I’ll kiss you until I feel like I’m yours.’” His hands glide up and down my sides as he says it. “It’s very sensual. The singer wants her so bad, he’s willing to have sex with his clothes still on. Just to feel close to her.”
I suck in a breath.
The imagery, the way he says it, the way his hands are still on my body, it’s too much and not enough at the same time.
“Can I turn around?” I ask, my voice breathless. “Or is it just like this all the time?”
His mouth dips close to my ear, his voice a low growl. “No, you can turn around.”
Before I even fully process it, he’s turning me in his arms, and now I’m facing him. His eyes are hooded with desire, and the way he looks at me makes my stomach flip. There’s hunger in his gaze, undeniable, unfiltered, and the heat I feel pooling inside me grows stronger.
He grabs my hips and pulls me flush against him, eliminating any space between us. Our bodies press together, and I can feel every hard inch of him. My breath hitches.
“When we dance like this,” he murmurs, “it’s a little different. Since we’re face to face… I can move you however I want to.”
And he does.
His hands stay on my hips at first, then trail lower, then up my back, guiding my body into sync with his.
I let go of any hesitation and follow his lead, moving with him, my body molded against his.
I’ve never felt so connected to someone without saying a single word.
Never felt so exposed and desired at the same time.
The music keeps playing, but all I hear is the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. We’re barely dancing now, it’s more like we’re breathing in the same air, holding on for whatever happens next.
The song ends, but neither of us move. We just stay there, pressed together, staring at each other.
The tension between us is thick—charged, magnetic—and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. Kiss him? Step back? Say something witty to lighten the mood?
But the truth is, I don’t want to break this spell.
I don’t want to move at all.