I leave her room before I do something insane like kiss her.

Or more.

Images flash through my mind. Kim, gloriously naked on my bed, anticipating an evening of dirty, sexy activities.

My pulse roars in my ears as I scuff my feet down the hall, my hands shoved in my jeans pockets to keep the bulge down. Taking myself away from her. Away from this magnetism. Away from my shady impulses.

She has no idea. No idea who I am or where my thoughts go. No idea what I want.

Would she want the same?

I thumb my ear and peer back to her room. She closed the door when I left, so I’m not able to get a read on her.

Would she be willing to explore?

I pause in the middle of the hall and gaze out the window. A bird chirps in a cork oak outside.

Yes. I think so. If I had to bet, I’d go with Kim being curious. Not just about Spain, but the depths of her soul. Those parts of her she doesn’t show to anyone. I don’t think she’s very experienced—I’m no Christian Grey myself—but she seems open like a park on a clear summer day, with the wind and the bright flowers and the freedom.

She might be the heartbeat of my guitar, instead of the mill fettered to my olive orchard.

I glance back again, her muffled voice coming through the door upbeat and lovely.

Madre de Dios, I hope I’m not getting the wrong signals. The last thing I want to do is scare her on her first day in Spain. If she only knew I’d been thinking of her blindfolded on that bed, licking her lips and whimpering with need, her soft pink nipples hardening under my breath.

My mind races, plotting ways that I can get her to be with me.

Then I smile and remember—she is staying. I need to not give her a reason to leave.

Ending up in the kitchen, I lean against the counter and stare. In my mind, she’s tied with silk ribbons to my bed, spread wide while I explore every part of her body with my tongue, crying out in pure pleasure. I’ll make her come longer and more complete than she’s ever felt before.

Slow. That’s just the thing to do. Go slow. And figure out how to spend as much time with her as I possibly can.

“Gustavo?”

Mierda.

Mi madre calls from the parlor, and my heart nearly goes into cardiac arrest. The last thing I want is family around when I’m fighting feelings that make my zipper uncomfortable.

Actually, the last thing I want is for them to know anything about my sexual tastes. Yet another reason why I want to leave this place. Even though I have as much privacy as I can get here in my own little casa, I think Guillermo has figured out too much, based on his passing comments throughout the years.

My mother enters the ancient kitchen, and I catch her eye. Her warm, caring eyes. The ones I’d never say no to, and yet the ones I so desperately want to say no to. “Sí, Madre.”

She runs her finger along my jaw. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown up, mijo. You’re the man of the house now.”

Shifting my weight from one leg to another, I take both her hands in mine and give her a half-smile. “I will always take care of you.”

And I will. No matter what. Even if it makes my insides plummet to my shoes.

Still, I’m grateful she doesn’t know what I’ve been thinking.

“You’re going to take Kim to Granada? Show her around? Register her for classes?”

“Yes. I’ll be her tour guide.”

Hombre. That’ll be fun. More time with Kim. I can show her my Spain. Now, instead of filled with dirty images, my mind glimpses the places I’ll take her. La Alhambra, of course. La catedral. El Sacromonte. Anywhere in Spain, really. Anywhere she wants to go. And in every place, I see her holding my hand, kissing me, laughing in the sunshine.

Dios. I’m getting ahead of myself. I table these fantasies, along with the one about taking her to my casita and tying her to my bed.

Pretty sure that isn’t going to happen. Yet.

My mother’s eyes cut to me. “The estadounidense is very pretty. Does she interest you, Tavo?”

I swat at the air, not wanting to answer, but she’s very astute. Why did I think I could hide anything from her? She’s a bloody mind reader.

Before I can respond, my brothers barge in catching the tail end of my mother’s words, banging the old kitchen door shut behind them and heading for the cabinets.

“Is the American my age?” Antonio pours himself milk and dumps in powdered Cola Cao, clanging the sides of the mug with his spoon. Loudly. He likes his cocoa cold. Weirdo.

I glare at him. “Leave her alone. She just got here. She doesn’t need you jumping all over her.”

He holds up his hands like he’s fending off a bull. “Whoa. I think you like her.”

“Tavo already has a woman.” Guillermo sits at the table, his arms crossed over his chest. His tone is off. Is he pissed at me? Is it because I’ve been brushing him off about the farm?

“I don’t,” I say quickly. My mother’s lips flatten. Mierda.

“You do. What about you and Sonia?” Guillermo’s issuing some sort of challenge. One I’m not gonna pick up.

“Me and Sonia, nothing.” For real. Nothing.

Now my mother’s the one with arms crossed over her chest.

“I thought you liked Sonia,” says Antonio turning to Guillermo. “But she obviously likes Tavo better.”

Guillermo’s hands are now fists. “She’s been stuck on Tavo forever. She says she’s too old for me,” he mutters.

Ah. I didn’t know my little brother had it bad for our neighbor. No wonder he’s pissed. If they got together, it would solve everything, but apparently no one else goes along with that idea.

Antonio drains the last of his glass. “I like older women. Sonia’s, what? Twenty?”

I nod.

“Well, you can’t have her. If she’s not Tavo’s, she’s mine.” Guillermo stands and turns to me. “Can I check the pH levels of the irrigation water?”

“Yeah. Go.” I shoo him off, Antonio at his heels still teasing him about his crush on Sonia. I call after Antonio, “And stay away from the American.”

“Do not encourage Guillermo. She doesn’t want him, and that will break his heart,” my mother whispers.

“I know. I know.” I sigh. But what about my heart?

My phone buzzes in my back pocket with a text. Mi madre bows out and leaves the room, and I check it. It’s from Trent Milner.

¿Mañana? ¿Bar Marueco?

I run my hands through my hair, thinking of my James Dean friend. I met him a little over a year ago when he came to Spain last summer to find la profesora, Danika Anderson. Trent was the first American outside of relatives I ever got to know. I was so jealous of him, with the white T-shirts and the Levis and being an Army veteran.

But he and I became good friends after that summer. We continued with the same classes last year, both studying to become interpreters. Normally, he speaks Spanish to me, and I answer in English, then we each fix the other’s language. I’d never be able to talk to Kim as well as I do without the extra year of practice with Trent.

I text him back. Yes, tomorrow. I have the American student with me.

Bien, nos vemos, he responds.

Ridiculous butterflies run through my stomach. Ridiculous because it’s not like I’ve never been out with my friends before or to Bar Marueco. No. I’m just excited I get to have a date with Kim Brown.

Assuming she’ll come after I ask her.

She will.

I pull out a glass and get a drink of water, then wash my glass and Antonio’s and set them in the drainboard. My mother taught us well. She bustles after us, but we don’t like to be a burden to her. I do my best to give her one less thing to do.

Unless it has to do with Sonia.

Wiping off my hands, I head off to my casita. My feet take me across the familiar ranch, but I’m viewing it with new eyes. The places where I used to play, where I learned to drive a tractor, where I had my first kiss.

How will I show this to Kim? Will she find it interesting? Will she like it?

For years I’ve wanted to leave this place. Now, for once, it’s attractive to stay.

And thinking about the reason why I want to stay means I’m thinking about our interactions. As we drove, I watched her sleep, her pretty face serene. But then her nose crunched up and she started to make featherlike gasps. Little moans. This is why I want to get her naked. Why I want to map the territory of her body with my fingertips. To join with her in every way I can.

Madre de Dios, she made it difficult to concentrate on driving.

As they say in America, I have the hots for her.

I need her in the way I need a shower right now. Thinking about the shapely, alluring woman in the main house makes fighting my hardness a losing battle. Once inside my casita, I kick off my shoes, unbuckle my belt, and shove off my jeans, taking my shirt off over my head. I put my bracelets down on the wardrobe and pick up my phone. Wearing just black boxer briefs—tented—I reach in the shower and turn on the water. While I’m waiting for it to heat, I stream music on my phone. Oasis. Comfortable older music that reminds me of being a kid. Not someone with the problems of running a family farm.

As the water warms up in the shower, I scroll through my phone and click on Kim’s Instagram account. I’ve pulled it up before and it had photo after photo of Starbucks cups.

Gracias a Dios, she posted a brand-new selfie. She’s on the plane holding a blue package of airline peanuts next to her face, pointing at them with a huge, open-mouthed smile.

Those lips.

Those lips that I want covering my cock.

I study the picture, then stare into the mirror and rub myself over my shorts. A long, slow stroke, and another. I groan.

The fabric causes friction against my cock, and it’s too much restriction. It’s time to play. I peel off my underwear and set down my phone.

In a drawer I find my favorite bright pink plastic cock ring, and wrap it around my balls and shaft. It fits me the best and makes me harder than hard, not that I really need help at the moment. But it’s more fun.

And I could use some fun.

The music still plays on my phone. I step into the shower, the curtain of water cascading over my shoulders. And now I really start to stroke myself, feeling the pressure against my dick, the slick wet soap I’m now using as lube.

I want this little American. It feels like she’s always been mine. I want to know what she’d feel like around my cock. My hand jerks faster and faster, the soap making me so slippery, the veins in my dick popping out. The crown distended. My balls tightening.

I want Kim Brown naked. Under me. Writhing, begging for me.

I want her.

Badly.

My stomach muscles contract, and the tension gears up, gathering strength in my body. I thicken and the cock ring tightens. I love it. I love how it channels the sensation.

The waves come quicker and quicker, my breathing faster and faster. I close my eyes, and all I think of is her. All I think of is her four years of Spanish and her four hours of Spain. Her sweet ass and her bright eyes. Her enthusiasm.

And that goddamn sexiness.

Joder. I come, semen gushing out, pumping into my palm, my cock convulsing in my other hand as I milk out the pleasure. Explode for her.

And I stumble, holding myself up against the wall.

Gasping for air, I double over, my hands on my knees, the water tracing down my spine and between my legs.

But I can go again. I’m still hard. I circle my cock, faster and faster, pulling and tugging so viciously, no one else could do this to me but me.

And I come again, the pleasure yet again taking over my body and making me grunt.

I haven’t taken a survey, but I think most men don’t know they can come twice if they just keep going. I do it all the time.

After my breathing regulates, I extricate my now-spent cock from the ring and finish with my shower. I sure feel better now. Loose. Tranquil. Less uptight.

When I step out after rinsing and turning off the water, I wrap a towel around my waist and grimace at my messy hair in the mirror. My glassy eyes. My flushed cheeks.

I think about what it’ll it be like when I actually touch her.

If I ever do.