The Younger Man - Karina Halle Page 0,48

hold him tight, pressing my face into his arm, letting him know that I’m here.

And…my god.

Even though I’m the one hugging him, trying to console him, this is the first time I’ve actually had intimate physical contact with someone. This is the first time I’ve put my arms around someone in so long. It’s been forever since I’ve had this kind of contact.

Fuck me.

I’m lonely.

I am so terribly lonely.

The realization hits me like a frying pan to the face and now a few tears are escaping my eyes, a sob building up in my throat.

Shit.

“You don’t need to cry for me,” Alejo manages to say, his voice choked, and he pulls away, sliding his hand up against my cheek and raising my face to look at him. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’ve gotten this far.”

I don’t want to tell him I’m not just crying for him. I don’t want to admit how lonely I am, that there are things in my past that I’m having trouble dealing with too.

That I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel whole.

“I know you’ll be okay,” I whisper as he runs his thumb under my eyes, wiping away the tears. His lashes are long and wet and gleaming, and he’s just so raw and real and beautiful.

He has some kind of power over me that’s going to be my downfall.

This man is going to destroy you.

But wouldn’t it be a beautiful way to go?

“I guess your yoga really does work,” he says, managing to smile.

Our faces are inches apart.

His gaze is dropping from my eyes to my mouth, his hand cupping my face.

He’s going to kiss me.

I can’t breathe.

I need to stop him.

I don’t want to stop him.

But then he stops himself. He suddenly pulls away and manages to get to his feet before reaching down and pulling me up beside him.

“Well, what do you say?” he says quickly. “I think we should call it a night. I’m already feeling it in my thighs.”

I’m pretty sure that’s a lie because he has thighs of steel and what we just worked on was like yoga for babies, but I let it go. Something has him spooked.

I mean, he won’t even look at me.

“Okay,” I say feebly and reach down to fold up the mat.

Alejo is already walking across the field.

“Hey,” I cry out, running up beside him. “You could wait for me instead of leaving me in the dark.”

“The moon gives you enough to see by,” he says without turning around.

I reach out and grab his arm, pulling him back to a stop.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “What just happened back there?”

His eyes follow the path of an airplane flying overhead, the lights reflected in his eyes. “Nothing.”

I punch him lightly on the chest to get his attention. “No, it wasn’t nothing. Are you ashamed of showing emotion in front of me?”

He looks at me quizzically. “No. Why would I be?”

“Then why are you like this suddenly?”

His chin raises. Stubborn. “Like what?”

I gesture to his face with a swooping motion. “Like this. One minute I thought we were having an intimate moment, and the next you got up like your pants were on fire.”

“They are not on fire,” he says calmly.

“It’s an expression.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Alejo…”

“What do you want me to say?” he says, his eyes burning now. “Do you want the truth? The real truth, even if it will make you run away?”

“I won’t run away.”

“I call bullshit on that. You know what bullshit is in Spanish? This.”

“Just tell me.”

He shakes his head and turns to move, but I step in front of him.

“Tell me,” I demand.

“Fuck, now you’re the persistent one,” he says to me.

And suddenly his hands are grabbing my face.

Fingers pressing into my cheeks.

“This is the truth,” he growls.

And then he kisses me.

He kisses me.

His lips are pressed against mine, hard and violent, full of force and passion before they grow soft, just enough for his mouth to meld against my mouth, a slip of his warm tongue caressing me until my stomach dips and my world starts to spin.

I moan into his mouth, my legs feeling weak, my hands reaching for his arms, trying to stay up, trying to grab on, hold on.

Before I can completely give in, he pulls away.

Our breathing is ragged and hard.

Sweat rolls down my brow.

His eyes search mine, heavy-lidded, brooding, practically smoldering in intensity.

“I was going to kiss you,” he says thickly, licking his lips. “And I knew you wouldn’t have liked it. I

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