The Breakfast My Neighbor Made Me Beg For on My Knees

What I’m going to tell started as a wait and ended as surrender. My neighbor, who has also been my lover for almost a year, was away for nine days on work. He didn’t tell me the exact date of his return. He did that on purpose, because he knows uncertainty makes me more nervous than any promise.

During those nine days I behaved like a desperate woman. I sent him photos. Lots of them. Most were me in front of the bathroom mirror, biting my lip, with my T-shirt pulled up to my neck. I wrote him messages I never would have believed myself capable of writing, telling him exactly what I planned to do to him when he came back and, above all, what I wanted him to do to me.

—You’re digging your own grave —he replied one night—. Every photo you send is one more day on your knees when I get back.

And that, far from scaring me, was exactly what I was after.

He came back on a Tuesday, around ten at night, without warning. I heard the door on the landing and knew it was him before I looked through the peephole. There are footsteps one learns to recognize. I opened the door in my pajamas, hair a mess, and found him with his suitcase still in hand and that half-smile of his that has undone me from day one.

—You weren’t expecting me today —he said.

—No —I admitted—. That’s why you did it.

The problem is that I don’t live alone. I share the apartment, and at that hour my roommate was already in her room, door closed but awake. That changed everything. It meant silence. It meant holding back every sound, swallowing every moan, turning desire into something tight and mute between the sheets.

***

We went into my room without turning on the main light. Just the little lamp on the bedside table, the one that casts that low orange glow that makes skin feel warmer than it is. We had our hands on each other as soon as the door closed. First our mouths, slowly, brushing tongues with just the tip, playing at never quite finishing the kiss.

—I missed you —I murmured against his lips.

—Prove it quietly —he answered.

That sentence went through me entirely. He pulled my pajama T-shirt down, leaving my chest bare, and leaned in to suck my nipples, one and then the other, slowly, with his free hand covering my mouth when he felt me about to let out a moan. I clung to the back of his neck, arching my back, trying not to make the headboard hit the wall. The forced silence made everything more intense. Every time he bit and I couldn’t answer with my voice, the pleasure stayed inside, with nowhere to go, building up.

I searched for his body under his clothes. I found him already hard, ready, throbbing against my hand. I stroked him over the fabric first, then beneath it, feeling his weight in my palm. I knew what he was hiding there. I knew what he had kept from me for nine days.

—Tomorrow —he said, gently moving my hand away—. We’re both exhausted and your roommate hears everything. Tomorrow, when we’re alone, you won’t have to stay quiet.

He left me wanting on purpose. Again. We stayed wrapped around each other, his chest against my back, his breath on my nape, and we fell asleep like that, fitted together, like two pieces that know each other by heart.

***

The touch woke me. It was still early, with that gray morning light that hasn’t yet decided what to do with itself. The first thing I noticed was his body pressed against mine from behind, his erection rubbing against me, his hand sliding under the pajama top to knead my breasts without hurry. His tongue traced my neck, right below the ear, where he knows I lose my mind.

—My roommate —I started to say, half asleep.

—She left half an hour ago —he said against my skin—. We’re alone. Today we can make as much noise as you want.

That information woke me completely. No need to measure anything, no need to cover mouths, no need to bite pillows. The whole house was ours. I turned toward him and bit his lower lip, kissed him with an urgency I’d been storing for nine days, and our tongues tangled without restraint. I was already wet, ready, with a hunger that wasn’t for food.

—Take off your T-shirt —he ordered.

I obeyed. I pulled it over my head and sat astride him for a moment, letting him look at me, letting him see what I’d been craving all those days. I smashed his face against my breasts and he answered by sucking, biting slowly, running his tongue over my nipples until they were so hard they almost hurt.

—For a reason that doesn’t matter, I still can’t fuck you the way I’d like —he said, looking up at me—. But we have other ways to fix that. And today you’re going to use them all.

I knew what he meant. And I wanted it more than I wanted to breathe.

***

I yanked his briefs down in one pull. His erection sprang upward, hard, pointing at the ceiling, and I felt that mix of hunger and vertigo I get every time. I ran my fingers the full length of him, slowly, looking into his eyes as I did it. I wanted him to know exactly how much I had missed it.

—On your knees —he said.

And there it was. The line he had been promising me by message all week. I got down from the bed and knelt on the floor, at his height, back straight and hands on my thighs, waiting. He sat up on the edge of the mattress, grabbed my hair without pulling, just holding it, and brought my face to his body.

—You asked for this all week —he said—. Now you earn it.

He pushed it into my mouth slowly at first, letting me get used to it, and then he took control. He set the pace with his hand at my nape, sinking a little deeper each time, filling my mouth to the back of my throat. I let him do it. That was the part I liked most: handing over the reins, not deciding anything, existing only to please him. Saliva ran down my chin and that seemed to drive him crazy.

—Look at me —he ordered.

I lifted my eyes without taking him out of my mouth. Seeing him looking down at me, with that expression of absolute dominance, tightened something inside me. I moaned, and this time the moan came out whole, with no one to hide it from, filling the room.

He pulled out suddenly and started slapping it against my cheeks, my lips, the tongue I was sticking out to receive it. That gesture completely undoes me. It’s proof that at that moment I belong to him, that he can do whatever he wants with me, and that, instead of diminishing me, ignites me like nothing else.

—Please —I said, my voice rough—. I want it.

—What do you want? —he asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.

—Your cum —I answered—. I want it now. I’ve been waiting nine days for it.

***

He put it back in my mouth and kept it there a little longer, until he felt I was at my limit. Then he pulled it out, slick with saliva, and started to jerk off in front of me while I offered him my breasts with both hands and kept my tongue out, like an offering. It was my way of telling him where I wanted it: there, on my tongue, to taste it, to swallow it whole and prove to him that every drop was mine.

But he had other plans, of course. He always does. After a few strokes, his orgasm hit my face, several warm bursts covering my cheeks, my nose, my lips. Only part of it reached my tongue, just enough to taste him. The rest spread across my skin.

I didn’t care. I gathered with my fingers what I hadn’t been able to swallow and brought it to my mouth, slowly, never taking my eyes off him, tasting every trace. I left the rest on my face for a moment, feeling it, before wiping it away. Some people say it keeps the skin young. I only know that in that instant I felt more alive than I had all the previous week.

—Good girl —he said, stroking my head—. That’s for behaving so badly with the photos.

I laughed, still on my knees, still trembling a little. I sat up and onto his lap, and he held me as if the nine days had never existed, as if the domination from a minute ago could turn into tenderness without any break at all. That’s the part nobody understands about us: that surrender and affection don’t contradict each other, that each makes the other bigger.

***

I know he still has reserves for later. I know him. I know his ability to give me several rounds in a few hours, and I know that tonight, when I cross the landing to his door and my roommate is no longer a problem in his empty apartment, there will be no need to keep anything quiet.

But that will be another story. Right now I have to leave; I can’t linger, I’ve got the whole day ahead of me and my face still freshly washed. What matters is that I started the morning on my knees, begging, and that he granted me exactly what I pleaded for.

And I never get tired. I never get tired of this breakfast.