Anchor in the dark

The town square was a wash of deep shadows and flickering yellow streetlights, the air thick with the humidity of a Cuban night. We could still hear the band playing a low, distorted bolero, the sound drifting through the open shutters of the surrounding buildings.

Marlon stood near the edge of the plaza, his shadow stretching long against the uneven cobblestones. His eyes kept darting toward the dark entrances of the narrow alleys that fed into the square.

I stepped into his line of sight, forcing him to stop.

"Marlon," I said, my voice low but vibrating with an edge he couldn't ignore. “How did you find me?”

“I know that you have a weakness for good food, good drinks and good music,” he said. “Xavier couldn’t get Santi to share anything about how you were and wanted me to make sure that you’re ok.”

"Look at me. My ex-husband doesn’t have the right to know where I am. He doesn’t have the right to know if I’m eating, if I’m sleeping, or if I’m even still alive. To Xavier, I am a dead woman. Do you understand that?"

Marlon squinted at me, the orange light making the hollows of his cheeks look like deep bruises.

"People like him don’t stop looking because they’re a narcissist and want control,” I snapped. "If I hear that Xavier gets so much as a whisper of any information of me, I won’t just come for the person who leaked it. There will be hell to pay, Marlon. Total, unmitigated hell. I will burn everything down before I let him find me."

Marlon watched me for a long beat. The skepticism in his eyes was replaced by a sharp, sudden caution. He saw the fire in my eyes and realized I wasn't just talking about him—I was talking about the world.

"I hear you," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Good," I said, finally letting a breath out, though the knot in my stomach remained tight. "Because as far as he’s concerned, I no longer exist."

I turned and walked away without looking back, leaving Marlon standing in the town square. My pulse was still hammering against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that the stagnant night air couldn't soothe. I headed back toward the bar where I'd started the night, desperate for the burn of a cheap rum to steady my hands and quiet the noise in my head. But as I rounded the corner, the hope vanished. The heavy wooden doors were already shut, the vibrant music and laughter from earlier replaced by a hollow silence.

With the bar closed, I made my way through the labyrinth of quiet, moonlit streets. My footsteps echoing against the salt-stained walls until I reached the hotel. As soon as I entered my room and the door clicked shut behind me, I pulled out my phone and messaged Santi.

Me: Come to my room.

Santi: I'll be there momentarily.

A few minutes later, a rhythmic knocking sounded against the wood. I moved quickly to unlock it and let him in. Before I could even say a word, Santi reached for me, pulling me into his arms with a desperate strength. He leaned down and claimed my mouth in a crushing kiss, his heat cutting through the chill of my lingering fear. His hands were broad and warm, anchoring me in the present.

When I pulled back for air, I told him what I wanted.

"I want you to fuck me, Santi."

“That’s what I was hoping you would say,” he said, his voice rough as he pulled me closer. "I've been thinking about this since I saw you at the plaza."

We pulled apart just long enough to strip, our clothes discarded in a heap on the floor and we moved to the bed. As I lay down on my back, I spread my legs for him, inviting his weight. He moved over me, his muscles taut, and mounted my pussy.

The night became a blurred sequence of frantic motion and heat. We didn't stay on the bed for long; the urgency between us was too volatile to be contained. We fucked on the couch, the worn fabric rough against my back while he drove into me with a raw, relentless rhythm.

"Right there," I gasped, my head falling back against the cushions. "Santi, please."

"I can't get enough of you," he strained out, his forehead pressed against mine as he moved. "The way you feel... it's driving me crazy."

I clung to his neck, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders as our breaths hitched in unison. He moved me against the wall, his hands pinning my wrists above my head as he fucked me standing up, the friction sharp and constant. The solid weight of him against me was the only thing that kept me grounded.

"Is this okay?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes searching mine.

"Don't you dare stop," I breathed out, my body arching into his, feeling the cool plaster of the wall against my skin and the furnace of his body in front of me.

In the bathroom, he had me bent over the cold marble counter, the stark contrast of the chilled stone against my stomach heightening the heat as he pounded into me from behind. I watched our reflection in the steamed-over mirror, the sight of his dark hair against my skin making my heart race even faster.

"You're shaking," he noted, his voice vibrating against my spine.

"Because of you," I whispered back, gripping the edge of the sink until my knuckles turned white.

Between the bursts of movement, his fingers were constantly on me, rolling and tugging at my nipples until they were sensitive and aching, drawing low moans from deep in my throat. Every touch was deliberate, every pull a reminder of the fire he was stoking.

We moved out onto the patio, the humid air slicking our skin and making every touch feel electric. The distant sound of the ocean provided a backdrop to the quiet sounds we made in the dark. I bent over the railing, my waist pressing against the cool metal as I gripped it for leverage, looking out at the dark, white-capped water. Santi stood behind me, his hands firm on my hips as he moved into me, the salt air mixing with the heat radiating from his skin.

We moved back inside to the floor in front of the unlit fireplace, our bodies moving with a desperate, unspoken understanding. He pushed me down, his weight a heavy, welcome anchor. The room felt smaller, the air tighter. Every time he reached his climax, his body tensing with the effort of holding on, he gripped me tight and came in me, again and again. We drifted from one surface to the next, driven by a need to stay lost in the sensation, before we finally collapsed back onto the bed, tangled and exhausted.