Chapter Twenty-Four
I tug at the hem of my t-shirt nervously as the car pulls up in front of Santi’s building.
That’s it.
We’re here.
The building is impossibly tall, its glass facade practically gleaming. It’s the kind of place that makes you immediately straighten - intimidating before you even step inside.
The driver opens my door, offering a polite nod as I step out.
“Have a good evening, Miss Bennett,” he says.
I murmur a quick thank you, my nerves getting the better of me as I move towards the building. It’s impossible not to take immediate notice of the two uniformed security guards standing by the entrance, their muscular arms folded over their chests as their sharp eyes scan all directions of the street before them.
One of them spots me and steps forward, his expression softening when he sees me fumbling with my phone.
“Miss Bennett?” he asks, taking pity on me.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice smaller than I intend it to be.
“Mr. Ortiz is expecting you. This way,” he says, gesturing toward the door, and I smile in thanks as I move inside .
The main lobby of the building is absolutely breathtaking. High ceilings stretch far above me, and the walls are lined with sleek marble and gold accents that scream out expensive . There’s a large, matte black desk located immediately ahead, and the two women sitting behind it are dressed immaculately with their dark hair perfectly slicked back.
Meanwhile, I stick out like a sore thumb.
Thankfully, the security guard stays close and leads me towards what I come to assume is a private elevator. He presses a button before stepping aside, signalling with his hand for me to step forwards towards the gold-plated doors.
“It’s the penthouse,” he says when the elevator arrives and I step inside. “You’ll go straight up.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say, smiling weakly at him whilst clutching my duffel bag tightly.
He doesn’t say a word in response, silent and stoic as the doors slide shut.
The ride up feels impossibly long, the gentle hum of the elevator doing nothing to quiet the nerves bubbling in my chest. I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls, smoothing my hair and adjusting my t-shirt for the hundredth time.
I knew I should have changed out of my navy loungewear set. I feel far too casual for this gorgeous building - like I’m offending it just by being here.
It wasn’t as if I expected Santi to live in a hut or something, but this ? This is beyond insane, and far, far away from any expectations I could have had.
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, I’m met with an expansive, open space that takes my breath away.
Santi’s penthouse apartment is stunning, to say the very least. It’s all open-plan, with a sleek and modern interior. Decorated with plush furniture in neutral tones, warm lighting and carefully placed artwork that screams understated luxury, it’s clear that not just anybody lives here: the entire apartment screams wealth.
I try and drink in all of the details, my eyes greedily jumping around every corner; however, I can’t help but focus in on the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the kitchen and living area. They offer unobstructed views of Valencia’s city lights - one that even certain rooftop bars would be envious of.
There’s a faint, familiar scent lingering in the air; something clean yet masculine that instantly makes me think of Santi.
“Olivia,” his deep voice calls from across the room.
I turn on my heel from where I had been admiring the view of the city to see him walking toward me. It’s admittedly a little strange to see him barefoot and dressed in a simple black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, although somehow he still manages to look effortlessly put together despite the casual attire.
His dark hair is damp as though he’s not long stepped out of the shower, and the sight of him looking so comfortable and casual in this space - a space that feels so distinctly his - has my heart racing.
“Hey,” I say softly, suddenly feeling shy as he approaches.
“You’re here,” he says, his tone filled with relief.
He doesn’t hesitate to pull me into his big arms, wrapping me in a tight embrace that instantly has my nerves beginning to settle.
“I am,” I reply, my voice muffled against his chest.
“I’m glad.” He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on my shoulders as he looks down at me. “Thank you for coming. I know this wasn’t easy for you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, though my voice wavers slightly. “I just - I wasn’t expecting it to be so... fancy .” I gesture vaguely around the penthouse, trying to smile. “It’s beautiful, though.”
“It’s just a place,” he says, his green eyes fixed on mine. “What matters is that you’re here. I needed to know you were safe.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tighten, and I nod, unable to find the words to respond.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me further into his apartment. “Let me show you around.”
The tour is brief but impressive. There’s a spacious living room with a modern fireplace, a sleek kitchen with a huge island and marble countertops, and an office space and gym room. There’s a balcony that wraps around the entire penthouse, offering panoramic views of the city along with the floor-to-ceiling windows, along with three large bedrooms and en-suite bathrooms in addition to the main bathroom.
His home is absolutely incredible - jaw-droppingly so - but my nerves still hum beneath the surface as I follow Santi back to the living room. He motions for me to relax on the plush cream sofa, its cushions so soft that I sink into them the moment I sit down.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks. “Water? Wine? Something stronger?”
“Wine would be perfect, thanks.”
He pours a glass of red, handing it to me before settling into the couch himself. His knee brushes against mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
I take a sip of my drink, letting the rich flavor settle on my tongue. I’m trying to stay calm and at least put on a good poker face, but no matter how hard I try to distract myself, my thoughts are still constantly swirling in the background.
Santi seems to sense it.
“You’re quiet,” he says gently. “Talk to me.”
I take a hearty sip of my wine before I set my glass down on the glass coffee table.
“This whole day has felt surreal,” I tell him. “I don’t even know where to start, honestly. I just… the only way I can really explain it is that I feel like my life isn’t mine anymore. Like I’ve been pulled into someone else’s world, and I don’t know how to fit into it. I don’t… I don’t belong in it.”
“You don’t have to fit into anything,” Santi says. “It’s not about slipping into my world or forcing yourself to belong. You just need to be yourself. That’s all.”
“That’s so easy for you to say. Don’t you get it?” I sigh. “It’s a fucking nightmare, Santi. People see me differently now. My students aren’t even taking me seriously anymore! They aren’t focused in class because they’re spending half of the time laughing to themselves, and the rest of it, they’re either asking me ridiculous and borderline inappropriate questions or they’re muttering about you. My colleagues won’t speak to me properly, either - it’s like nobody knows what to say to me, so they’re all just avoiding me instead. The staff room literally goes quiet the moment I walk into it! And then - then there’s creeps like that photographer this morning. He knew my address, Santi. He knows where I live. Not only has my professionalism been compromised, but now I can’t even feel safe and comfortable in my own apartment.”
His jaw tightens as I come to an end of my enormous rant, and as I inhale a long breath, I catch a flicker of something unfamiliar in his green eyes.
Anger, I think, though it’s hard to know for sure since I’ve never seen it from him before .
“I hate that you feel this way,” he says. “I hate knowing that someone crossed that fucking line.”
This isn’t how I wanted this evening to pan out, and I cringe as I place my head into my hands. I don’t want Santi to blame himself for any of this - after all, it’s all things that are completely out of control. I just needed to be able to vent, to speak to him honestly about how I really feel and to be able to get it all off my chest.
I just hope it’s not immediately backfired.
“When I found out who you were… that you were in the spotlight, that you were an athlete, then I knew that dating you would come with some challenges. I guess I just completely underestimated how much the public - and the media - would actually care,” I admit. “I know that probably sounds really ignorant and awful of me, but I just… I didn’t know, Santi. I didn’t know how exposed all of this would make me feel. And I’m scared about it all, too. What if it doesn’t get better? What if I can’t handle it?”
Santi looks contemplatively down at his own drink as I shake my head from side to side.
“I’m sorry. I’m just word vomiting at you right now.”
Santi shifts closer, placing his drink down on the coffee table and taking my hands in his. His touch is warm, and as I tilt my chin upwards to look at him, his gaze notably softens.
“Do not apologise,” he begins, his words slow and steady. “You have nothing to apologise for. Okay?”
I nod my head to confirm my understanding.
“I wish I could promise you that this will all go away, but… I can’t. I can’t lie to you and say that there won’t be more days like this, because that is something that I do not have a say over. But what I can promise is that you’re not in this alone. Okay? I’m here for you, and I will do everything I can to make this easier for you, and to protect you.”
I swallow thickly. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix everything for me.”
“I’m not,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t. I just want to be your partner. To be someone you can lean on when things feel too heavy.”
My throat feels too tight to speak. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but my god do I feel incredibly vulnerable right now. I can’t recall the last time that I had such an intense conversation with someone, and I’m struggling to keep myself completely composed.
Santi squeezes my hands gently. “When it comes to your safety, Olivia, that is what I care the most about. Well, that and your happiness. It’s why I wanted you here, in this building. There’s constant security downstairs, cameras everywhere, covering everything . No-one can get to you here without my knowledge.”
I look down at our joined hands, tears pricking in the backs of my eyes. I will them to go away with everything that I have, determined to keep my composure.
The control-freak inside me had wanted so much to keep Santi in my space in order to maintain some feigned sense of control over my life and the goings on of this developing relationship. It’s hardly a surprise to anyone to know that I’m completely out of my depth here, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to try and hold it together.
But I can’t deny that being here with him in this secure building already feels a lot safer than being in my tiny little apartment does.
“Okay,” I whisper, meeting his gaze with a firm nod. “I’ll stay. ”
His smile is soft, filled with a quiet kind of relief. “Good. I - you’re sure?”
“Positive,” I tell him.
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation slowly lifting. I pick up my glass of wine again, taking another sip before glancing around the room.
It’s probably time to try and lighten the mood.
“This place really is beautiful,” I say. “Although you didn’t tell me you live in a literal palace. That’s a convenient detail to miss out on.”
He chuckles, though the sound is a little shaky. He leans back against the sofa, his drink remaining positioned on the coffee table.
“It’s not a palace, just a home. And for the record, I wasn’t trying to impress you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You weren’t?”
“Nope,” he says, his tone playful. “If I was trying to impress you, I’d have cooked dinner instead of ordering in.”
I laugh, the sound surprising even me after the day I’ve had.
“Oh, so now you’re a chef?”
“Maybe,” he teases, his grin widening. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”
The lightness in his voice, the ease of his smile… it’s enough to make the tension in my chest loosen ever so slightly.
As the evening stretches on, we fall into an easy rhythm, talking about everything and nothing. Santi tells me about his latest training sessions and upcoming game schedule. It sounds as though things are so much more intense now that the rugby season is almost at an end. In return, I tell him about my students and their upcoming exams, trying my best not to focus on the negatives.
The take-out arrives, and once we’ve eaten together, we curl up on his huge, comfortable couch. Our bellies are full from our dinner, and I smile to myself as his lips brush over my forehead in a feather-light touch, his arm draped protectively around my shoulders.
“Better?” he asks, his voice low and soothing.
“Much,” I confirm, tilting my head over my shoulder to look back at him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You don’t have to think about that,” he smiles. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His words settle over me like a blanket, wrapping me in a warmth that reaches deep into my chest. My fingers dance across his defined jawline, the stubble rough but comforting under my touch.
“You really are too good to be true,” I murmur, half to myself. “Where did you come from?”
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest.
God, I love that sound.
“Trust me, I’m far from perfect.”
“Oh, really?” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
“Nope,” he says, leaning down until our noses almost touch. “I’d rather keep you under this illusion for as long as I can.”
I laugh, though before I can respond, his lips find mine. The kiss is soft at first, but I eventually twist so that we can deepen our embrace, and my fingers tangle in his dark strands of hair as he tightens his arm around me.
He uses his hold on my body to pull me firmly onto his lap, meaning that there’s hardly any space left between us at all.
“You make me feel like I can breathe again,” I whisper against his lips, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.
His hand slides up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly against my skin. “You do the same for me,” he replies, his voice steady and full of meaning.
I lean forwards to lose myself in him again when Santi shifts slightly, and I frown at the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“I almost forgot,” he says, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I have something for you.”
I sit up a little, curiosity sparking. “For me?”
“Yes,” he says, untangling himself from me and standing. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
I watch as he disappears down the hallway, my heart fluttering with anticipation.
What could he possibly have for me?
He returns in hardly any time at all, and when he does, he’s holding a small gift bag.
The glossy paper shimmers under the warm spotlights above, and I spot the logo on the front of the bag. It’s elegant and unfamiliar - something French or Italian - and is the kind of name I wouldn’t know how to begin to pronounce.
“Santi,” I say, sitting up straighter. “What is this?”
“See for yourself,” he says, handing the bag over to me.
I hesitate for a moment, my fingers brushing over the bag’s smooth surface as he moves to sit back down beside me.
After what feels like forever, I finally begin to pull out the tissue paper from within. Inside is a small velvet box, and my breath catches as I lift it out, glancing up at him briefly before flipping it open.
Nestled inside is a delicate gold necklace, the pendant a simple, elegant ‘S’ .
“Oh,” I breathe, my fingers brushing over the charm. “Santi, it’s... it’s beautiful.”
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Like it?” I glance up at him, my chest tightening with emotion. “Santi, I love it. But you didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply. “I saw it the other day, and it just... felt right. Kind of like us.”
“It’s perfect,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“Let me help you put it on,” he offers, taking the box from my hands.
I turn slightly, lifting my hair as he clasps the necklace behind my neck. His fingers are warm and gentle, brushing against my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
“There,” he says softly, his voice close to my ear. “It suits you.”
I touch the pendant lightly, feeling its weight against my collarbone. When I turn to face him, his eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“Thank you,” I say again, my voice barely above a whisper.
He leans in, pressing another soft kiss to my lips.
“You’re welcome, Olivia,” he murmurs. “You deserve so much more than this.”
I swallow hard, his words stirring something deep inside me. There’s so much sincerity in his tone, so much warmth in the way he’s looking at me - like I’m the only thing in the entire world that matters to him.
I reach out, my fingers lightly tracing the edge of his defined jaw.
“This is already more than I could have ever imagined,” I say softly.
He smiles that crooked, boyish grin that always makes my heart skip a beat; but then his smile fades slightly as his gaze drops to my lips, then to the necklace, and then my lips once more.
The air between us shifts, thickening with something heavier, more intense, and my breathing hitches.
Santi’s hand slides up, cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin.
“Olivia,” he whispers, and I don’t hesitate for a moment longer as I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens.
His other hand comes to rest on my waist, pulling me closer until I’m sitting in his lap once again. His lips leave mine, trailing down my jawline and brushing against the sensitive spot just beneath my ear.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down my spine as his stubble tickles my skin.
I tilt my head back slightly, giving him better access as his lips continue their slow, torturous path. My hands slide up to his broad shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt as I try to steady myself against the flood of sensations coursing through me.
His strong hands grip tightly at my hips from where I’m fully straddling his waist, my knees sinking into the plush cushions of the couch on either side of him.
“Santi,” I whisper, my voice shaky and breathless.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he says, his words muffled as his hands slide down back, kneading at the flesh of my ass over my soft yoga pants. “Can’t help myself around you.”
I shake my head, my fingers tangling in the dark hairs at the nape of his neck as I kiss him again.
“That goes for both of us.”
Our kiss heats, growing more desperate by the minute, and I feel a low groan rumble through his chest. His fingers brush against my bare skin and leave a trail of heat in their wake as he pushes the fabric of my t-shirt higher with a slow, deliberate motion, and my breath hitches as his touch sends sparks shooting through me.
I raise my arms so that he can lift the material over my head, leaving me completely exposed above him.
His large hands immediately move to paw at my breasts, and I sigh in soft pleasure as his fingers dance over my nipples.
When he looks up at me, his green eyes are dark with an intensity that makes my heart race.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my collarbone as he peppers kisses over my skin. “So fucking perfect for me.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I tease, though my voice wavers slightly from the rush of emotions swirling inside me.
I run my hands down his chest, feeling the firm, muscular planes beneath his shirt.
That needs to go. Now.
I nudge at his shoulders so that he pulls back enough for me to yank his own shirt over his head. The fabric slides away, revealing the kind of physique you only see in magazines or professional athlete highlight reels, and I greedily drink him in from this new angle .
He’s like a work of fucking art.
His broad shoulders and chest are defined, every line and curve of muscle sculpted to perfection. The light above us serves to highlight the dips and ridges of his torso whilst contouring his hard, muscular abs, leading down to the sharp V at his hips.
My hands skim over his chest in admiration.
“See something you like?” he teases.
I roll my eyes, though my cheeks flush all the same. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” he echoes. “I think we can do better than maybe.”
Before I can respond, his hands are on me again, sliding over my waist and pulling me closer until my bare skin is flush against his. The heat of his body is intoxicating, the feel of his hard muscles under my fingertips sending shivers down my spine.
I smile to myself as his lips lock around one of my nipples whilst his fingers play with the other. My hips shift instinctively, rubbing against him in search of delicious friction.
“You were staring,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.
“Can you blame me?” I whisper back, running my hands over the expanse of his chest, feeling the strength beneath his skin. “You’re... ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” he asks, leaning away from my breasts just enough to look up at me, amusement flickering in his green eyes.
“Yes,” I say, my hands moving up to his shoulders, tracing the curve of his biceps. “Completely, unfairly ridiculous.”
He laughs, the sound deep and warm, before pulling me back into another kiss .
This one is slower, but no less intense, and I feel my heart race as his hands slide up my back. His touch is firm yet gentle, possessive yet reverent, and I practically melt into him.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against my lips. “Every part of you.”
His lips travel down my neck, his hands sliding lower to grip my hips, and I realise just how easy it is to lose myself in him: in his touch, his strength, his overwhelming presence.
But as much as I feel consumed by him, I also feel something else.
Safe .
With Santi, I don’t feel the need to hold back, to protect myself from the possibility of being hurt.
With Santi, everything feels right. Natural, even.
Like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
All of this kissing and teasing and light touching has worked me into a frenzy, and I hurry to remove my bottom layers as he does the same. Once I’ve discarded my clothing, I scramble back onto his lap, returning to my previous position of straddling his hips and groaning in pleasure at the feel of his thick cock being lined up against my core.
“Need you inside me,” I breathe, my eyes locking onto his. “ Now. ”
His blunt nails bury themselves into the flesh of my ass in response, and I grind myself down against his hard length, lubricating him with the evidence of my arousal. I can’t help but moan as I feel his cock twitch beneath me, and his large hands continue to knead at my perky flesh as I hover above him.
I reach down, wrapping my hand around the base of his cock as I lift my hips up in order to line him at my entrance -
But then he stops me, lowering his hips so that he’s just out of reach.
I frown, confused at his rejection, but he simply smirks as he falls back against the couch so that he’s laying down on his back and looking directly up at me.
“Come here,” he says. I blink from where I’m hovering over him, entirely clueless as to what it is he wants. “Come here, ” he emphasises, reaching out to grab at my hips, and my eyes widen in understanding.
Oh.
My cheeks flush as I scoot further up his body until I’m essentially straddling his muscular chest, balancing my weight on my thighs. I’m nervous at the thought of putting all of my weight onto him, but Santi doesn’t seem concerned about that in the least; not as his large arms hook beneath my legs and stretch me apart, pulling my pussy practically wide open and right in front of his face.
There’s no time for me to feel embarrassed about it, though; not when he takes my cheeks in each of his large, tanned hands and yanks me even closer without further warning.
A small noise of surprise escapes my throat as he does, though before I can actually process what’s going on, his tongue caresses my wet slit and swirls over my clit in one long, drawn-out movement.
Santi lets out a pleasurable sound that comes from low in his throat and goes straight to my clit, and I tense above him as his hot breath fans over my core.
My abdomen clenches and relaxes as he laps enthusiastically at me, his tongue trailing over every exposed inch, and I force myself to watch him through hooded lids. His own green eyes lift to mine, and the corners of his mouth curve upwards in a knowing smirk as his tongue continues to swirl and dance over me.
“Fuck, Santi - that feels so good,” I whimper, fighting the urge to close my eyes and toss my head back.
My hips buck wildly without my permission. My body moves instinctively, pressing my weight further down onto his face in search of more delicious friction.
Heat floods through me in waves, and I gasp in pleasure as two of his thick fingers find my wet entrance and push inside without further warning. He fucks me with them in earnest as his tongue continues to lap at my throbbing clit, never pausing in his ministrations, never allowing me chance to calm myself or catch my breath.
I try to hold my weight - really, I do - but he’s fucking relentless, driven and determined to send me into a frenzy, and my body eventually falls forwards against the couch as I’m completely overcome with pleasure and want. The slight change in position has my clit centred on his mouth while my pussy is opened impossibly more to his fingers, and I grind my hips downwards, more turned on than I’ve ever been.
I can’t quite believe that I’m literally riding the face of one of Spain’s most famous rugby players.
And that thought alone is almost enough to send me tumbling over the precipice of an orgasm.
His fingers continue to push in and out, in and out. I moanwith each thrust of my hips, my eyes squeezing to a close as my thighs tremble on either side of his head. He builds me up further and further, knowing my body well enough by now that he can have me where he wants me in mere moments, and I shake my head from side to side as pleasure begins to take over my entire form .
“Ah - Santi,” I pant, my hips bucking wildly against his face. “I’m close, so, so close -”
He tongues my clit impossibly faster, his fingers fucking into me harder than before, and my abdomen clenches tightly as my release builds.
I’m babbling incoherently as my hands wander into his dark hair, and I tug on the strands in order to pull him impossibly closer to my core, whining and whimpering and stammering without any sense or control.
Sensing how close I am, Santi wraps his lips around my clit and sucks - hard - and I cry out in pleasure as my pussy finally pulses against his face, coating his lips and chin with the evidence of my orgasm.
A long, loud whine escapes my lips as blind heat rushes through my body. My nipples harden and my thighs tremble while my clit throbs in synchronisation with my heartbeat.
All the while, Santi’s head remains between my legs, my walls clenching and releasing around his fingers from where he ever so slowly keeps moving them inside me.
“Holy crap,” I gasp out, my throat dry. “Santi, I -”
Unphased by my exhaustion, Santi takes control of my limp body, keeping tight grip of my hips as he shuffles himself up the couch so that I’m once again straddling his waist rather than straddling his face.
“Fucking hell, Olivia,” he says as my pussy presses down onto his cock. “You’re drenched.”
Absolutely spent from my release, I find I can only whimper in acknowledgement of his words. Still, my body seems to have a mind of its own, and my hips gently grind down against the hard cock nestled between my legs, essentially coating Santi with my cum .
“I need you, baby,” he pants. The desperation and raw need is evident in his shaky voice. “Can you be a good girl for me and sit on my cock?”
Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to do it - not when I feel as though I’m still floating on air, hardly even in control of my own body - yet I nod anyway.
After the powerful orgasm this man has just given me, I’ll do anything that he bloody wants.
“Since you asked so nicely,” I manage to murmur -
And then I sigh as I slowly sink myself down the length of his long, thick cock.
Santi writhes beneath me as I lower myself further and further down until there’s no way of truly knowing where he starts and I end; and despite my exhaustion, I smile as his large palms come to rest on either side of my waist.
I rock my hips experimentally, earning a grunt from the rugby player, and then I repeat the motion again and again until I’m effectively bouncing rhythmically up and down his cock.
“Olivia,” he groans, his green eyes open just enough that I can see how lust-filled they are. “Fuck, Olivia, I’m not going to last like this - you need to slow down, need to -”
Spurred on by the sound of him breathless and wanting, I take little notice of his instructions. Instead, I increase the pace of my movements, fucking myself on his cock impossibly faster.
Clearly unbothered by my ignorance, Santi’s hands dig into my flesh so that he can aid my movements as I ride him. He uses his tight grip on my body to lift me slightly with each thrust, his own hips raising from the sofa as he fucks into me in return.
The new angle of his sharp hips has me writhing in pleasure all even more, and since there’s nobody around to hear us, I don’t bother to hold back my cries as Santi manipulates my body so that I’m effectively riding him at a relentless tempo.
I hadn’t thought that I’d reach my release like this - especially so soon after my previous orgasm - but the slight alteration in Santi’s hips has him pounding right against my sensitive spot, and I shriek in pleasure as a blinding heat floods through my body.
Apparently motivated by the sound and feel of my second release, Santi fucks into me impossibly faster. Even as I collapse against his chest and pant into the crook of his neck out of sheer and utter exhaustion, he continues to thrust up into my pussy with a stuttered but overwhelming rhythm.
It doesn’t take much longer before he’s overcome by his own release, spilling himself deep inside.
The sensation of his hard, thick length pulsating against my sensitive walls warms me from the inside, and I whimper at the loss of him when he eventually uses his grip on my body to tilt my hips and remove himself.
“Oh my god,” I moan into the crook of his neck, my eyes squeezing firmly to a close. Santi chuckles as he places a kiss to my sweat-dampened forehead, and I can feel his smile against my skin. “That was - I - you - oh my god. ”
Santi leaves one hand on my waist but brings the other to tangle in the strands of my hair, running his thick fingers through my blonde locks as he smiles against my cheek.
“You’re pretty incredible, profesora,” he murmurs. “I hope you know that.”
I can only hum in response, far too overcome with pleasure to think of anything smart to say in response.
And while I know from experience that I really need to go and clean myself up… I can’t find it in me just yet to remove myself from his arms.