My Husband Knew, and I Still Went to Get Him

Mateo knew it before either of us said a word.

It wasn’t a message on my phone. It wasn’t a forgotten receipt in the pocket of my jacket. It was something more subtle, a vibration in the air that settled between us when I came through the door that Thursday afternoon. I saw it in the way he set the cup down on the table, slowly, as if he were measuring every gesture before making it.

—You spoke to him —I said, and the words came out before I could stop them.

Mateo didn’t answer right away. He put his hands on the countertop and looked out the window, toward the gray rooftops of Bilbao.

—Yes.

I waited. I didn’t sit down. I didn’t let go of my handbag. I felt the weight of the key ring against my thigh through the leather of the pocket.

—And?

—That it’s not the same anymore, Elena.

I let out the breath I’d been holding since the landing.

—I already knew that.

—No. Now you really know.

The silence that followed wasn’t like the others of the last few months. It had no edges. There were no excuses hidden between the words that weren’t being said. It was clean, almost surgical.

I lowered my gaze to the tiled floor and counted to three.

—So what now? —I asked.

—Now you decide.

The line didn’t sound like it had before. Before, it had been a shared joke, almost a tender concession. Now it was a consequence, a bill arriving late but with all the surcharges added in.

—I always decide —I answered, trying to scrape up something of the old complicity.

—Not like this.

The blow was soft, but exact. I didn’t argue, because it was true.

—And you? —I asked.

—I’m here.

—Here how?

Mateo hesitated only an instant. I saw him clench one knuckle against the countertop, as if he needed a physical point of support to hold up the answer.

—Without pretending nothing’s happening. That’s the only thing I can promise you now.

I nodded. There was nothing more to add, and we said it without saying it. I took my bag from the stool, smoothed my skirt, and held his gaze a second longer than necessary.

—Do you know where he is? —I asked.

—Where he always is.

—Then I’ll have to go get him.

Mateo didn’t stop me. He didn’t wish me luck either. He simply looked back toward the rooftops and let the car keys clink between my fingers as if they belonged to someone else.

***

The bar was on a corner of Bertendona Street, a small place with exposed brick walls and a peeling zinc counter. Adrián always chose the same kinds of places, the ones that never showed up on trendy lists, the ones that smelled of vermouth and old tobacco even though you couldn’t smoke inside anymore.

I saw him as soon as I walked in. He was at the back, on the last stool, with his blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a half-empty glass between his fingers. He looked up when I came through the door and, for the first time in six months, he didn’t smile.

I walked toward him without taking my eyes off him. I didn’t greet the bartender. I didn’t look at the couple arguing in low voices by the window. I sat down in front of Adrián, on the stool that seemed to have been waiting for me since that afternoon.

—We need to talk —I said.

—Yeah.

He ordered another drink for me with a tilt of his chin. The bartender understood and stepped away without asking. That was another of Adrián’s things: people understood his silences and got out of the way.

—He talked to you —I said.

—Yes.

—And?

—That this isn’t the same anymore.

The same words from Mateo, spoken in another mouth, sounded different. Heavier. More final.

—No, it isn’t —I conceded.

The silence between us was shorter than the one in the kitchen. More direct. Adrián took a sip and set the glass down carefully, as if he might break it with a bad pulse.

—What do you want? —he asked.

Before, I would have answered at once. Before, I would have said “you,” or what I always said and was never exactly true. Not now. Now I was thinking, feeling, calibrating.

—I want to understand how far this goes —I said at last.

Adrián looked straight at me, unblinking.

—You’re already understanding that.

—No. I’m just starting to feel it.

He rested his elbows on the bar. His left arm almost brushed mine. I felt the warmth of his skin through the fine linen of his shirt, and it took effort to hide the shiver that went straight down between my legs.

—That’s worse.

—For whom?

—For me.

The silence fell again, and I held it.

—Why? —I asked.

—Because I don’t know anymore if it’s me. If I’m here for you, for the situation, or for the anger of knowing he knows.

—You’ve never been just you —I said softly.

Adrián shook his head, as if rejecting the sentence and himself at the same time.

—For me I have.

I leaned a little toward him. I didn’t touch him, but I could have. My knee was an inch from his, and that tiny distance changed the temperature of the whole bar.

—And now?

Adrián swallowed. I saw his Adam’s apple move under his three-day stubble. His body reacted before his head did, and we both noticed it at the same time. I was reacting too: I could feel my cunt soaked through beneath my skirt, pressing against the seam as if it had a hunger of its own.

For the first time in six months, he wasn’t the one setting the pace. I was.

I slowly lifted my hand and laid it over his. It wasn’t a tender gesture; it was a declaration. Adrián didn’t pull away. He didn’t answer either. Under my fingers I felt his pulse beating, too fast for someone pretending to be calm.

—This hasn’t gone away —I said.

—No.

—But it’s changed.

—Yes.

—And so have I.

He closed his eyes for an instant, like someone bracing for a blow before throwing one back. When he opened them, he had that look I knew from hotel rooms, dark and very still.

—I don’t know how to play this —he said.

—It’s not a game.

—Then it’s worse.

—Why?

—Because I don’t know if I can stop.

The air between us thickened. I held his hand one second longer. I could feel my own heart in my palms, in my temples, between my legs, which had spent the whole day refusing to behave.

—Then don’t stop —I said.

Adrián went still.

—It’s not that easy.

—It never has been.

I leaned a little closer. I smelled his cologne, the same as always, mixed with whisky and something more visceral. My voice dropped so low he had to lean in to understand me.

—Room 304 —I said—. I’ll be waiting in ten minutes. I want you to come upstairs already hard, thinking about how you’re going to fuck me.

I saw his mouth open for half a second before he closed it. I left a bill on the bar, let go of his hand, and walked out without looking back.

***

The hotel was two doors down, one of those discreet places with middle-aged receptionists who don’t ask questions and accept cash. I’d already checked in that afternoon, before going back home. Before I even knew Mateo knew. Or maybe I’d done it precisely because, somewhere inside me, I already knew it too.

I went up in the elevator alone. I looked at myself in the mirror at the back: my cheeks were flushed, my lipstick half-eaten, my eyes too bright. I let my hair out of its bun and let it fall over my shoulders before sliding the key card into the door. In the deserted hallway I slipped a hand under my skirt and checked what I already knew: my panties were stuck to my cunt, the fabric sticky against my lips. I took them off standing there, right then, and put them in my bag. I was going to receive him with nothing underneath.

They knocked before ten minutes were up.

Adrián came in and locked the door behind him without saying a word. He stayed leaning against the wood, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time. I was barefoot by the bed, wearing the blue dress he’d given me in March and which I had never worn in front of Mateo. Beneath the thin fabric, my nipples were already hard.

—You didn’t come here running away —he said.

It wasn’t a question.

—No.

—Then why?

I took the two steps between us. I laid my open hand on his chest, under the blue shirt, and felt his heart pounding against my palm. With my other hand I went down, unhurried, and squeezed him over his trousers. He was already hard. I smiled.

—Because I want to know what we are when no one’s watching and no one knows. And because I’ve spent the whole day with my cunt soaked, thinking about your cock.

He kissed me. Not like other times. Not with that contained haste of furtive lovers who have stolen thirty minutes from the afternoon. He kissed me calmly, as if we had all the time in the world and none at the same time. His hand slid to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangled in my hair, and I leaned back until the edge of the bed touched the back of my knee. My other hand slid up inside his thigh, found that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and stopped for a second, as if it needed to process the information.

—Fuck, Elena —he murmured against my mouth.

—No panties. For you.

His fingers kept going up. When they reached my cunt and felt how wet I was, he let out a low groan that ran up my back like a current. One finger sank in all the way, without resistance, and I opened for him, bracing myself against the edge of the mattress.

—Look at me —I asked when he pulled back a millimeter.

He did. And in his eyes I saw the thing I’d spent months pretending not to see. He slid in a second finger and started fucking me with his hand slowly, twisting his wrist each time, searching for the spot inside he knew by heart. I undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, never breaking eye contact, feeling how each push of his fingers made me gasp in a way I didn’t bother to hide.

When I opened his shirt, I slid my hands over his chest and bit gently at his neck, right where I knew he lost composure. Adrián exhaled against my ear while his fingers kept going in and out of my cunt with a wet sound that filled the room.

—I’m in charge tonight —I murmured.

—You’re in charge tonight.

—Take them out. Lick them.

He obeyed. He brought both fingers to his mouth without taking his eyes off me and sucked them slowly, tasting me. I watched his tongue work and felt everything inside me tighten.

—Now get on your knees.

Adrián dropped to the floor without protest. I lifted my dress to my waist, braced myself against the edge of the bed, and opened my legs in front of his face. His breath hit my cunt before his mouth did, and that alone made me tremble.

—Eat me properly —I said.

He buried his tongue between my lips without ceremony. He started slowly, licking me from bottom to top, gathering every drop, and when he reached my clit he stayed there, sucking with his mouth open, moving his tongue in tight circles. I grabbed his hair and pressed his face against me without the slightest delicacy.

—Like that. Keep going, fuck. Don’t stop.

He slid two fingers in again while he was eating me. He curled them upward, searching inside me, and found the exact spot where my knees started to buckle. The combination of his tongue sucking my clit and his fingers fucking me sent a wave through my belly. I braced one hand on the mattress so I wouldn’t fall, used the other to hold his head against my cunt, and started moving myself, rubbing against his mouth.

—I’m going to come on your face. Don’t move.

He sped up his tongue. The first orgasm hit me while I was still standing, legs trembling and a long moan I didn’t bother swallowing. I came against his mouth, against his fingers, pushing his face with my hips, and he stayed there, sucking up everything that came out, not pulling away until the last spasm had passed.

When he lifted his head, his chin was shining. He licked my thighs too, cleaning them, before standing up.

I pushed him until he sat on the edge of the bed and lowered his zipper with the calm of someone no longer in a hurry for anything. I took his cock out. It was hard as a rock, the tip already wet. I knelt between his legs and gripped him at the base.

—Look at me.

He lowered his eyes. Held my gaze. And only then did I take him all the way into my mouth, to the root, until the tip hit the back of my throat and tears sprang to my eyes. Adrián let out a rough gasp and grabbed my hair. I held on like that for a second, eyes locked on his, before coming up and going back down.

I sucked him slowly at first, playing with my tongue around the head, sucking the tip like it was a sweet, spitting saliva over the shaft so it would slide better. Then I started pumping with my hand while I kept sucking, and with my other hand I stroked his balls, squeezing them just a little. Adrián threw his head back and let out a curse I couldn’t quite make out.

—Look at me —I repeated, with his cock in my mouth.

He lifted his head. I held his gaze while I swallowed him whole again, letting him see how he disappeared into my mouth. I saw the muscles in his thigh tighten under my free hand, saw him try to hold back the sound and fail halfway.

—Elena, stop —he panted—. If you keep going like this I’m going to come in your mouth.

When I thought he was about to lose control, I stopped. I straightened up. I pulled the dress off over my head and let it fall to the floor with the same calm I’d used that morning to put on my earrings. Adrián watched me without moving, hands open on his knees, his cock shining with saliva pointed upward, waiting for an instruction he knew was coming.

I straddled him. I took his face in both hands and kissed him again, deep, tasting myself on his tongue. I slid my hand between us, grabbed his cock, and placed it at the entrance to my cunt. I sank down slowly, centimeter by centimeter, feeling myself open around him. I let out a low sound, almost one of relief, when I had him all the way in.

—Fuck, it makes me feel so full —I panted against his ear.

His fingers closed hard on my hips.

—Slowly —I ordered.

—Slowly —he repeated, almost voiceless.

I set the pace myself. I rose and fell slowly, squeezing him inside me each time I came back up, letting the tip almost slip out before sinking down all the way again. I took one of his hands and put it on my chest so he could squeeze my tits. With the other, I brought his fingers to his mouth and he sucked them without being asked.

—Bite them —I asked him, guiding one of his thumbs to my nipple.

He leaned in and caught my nipple between his teeth, tugging just a little. I threw my head back and sped up. Slowly at first, until I saw on his face that he couldn’t hold on any longer. Then I rode him in earnest, bouncing on him, letting my tits smack against his face, hearing the sound of my soaked cunt swallowing his cock again and again.

—You like the way I ride you? —I asked, my voice broken.

—Yes. Fuck. Yes.

—Say it all.

—I love the way you ride me. The way you squeeze me inside.

I leaned forward so he could feel my chest against his, so he could smell my shampoo, so he would understand once and for all that what was happening between us wasn’t an escape, or a betrayal, or a whim. It was a decision. With every downward thrust I tightened my cunt on purpose, clenching my muscles like a mouth that didn’t want to let him go.

Adrián grabbed me by the waist, lifted me off him with a force I didn’t know he had, and threw me onto my back on the mattress. He pried my legs open in one motion, got between them, and drove his cock into me in a single thrust.

—My turn now —he growled.

—Fuck me. Fuck me like it’s the last time.

I lay beneath him, my hair spread over the white sheet, and when he drove in with all his body weight I felt the air leave me in one sudden rush. Each thrust shot up through my stomach and tore a new sound out of me, deeper, rougher, more mine.

—Look at me —he said, and for once I obeyed.

I looked at him. I saw his clenched jaw, the veins in his neck, the bead of sweat sliding down his temple. I dragged my nails down his back and wrapped my legs around his waist, letting him sink even deeper.

—Harder —I begged.

He sped up. The mattress creaked, the headboard hit the wall, and I no longer cared about anything behind that wall. I dug my heels into his ass so he wouldn’t ease up.

—Put me on all fours —I said against his mouth.

He pulled out, turned me face down, and lifted my hips. I braced myself on my elbows, arched my back, and offered him my ass. I felt the tip open me again and then the full thrust, all the way in, with a moan that came out of my throat as if it had been ripped from me.

—Like that, fuck, like that —I panted, biting the pillow.

Adrián grabbed my hair and pulled back. With the other hand he dug his fingers into my hip and started fucking me without mercy, fast, deep, making a wet sound with every thrust. His skin slapped against my ass with a sharp crack that joined the rhythm. I slid one hand underneath myself and rubbed my clit with two fingers, in circles, following the beat he was setting.

—I’m going to come again —I warned between gasps.

—Come. Squeeze me when you come.

The second orgasm hit me like that, folded over my knees, with his cock inside me and his fingers in my hair. I clamped my cunt around him with everything I had. I screamed into the pillow, biting it so I wouldn’t scream louder, and felt everything inside me tightening around him.

Adrián held on a little longer. When he couldn’t anymore, he pulled out, turned me onto my back again, and gripped his cock with his hand over me.

—Where —he panted.

—On my tits. In my face. Wherever you want. Come.

He came with two more hard strokes. The spurts landed on my chest, one hit my chin, another spilled thick down my neck. When he was done, he collapsed beside me, breathing like he’d run miles. I ran a finger through the mess on my skin, collected a drop, and put it in my mouth without taking my eyes off him.

—Fuck —he murmured, dragging a hand over his face.

—You already said that.

***

We lay in silence for a while, listening to the cars on Bertendona Street and the hum of the air conditioning. His hand was on my hip, fingers spread as if measuring a property that was no longer exactly his. I still had semen drying on my chest and made no move to clean it off.

—Mateo knows —he said at last, against my hair.

—I know.

—Are you going back?

It took me a while to answer. I looked at the ceiling, the damp stain in the corner, the lamp with the yellow shade. I thought of my kitchen, of the cup Mateo had left on the counter, of the way he’d looked out the window while telling me, “now you decide.”

—Yes. Tonight, yes.

Adrián didn’t mind. He didn’t rejoice either. He just nodded, as if that were the answer he’d come looking for.

—And tomorrow? —he asked.

—Tomorrow we’ll see. Tomorrow maybe I’ll call you to fuck me again before lunch.

A tired half-smile escaped him.

I propped myself up on one elbow and moved a lock of hair off his forehead. For the first time in six months I didn’t ask him what he wanted from me. I didn’t promise anything. I didn’t apologize for either of the two lives now being held up by the same decision.

I got up, went into the bathroom, and wiped the semen from my chest with a damp towel, unhurried. When I came out, Adrián was still lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with his cock still shining against his thigh. I dressed slowly in front of the mirror, without panties —the panties were still in my bag, and they were staying there— and I understood something I could no longer ignore: that it wasn’t about who I stayed with. It was about how much I was willing to feel, and how far I was willing to go knowing that now all three of us knew it too.