Chapter 16
“We shouldn’t talk about that here.”
The words come out of Rebeca’s mouth in a tense whisper, as if each word had to fight its way through a whirlwind of emotions she can barely control.
The sound of the music and the hubbub of the bar surround them with equal intensity, mingling with the murmur of conversation, but in that small space they occupy in front of the bar, a sort of bubble seems to have formed that no one else can penetrate.
The gin and tonic forgotten in Rebeca’s hand trembles slightly.
Martina watches her without looking away.
She is aware that they are not alone. That a few feet away, the group continues to talk, wondering what is going on between them.
But at this moment, all of that loses its importance.
Because in front of her is Rebeca. And the way she looks at her—with eyes darkened by the amber light, lips parted, and a slight tremor in her jaw—makes her pulse race until it becomes a runaway drumbeat that plays a delightful melody.
The melody of love that has not faded between them.
“I’m sure.”
Martina lowers her head slightly, and a small, almost incredulous smile forms on her lips.
She brings the glass to her lips and downs the contents in a single gulp.
The ice clinks softly against the glass as she sets it down on the bar.
For a second, it seems as though she’s about to say something else, but instead she reaches out her hand.
Her fingers wrap around Rebeca’s wrist with a firmness that brooks no argument.
“Come with me.”
The reaction is immediate.
“Are you crazy?”
Rebeca pulls back slightly, surprised by the sudden gesture. Her pulse races beneath Martina’s fingers, betraying her completely.
“Martina, please…”
However, her resistance isn’t as firm as her words would have us believe.
Martina notices it instantly. She senses it in the way her fingers don’t truly tense to break free, in the way her steps end up following her as she begins to walk toward the exit.
Because she’s very clear that she isn’t wrong.
Not about what happened that night. Not about what still exists between them, throbbing beneath the skin like a wound that refuses to heal.
The air from the street envelops them as soon as they step through the door.
The contrast with the interior of the bar is immediate.
The night has cooled, and a damp breeze, laden with the scent of the nearby sea, sweeps through the nearly empty street.
The pavement glistens under the streetlights, casting shadows that merge with their own.
“Martina, this is crazy. We can’t…” Rebeca protests again.
But Martina has already made up her mind.
She walks a few steps past the bar’s facade, rounds the corner, and enters the small alleyway that opens up behind the establishment.
It’s a narrow space, barely lit by a distant streetlight that casts elongated shadows against the brick walls.
The echo of the music reaches them muffled, as if from another world. She stops abruptly. And then she turns.
The movement is quick. Before Rebeca can fully react, Martina gently pushes her against the wall, places both hands on either side of her neck against the cold wall, and creates a sort of silent cage where Rebeca’s body is trapped between her arms. The distance between them shrinks to a few centimeters.
Martina can feel her rapid breathing, the slight tremor running through her chest, the heat emanating from her skin through her clothes.
“I want you to tell me the truth,” Martina says, without looking away.
The dim light from the streetlamp casts soft shadows on Rebeca’s face. Her eyes seem darker than usual, almost black, and Martina doesn’t move an inch.
“What did it mean to you?”
Rebeca swallows. Martina sees it clearly: the movement of her throat, the tension running through her expression, the way her fingers slowly clench the fabric of her own jacket.
For a second, she thinks she can hear her heartbeat—though Martina isn’t quite sure if it’s her own or Rebeca’s.
Maybe both. But what she really wants isn’t to guess.
She wants to hear it. She wants her to answer her question.
However, when Rebeca speaks, the words that come out of her mouth aren’t the ones Martina expected.
“And what does it matter what I feel, Martina?”
The reproach comes so quickly that the impact is immediate.
“What does it matter what I’ve felt all these years if you walked out on me as if we were nothing?”
Martina feels the blow in the center of her chest. It’s a real physical sensation, as if someone had pressed hard right between her ribs. Regret comes almost at the same time as the pain.
“You said yourself that you couldn’t forgive me,” Martina replies, unable to keep her voice from taking on a harsher tone. “Have you forgotten that too?”
Her eyes shine with a mixture of frustration and sadness, and she almost smiles before continuing. She pauses briefly, for a few seconds during which she thinks she’ll be able to breathe clearly. Though what she achieves is practically the opposite.
“You told me I’d always cared more about my career than you. When you know perfectly well that was never true.”
Rebeca shakes her head, though she doesn’t step back. Her hands remain pressed against the wall at the height of her hips.
“I don’t want us to hurt each other anymore, Martina.”
Her words sound weary, almost defeated.
“Because it’s clear that this…”
The sentence hangs in the air.
Martina leans in a little closer.
“This what?”
The distance between their faces is minimal now. Martina can feel the heat radiating from Rebeca’s skin, the perfume she’s always found impossible to ignore, the electricity that seems to run through the air every time their bodies get too close.
Rebeca should pull away. She should push her away.
She should remember all the reasons she just listed—and just as many she hasn’t dared to admit yet.
But she doesn’t. The seconds begin to stretch out with an almost unbearable slowness.
Martina expects rejection. However, instead of pulling away, Rebeca raises a hand.
Her fingers close around the back of Martina’s neck and pull her toward her with unexpected force.
The kiss explodes between them with an intensity neither of them tries to contain.
Martina moans against her mouth; a low, broken sound that vibrates in Rebeca’s chest. Martina’s hands slide down her sides, digging into Rebeca’s waist and pressing her harder against the wall.
Rebeca responds by arching her back, pressing her hips against Martina’s, feeling the heat spreading between her legs like a fire.
The world seems to disappear for that moment, and when they pull apart to breathe, Martina looks into her eyes and says:
“Let’s go somewhere else…”
*
The night in Santander envelops them as they walk in silence along the boardwalk. The Cantabrian Sea breathes to their left, dark and choppy, with waves crashing against the rocks in a murmur that seems to amplify the frantic beating of their hearts.
Rebeca feels her heart pounding in her throat, in her temples, between her legs.
The kiss from the alley still burns on her lips, throbs against her skin.
Every step they take together makes the sexual tension twist deeper into her belly, turning into a burning knot that makes it hard for her to breathe.
Martina walks beside her without touching her, but her presence is a constant brush.
Shortly after, the cold sand sinks beneath their shoes.
A rock wall shields them from the promenade; the sea is just a few meters away, close enough for the sound of the waves to drown out any noise they might make.
Martina turns first. Her eyes shine in the dim light, dark with hunger, something that hurts and excites her at the same time.
Martina pushes her passionately. Rebeca’s body crashes against the cold stone; a shiver runs down her spine, but the heat rising from her sex immediately counteracts it.
Martina wastes no time. Her hands slide under the leather jacket, move up her sides, grip her waist tightly.
Her nails dig through the fabric, scratching furrows that Rebeca will feel tomorrow like tattoos of possession.
Rebeca gasps, arches her back, and her own hands respond with equal urgency.
They slip under Martina’s clothes, scratch the warm skin of her abdomen, slide down to the hem of her pants, and pull them down urgently.
The clothes become a barrier that turns them on even more, an obstacle that forces their fingers to move with greater precision, more desperately, more intensely.
Martina undoes the button on Rebeca’s pants and her hand sinks inside, beneath the fabric of the soaked panties, to find the wetness that was already waiting for her, hot and slippery.
Two fingers slide mercilessly between the swollen folds, pressing against the clitoris with fast, hard circles, without mercy.
Rebeca bites Martina’s shoulder to keep from screaming, and her teeth dig into her clothes, leaving a deep, wet mark.
Martina growls against her neck, an animalistic sound.
Her fingers thrust in and out with a brutal rhythm.
Her palm rubs her clitoris relentlessly, crushing it, torturing it.
Rebeca spreads her legs wider and digs her nails into Martina’s back, tearing through the fabric and the skin beneath.
Martina responds by biting her earlobe, sucking hard until the skin reddens and throbs, until Rebeca feels the pain like a bolt of lightning shooting straight to her sex.
The sea roars. The wind lashes them, tangling their hair.
But they hear only their ragged breathing and the obscene, wet sound of Martina’s fingers moving inside her relentlessly.
Rebeca feels herself falling apart, the pleasure rising like a wave she cannot stop.
Her hips move on their own against Martina’s hand, seeking more depth, more pressure, absolutely everything.
Martina slides in a third finger, stretching her, filling her to the limit, and Rebeca arches her whole body, letting a broken moan escape her throat.
“Fuck me, damn it, fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” Martina begs her.
Rebeca obeys without thinking. Her right hand moves down quickly, unzips Martina’s pants, and sinks inside.
She finds the soaking heat, the swollen, slippery lips, and two fingers thrust straight into her with force.
Martina lets out a muffled moan against her neck while pushing her hips forward to take more.
Rebeca’s thumb rubs Martina’s clit in fast, hard circles.
She slips her other hand under her clothes, moves up to her breast, and squeezes the nipple through the bra, twisting it until Martina gasps and digs her nails into her hip.
Rebeca feels Martina’s inner walls contracting around her fingers, the rapid pulse, the heat soaking her palm and dripping down her wrist. Both of them tremble. Both of them bite. Their nails leave deep grooves in each other’s skin, and the orgasm hits Rebeca first.
Martina feels every detail. She feels the wetness flooding her hand, the violent trembling of Rebeca’s legs, the way her body arches as if it wants to merge with her—but that doesn’t stop her.
She keeps moving through the orgasm, prolonging it, wringing out successive tremors until Rebeca is almost sobbing with pleasure, and tears mix with sweat on her cheeks.
Only then does Martina let herself go. The orgasm shoots through her like lightning. Her hips grind against Rebeca’s hand, and the two of them hold each other tightly.
They stay like that for a few seconds while the sea continues to roar.
The wind cools the sweat on their temples.
But the desire doesn’t die down completely.
Martina slides her hand back into Rebeca’s pants, this time more slowly, and Rebeca responds by digging her nails into the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deep, slow kiss.
The caresses grow more intense again, and the wave of pleasure rises between them once more.
Rebeca bites Martina’s lip until she tastes the metallic flavor of blood, and Martina responds by scratching her back, leaving a long, red mark across her skin.
They come again, almost at the same time, their mouths locked in a kiss that tastes of salt, blood, and sex. Martina’s chest rises and falls against Rebeca’s. Their foreheads press together, and the scent of the sea mingles with that of their bodies.
Time stands still in that secluded corner of the beach. And between them, the desire to stay like this forever grows once more.