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“He said what?”
You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself as you stared at the television screen, and though you weren’t looking at him, you could visualize the dumbfounded expression on Santiago’s face.
Groaning, you wiped a hand down your face and repeated yourself, “He said sex with me is too much of a chore, because I don’t even come most of the time.”
Your skin prickled with embarrassment as you said the words. Santiago may have been your best friend, and the two of you shared plenty between one another, but there was something unbearably mortifying about openly admitting to him that your boyfriend had broken up with you because the sex was bad.
Following the bomb that Jackson had unceremoniously dropped on you yesterday—via text message, no less—you’d cancelled your plans with Santiago and the boys for that evening, choosing instead of wallow in self-pity on your couch. He’d caught you entirely off guard with his declaration, cutting deep into your insecurities as he swept the rug out from under you, brashly tainting all traces of the happiness you’d felt over the course of the past year with him with a shamefully sour edge.
Given that it was unlike you to cancel plans last minute, your phone had lit up more than a few times throughout the night with texts from Santiago. Your responses to him were uncharacteristically lackluster—you’d hardly even laughed at the photo he’d sent of Benny frowning with a lap full of spilled nachos.
Though you had no misconceptions that he would have been getting down on one knee anytime soon, you’d thought things between you and Jackson were going well, all things considered. You’d opened yourself up to him in a way that you hadn’t with anyone in quite some time, and so realizing just how far off your perception of your relationship may have been sent you into a tailspin of self-loathing. In a way, you felt uncomfortably exposed now as you mentally thumbed through each and every rose-tinted moment that may not have been quite as happy and content as you’d previously thought.
After spending a restless night tossing and turning with a lump of sadness lodged deep in your throat, you’d sent Santiago another weak excuse to cancel your previously scheduled lunch plans. Clearly knowing you far too well, he’d stubbornly shown up at your door an hour later with takeout food. And though he’d allowed you to muddle through the conversation half-heartedly as you listlessly poked at the vegetables inside of the styrofoam container in front of you, once you pushed it aside onto the coffee table and tucked your bare toes back under the blanket you were wrapped up in on the couch, he’d verbally cornered you as he asked what was going on.
As if your years-long, one-sided crush on the man currently staring at you with his lips slightly parted in confusion wasn’t enough of a burden weighing on the back of your mind on any given day. Now, you’d gone and done yourself the favor of digging that stupid little fantasy its own grave, going so far as to bury yourself in it as you shared the sordid details of your lackluster sex life.
Santiago let out a huff of air and crossed his arms, staring at you consideringly for a few moments, and you squirmed under the weight of his assessing gaze.
“What?” you finally asked, tone full of exasperation.
“I doubt you were the problem,” he replied, furrowing his brows as he ran a hand over his jaw.
Well, you were already in this deep, might as well start chiseling away at the damn gravestone, too. Your face felt hot as you mumbled, “This wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve had…difficulty.”
Tilting his head to the side, Santiago rested a hand on his thigh, one finger tapping against his knee. “Do you trust me?” he asked suddenly.
Confused, you nodded. “Of course…?”
Santiago scooted his way across the couch, his body heat encroaching on the cushion that you were perched on. Biting his lip, he said, “Okay, but do you fully trust me?”
Still clueless as to what he was getting at, you reassured him, “Yes, Santi. I trust you.”
“Take off the blanket,” he said evenly, eyes darting down to the plush material gathered around you.
You shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. And although he’d seen you in the same outfit countless times, you still felt self-conscious as you revealed the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants you’d slept in the night before.
Seemingly distracted for a moment, he commented, “I was wondering where that shirt went.”
Looking down, your stomach lurched as you realized that in your sad, listless state, you’d opted for the familiar comfort of a shirt that he’d forgotten at your house months ago. Though an awkward apology danced on the tip of your tongue, it dissipated as you glanced back at Santi to find him smiling at you softly.
Instead, your mouth mirrored his as you pointedly said, “Finders, keepers.”
Santi chuckled, and you found it difficult not to let the richness of the sound tickle its way down your spine.
His face grew serious again. “I have a theory.”
“And what would that be?”
“That you’ve just never been with someone who knows what they’re doing.”
You nearly choked on your own spit. “What?”
Santi carried on calmly, “Some guys like to think they can just shove their dick in there and call it a day.”
Running a finger over a small hole that was starting to form near the ankle of your sweatpants, you asked, “So what does this have to do with me trusting you?”
And as if his next words weren’t about to rock your fucking world, he clarified, “Because I think you should know what it feels like to be with someone who does know what they’re doing.”
Your jaw went slack as you stared at Santiago, whose face was an earnest portrait of sincerity as he leaned one arm against the back of the couch and waited for your response.
“You want to…” you trailed off, not sure if you could say the words out loud, as if doing so would make you wake up from whatever goddamn hallucination you were currently in the middle of experiencing.
“It doesn’t have to change anything between us. And if you don’t want to, we can act like this conversation never happened,” he assured you.
“Yes,” you blurted out, far more eager than you had meant to sound.
“Yes, you want to, or yes, you want me to fuck off?”
You covered your mouth with your hand, voice slightly muffled as you spoke through your fingers. “I want to.”
The corners of Santiago’s mouth lifted. “Good.”
Of all the things you were expecting, the last was for Santiago to slide off the couch and kneel on the floor in front of you. He pulled at your legs until you unfurled them from where they were tucked under your body, letting them swing toward the ground. Your fingers pressed into the fabric of the cushions as his hands reached for the waistband of your pants, and he waited until you nodded to pull them—and your underwear—off, leaving you in nothing but his t-shirt. Grasping your hips, he pulled you toward the edge of the couch and spread your legs open wide.
Despite how many times you’d imagined variations of this scenario, nothing compared to the feeling of Santiago’s firm grip on your legs as his fingers skated up your inner thighs. There was an unreadable expression on his face as he looked back up at you once before turning his attention to the pool of moisture already coating your slit.
“Well, clearly you have no issues getting wet,” he commented mildly, running a finger through your folds, and you shivered. He slowly slipped his finger inside of your entrance, and your toes began to curl. You swore you heard him groan appreciatively as he added, “Really fucking wet, Christ.”
You let your head fall back against the couch, your legs spreading even wider of their own accord as he dipped another finger into your cunt.
“Fuck, Santi,” you whined, unable to keep the words trapped behind your teeth.
Pumping his fingers in and out of your damp channel, his voice dropped an octave as he asked, “Does this feel good?”
“Yeah,” you breathed out, panted. “Yeah, it does.”
“Now how about this?” he asked, stroking his thumb across your clit.
“Oh fuck,” you whimpered, your hips bucking up into his touch at the steady feeling of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves while he continued to fuck you with his fingers, stretching you further by adding a third.
“And this?” he questioned again, before pulling his fingers out of your soaked canal and ducking his head down between your legs.
You were helpless to tamper down the shameless, keening moan that left you as Santiago’s tongue swiped through your crevice, prodding its way inside of your entrance. As he chuckled in response, the sound reverberated through his mouth, the vibrations causing you to arch your back up off of the cushions.
“Holy shit,” you choked out, tension coiling in your gut as his thumb stroked your throbbing clit while his tongue lapped at you with slow, broad strokes before delving back inside of you.
Santi’s voice sounded rough as he groaned against your entrance, “You taste so fucking good.”
You didn’t miss the way he reached down to press the heel of his palm against the front of his pants, and the next words left your mouth before you could stop yourself. “I want you to fuck me, Santi.”
Santi’s breath hitched in his throat, and his nose brushed against your clit as he looked up at you, lips glossy with your slick arousal. “Come for me first, and I will.”
He dove back into your pussy with fervor, eating you out hungrily. The ache between your thighs continued to grow, the lewd, wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt like gasoline on the raging fire in your abdomen. And as he plunged two fingers back inside of you while his mouth closed firmly over your swollen clit, your legs trembled with the force of the orgasm that punched through you.
As waves of pleasure petered out through your boneless limbs, Santi continued to slowly lavish your cunt with his tongue, lapping up each and every last bit of the juices dripping out of you. Feeling emboldened by the matching groans of pleasure that fell from Santiago’s lips, you reached down, tangling your hands in his curls and pulling slightly.
He surged upward, and you kept your grip on him, tugging his mouth against yours. Still sticky with your release, he kissed you tentatively at first, but as you tilted your head and parted your lips, his mouth engulfed yours as his tongue darted between your teeth. You could taste yourself on him as he licked his way into your mouth, and at the feeling of his erection pressing against you, you rocked up into him.
You reached out for him, squeezing his length through the denim before fumbling with the button and zipper of his pants. His head dropped onto your shoulder as you tugged his shaft out of his boxers, fingers wrapping around his thick length.
“I need you, Santi,” you panted out as his teeth latched down onto the junction between your shoulder and your neck, biting down and sucking on your skin.
Santiago shucked off his pants and boxers, cock flush, hard, and leaking between his legs, and he shifted you so that you were lying flat across the cushions. Climbing on top of you, he toyed with the frayed hem of your shirt as he wrapped a hand around his shaft and slowly stroked it.
He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to your mouth before dragging his lips across the side of your face and nipping at your earlobe.
His breath was hot against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Now I’m going to make you come on my cock.”
You let one leg drape over the edge of the couch as he lined himself up with your entrance, shivering as he wiped the head of his shaft through your sensitive folds. He rested one hand beside your head as he hovered over top of you, eyes boring down into yours as he eased his length inside of you, both of you groaning at the stretch of your tight channel over his thick girth.
You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as he plunged deeper inside, balls pressed against your ass when he finally bottomed out. Slowly, he began to move, and you continued to leak with arousal at the feeling of Santiago dragging his cock through the fluttering grasp of your hot core.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he uttered as he began to plunge in and out of you at a quicker pace, and you bucked up into him to meet each thrust. “So fucking perfect. You just need someone who knows how to take care of you.”
There was a fluttering in your chest at the implication, and you gasped at the feeling of his fingers brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs once more.
“This is what you do when you touch yourself, right?” he asked, stroking your clit.
You nodded as you cried out in pleasure at the pressure he’d applied there.
“And I bet he didn’t even bother touching you here while he fucked you, did he?”
You shook your head. No man that you’d slept with had ever bothered to try offering you any sort of clitoral stimulation, and for whatever reason, it had felt wrong and insulting to try snaking your own hand between your legs with a dick buried inside of you.
Santiago tsked. “If only I’d known…”
Your stomach swooped with butterflies that almost felt out of place in contrast with the way Santi’s balls were slapping against your ass as he pounded into you.
“What would you have done?” you queried, breathing hard.
Santi leaned in, brushing his lips against yours as he uttered, “I wouldn’t have spent so much time just imagining this.”
You gasped into the kiss as he buried himself inside of you as deeply as he could, splitting your tight cunt open on his fat cock with as much force as he could muster, and you nearly wailed at the delicious stretch, your nerves positively on fire.
“Now come for me, cariño. Please, come for me,” Santi choked out, his own hips stuttering as you began to tremble and fall apart beneath him.
You cried out his name as you came undone, a dam of pleasure bursting inside of you as he pushed you over the edge, your vision nearly going white with the force of the orgasm that rocked through you.
Santi jackhammered his shaft into your channel, a strangled noise leaving his throat when he reached his own peak. He frantically pulled his cock out of you and pushed up your shirt, his hot, sticky seed splashing all over your stomach.
He leaned sideways against the couch, running a hand through his hair, chest heaving, cock hanging heavily between his legs. After a beat of silence, he remarked with a glint in his eye, “So my theory was right?”
You ran a finger across your lower lip, and Santi’s eyes intently tracked the movement.
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I think we might need to run some more tests, just to be sure.”
Santiago grinned, leaning down to kiss you again. "I agree.”