The Courier Who Arrived the Day After Valentine’s Day

Renata was forty-three years old and had a body she had learned to care for like an investment. Full, high breasts, a narrow waist she had maintained through years of discipline, wide hips that marked every step. Her blonde hair fell in long waves to mid-back, and her lips, always painted a deep matte red, looked made for biting. She had light eyes that could go from sweetness to calculation in a second. The only thing she had been missing for far too long was someone who knew how to look at her.

Her husband was called Damián and he was forty-nine. A dull man with a soft belly and thick-framed glasses, who came home late from the office, opened a beer, and collapsed on the sofa before dinner. The day before, February fourteenth, he had given her a bouquet of sad supermarket roses and a reheated pizza. By ten-thirty he was already snoring on his back, mouth open and belly exposed.

That night Renata had put on a black lingerie set that still had the tag on it. She had perfumed herself, dressed herself up, climbed into bed expecting something that never came. She lay staring at the ceiling, a hot anger rising inside her, and promised herself that the next day she would not go wanting.

The fifteenth dawned. Damián was still sleeping off the previous night’s hangover, with the blinds drawn and a deep snore that could be heard from the hallway. Renata got up at nine. She took a long shower, unhurried, letting the hot water run over her body. Then she rubbed coconut cream over every inch of skin and chose a short white dress, with thin straps, almost transparent in backlight. Nothing underneath. Every time she moved, the fabric brushed her skin and reminded her how awake she was.

She had no plan. Only a need that weighed on her lower belly like a stone.

At twelve-thirty the doorbell rang.

It was a package. She opened the door slowly, with a smile that already knew what it wanted before it knew whom it would find.

The courier was new. Lucas, no more than twenty-five. Tall, slim but broad-shouldered, with arms marked from carrying boxes all day. Brown hair tousled beneath the company’s blue cap, a few freckles on his nose, and a shyness that vanished at once when he saw her. His eyes dropped involuntarily to the dress straps and then darted back up, embarrassed.

—Good morning... I have a package for Renata.

—That’s me —she said, leaning against the frame—. Come in, it’s drizzling. I don’t want the box getting wet in the doorway.

Lucas hesitated for a second and stepped inside. Renata closed the door behind him, and the click of the latch sounded louder than it should have in the silence of the house. She led him to the kitchen, where the remains of breakfast and the wilted roses from the day before still sat in a vase.

He set the package on the counter and stood there, not knowing what to do with his hands. Renata leaned opposite him, crossing her arms in a way that was anything but innocent.

—Thanks for bringing it so quickly. Have you been making deliveries for long?

—Since seven-thirty. Long day. After Valentine’s Day people order all kinds of things: late gifts, returns...

Renata let out a low, almost hoarse laugh.

—Yesterday was Valentine’s Day —she said, looking him in the eyes—. My husband gave me cheap roses and a cold pizza. He fell asleep at ten-thirty. He didn’t touch me once. I’ve had this right here inside me for twenty-four hours and it still won’t go away.

She brushed the lower part of her belly with the tip of her fingers, just for an instant. Lucas swallowed, and the sound echoed through the whole kitchen.

—Damn... that’s not right.

—Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m just sick of waiting, that’s all. Do you have a girlfriend, Lucas?

—Yeah... more or less. We argued last night over some stupid thing.

Renata took a step forward. The space between them almost disappeared. She could smell his cologne mixed with the clean sweat of work, and she liked it.

—Listen —she said, lowering her voice—. I don’t know you at all. You’re a courier who happened to come in by chance. My husband’s sleeping off his hangover right next door, he won’t notice a thing. If you leave now, absolutely nothing happens. But if you stay, I’m going to show you everything he never learned how to do. Your call.

Lucas was breathing hard. The fabric of his uniform trousers betrayed him without mercy.

—I’m staying —he said, voice rough.

Renata smiled slowly. She climbed onto the counter, spread her legs, and lifted her dress to her waist. She looked down at him with a calm that made him hotter than any rush.

—First lesson —she murmured—. Slowly. Kneel down.

He obeyed at once. She tangled her fingers in his hair and guided him without letting go.

—That’s it. No hurry. You have to listen to what the body asks for, not go wild. Slower there... yes... look at me while you do it.

Lucas looked up at her from below, eyes locked on hers, and Renata felt how each movement of his tongue loosened that twenty-four-hour knot. She moaned softly, aware of the distant snoring on the other side of the wall. That made it better: the danger, the closeness, the certainty that her husband was sleeping just a few feet away, suspecting nothing.

—Don’t stop... right there...

He came in a few minutes, pressing his face into her and trembling with a long shudder that left her breathless. She loosened her grip on his hair and gave a weak, satisfied laugh.

—Good boy. Now stand up.

She climbed down from the counter and, in the same movement, knelt herself. She lowered his zipper with sure fingers. She took him in her mouth slowly, looking at him, measuring every reaction on his face. She liked the way he held his breath, the way his hands clenched at his sides without daring to touch her.

—Second lesson —she said, pulling back for a moment—. Grab my hair. Don’t be afraid. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.

He held her, first timidly and then with real desire. Renata closed her eyes and let herself go, one hand between her own legs, setting the rhythm for both of them.

—That’s it —she said, voice hoarse—. My husband never dared go that far. Always fast, always afraid. Don’t be afraid with me.

She led him to one of the kitchen chairs and gently pushed him down to sit. She climbed on top, straddling him, and sank down slowly to the hilt. She started to move her hips, in slow circles, tightening on every rise.

—Watch how it’s done —she whispered in his ear—. Deep first. Then faster. Touch me, don’t just stay still. Does your girlfriend move like this?

Lucas ran his hands up her back, lowered the straps of her dress, pulled her against him. Renata leaned back, braced on her knees, and sped up. The chair creaked, both of them were gasping, and in the background Damián’s constant snoring went on, oblivious to everything.

—Don’t be quiet —she told him—. Tell me what you feel.

—It’s incredible... I’ve never been with anyone like this...

—I know —she said, and came for the second time, biting her lip so she wouldn’t scream, her whole body shaking against his.

She got him to his feet and bent over the countertop, sweeping the vase of sad roses aside with a slap of her hand. She spread her legs and looked at him over her shoulder.

—Last lesson —she said—. Now without so much tenderness. Hold me tight.

Lucas entered her hard and Renata moaned against the cold wood of the counter.

—Harder —she begged, teeth clenched—. Hear how he snores? Do it like he never could.

—Fuck... you’re incredible... —he panted, gripping her hips.

He slapped her ass, hesitating, and when he saw her arch her back in response, he did it again with more confidence. Renata’s skin took on a pink tint and she raised her voice with each hit, no longer caring about the noise.

—That’s it... so I can feel it tomorrow when I sit down... —she murmured, and came for the third time, clenching around him with a long spasm, her fingers white against the edge of the counter.

When it was all over, they stayed still for a moment, catching their breath, their foreheads pressed together. Lucas was laughing softly, still dazed.

—That was... I don’t even know what to say.

—Don’t say anything. Get dressed.

He pulled his pants up with trembling hands. Renata lowered her dress, fixed her hair in the reflection of the glass door, and gave him one last kiss, slow, almost affectionate.

—If the company sends you by here again —she said, opening the door for him—, you know where I live. There are still lessons left.

Lucas stepped out onto the landing with his cap crooked and a smile that barely fit on his face. Renata closed the door and leaned against it, eyes closed, her body finally calm.

From the bedroom came Damián’s deep snoring, identical as always. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t noticed a thing.

Renata went to the half-open bedroom door, stood there for a second watching him sleep, tousled and oblivious, and smiled to herself. She went back to the kitchen, put water on to boil for coffee, and put the package away without bothering to open it. What she had come looking for that morning wasn’t inside the box.

Damián would never know. Or maybe, one morning, he would start wondering why his wife received so many packages.