run my fingers over his strong jaw, his stubble tickling. “I can do that.”
“Okay,” he says. He rests his face in the crook of my shoulder, still breathing as hard as I am, waiting for our bodies to recover. For a moment I think maybe he’s fallen asleep on top of me, then suddenly he pushes himself up and gets off the bed.
I sit up, watching him walk to the washroom, admiring his full body from the rear, marveling that a warrior like that was actually inside of me, giving me the best sex of my life.
I’m so giddy and delirious, I’m smiling from ear to ear.
I can’t help myself.
And I can’t believe that just happened.
God, how I want it to happen again.
When he returns, he walks to the edge of the bed, grabs his cock, which is somehow erect again, and grins down at me, white teeth, bronzed skin.
“Well,” he says pointedly.
“You can’t be serious,” I say through an awed laugh as I sit up, my eyes darting between his cocky gaze and his very resilient erection.
“I am. Get on your knees so we can give my knee a break.”
I get on my knees.
Gladly.
Chapter 16
Thalia
Mateo Casalles is in a mood.
I can’t really blame him. As a team, we’ve all been in moods. We ended up winning a game last week, barely, but then lost the game last night, so the team’s confidence has been shattered again and it’s all resting on Mateo more than anything.
We’re sitting in Manuel’s car, me at the front, the married couple in the back, heading from Vera and Mateo’s house in the fancy Salamanca barrio where I was having pre-drinks, to Alejo’s house.
It’s Sunday night.
It’s Alejo’s birthday.
And it’s a surprise.
So, really, we should all be feeling pretty excited about this. At least I am, not only because I don’t think Alejo has any idea about the party, but because I haven’t seen him outside of work for a few days. When he came over to my apartment, that was actually the last time we had been alone in that context. Granted, he railed me all damn night, so it’s like I got my sex fill for the next year, but even so, I’ve been missing his touch.
Oh, I’m still touching him every day and he’s valiantly trying to teach me Spanish, but we made a point not to do anything at work, and I suppose our schedules just haven’t aligned these last few days. While I’ve been sitting at home, he’s had some football gala to go to and dinner with his family and the like.
On the plus side, his knee really is getting better. In fact, I’m optimistic about it and think he can return in two weeks or so. But I’m also a little hesitant to say anything, just in case the team starts counting on him and it all falls through. Every injury is unique, and you never really know until it’s put to the test.
“You can at least give me an estimate,” Mateo says. “?Más or menos?”
I glance over my shoulder at him.
Mateo won’t stop asking about Alejo’s progress, and the more I withhold, the moodier he gets.
“I would give you an estimate but I don’t want to get your hopes up, and I don’t want you to bank on him.”
“Just tell me, por favor, do you think he’ll play the El Clásico? Give me a percentage. Forty percent? Fifty percent? Sixty-five per cent? Anything.”
It’s odd to see Mateo pleading. He’s usually so suave and in control. I mean, usually. During the game is another thing. And when I look over at Vera, I see she’s giving me the same puppy dog eyes. Everything that matters to him, matters to her.
I sigh. “I won’t give you a percentage. But I will give you a maybe.”
“You think there’s a chance?”
I nod slowly, sucking in my upper lip before I say, “Yes, I think there is a chance.”
Mateo exhales in relief and leans back in his seat. I exchange a look with Manuel, like whooo boy.
“So what made you want to become a physical therapist?” Vera asks me, trying to change the subject away from anything stressful.
I twist around in my seat to face her. She’s so gosh darn pretty, even in the dark car with the lights of the city flashing past us. Tonight her ombre hair is swept up into a high top knot, she’s wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt turned into a dress, and she’s smudged the sparkliest purple