Page 27 of A Follow-Through in Faking
“Hi, Santiago,” Matteo says, a challenging sparkle in his eyes.
“Hi, Matteo,” he replies, the words making his chest brush against my back, and I realize he’s not even holding me against him anymore. I simply haven’t moved away. “Do you like your hands attached to your arms?” Santi asks next, making Matteo cock a brow.
“Sure do.” He’s finding this all awfully amusing, even as his best friend threatens him.
“Then keep them off Catalina.”
Santi’s words are followed by his hands grabbing my hips before he throws me over his shoulder, storming away from the dance floor with me draped across it.
“Santiago Javier Castillo, if you don’t put me down, I’m going to cut your dick off in your sleep,” I say, pushing myself off his back in an attempt to make him understand me better with our loud surroundings.
“Cata, my patience has run out. Don't test me,” he says, still carrying me away from the party.
“Or what?” I bite back.
“Wanna find out,cariño?”
The dangerous edge he put in his voice, a promise of things my body is very on board with, has me shutting up until we reach a private room. It looks like the sort of place where people put their jackets, but there is nothing in here but a singular table and empty racks. Santiago places my ass on the table, stepping away from me to run his hands through his hair.
I watch him trying to collect himself, crossing my legs and leaning back on my hands. He spins abruptly and stalks towardme, stopping a meter away from me. His chest is rising and falling so very quickly, and I can’t help but smile at the sight.
It may be the alcohol, but jealous Santi is incredibly sexy.
“You can't possibly be upset that someone else was touching me, Santi. We're not actually together,” I remind him, dangling my feet to appear bored.
“Of course I'm upset, Catalina. We have to uphold appearances. You can’t be seen with my best friend's hands all over your ass, grinding against you,” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest to refrain from throwing his hands around in frustration like he usually does. “If I can't fuck anyone else, you sure as shit can't either,” he blurts out, and I almost laugh.
No part of me intends to risk exposing our fake relationship by sleeping with someone else, but Santi doesn't have to know that.
“But it felt so good having Matteo’s hand on my body.” For someone who is the very embodiment of sunshine, Santi looks ready to kill someone.
“If you want another's hands on your body, you will have to ask for mine,mariquita. For the next however many months, if you want pleasure, you’ll have to use me to get it.”
Never mind having butterflies. I barely stop my entire body from shaking at the very thought ofusing Santi for pleasure. I press my legs more firmly together, and he tracks the movement with his eyes. He takes another step toward me, but I lift my heel to press against his chest and keep him back. His eyes drop to where the sharp heel pushes against his stomach, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“If I want pleasure, Santi, I will fuck myself to get it. I don't need you,” I say and push off the table, attempting to walk out of the room when his fingers wrap around my wrist in a gentle but firm grip.
His eyes soften as he takes me in, but there is still a fire burning inside of him that he hasn't quite managed to extinguish.
A fire fueled by his desire for… me.
“It’s one thing to hate me for our past, Cata, and another to risk everything we could possibly build now because of it. I will earn your forgiveness, but I need you to work with me until I do.”
This time, I do laugh.
“Don't bother, Santi. Your apologies will be as meaningless to me as any other moment we spend together. If I have to, I'll stop dancing with other people, but I won't ask you to dance with me instead. This relationship isn't real, and I won't pretend it is.”
He releases me, and I walk out of the room, trying to ignore the stinging in my eyes.
There was a time when I thought I was falling in love with Santiago Castillo, but I was a child and he was my rival. There is no way that was what I was feeling.
And yet, no other reason is strong enough to explain the way my heart breaks a little every time I’m reminded Ican’ttrust him. Not again. Not after he broke my heart in a way it had never been broken before.
I've been running around, aimlessly searching for grapes for the last twenty minutes.
There are many Spanish traditions my family continues to do, even after my mother's passing. Eating twelve grapes when the clock strikes midnight, ringing in the new year, is one of them.
But there are no grapes anywhere.
