Love in English

Chapter Twenty-Three
___
The sound of keys rattling in the door woke me.
My eyes sprung open, my heart immediately off to the races. I sat right up and turned to look at the door, blinking a few times. I had to remember where I was. Mateo’s place. My place. I had fallen asleep on the couch, my body and mind weary from my travels.
My god, was it Mateo at the door?
I didn’t have to wonder for long.
The door opened and in he stepped.
All the breath was taken out of me.
Time came to a crawl.
My heart kicked up a notch.
The air became charged, electric.
All those cliché things that actually do happen to you once Mateo Casalles steps into a room.
He looked unbelievable. A sharp cut steel grey suit that showed off his broad shoulders, a white shirt underneath with top buttons undone to show off the dip of his throat, and no tie. Grey loafers with no socks so you could see a sliver of tanned feet. A thick briefcase in his large hands.
No wedding ring.
I paused on that for a moment, feeling the weight of it, before I looked up to his face.
He had a few day’s worth of stubble along his strong jaw, his hair a bit more tamed than I was using to seeing, slicked back slightly. I preferred his hair messy, but this showed off his great nose and high cheekbones. There was a faint trace of purple under his eyes, like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, but the look in his eyes more than made up for it. They were full of wonder, amazement, and a hint of longing and desire that made me think perhaps I was his favorite food after all.
“Vera,” he said in a low voice, unsure, as if I were an apparition. He kicked the door shut with his leg and walked slowly toward me, putting his briefcase on the counter while his eyes never left mine. We were locked in our gazes, that charge in the air thrumming between us.
I found myself slowly getting to my feet, staring at him, feeling that tiny bit of awkwardness that you get when you see someone you haven’t for a long time, someone that you’ve been dreaming of, someone that owns your body and mind. It was like a first date, each person sussing out the other, wondering if they felt the same, wondering what to do.
At least that’s how I was feeling.
Mateo was never one to overanalyze.
He suddenly marched right over to me, a madness in his eyes, and for a heady moment I thought he might consume me.
He put his arms around me and brought me into a tight, hard, nearly painful embrace, holding me as if I were to be ripped right out of his hands. I was engulfed by his intoxicating smell, that mix of fresh ocean breezes and sensual musk, and strengthened by the feeling of his hard chest pressed up against me. I let out a muffled cry, my body overcome with hunger, my heart desperate for his. I could have been standing in the middle of the Arctic tundra for all I cared; as long as I was in his arms I felt home.
“I can’t believe you are here, my Estrella,” he murmured into my hair. “I can’t believe it. I pray I am not dreaming.”
“I pray for the same thing,” I said, my fingers pressing into him, afraid to lose contact.
He pulled back slightly and cupped my face in his hands, gazing down at me with eyes that burned with liquid intensity. “But you are real.”
He kissed me deeply, our lips feeding the passion in each other, our tongues melding together, sweet and spicy. That python of desire was back, squeezing me until it hurt, making me want, need, crave nothing but him, nothing but this moment. We gripped each other, fire in our fingers, pressed against each other as if we couldn’t get closer. I’d never wanted his cock inside me so badly, that physical link between us, to feel him so deep and thick.
Before I could even tell my hands to act, they were already reaching for his pants, unzipping them, sliding into his briefs and pulling out his cock, long, hard and heavy in my hands. Jesus. I almost came just from touching him.
He groaned at my grip, and that only made me throb even more, my underwear soaked. They needed to come off, now.
We fumbled for each other frantically, Mateo’s kisses growing deeper, his tongue f*cking my mouth, and I felt my knees buckling. I nearly fell back to the floor but his hands had a stronghold on my arms. With a flame in his eyes, he lowered me to the rug until I was flat on my back. I hiked up my dress and wriggled out of my panties while he managed to only get his pants and briefs off. He attempted to unbutton his shirt but growled, “F*ck it,” and came down on top of me.
His head immediately went between my legs, and I made fists into his hair, already squirming. “My God, I have missed this taste,” he moaned, the vibration against my * causing me to gasp and tug hard on his hair. It took no time before his tongue was swirling me to an orgasm. I wasn’t seeing stars—I was the stars.
There was no break, no respite. With my body still riding the wave, trembling with ecstasy, he was positioning his cock at my entrance.
“I must have you, like this, right now,” he said adamantly. “I am clean. Do you trust me?”
Of course I did. I wasn’t going to put a condom on him anyway. If I didn’t trust him by now then I shouldn’t be here. Thankfully, I was religious when it came to the pill.
“Yes,” I said, nearly begging. “Please come inside of me.”
With his hands planted on the rug on either side of me, his answer was a single thrust, going in deep, expanding me. I gasped and he slowly slid out. Then back in again. Then out. Taking his sweet, beautiful time. I stared down at him as he pushed in and out, with his slick cock and his white work shirt. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. I started playing with my nub but soon my hand was replaced by his.
“That is my job,” he grunted, his fingers sliding back and forth between my * and his cock.
Soon, his thrusts became faster and faster, and he was so adept at control, playing me just right, that I wasn’t coming until he was. Both of us cried out, moaning and jerking from the spasms, riding an endless wave that made my mouth gape open and my eyes roll back. When he began to slow, he remained inside of me, kissing my face gently and everywhere. My eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, my chin. Our breathing eventually returned to normal, but I didn’t want him to pull out yet. I wrapped my arms around his toned back and held him to me, his face in the crook of my neck.
I’d dreamed about having him like this again. It’s what kept me going on those nights where I felt alone and cold and unloved.
A tear rolled down my cheek.
I was finally home.
* * *
I awoke before the break of dawn, the world saturated in a grainy ink blue. After the night of sex—on the floor, on the couch, against the wall, in the bed, in the shower—I would have thought I’d sleep for days. But despite all the frenzied activity, I was wide awake, my internal clock all messed up thanks to jet lag. I stared down at Mateo sleeping soundly beside me, so tanned and dark against the cool white of the sheets. I could still hardly believe he was here.
I wanted to run my fingers over his nose, feel his soft lips, his solid jaw, his chin, his cheekbones, but I didn’t want to wake him. I was somewhat surprised at his stamina last night—I had been with guys my age who tuckered out after two vigorous sessions in the sack, let alone five. I wanted to wear Mateo out until he couldn’t possibly go on—that was my new goal.
I smiled to myself at that thought and slowly got out of bed. The light outside was already turning from ink to sky blue, and through the thin glass of the windows I could hear the birds chirping. The only thing this apartment was missing was a balcony. It would have been nice to start the day outside.
I slipped on my boy shorts and my t-shirt since we’d slept naked, and went out into the kitchen to make myself some coffee. He had a fancy espresso machine that would put my barista skills to good use, but I knew it would be messy and noisy. I rummaged through the cupboards, full of food that looked untouched, and finally found a container of instant coffee. While the kettle was heating up, I leaned against the counter and hugged my arms across my chest. The apartment was cool in the morning, which was good considering that Madrid was apparently going through a heat wave. I was so in and out yesterday that I barely had time to feel it.
I went through three cups of coffee, black, my heart being jumpstarted again and again, and just took in the look of my surroundings, my new home. It was going to take some getting used to, especially with jet lag. I know when I was in London, the first few days were spent in a fog and I had done stuff that, looking back now, I could barely remember. I wondered if I would look back at this exact moment and remember everything I was thinking, everything I was feeling: excited, nervous, hopeful, and scared.
Compared to yesterday though, I felt a lot better now that I was with Mateo. He made a lot of the fears go away, though there were still some dark worries lurking around in the back of my heart. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to fit in here—yes, I did well with the Spaniards at Las Palabras, but this was the city of Madrid, and in some ways a whole new game I knew nothing about.
I worried that his friends and family wouldn’t like me—while Lucia was darling, and according to her, her parents were accepting of me and Mateo, I didn’t know that for sure. As for his friends, I had absolutely no idea. His friends were all going to be in their mid to late thirties. What the hell were they going to think about me? I still liked to party, go out and get drunk, go to concerts where you got stale beer thrown in your face and people kicking you in the head from crowd-surfing. I wasn’t a martini-sipping in a fancy lounge, gossiping about boring shit kind of girl. I didn’t have children, or even a pet. I didn’t have a prestigious career or a well-paying job or a job in general. F*ck, I didn’t even speak Spanish.
And of course my biggest worry was the divorce itself and all that involved, particularly Chloe Ann. I was worried that the little girl would resent me for doing this to her, for taking her father away from her. I worried that Isabel and her semi-royal family would turn hateful and come after me for being the other woman, the villainous homewrecker. And more than anything, I worried that it would become too much for Mateo and I to carry on. We’d survived Las Palabras and seeing each other every day; we’d survived a long-distance relationship where we never saw each other, but this would be the final test. If we could survive my moving to Madrid and being with Mateo while all of this shit was whirling around us, then we could truly survive everything.
I just had no idea how things were going to pan out. I’d have to start living in the moment, not worrying too much about the future, or I’d go insane. I already made all the right steps—now it was time to see where they would lead.
Eventually Mateo came out of the bedroom, having slipped on his boxer briefs, and stood in the hallway, staring at me with sleepy eyes while scratching his bedhead. As usual, he skirted the line between sexy as hell manbeast and being absolutely adorable.
“I had the most wonderful dream,” he said with a yawn, padding over to me. “That you had come to live with me in Madrid. Now I see you in my kitchen, drinking my shitty coffee, and I have to ask…am I still dreaming?”
I grinned at him. I don’t know why I bothered with coffee when the mere sight of him made my heart turn into a rocket. “I may be dreaming too. Some things seem far too good to be true.”
He came and kissed me on the forehead. “I like you like this, my dream Estrella.” He walked over to the fridge and opened it, and I took a long moment to admire his ass. “You, in my kitchen, like a vision.”
“Well, I like you in the kitchen too. Especially when I’m up here,” I said, patting the counter with a wicked gleam in my eye. I jumped up so I was sitting on it, opened my legs, and gestured to my p-ssy. “And when you’re right here.” I expected him to laugh. I didn’t expect him to be interested right away, not after the night we had, but he closed the fridge door and strolled over to me, a smug look on his face.
“You want more?” he murmured, reaching for my underwear. I lifted my hips and he pulled them right down my legs. I kicked them off to the floor as he pulled his cock out of his briefs, already thick, hard and at attention.
I bit my lip, wondering how the f*ck I got so lucky. “Of course I want more. What about you?”
“Vera,” he whispered feverishly, coming up against me, my legs around his hips, his hands in my hair. He gazed at my face, blinking as if in disbelief. “I can never get enough of you, ever. I could f*ck you every day, several times a day, for the rest of my life, and I’ll still never get enough.” He kissed me, soft and wet, then slid a finger down into me. I gasped at the intrusion, immediately wanting more.
“Tu co?o es mi hermosa prisión,” he said breathlessly.
I grinned and pulled back, trying to look at him. “What did you say? Something about my p-ssy?”
“It is a good thing and it is the truth,” he said, lazily returning the grin. He then proceeded to f*ck me right there on the counter, my legs wrapped around him, my nails digging into his ass.
It was a good morning.
* * *
My first week in Madrid flew past in the blink of an eye. Maybe jet lag had something to do with it, but it felt like one big airy dream filled with nothing but sex and food. If we weren’t in the apartment making up for lost time, we were out exploring Madrid. We ate at a lot of tapas bars in very youthful and vibrant parts of town. It was not at all what I would have expected. I thought once I was with Mateo, he’d be taking me wining and dining to the fancy restaurants, the trendy bars where everything was made of ice and the waiters didn’t smile, the lounges for the elite.
Instead, we were almost slumming it. When I brought it up, he told me that he didn’t care much for those types of places anyway and thought I would be more comfortable in laidback environments. Frankly, I thought he was probably trying to avoid running into his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s crowd and I couldn’t fault him for that. I enjoyed living in the happy bubble that the first week brought me, and I wasn’t looking forward to the reality that would come crashing into us one day.
On a sunny Saturday, the city still sweltering and strangely empty with most of the locals escaping to Mallorca or the coastal beaches, I finally got to meet up with Claudia. She was working longer hours at her job since so many of her colleagues were on vacation, and we hadn’t had a chance to hang out. Ricardo was now living with her in Madrid as well, having been able to get a job transfer.
Mateo and I walked down to Plaza Mayor where we were to meet them at an outdoor café that had an assortment of beers on tap. That’s really all I required when the weather was like this—a patio and beer. Though being sticky was never fun, I always took advantage of the sun and heat whenever I could, thanks to Vancouver’s mild and rainy weather. You’d never hear me complaining about hot weather.
“It will be nice to see them again,” Mateo remarked to me as we waited to cross the street. When the coast was clear, he grabbed my hand and led me across the road. It was the little things like that that made me do an internal squee, that got the butterflies racing. I loved it when he held my hand or put his arm around my waist in public.
It especially meant something to me because I often saw the looks that other people gave us, the sight of the business man with the tattooed girl. The men looked envious and the women looked disgusted. The good thing was that Mateo certainly didn’t look thirty-eight, so really, it wasn’t that scandalous, people just liked any reason to pass judgment. It also helped that Mateo started dressing down a lot more, like he did at Las Palabras—his signature “business” look was jeans and a blazer—and I’d made sure to start dressing up. It wasn’t a stretch for me, especially in the summer—I loved a good sundress.
“Look who it is, the Anglo and the Spaniard!” I heard Claudia yell from across the square. Sure enough, there was Claudia and Ricardo, getting out of their chairs, big smiles on their faces. Claudia looked radiant, her skin deeply tanned, wearing a plain green v-neck and a white skirt. Ricardo was clean-shaven, and in shorts and a soccer jersey.
I hugged her and we exchanged pecks on the cheek. “You look great,” I told her, looking her up and down.
“So do you. Like Marilyn Monroe,” she said. I was wearing a white retro-styled dress with cherries on it. I wasn’t sure if I looked Marilyn or just very Rockabilly. Either way, the boobs were definitely getting some sun.
While she greeted Mateo, I greeted Ricardo. “You must forgive me,” he said, pecking me quickly. “Our English has not been so good since we got back from Las Palabras.”
“Speak for yourself,” Claudia admonished him with a grin. She looked at me, her eyes dancing. “I was promoted the other day to take care of the international accounts.”
“Congrats!” I told her.
“That is fantastic,” Mateo said, casually jamming his hands in his pockets. He was wearing black knee-length shorts, Keds (no socks), and a plain white polo shirt, his face erring on the side of stubbly instead of beardy thanks to the heat. “I could barely put together a sentence before Vera showed up.”
“Oh, that is not true,” I said. I wanted to remind him that we were speaking English and talking on the phone nearly every day until I got here. But even though Claudia already knew that about us, something made me clamp my mouth shut. Maybe because now that I was finally here and we were finally together, all the time leading up to now had been part of an actual relationship. It had been an affair—a short one, a distant one, before he had come clean and filed for divorce—but definitely not harmless.
We sat down with them, and like that time at Acantilado, Mateo and Ricardo went off to get us drinks. I watched as his tall, broad-shouldered form disappeared into the dark of the bar, unable to take my eyes off of him.
“Well, look at you, so in love,” Claudia teased.
I rolled my eyes. “Look at yourself.”
She waved at me in dismissal. “Maybe a month ago, when Ricardo first got here. Now I’m already tired of him pissing on the toilet seat, never closing the lids on things.”
“Then I’m sure that will be me soon, so let me have my googly eyes, mmmkay?”
She smiled and studied me for a few moments while she finished her beer. The she smiled, wider this time, until I could see her canines, and exclaimed, “I am so happy you are here! I never thought you would actually do it, to be honest with you.”
“Neither did I,” I admitted. “Until it seemed like it was the only thing to do.”
“Well,” she said, reaching out and laying her hand on mine for a moment. “I am glad you did. This must be such a change for you though. How are you coping?”
“I honestly can’t complain,” I said with a coy smile.
She wagged her finger at me. “I know that look. You had it on the last day of Las Palabras.”
“I was crying on the last day of Las Palabras.”
“We were all crying. But in between your tears you had this same look. Utterly satisfied. Like you just had a great meal.”
“Satisfied. That’s a good word,” I said, leaning back in the chair. I titled my head to the sun, glad for my shades. Pigeons cooed from below, walking among the cobblestones. I’d been dreaming about exactly this for so long, being in the sun, being where there was life, being with my friends and love again. I needed to soak it up like the rays.
“When does fall come?” I asked her, keeping my eyes closed and face to the sky. “More specifically, when does summer end?”
“Are you tired of the heat?” she asked. “Weak Canadian.”
“Not at all, I love it,” I told her. “But I know that the seasons will change soon. I like to hang on to this—to summer and sunshine—for as long as I can.”
She peered at her arm, as if her tan could tell her. “I say another two weeks. Then it will start to end. October, you will feel the difference.”
I didn’t dare think that far ahead.
Soon Mateo and Ricardo came back with our drinks and we spent the whole afternoon just relaxing under the sun, chasing away the heat with ice cold beers. I was buzzed—summer buzzed, the best kind. And no, not like a bee. We literally sat there for hours and hours, all chatting away like it was old times. Near the end I was starting to feel guilty for having them adapt to my language, so I made them speak Spanish at the end to help me learn. I was lost, but after a while I started to pick up on things here and there.
After a while though, it was time to part ways. We invited them over for a drink—they would have been our first guests—but Claudia looked a bit drunk and was complaining about a headache, so we made plans for another day and Ricardo took her home.
When we were walking back to the apartment, our gaits meandering along the stones of the sidewalk, Mateo gestured to another bar. I was drunk too but had the energy to keep going, especially as the sun was only beginning to set.
It was fairly busy, but I guess it was Saturday night after all. It wasn’t a large bar and had a rustic appeal to it. Little plates of patatas bravas—potatoes with a spicy orange sauce—and calamari and olives were lined up along the bar. Mateo put his hand on my shoulder and asked me to order him a beer while he went to use the restroom.
I went up to the bar and leaned against it, trying to get the bartender’s attention since he was wrapped up in conversation with an old dude. A young guy, mid-twenties, sauntered up to me. I could see him approaching out of the corner of my eye, and it wasn’t until I looked at him that I saw he was actually quite cute. He had sandy brown hair that fell in his eyes, bronze skin, green eyes, and a chin with a dimple in it.
He rattled off some Spanish to me but I could only smile and say, “Los sientos, je ne parle pas Spanish.” Then I laughed at myself from my drunken attempt at Spanish. Somehow I managed to get it mixed with both French and English.
The guy laughed. “You are American?”
“Canadian, actually,” I said.
He nodded, as if that was better, and stepped a bit closer. “Cool. So what are you doing in Madrid?”
I smiled at him, trying to be polite and charming but not give him the wrong idea at the same time. “I live here.”
“Oh, you do?” he asked. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
He didn’t seem offended, not like guys back at home would be. “So do you live alone?”
“She lives with me,” I heard Mateo’s gruff voice say from behind me, his arm going around my shoulder. I looked up at him and was surprised to see the look of cold steel in his eyes, the muscle in his jaw tensing. He was looking at the guy like he was about put his fist through his face.
The guy looked between the two of us a few times then threw up his hands and muttered something with a smile on his face. He turned around and moseyed into the depths of the bar.
“What did he say?” I asked.
Mateo didn’t say anything for a few moments. I could see his pulse beating along an artery in his neck. He was angry…or maybe it was something else.
Could Mateo have been jealous?
“Mateo,” I said.
He slowly tore his eyes away from the guy who had long since disappeared from sight and looked down at me. Instead of looking angry, he looked worried, nearly frantic. His grip around my shoulders tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice breaking with something I didn’t understand. “Come with me.”
I blinked, puzzled, and jerked my thumb at the bartender. “You don’t want a beer.”
“I just want you,” he whispered. He grabbed my hand and led me back toward the restrooms. He kicked open the woman’s washroom and poked his head inside. Then he ushered me in, closing the door behind him.
“What is…what?” I asked, still a bit confused as he brought me over to the handicapped stall and locked us both in there. “Um, Mateo.”
He grabbed my face and started kissing me, hard and feverish. The breath was sucked out of me, replaced with fire. “I am the only man for you,” he growled. “I’m going to come inside of you and I’m going to make you come hard.”
Well, okay then.
The man was jealous. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
He hiked up my dress until it was around my waist and groaned at the sight of me with no panties—I knew there was a good reason to go commando. Suddenly he picked me up and pressed me against the wall, taking out his cock while I gripped him with my thighs. He pushed into me, tight and quick, and I gasped at the friction.
He f*cked me relentlessly, his passion and need filling the air like static electricity, present in every touch of his body. He’d gone mad with lust and I’d gone mad for him.
When he was done, both of us breathless and sore, we made each other look presentable again. I smoothed out his collar, patted down his hair where I had pulled on it; he tucked my breasts back into my dress, pushed the hair behind my ears. We grinned at each other, two silly fools in love, and opened the stall door.
There was a woman standing there as if waiting for us to finish.
She already had a look of disgust on her face, but when she laid her eyes on Mateo, they widened as if she’d just seen the biggest spider in the world.
“Mateo?” she cried out in ardent disbelief.
Oh f*ck. I swallowed hard and started paying attention to her. She was probably in her late-thirties with dark brown hair cut into a severely stylish bob. Red lipstick, secretary glasses on her eyes—the cat-eyed kind, a yellow jeweled tunic over white capri pants. Sophisticated. Older. And she obviously knew Mateo.
And suddenly I couldn’t breathe. This could not be good.
Before Mateo could say anything—he was, in fact, too stunned to speak—she put one hand on her hip and cocked her head, eying us both with a manipulative gleam, the disbelief having worn off. She pointed at me and looked at Mateo. “Mateo, no creo que esta es tu esposa.”
I understood esposa. That meant wife.
“Sonia,” he said, finding his voice. He cleared his throat. He looked down at me and I saw absolute fear in his eyes. It rocked my foundation. “Vera, this is Sonia. I have known her for a long time. She moved to Paris. I did not know she was back in Madrid.” He stressed these words to let me know that this chick did not know about the divorce; at least that’s what I got out of it.
Oh, this so did not look good. Now I was blushing with shame, like a flaming tomato. I had to get out of there.
I nodded at her and gave her a quick smile which she did not return. “Nice to meet you,” I said. I brushed past her and shot Mateo an apologetic look over my shoulder. “I need to get some air.”
I made my way out of the bathroom and bar and into the night air. A certain chill had settled in it, despite the heat of the day.
Summer was ending sooner than I thought.