Santiago runs his finger over my bottom lip and my red lipstick slightly smudges.
"Santi," I hiss. He leans down and nicks my bottom lip in return.
"It's Mr. Alvaro to you, secretary," he rumbles. He ran his hand that was resting on my hips down to...
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The sun hits my eyes, and it wakes me up. I don't open my eyes. I dig myself deeper into my bed and try to fall back asleep.
But the beat of my headache is keeping me from falling back sleep, so against my will; I wake up.
I sit up in my bed and open my eyes, slowly.
Fear and shock run through me when I take in unfamiliar surroundings. I don't remember much from last night.
Just Desire being pissed at me and Aolani abandoning me. I drunk a lot. Then I ended up asleep, having an extreme sex dream about Santiago.
These lunches we're having are really getting to me. It's like I can't function around him without thinking of fucking him.
But did I seriously go home with someone last night? I left one-nightstands in college when I needed stress relievers during exams.
I see my clothes and purse on the floor at the foot of the bed. The guy I went home with is nowhere to be found.
Either he's being a gracious host and making us breakfast or he's secretly waiting for me to leave.
I take option B and drag myself out of bed to put on my clothes.
I slip off his shirt that smells heavenly and I reach for my bra. When I clasp it on, the bedroom door swings open, and the sight leaves my jaw dropped.
Santiago stands in the doorway with no shirt on. He was like a perfect sculpture. My eyes scanned his perfect, tanned skin. His muscles bulged and contorted. His abs were in a set of eight. He had grey sweats that hung low. His v-line was out and prominent. He was divine. He was perfect. He held a glass of water in his hand with two pills.
Then my late-night fantasies came crashing down. There is absolutely no way that I could go home with Santiago. Because if I did...that meant that my sex dream wasn't a dream.
I actually masturbated in front of him. I told him I thought about fucking him. But that also meant...
His fingers trail up to the start of my heel and he begins to undo it. "Do you think about fucking me?" I ask.
He stops in his movements and my smile grows. "You're drunk."
"That's not an answer." When my shoe is off, I move forward and grab his chin, so he can look me in the eye. "Yes or no, Alvaro?"
He sighs, conflicted. I searched his eyes, hoping that he answered correctly, and I wouldn't have embarrassed myself. "Yes."
I giggled. I knew I wasn't the only one feeling the tension. "I knew it. When?"
