2

Santos followed me into my office and lowered himself to a chair without waiting for an invitation. I was aware of his eyes on my back as I walked confidently to my chair and sat down too. I stared at him without speaking.

“You've grown into an exquisite woman. You were pretty the last time I saw you, but you weren't this gorgeous. Your curves filled out too,” he said in that lazy drawl that never ceased to send shivers down my spine. 

The compliments fluttered me up inside, and I felt my vagina clench. My fingers tightened on the paper I was holding to keep from jumping him. Closing my eyes tight, I took a deep breath to get myself back together again. 

I could stomach being attracted to all the men on earth—it was something I have resigned myself to a long time ago—but being sexually attracted to Santos could never be okay. Not anymore.

“You don't look so bad yourself.” I was glad my voice remained controlled.

“Glad you noticed,” he smirked.

“Why are you here, San? Stop sidestepping the question. You've stayed away for six years. Why are you suddenly here?” I asked him, staring into his blue eyes.

Silence. Then, “I've always liked it when you call me San. The way you say it sounds good.”

I remained silent, just watching him.

Finally, he sighed. The smile left his face, and all signs of teasing were gone. It was as if his smile hadn’t been there at all. “My father is very sick. His health is failing. Surely, you know this.”

All defiance left and guilt plagued me. Santos’s father is my mother’s sister. He has always loved his adoptive family. And even as tries to hide it, I still see the pain in his eyes.

“I know. I'm really sorry to hear that.” 

He shrugged like it didn't matter, although I knew better.  “I have to run the company so he can focus on his treatment. I'm not here for any other reason, Rosianna. Definitely not for you.”

I sat opposite him, composed, making sure my face was expressionless so he wouldn’t see how his words affected me, even though they did. They affected me a lot.

Santos and I never saw eye-to-eye, but there was a time we had a truce. That one time...

He stood suddenly. “It's nice seeing you again, Rosy. Mother has travelled to Africa. I heard that you’ve been helping my family keep business going for a while now, and for that, I’m grateful. Let’s get together for dinner tonight. You can give me a rundown of how everything has been going.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the time to—”

“I know you don’t wanna spend time with me, Rosy. I don't wanna spend time with you either if I can avoid it, but I do need to have that conversation, so let’s set our differences aside and act like adults. If you don’t wanna do it for me, then do it for your uncle.” He threw each word out with his eyes narrowing challengingly.

He was right. I could be matured about it, and I was doing it for my uncle, not for him.

“Alright then. Text me the location. I’ll be there by seven,” I stated calmly.

“Sounds nice.” Then he was out of the door.

I had to force my eyes away from his tight ass and broad shoulders as he walked out. My body tingled from head to toe. My vagina clenched so tight, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

Sex. I needed sex. 

When I left work, I didn't wait for my assistant to bring in her report as usual. Instead, I got into my Mercedes and left the building. I went back home, crossed the lawn that separated Donald’s house with mine, stepped onto his pouch and knocked on his front door. Donald was my best friend/fuck buddy. The only random fuck I'd had since I moved here two years ago, and he was basically the only friend I had. Normally, I preferred fucking strangers, but it wasn’t a normal situation. There was no time to go man-hunting in a bar right now. Santos's return had uprooted my world.

    A woman opened it and stepped out, She was putting on his shirt. “Oh, it's the neighbor he told me about.”

Donald had girlfriends—he was almost something of a manwhore—but compared to Santos, he was a walking angel.

“Where's Donald?” I asked.

“He travelled yesterday. Said you might look for him but to tell you that he won't be back until Saturday. Is there a message I should take for him?”

Saturday was two days away. Shit.

“Thanks.” That was all I said to the girl as I turned and walked away.

Inside my house, I walked straight to my room. Usually, it took three or four days before the sexual urge came. Long enough to have a new guy. But today...

Santos. It was his presence.

I mentally went over every other man I knew in my head, but there was no one I could think of. Funny how I'd been with several men but only knew one of them by name. Donald was the only male friend I had.

I dropped my suitcase, took off my clothes, and went straight to the bathroom. In the bathtub, I allowed myself to relax as I began caressing my body. My eyes closed, and I went through several erotic images in my mind and slipped two fingers into my wet sheath. Involuntarily, my mind went to Santos. More wetness coated my fingers, and pleasures sizzled down my spine, a moan escaping my lips. 

Shit. Mentally, I tried to shut him out. It was like trying to stop a hurricane. I really tried hard, but the pleasure was too much to pass up on, and in the end, it was the thought of him that filled my head as I rubbed my clit and played with my breasts. Those images I blocked years ago broke free; the thought of his naked body, his handsome face contorted in pleasure, his strong body as it blanketed mine. The way he kissed me. His mouth on my breast...

Another moan slipped from my lips, my fingers pushing into me as I chased my release I could feel beginning to build. It didn't take long before I flew over the edge, gasping his name as sensations washed over me.

As usual, I quenched the feeling of disgust that threatened to rise. Also, I ignored the shame that came from masturbating to Santos. I agreed with myself years ago that Santos was bad news and a very bad decision on my part.

I sighed and proceeded to bathe thoroughly before leaving the tub. Masturbation never helped a thing, but then again, half-bread is better than none.

Better to be prepared. I had to see Santos in an hour.