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She thumbed the underside of his cock, rubbing the sensitive spot where the head met the shaft before unrolling the condom. She rose up on her knees. He was big, but she was thoroughly wet and slipped her bikinis aside to take him in deep, inch by delicious inch. She clenched her inner muscles to massage him in a slow, pumping rhythm. When his eyes glazed over, she rose slightly to sway above him.
He reached for the spot where their bodies met, and she covered his hand with hers to urge him to press harder. She rode him with a tantalizing, rocking motion to let the bliss chase him until she’d welcomed her own. Seconds later, he came with a husky cry, and she carefully pulled free and collapsed on his left side to spare his knee. She drew in a deep breath and perfectly content, closed her eyes.
He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand to get rid of the condom, but even that small motion took enormous effort. She was curled around his arm, and he was too spent to do more than lace his fingers in hers. He checked her travel clock and was grateful they had a couple of hours before they’d have to leave for the bullring. If they could get out of bed. He liked having a woman on top to enjoy the view, but he felt as though he’d been caught in a wild fire with Libby. Thoroughly scorched, he wondered if their bodies were smoking.
Santos shook Libby’s shoulder gently. “You look so blissfully happy I hate to wake you, but it’s time to get ready to go.”
His hair was damp from the shower, and he’d changed into khaki shorts and a black polo shirt. He was leaning on his crutches and smiling like a kid who’d found everything he wanted under the Christmas tree.
She rolled over and yawned. “Either you’re great at sex, or I just had the best erotic dream ever.”
“It’s me, and it was real. I was afraid we’d singed the walls.”
She sat up, shoved her hair out of her eyes and looked around. “We can try again tonight. There must be a fire extinguisher in the kitchen.”
He laughed and moved toward the door. “Being with you is like being in a comedy sketch.”
“Not every man would approve.”
“I do, and I’m the only man you need to worry about. Wear that short dress.”
He closed the door behind him, and she rolled off the bed, yawned, stretched and made it up quickly. She went into the bathroom, leaned close to the mirror and found a pretty blush glowing from her cheeks all the way to her navel. It was a good thing no one else was home, because she’d never be able to deny how she’d spend the afternoon. She’d known their bodies would fit together beautifully, but there was something more. It had simply been so easy to be with Santos, as though they’d been together a thousand times. She didn’t believe in past lives, but if she had had another existence, he must have played a major part in it.
The crowd at the bullring was as noisy as it had been the previous Sunday. When they reached their seats, Santos handed Libby a pair of binoculars and told her to watch the crowd on the sunlit side of the arena. She adjusted for the distance, brought everyone into focus, and swept the crowded tiers with a careful eye. People were still moving, waving and standing to shout to their friends.
“Do you think the protesters will use the same mirror trick?” she asked.
“They could, or they could have come up with something new. Just look for anything suspicious.”
“If they don’t use the mirror gimmick, then they could be seated on the shady side of the arena where we are. Shouldn’t we have someone watching our side from over there?”
“All we’ll have is ourselves and the ring security. Keep an eye out for anything peculiar.”
Libby scanned the rows as people reached their seats. The majority were young men, followed by numbers of middle-aged men, and an occasional woman. “It looks like most fans are men.”
Santos reached for the binoculars. “Does that surprise you? Most soccer fans are male too. Men are into bloody spectacles; most women aren’t.”
“Maybe women come to see the handsome matadors, not for the sport at all.” Libby retook the binoculars and started again with the top row. She’d soon looked at so many faces they began to blur into visual soup. Jarred by the blaring trumpets of the entrance parade, she was grateful to have the strutting matadors to watch. She turned to look for Ana Santillan, but the model wasn’t in the seat she’d occupied last week. “Were you scheduled to fight today?”
“Yes, but in Madrid. I’ve been replaced by a popular man from Mexico.”
“Do you suppose he’s in danger?”
“For taking my place? No. Give me the binoculars if you’re tired.”
“No, I just need to rest a minute. Aren’t there more security guards than there were here last week?”
“I hope so.”
Libby began to worry she’d see something before the security guards did, and then how would she alert them? The man beside her was yelling encouragement to the matadors with great enthusiasm, but his deep, booming voice soon made her head ache. Then she noticed how often he glanced toward her legs. She tugged the hem of her skirt, but there wasn’t enough material to hide more than a freckle or two.
“Do you see something?” Santos asked.
Trying to ignore the wild activity in the bullring and concentrate on the crowd made her dizzy, and she lowered the binoculars. “No. Would you l
ike a turn?”
Santos took them, and she leaned back in her seat. The man seated beside her winked. Maybe winking was more popular in Spain than it was at home. She rested her hand on Santos’s knee and ignored her neighbor.
