Chapter Fourteen
B y the time that we leave, the night air has cooled, and Santi drapes an arm around my shoulders as we walk over to his car.
He’s warm and solid, his broad chest firm against my side as we walk in synchronised steps, and I can feel the faint tension of his muscles even through the fabric of his shirt. His forearm rests lightly over my shoulder, corded with the kind of strength that comes from years of training and pushing his body to its limits.
Not that I want to compare him to anyone else, of course; but I’ve never been with a man like Santi before. His sheer presence - his height, his broad, muscular build and the way he seems to fill the space around him - makes me feel protected, but there’s a softness in the way he holds me, too.
Like I’m precious to him. Or something.
“You cold?” he asks, his voice breaking through my thoughts.
“Not anymore,” I reply, blinking up at him through my lashes with a small smile.
He looks down at me, his expression softening. “Good.”
His hand gives a light squeeze to my bare shoulder, and I lean into him. As is becoming a routine for us, he makes a point of opening and closing the door for me as I climb into the passenger seat; and as he drives me home, the conversation ebbs and flows with ease.
By the time that we reach my apartment door, my heart is in my throat.
He’ll surely kiss me again, right?
Santi turns to me. His expression is unreadable as his beautiful green eyes hold mine like they’re searching for something.
“I had a great time tonight,” he says softly, his deep voice low and steady.
The words are simple, but the way he says them makes my heart skip. He’d said the exact same thing after our first date, but standing here in the quiet hallway outside my apartment, the sentiment feels heavier, laden with something unspoken.
I smile, but the tension between us is undeniable now. My pulse quickens as I notice just how close we’re standing, the toe of his shoe almost brushing mine. The faint buzz of the air conditioning unit and the occasional muffled sounds from other apartments only makes the space between us feel more intimate, like we’re in a world all our own.
His gaze drops, lingering on my lips for a moment that feels infinite.
The air shifts, thick with anticipation, and every inch of me is hyper aware of his presence.
The way his broad shoulders lean just slightly toward me, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw catching the light, the way his hand hovers near mine but doesn’t quite touch.
My breath hitches as his hand finally moves, brushing against the bare skin of my much paler forearm before settling lightly on my waist. It’s such a small gesture, yet it sends a rush of warmth through me as my chest tightens with anticipation .
Neither of us speaks, the silence hanging between us like a thread stretched taut, ready to snap.
His thumb grazes my side, and I feel like the entire universe has narrowed to this hallway, this moment, this man standing in front of me.
For a second, we just hover. His eyes meet mine again, a question flickering there, unspoken but crystal clear.
The weight of the moment presses against my ribs, and then, finally , he kisses me.
It’s soft at first, tentative, almost like our first kiss all over again. It’s as if he’s giving me a chance to pull away - heaven knows why, since it’s the last thing I’d ever want - but the second I lean into him, it shifts.
Santi’s large hand tightens its grip on my waist, and he uses it to pull me closer as my fingers find their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his dark hair. He’s mentioned that he wants it cutting, but I love the way his locks feel between my fingers.
His other hand moves to cup my jaw, and his calloused thumb brushes lightly against the curve of my cheek as his tongue runs against my bottom lip. I open up for him instinctively, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
I moan into his mouth as I lean towards him, my hands coming to rest on his firm chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The hallway disappears, and everything but the feel of his lips on mine fades into nothingness.
I lose myself in him, my senses overwhelmed by his touch, his taste, his scent. When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless, my heart pounding and my breathing ragged.
His breath is warm against my cheek when he speaks.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he murmurs, his voice husky.
I can’t help but smile, my fingers still trailing through his hair. “I’m glad you did.”
His forehead comes to rest lightly against mine, our noses brushing intimately. I bite down on my bottom lip as I smile, and a question comes to mind. I hesitate, a little unsure, but then the words tumble out before I can second-guess them.
“Do you want to come in?”
Those beautiful green eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he might say no.
But then he nods.
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
We step inside, and I flick on two of the lamps rather than the main light before I lock the door behind us. The apartment is clean and tidy - thank you, past-self - and since Santi doesn’t drink alcohol while the season is in full-swing, I offer him a glass of lemonade.
He stands in the middle of the lounge, his hands tucked into his pockets as I place a glass down on the kitchen counter.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I say, gesturing over to the couch.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
Instead of answering, I move out of the kitchen - the lemonade now forgotten - and step closer.
Something shifts, and the air between us feels charged, electric.
I’m so used to doubting everything, but there’s nothing about Santi that has given me any cause to ever feel uncomfortable or unsure in myself, so I give into my instincts and wrap my arms around his neck .
His response is immediate, and his large hands come to rest on either side of my waist as he pulls me tightly against him.
The warmth of his touch seeps through the fabric of my sundress, grounding me and igniting something deeper all at once. I feel the strength in his grip - not possessive, but steady, as if he’s anchoring me to the moment - and I lift up onto my tiptoes, my lips pressing against his in a gentle stroke.
Whatever doubts I’d had about letting someone in melt away as his mouth moves against mine. Our kiss is slow at first, with gentle brushes of tongues, but it grows into something deeper, more insistent.
His taste is intoxicating, and his fingers trail away from my sides and up my back, leaving a path of heat in their wake, before settling at the base of my neck. He tilts my head slightly, deepening the kiss, and a soft sound escapes me as he maneuvers my body. It’s a mixture of surprise and surrender, and it’s then that Santi pauses, his forehead coming to rest against mine as his breath comes in shallow bursts.
“Olivia,” he murmurs, his voice husky, almost reverent.
I pull back just enough to look at him, my hands resting lightly on his broad, muscular shoulders. His green eyes search mine, and the usual playful glint I see in them has been replaced by something raw and vulnerable.
“For the first time in a long time,” I whisper, my voice catching, “I’m not worried about anything else. All that matters to me… is this.”
Tension still thrums between us, our bodies impossibly close, but his lips curve into the faintest of smiles. His thumb brushes against my jaw as one of his hands moves to cup my face, and his gentle touch sends a light shiver down my spine.
“You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that,” he says softly.
His gaze holds mine, and my heart thunders in my chest.
I swallow thickly. “I think I do.”
He leans down again, capturing my lips in another kiss. It’s slower this time - almost as if he’s savouring every second.
When we finally part, I stay in his arms, my head coming to rest against his shoulder. I close my eyes as I listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong. His hand strokes lazily up and down my back, and I let out a contented hum.
“Should we move somewhere more comfortable?” he asks.
I step back just enough to meet his gaze. “You’re terrible at subtlety, you know.”
“Only when it comes to you,” he replies, his voice so low that my heart practically flutters.
He breaks out into a grin that is both boyish and disarming, and I narrow my eyes slightly in suspicion.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a small laugh escaping my throat.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans closer once more, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss so tender it makes my legs feel unsteady.
Then, without warning, he bends at the knee and scoops me up into his arms in one easy, fluid motion.
“Santi!” I gasp, clutching his shoulders as he laughs heartily. It’s such a lovely sound.
“You looked too comfortable,” he says simply. “Thought I’d make things a little more interesting.”
I shake my head, though no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the wide smile from my face.
“You’re impossible, you know that? ”
“And yet, you don’t seem to mind,” he counters, carrying me with an ease that reminds me just how strong he is.
He moves through the apartment as if he’s been here a hundred times before, pausing at the doorway to my bedroom. It’s hardly surprising given that it’s such a small space - it’s not really as if there’s a possibility for him to get lost, or confused.
He pushes open the door, and the soft glow of the bedside lamp casts the room in a warm, inviting light.
I feel my cheeks flush as he steps inside, still holding me close.
“You can -” I start, but he silences me with a kiss, setting us gently on the bed.
He’s perched on the edge of it with me on his lap, my legs draped over his thighs and my hands still clinging tightly to his shoulders.
It’s impossible not to notice the way his body feels beneath my hands. Solid, strong, and defined in a way that makes my pulse quicken. My fingers brush against the firm planes of his upper arms, and I can’t help but marvel at the sheer strength he carries so effortlessly.
His chest rises and falls steadily, and as I shift slightly, I’m acutely aware of the toned muscles beneath his shirt, sculpted from relentless training and the physicality of the game. I’ve seen plenty of photos of him without a shirt on - thank you, internet - and for someone who has never paid much attention to rugby before, I suddenly appreciate the sport in an entirely new way.
He notices my lingering touch and leans back just enough to look at me, his eyes practically dancing with amusement.
“What?” he asks, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips .
I shake my head, a blush creeping up my cheeks. “Nothing. Just... rugby might not be as boring as I thought.”
He laughs. The sound is low and rich.
“Good to know I’m changing your mind. Want me to give you a crash course on the game sometime?”
“Maybe,” I tease, running my hands along the hard lines of his shoulders. “But I think I’m enjoying this part more.”
“Fair enough,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he presses another kiss to my lips, the heat between us igniting again. He pulls back when I moan into his mouth, brushing a strand of hair from my face even as I move forwards to chase his lips. “I can stop if you want me to,” he says.
The sincerity in his tone sends a rush of warmth through me. I shake my head as I fist my hands into the collar of his shirt and use my grip to attempt to pull him closer towards me.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper.
His arm slips around my shoulders to pull me closer, and as we resume our passionate kiss, I move to straddle his strong hips and muscular thighs. His hand traces slow, lazy circles on my back as our tongues dance, and I pull away for a moment to catch my breath, though I don’t go far.
“You’re full of surprises, Santi,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Good ones, I hope?” he asks, his voice equally low.
I nod, my fingers brushing against his jaw. “The best.”
He kisses me again, and this time it’s unhurried, like we have all the time in the world. His touch is gentle, reverent even.
But like everything with us, it begins to heat.
At some point, we shift positions so that I’m lying on my back with Santi hovering over me. My legs remain wrapped around his hips, and I gasp - then giggle lightly - as his lips move from mine and his teeth nip at the sensitive skin of my neck.
“Santi,” I hum, shuffling myself slightly on the bed beneath him, my body restless from the way he’s been teasing. ” Please .”
I watch through hooded lids as the muscular man above me rocks back on his knees, pulling his face away from the crook of my neck so that he can look me right in the eyes. His size is abundantly clear from this position, and as he slowly peels his shirt away and reveals the toned, tanned skin of his chest and abdomen, I feel my stomach clench.
He licks his lips, the sight causing me to whimper. “What do you want, Olivia?” he asks.
His voice thick with lust, and I arch my back beneath him, inadvertently lifting my hips in offering.
“ You ,” I respond without hesitation.
In a heartbeat, his lips are on mine once more.
Santi paws at either side of my waist with both of his huge hands, lifting up the skirt of my sundress but not bothering to take the time to remove it. The way he lifts my body with such ease has me grinning against his lips, and I bring my palms to rest against his stubbled jaw and deepen our kiss, not caring where I’m positioned so long as he continues to kiss me with such passion and raw need.
He hovers over me with his lower half pressed tightly against mine as he places me centrally in the bed. His elbows brace on either side of my head to support his weight, and even through the layers of his jeans and underwear, I can feel how thick and hard he is.
He pulls our lips apart and peppers soft, wet kisses across my jaw, earlobe and then down the column of my throat. I writhe impatiently beneath him and squeal loudly in pleasure when he pushes himself against my core.
“Santi,” I pant, and I know I sound desperate, but I am . “I need you. Now.”
I feel him smirk against my collarbone, and he sighs against my skin, his hot breath combined with the feel of his coarse stubble causing me to shudder lightly. My breathing hitches as he moves one of his hands to gather up the skirt of my dress further around my hips so that he has easier access to where I need him most while his other arm remains by my head, propping himself up so that he doesn’t crush me with his weight.
His calloused fingers brush over my wetness through my panties, and my hips buck instinctively against them, wanting more. It’s almost embarrassing - how wet I am - but I can’t think about that now, not as my primal instincts take over and I whimper and whine beneath him.
Santi pulls the side of the thin fabric away, exposing my damp folds to the warm air of my room, and a soft breath of air escapes my lips as two of his calloused fingers gently trace the length of my slit.
“ Fuck , Olivia,” he says, his voice thick. “What a pretty little pussy. So much better than I could have imagined.”
The thought of him thinking about me like this causes me to whimper, and though I can practically feel his gaze burning into me, I can’t do anything other than squeeze my eyes tightly to a close. He glides his fingers up and down with ease, and by the time the pads of his fingers brush against my throbbing clit, they’re coated with my arousal.
My jaw goes slack as pleasure overwhelms my senses, and my hips buck uncontrollably again as he circles over the sensitive flesh .
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs. “Is this all for me?”
I nod rapidly, though I’m sure he doesn’t actually need the confirmation. After all, nobody else has ever had an effect on me like this.
It’s as if Santi knows my body like it's his own, and it doesn’t take much time for my legs to tremble violently, for my abdomen to clench and unclench at rapid speed as my orgasm approaches. It’s ridiculous, really; and I can only blame the constant tension that has been building between us for weeks for how quickly he’s going to send me over the edge.
I writhe beneath him as pressure and pleasure take over my body, and when Santi thrusts his long, thick fingers inside me while circling my throbbing clit with his thumb, I let out a loud shriek.
“So tight,” he says, sounding as though he’s speaking through gritted teeth.
I wonder how much of himself he’s holding back to get me where he wants me first.
“I’m close,” I tell him, shaking my head from side to side. “So… So close.”
“That’s it,” he murmurs in encouragement. “You’re doing so good.”
His words, his voice, his thick accent - it all serves to arouse me impossibly further, and it pushes me closer to the edge.
“Oh, god, Santi. I’m so close, I’m - I’m -”
I come with a moan, my forehead damp with perspiration as my body spasms beneath his.
I whimper at the loss of his fingers, and my eyes flutter open just in time to catch him placing his two glistening fingers into his mouth. My mouth goes dry as I watch his cheekbones hollow as he makes sure to thoroughly suck my arousal from them, moaning deeply in pleasure before he removes them with a pop.
Fuck.
That might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.
I’m absolutely spent, yet I still smile almost dreamily when I hear the sound of the zipper of his trousers being pulled down. I’m still very much basking in the afterglow of my intense orgasm when he leans forwards, and I practically purr when his lips brush against my earlobe.
“You ready for me, baby?” Santi asks.
He gently nips at my earlobe for good measure, and I can only nod my head up and down – my chin nudging against the skin of his broad, bare shoulder – since all coherent thought seems to have escaped me.
He chuckles as though he can read my mind before he enters me in one smooth motion, letting out a deep, guttural moan as his forehead drops against mine. My eyes widen at the intrusion, and I inhale a quick breath at the initial sting.
“ Shit,” he hisses. It’s his eyes that squeeze to a close, now. “Olivia…”
It takes me a few seconds to adjust to his significant size. The feeling of his long, thick length stretching me has me wanting to crawl away and be pulled closer all at once.
I nuzzle my nose against his in a brief, soft sign of affection, and after a few beats of stillness, Santi pulls his hips back enough so that he almost leaves me empty before he pushes back inside once again.
I gasp against his mouth as he fills me completely.
“You feel so good, baby,” he murmurs. “So tight, so… So perfect. ”
It’s a wonder how a man of his size and stature can be so careful and soft, so gentle and tender most of the time. Despite the strength that I know lives within his defined biceps and taught abdomen, despite the years of training and conditioning that has no doubt roughened him in many ways, Santi is so delicate in the way that he handles me.
And yet – and yet - as he fucks me now, it seems that he loses himself in the overwhelming pleasure of our union, and the lines begin to blur.
Buried so deeply inside of me, gentle is no longer a word I would use to describe him. It’s as if he’s reverting back to the wild, primal instincts that linger within him.
I love the way he nips at my exposed flesh, the way he snaps his hips harshly against mine and the way he digs his thick fingers into my waist and ass. He slams deeper and deeper with every thrust, and I grin in pleasure as he pounds roughly into me.
“Holy shit,” I hiss, a delirious little laugh escaping me.
I can’t believe how amazing it feels to be full of him, finally.
“Santi, you feel. So. Good .”
I curse softly when his thumb finds my clit once again, and now it’s his turn to huff out a laugh at the sound. As he hurriedly circles over it, I busy my hands in the dark hairs at the nape of his neck.
My thighs tremble around him from where my legs are locked around his waist, and as his thrusts become less precise and more sloppy, I sense that he’s close to his own release.
“Fuck, Santi, I need it,” I pant against his mouth, my own suddenly feeling quite dry. “Need you to come for me, please. ”
Despite the overwhelming urge to close my eyes as pleasure floods through me, I force them to remain open, and I drink in the sight of his face hovering above mine. His forehead is damp with sweat, and his dark hair falls in soft curls over his face.
“You want it, huh?” he repeats.
I whimper as he pounds into me with emphasised force, a brutal rhythm that is as punishing as it is pleasurable.
“Want me to come inside of your tight pussy, Olivia?” I nod. “Say it.”
“I want it,” I tell him. “I want you to come inside of me, Santi. Please. Please, give it to me.”
Santi adjusts the angle of the snap of his hips ever so slightly, reaching an impossibly deeper spot within me.
I gasp at the sensation, my eyes squeezing tightly to a close, everything just becoming too much, too overwhelming.
I can tell that he’s close – so painfully close – and he leans forward, suckling on my lower lip before panting against my mouth.
“You ready?” he presses, and I nod my head quickly as I chase his lips. “You want it, now?”
“God, yes,” I hum. “I don’t just want it, Santi, I need it . I’m on the pill, I - please. ”
“Whatever -” he pants, his large hands moving to hoist beneath my knees and part my legs impossibly wider for him.
The change of position admittedly stings a little, but I can handle it.
I’ll take anything if he’s the one that’s giving.
“Whatever you want, you’ll get,” he finishes.
“Santi, do it,” I practically beg. I’m beyond overwhelmed by the feeling of him stretching me as far as I can go, and the slapping sound of flesh on flesh fills the room. I’m overcome with the need to have him fill me entirely. “Please. Please . Give it to me, Santi. I need to feel it - need you to come for me, now -”
His whole body goes rigid and still from where he hovers above me, and then Santi empties his release deep inside of me with a long, low grunt.
His face falls into the crook of my neck, and his damp mop of dark hair tickles my chin, but I don’t mind at all. In fact, I practically revel in the feeling of him being so close.
For a short while, we stay like that; the pair of us half-dressed with my dress bunched up around my hips and his pants pulled halfway down his thighs. I almost can’t believe that we didn’t make it to fully undressing ourselves, but when I think of how much tension there’s been building up between us since that night on the terrace, I’m only half surprised.
Santi trembles slightly, and once his body stills completely, he pulls his hips back so that his softening length is no longer buried to the hilt inside me.
Our chests heave in synchronisation as he rolls away so that he’s next to me, the pair of us absolutely spent. Our arms brush as we lay next to one another in my bed, and with flushed cheeks, I chance a glance in his direction.
He’s looking right back at me, and I can’t help but break out into a wide smile.
“I can’t believe that we just did that,” I whisper.
“Me neither,” he murmurs back, his breathing still a little laboured and green eyes full of wonder.
He opens out his arms a little, and despite how warm I am, I gladly accept his silent invitation to come closer. I roll over so that I’m able to rest my head against his sculpted chest and I relax further into him as I listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
His large hand finds mine, our fingers lacing together, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so content, so... at peace.
I feel myself begin to drift, but then his quiet voice breaks the comfortable silence that had settled over us.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Olivia,” he says.
I lift my head to look at him, his words wrapping around me like a warm embrace.
“Good different or bad different?” I ask.
My tone may be light, but my heart is hammering as I await his answer.
“Definitely good,” he replies, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “The kind of different I didn’t know I needed.”
I smile, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before settling back against him.
The evidence of our union trickles from within me, causing a sticky dampness at the top of my thighs, but I’ll deal with that in a minute.
For now, I’m more than content just to lay here, wrapped up in the safety of Santi’s arms.