My Young Lover Came Back With a Forbidden Request

Renata woke up with her body still sensitive, a warm tightness between her legs reminding her of every minute of the previous afternoon. She had washed the sheets in secret, before her husband came back, erasing any trace of what had happened in that very bed. He got home after ten, smelling of the office and exhaustion, gave her a mechanical kiss on the forehead, and fell asleep within minutes.

She lay staring at the ceiling in the dim light. It was enough to close her eyes to feel it again: Adrián’s broken breathing against the nape of her neck, the weight of his young body, the way his “I can’t, I have a girlfriend” had unraveled into a “don’t stop, please” that still made her skin prickle.

They had spent weeks brushing against each other without naming it. He was the guy who fixed her computer, a nephew’s friend, someone Renata should never have looked at twice. But she did. And yesterday, when he stayed longer than he should have and the tension became unbearable, the two of them stopped pretending. Now, beside the man she had been married to for eighteen years, she went over every detail like someone guarding a secret too big for her chest.

At ten in the morning the message arrived. Unknown number, but she recognized it before she finished reading.

—“Mrs. Renata… it’s Adrián. I can’t stop thinking about yesterday. I can’t focus on anything. My girlfriend asked me why I was acting so weird and I didn’t know what to say. I need to see you again. Please.”

Renata smiled slowly, feeling the heat rise from her belly. She typed back without hesitation.

—“Come this afternoon at six. My husband works until nine. Bring the same desire you had yesterday. And bring that fantasy too, the one you didn’t dare tell me.”

***

Adrián arrived on time. He rang the bell with trembling fingers, his motorcycle parked two blocks away just in case. Renata opened the door in a tight black dress, a deep neckline, her hair loose and her lips painted a dark red that left no room for doubt. She looked him up and down: the white T-shirt that outlined his chest, the gray sweatpants that hid nothing.

—Come in —she whispered, and shut the door, throwing the bolt—. We have the whole afternoon.

He stepped inside with his eyes fixed on her. He had barely taken two steps down the hallway when Renata shoved him against the wall and kissed him hard, without asking permission, biting his lower lip. Adrián answered with the same urgency, his hands sliding up her thighs, gripping her hips.

—I haven’t been able to sleep —he panted against her mouth—. I only think about you. About how it was yesterday.

She pulled back just a few centimeters, just enough to look him in the eyes.

—Tell me what you kept to yourself yesterday. Those things your girlfriend would never let you do. I want to hear them. And I want to do them.

Adrián swallowed. It showed that the confession cost him more than desire did.

—I have several. But the one that keeps circling in my head most… I want to do it in your husband’s bed. With his photos in front of us. And I want you to let me film you. Just for me, so I can see you later when I’m alone.

Renata felt the answer hit her directly, electric, like a lash. She took his hand.

—Both things. Come on.

***

She led him to the master bedroom. The big bed smelled of fabric softener, and on the nightstand rested framed photos of her husband: smiling on their wedding day, on some faraway vacation, the years piled into that smile. Renata slowly unbuttoned her dress, let it fall to the floor, and lay back on the bedspread with her legs parted.

—Film me first —she said—. Take out your phone.

Adrián pulled out his phone with clumsy fingers and turned on the camera. She knelt in front of him, yanked down his pants, and took him in her mouth while staring straight at him, never breaking eye contact with the lens.

—This is for you —she said between licks, her voice hoarse—. So that when you’re with your girlfriend and she won’t even let you near her, you’ll remember what it feels like for a forty-five-year-old woman to get on her knees for you.

She worked him slowly, alternating her mouth and her hands, stopping to look at him, to listen to his breathing crack. Adrián filmed with one hand and with the other stroked her hair, unable to form anything but her name.

—Renata… fuck…

She stood up, pushed him gently onto the mattress, and got back to his level.

—Now do it. In my husband’s bed. Film me while you do it.

She got on all fours on the sheets, hips raised. Adrián positioned himself behind her, prepared them both carefully, and aimed the camera from behind. He pushed in slowly. Renata moaned long and low, her fingers clenched in the fabric.

—Slowly… like that… let me feel all of you.

He slid in little by little, filming the exact moment their bodies met. When he was all the way in, he began to move: slow at first, deep withdrawals, firm thrusts that made her arch. Renata spoke with a broken voice.

—Harder… in front of my husband’s photo… I want you to look at me while you do it.

Adrián sped up, his hips slamming against hers, the sound filling the room. The camera caught everything: the sway, the trembling of Renata’s thighs, the expression of pleasure she made no attempt to hide.

—I’m about to cum —he warned, almost out of breath.

—Do it —she glanced sideways at the framed photo and smiled—. Finish inside, like yesterday.

Adrián drove in hard several times and came with a deep growl, collapsing across her back. Renata came at the same time, her whole body tightening, stifling a cry into her husband’s pillow. They stayed like that for a few seconds, breathing hard, before he turned off the camera and rolled beside her.

***

Renata turned over and stroked his still-flushed cheek.

—Now the other one. The hardest one to say. The one you barely touched on yesterday. I want to hear it… and if I can, I want to do that one too.

Adrián closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering courage.

—It’s… something my girlfriend calls disgusting. She won’t even let me mention it. But with you I want everything I can’t have with her. I want you to open up in front of me, in the shower, and let me see everything up close. No shame. And film it.

Renata felt that surge of excitement again, so sudden that a sigh slipped out of her. She kissed him on the forehead.

—Right now. And we’ll film it.

She got up, took him by the hand, and led him to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and let the hot water begin fogging the tiles. She told him to sit on the edge, phone in hand, while she stood in front of him under the spray.

—Look closely —she said—. Just look. You don’t tell anyone this either.

Adrián filmed with shining eyes, devouring her with almost reverent attention, like someone holding on to something he knew he would never have again. Steam covered everything, water sliding between them, and when she finished, he set the phone on the sink and pulled her to him.

He lifted her against the tiles, Renata’s legs wrapping around his waist, and took her face-to-face while the hot water poured over them both. This time it was different: slower, more intimate, their foreheads pressed together, no escaping the look in each other’s eyes. They came almost at the same time, she clinging to his neck, he buried against her chest.

***

They slid down to the shower floor, exhausted, laughing between gasps like two accomplices who had just crossed a point of no return. Renata brushed a wet strand of hair off his forehead.

—Save those videos carefully —she said—. The one in the bed and the one in the shower. Don’t delete them. And come on Thursday. I want to see you while your girlfriend is in class. And by then think of that other fantasy you still haven’t told me.

Adrián nodded, his eyes still glassy.

—I promise. No one will know.

—Good boy —she kissed the corner of his lips—. Now get dressed and go. And dream about me.

He dressed quickly, stole one last kiss from her in the entryway, and went out into the street as if nothing had happened, toward the motorcycle parked two blocks away. Renata remained alone in the bathroom, the mirror still fogged up. She wiped a circle clear with her palm and looked at herself: damp hair, flushed cheeks, a smile her husband did not know.

She went back to the bedroom, smoothed the bedspread, placed the framed photos back exactly where they had been, and opened the window so the air would carry away any trace. At nine, when he walked in smelling of the office and exhaustion, the house would be spotless. She would have dinner ready and a kiss on the cheek for him.

And inside, she would already be counting the days until Thursday.