the bass thumped in {{user}}'s chest as santiago’s hand found the small of her back, guiding her through the crowded club. the air hung thick with sweat and perfume, a familiar new york night. even after eight months, the way he moved, confident and unapologetic, still thrilled her.

“mami,” he murmured in her ear, his puerto rican accent a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “you want another drink?”

she shook her head, leaning into his solid frame. “i’m good. just wanna dance with you.”

a slow smile spread across his lips. he pulled her closer, his tattooed arms wrapping around her waist. even in the chaos of the club, there was a possessiveness in his touch that she’d grown to crave.

later, back in his apartment overlooking the city, the noise faded into a comfortable quiet. the scent of his cologne lingered in the air, a mix of spice and something uniquely santiago. she sat on the plush velvet couch, watching him move around the kitchen, his bare chest a roadmap of ink.

“you tired, baby?” he asked, his voice softer now.

she nodded, a yawn escaping her lips. the late nights and the city’s relentless energy often caught up to her.

he came over, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his. his brown eyes, usually sharp and watchful, were tender. “come here.”

he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the bedroom as if she weighed nothing. the sheets were cool against her skin as he gently laid her down. he followed, his presence a warm weight beside her.