Maeve
We both had our own rooms, but it was never a question whether Santiago would come with me to mine. He sat on the edge of our king-sized bed, watching me gather my pajamas from my suitcase.
“I need to take a shower. I feel gross.”
He kept his hands steepled together between his spread knees. “All right. Do what you need to do.”
He’d been so quiet, giving me space, my chest ached with how deeply I cared for him. Stepping between his legs, I ran my hand through his hair.
“Are we goin’ to get in trouble for leavin’ early?” I asked.
“Nah, baby girl.” He pressed a kiss to my stomach. “We’re good. And if Clark tries to give you a hard time, send him my way.”
He sounded flat, with an edge of anger that worried me. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, never.” He gripped my hips and nuzzled his face back and forth over my belly button. “Not at you. Never at you.”
I took his hand from my hip and wove our fingers together. “Come shower with me. You’re as sweaty as I am, and I want you with me.”
“Maeve…” He sighed my name like he always did, and it sent prickles down my spine. “I’m not good company right now. I was thinking I’d go to the gym, if you’re okay with me leaving you alone for a while.”
He looked up at me, and his jaw was clenched so tight, I was afraid he’d grind his molars to dust.
“Are you goin’ to hurt me?” I asked.
He gave a sharp shake of his head. “I’m too worked up to touch you the way I should. I need to go blow off some steam somewhere else.”
Not wanting him to leave,needingto care for him, I dropped to my knees in front of him. My hands went to his belt, pulling it open and unbuttoning his jeans before he reacted.
When he wrapped his fingers around my wrists, I met his eyes, letting him see my determination. “Let me take care of you, Santi. I’m not breakable, and this is what I need right now. If this doesn’t help, go to the gym, leave for a while. But let me do this first.Please.”
His way of relenting was to loosen his grip on my wrists enough for me to continue freeing him from his pants. He was already getting hard by the time I took his length out, stroking it from root to tip. He exhaled, slow and ragged, and completely let go of my wrists to stroke my hair.
Pausing, I tugged my shirt over my head, giving him something to look at. He groaned and slid one of his hands inside my sports bra. He whispered my name, kissed the side of my head, kneaded my breast, made me feel like I was doing what he needed too.
I took him in my mouth, sliding my tongue over the ridge of his length, unrelenting. He smelled both like himself and sweat from playing on stage. In this moment, it was my favorite smell. I breathed him, sucked him,lavedhim.
His hips jerked with each pass of my tongue. At first, I could tell he held back, tried to be careful with me, but as I worked him, took him deep, some of that carefulness fell away. Santiago’s hands tangled in my hair, guiding my movements. My nails scraped his strong thighs, fingers massaged his hips and stomach, throat hummed as he pushed in nearly too deep.
Groans vibrated from his chest, all the way to my mouth. His movements became erratic, pumps faster. His fingers curled into my hair, tugging, directing me to keep him at the back of my throat.
“Maeve...oh fuck, I’m going to come. Tell me right now if you don’t want me in your mouth,” he gritted out.
I dug my fingers into his ass, taking him as far as I could. A few more seconds, and he was gone, over, spilling, emptying, letting me take him, keep him. A sound I’d never heard him make ripped through the room. A near bellow. Rough fingers were gentle on my cheeks and in my hair, moving down to my hands, pulling me up. His arms wrapped around me, warm lips kissing the soft skin of my stomach.
I rubbed spirals along Santiago’s shoulders and biceps, tension easing and easing as seconds ticked by. Not just his tension, but my own.
“Maeve...I—” He shook his head. “Let’s go take that shower.”
Clothes shed in piles along the way, Santiago got the water steaming and ready. I’d never seen a nicer bathroom, and the shower was fit for a queen. It was double-headed, with a rain shower on top, enclosed by glass walls. The water heated in seconds, and we stepped in. When I went to wash my hair, Santiago took the shampoo from me.
“Let me take care of you, baby girl.” He still sounded ragged and wounded, so I let him do what he needed to feel better.
He took his time, washing and conditioning my long hair, combing his fingers through to remove tangles, massaging my scalp until I was limp. Then he squeezed body wash onto a washcloth and bathed me with such tenderness, tears slipped from my eyes before I even knew they were coming.
Because he was Santiago, he noticed. Thumbs swiped at my cheeks, big hands cupped my jaw. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” His voice was soft and plucked at my heart. The way his brow pinched and mouth tightened made it seem like my pain was his pain.
I choked out a sob as I leaned into him. Santiago groaned and gathered me against his chest, water raining down on us.