The Weekend Silvia Wasn’t Supposed to Know About

The conversation started as it always did, over coffee and toast, with Silvia looking out the kitchen window while I pretended to read the newspaper on my phone.

“Marcos, couldn’t we go to Asturias this weekend?” she said, holding the cup in both hands. “I haven’t seen my parents in months, and I feel bad about it.”

I set the phone face down on the table. “I know, but I’ve got a couple of things to take care of here this weekend.”

“You always have things to take care of.”

She wasn’t wrong, and we both knew it. But I wasn’t lying entirely: I did have things to take care of. They just weren’t the things she imagined.

Silvia and I had been together for six years. We’d met at university, settled in Barcelona after getting married, and built a life that, from the outside, worked perfectly. Work, a flat in the Eixample, summer holidays, dinner with friends on Fridays. Everything fit. And yet, since the previous summer, something had begun not to fit.

That something had a name: Laura.

Laura was Silvia’s younger sister. Four years younger than her, living in Zaragoza with her husband Óscar, who traveled frequently for work. We’d seen each other only a few times, always at family gatherings, always with the polite distance one kept from a brother-in-law. Until that August afternoon, at Silvia’s parents’ house, when we ended up alone in the pool and her leg brushed against mine without either of us doing anything to avoid it. I brushed against her in return, very slowly, sliding my foot up her calf to the inside of her thigh, and felt her breath catch beside me. When she climbed out of the water, her swimsuit clung to her pussy and ass in a way that made me turn away so no one would see my erection.

Nothing happened that afternoon. We looked at each other, smiled with the discomfort of people who knew what had just happened, and each went back to their place. But that look never disappeared.

***

In the end, Silvia went to Asturias alone. I told her I had to sort out a work issue, that I’d call her every night, that we’d make it up the following month. She packed her suitcase with that quiet resignation that was sometimes harder for me to bear than any reproach.

“Take care,” she said before leaving.

“You too,” I replied.

When I heard the elevator descending, I picked up my phone.

I wrote slowly, weighing every word:

“Looks like the weekend is free over here. Óscar’s away, according to what Silvia told me. I don’t know if you feel like having company.”

I sent it before my mind could come up with a reason not to. I stared at the screen for a minute that seemed very long. Then for two more minutes. I began to regret it.

Laura’s message arrived after I’d already left the phone on the counter and was pouring myself a glass of water.

“I’ll be here. Whenever you want.”

Four words. No exclamation marks, no emojis, no beating around the bush. Exactly like her.

***

I left Barcelona on Saturday morning, with my motorcycle and a small backpack. The road to Zaragoza passes through stretches of dry, mineral beauty that become more intense in October: ochre-colored fields, cloudless skies, flat, clean light that cast no shadows.

I stopped to refuel at a gas station halfway there. The bar smelled of coffee and tortilla sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil. Behind the counter, a dark-haired woman with a direct gaze asked me what I wanted in a tone of familiarity she hadn’t earned yet, but that didn’t bother me.

“Black coffee, please.”

“Long trip?” she asked, placing the cup beneath the machine.

“Long enough.”

She smiled without pressing, set the coffee on the counter, and went back to work. I stood there for a moment watching the traffic through the picture window, drinking slowly and letting my nerves settle a little before continuing.

I took the final stretch more slowly than necessary. Not because I was afraid, exactly. More because of that strange feeling of crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed, and wanting at least to cross it slowly, fully conscious of what I was doing.

***

Laura’s apartment was in a building in Zaragoza’s historic center, on a narrow street with uneven cobblestones. I parked the motorcycle on the sidewalk, took off my helmet, and stood there for a moment in front of the entrance, looking at the doorbell panel.

I pressed the fourth-floor buzzer.

The door opened without anyone answering through the intercom. I climbed the stairs on foot, slowly. On the fourth-floor landing, the apartment door was already ajar.

Laura was waiting for me in the hall, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, her arms crossed and her expression difficult to read. She wore a gray tank top and a pair of shorts made of thin fabric. Her brown, wavy hair fell loose over her shoulders. She hadn’t made any special effort to get dressed up, and that seemed more honest to me than anything else she could have done. Her nipples showed through the shirt, dark and hard, with no bra beneath it.

“You took your time,” she said.

“I stopped for coffee.”

“Want another one?”

“No.”

Neither of us moved for several seconds. Afternoon light entered obliquely through the living-room window and reached the hallway in a golden strip that crossed her bare feet.

“This is a bad idea,” she said without looking away.

“I know.”

“Silvia would never forgive us.”

“I know.”

Another silence. Laura uncrossed her arms and let them fall at her sides.

“You’ve been going around in my head all summer,” she said at last, with a calm that unsettled me. “Since the pool. I haven’t been able to get you out.”

“I feel the same way.”

“I’ve been touching myself thinking about you for weeks,” she added, saying it in the same tone she had used to offer me coffee. “Almost every night. I need you to know that before we start, because afterward I won’t feel like explaining it.”

My mouth went dry. She nodded once, as if that settled the discussion. Then she took a step toward me.

***

The first kiss was awkward. We were both moving too fast, collided head-on, and laughed at the same time with that nervous laughter that breaks the tension and restarts it all at once. Then we tried again, more slowly, and that was something else. I shoved my whole tongue into her mouth and she sucked it hungrily, biting my lip and gripping the back of my neck so I wouldn’t pull away. I put a hand on her ass beneath her shorts and discovered she wasn’t wearing panties either. The skin of her buttocks was hot and firm, and when I squeezed one between my fingers, she moaned into my mouth.

“You’re naked underneath,” I murmured.

“I’ve been like this since you sent the message.”

I slid my hand around to the front, pushed my fingers between her thighs, and found her pussy soaked, the slippery flesh, her clitoris already swollen beneath my fingertip. She opened her legs an inch to give me room, rested her forehead against my shoulder, and held her breath when I drove two fingers into her at once.

“Fuck, Marcos.”

“You’re dripping.”

“I already told you. I’ve been like this for weeks.”

Laura knew what she was doing. Not with the urgency of someone who had been waiting too long, but with the concentration of someone who wanted everything to happen at its proper moment. She led me to the bedroom by the hand, unhurriedly, as if we had all the time in the world, even though we both knew the weekend was what it was.

The room smelled of her perfume and the wood of the old furniture. The blinds were halfway down, and the light coming through was soft and warm.

She took off her shirt without any dramatic gesture, looking straight at me. Her body was slim and firm, with small, separated breasts, dark, erect nipples, and a small scar beneath her left collarbone whose origin I didn’t know. I stepped closer and touched it with one finger without asking.

“Fell off my bike,” she said. “I was eight.”

I laughed. So did she. Then she yanked down her shorts and stood naked in front of me, without covering herself, letting me look. Her pubic hair was short, trimmed into a narrow line, and below it I could see her lips glistening with wetness.

“Now you,” she said.

I undressed without looking away. When I pulled down my underwear and my cock sprang hard against my stomach, she bit her lip and took two steps forward, knelt in front of me on the rug, and took it in her hand without ceremony.

“You’ve got a thick one,” she said, as if commenting on the weather.

“Laura.”

“Shut up.”

And she took it deep into her mouth. She didn’t lick it timidly or test it with the tip of her tongue: she swallowed it whole in one go, closing her lips around the base and making a wet, deep sound in her throat when the head touched her palate. She pulled my cock out, shining with saliva, licked underneath from base to tip, took my balls into her mouth one by one, and swallowed me again.

I grabbed her hair with both hands and let her do it. She moved up and down at a steady rhythm, sucking hard, her cheeks hollowing each time she pulled back, looking up at me with wet eyes. When I felt I was getting too close, I tugged her hair to pull her away.

“Stop. I’m going to come.”

“So what?” she said, my cock still in her hand and a strand of saliva hanging from her chin. “Come in my mouth. Then fuck me.”

“I’d rather fuck you first.”

She smiled, stood up slowly, and walked toward the bed without taking her eyes off me. She lay on her back, spread her legs, and ran two fingers over her pussy to show me how shiny and open it was.

“Come here.”

I lay between her legs and lowered my mouth straight to her pussy. It was hot, salty, swollen. I licked her clitoris slowly at first, in circles, feeling her thighs tense on either side of my head. Then I pushed my whole tongue inside her, moved it, brought it back up to her clitoris, and pushed two fingers into her at the same time, curling them upward and searching for her spot inside.

Laura began moaning uncontrollably. She grabbed her tits with both hands, squeezed her nipples, arched her back, and moved her hips against my face. I pressed my tongue against her clitoris and sped up my fingers, and in less than a minute I felt her pussy clamp down around them, the inner flesh pulsing in spasms as she let out a muffled cry, biting her arm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

I kept licking her while she came, until she pushed my head away because she couldn’t take any more. My face was drenched in her juices.

“Now fuck me,” she said, still breathless. “Hard. Don’t be gentle with me.”

I climbed on top of her, gripped my cock, and rubbed it over the lips of her pussy, coating it. Then I pushed in all at once, burying it to the hilt, and she let out her breath in a rush as if I’d punched her in the stomach.

“Like that,” she gasped. “Like that, fuck.”

I began to move, slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the base, feeling her pussy open around me with every thrust. She hooked her legs around my waist and dug her heels into my ass to make me go deeper. I grabbed one of her tits, put her nipple in my mouth, and sucked it hard while I sped up my hips.

“Faster.”

I fucked her faster. The wet sound of her pussy sucking my cock filled the room, and the sheets shifted beneath us with every thrust.

“Turn over,” I told her.

I pulled out, and Laura got on all fours without protesting, arching her back and offering me her ass. I gripped her hips with both hands and drove into her again with a single thrust. From behind, I could see everything: the lips of her pussy stretched around my cock, her tight asshole just above them, her firm ass moving against me with every stroke.

I fucked her like that for quite a while. I slapped one cheek, and she moaned and pushed her ass back, asking for another. I gave her another, harder. Her skin turned red.

“Marcos, touch my clit.”

I reached underneath her, found her swollen clitoris, and began rubbing it with two fingers while I kept thrusting from behind. Laura collapsed onto her elbows, her face buried in the pillow, and came for the second time, shaking all over and squeezing my cock inside her with contractions so strong they nearly knocked me over.

“I’m going to come too,” I warned her.

“Not inside. On my tits.”

She turned over quickly, sat against the headboard, and grabbed her tits, pressing them together. I knelt over her, jerked myself off two or three times, and released my semen in streams over her chest, between her breasts, reaching up to her neck and chin. She closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue to catch a drop that had landed on her lip.

I remained kneeling for a moment, breathless, looking at her. She ran a finger over her neck, gathered some semen, and slowly put it in her mouth without taking her eyes off me.

“Thank God you came,” she said.

We collapsed onto the bed beside each other, sweating. There was a moment, near the end, when she looked into my eyes with an intensity that made me look away. Not because it made me uncomfortable, but because it was too real for what this was supposed to be.

When we were finished, we lay in silence for a while. The light had changed on the other side of the blinds; it was already late.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked at last.

“Nothing in particular.”

Lie, of course. I was thinking about many things. About Silvia, sitting in her parents’ dining room, eating her mother’s stew and telling them about Barcelona. About Óscar, in some hotel in Bilbao or wherever, eating dinner alone in front of his laptop. About how easy it had been to get here and how hard it was going to be not to come back.

“Marcos,” Laura said, turning toward me. “This can’t become a regular thing.”

“I know.”

“I’m not saying it because of me. I’m saying it because we both have lives we haven’t wanted to destroy yet.”

I looked at her. She was right, and she said it without cruelty, simply as a fact.

“You’re right,” I replied.

She nodded and turned away, searching for her shirt among the tangled sheets.

***

I had dinner with her in the kitchen: pasta and red wine, the two of us silent most of the time, with that strange comfort that sometimes appears between people who have just shared something they shouldn’t have shared and yet don’t entirely regret. She had put on only the gray shirt from before, with nothing underneath, and every time she stretched to reach for the bottle, it lifted just enough to reveal the line of her pubic hair.

“What time do you have to leave tomorrow?” she asked.

“Before noon. Silvia gets back in the afternoon.”

“All right.”

I washed the dishes while she played music softly from her phone. Some old jazz I didn’t recognize. When I finished, she came up behind me, reached around the front of my pants, and grabbed me through the fabric, squeezing slowly until I got hard again.

“There’s still a whole night ahead,” she murmured against my back.

I turned around, sat her on the kitchen counter, spread her legs, and pulled her shirt over her head. I sucked her tits one after the other, biting her nipples just enough to make her gasp each time. She pulled my pants down to my knees, took out my cock, and put it between her legs herself, guiding it toward her pussy, which was already wet again.

I fucked her on the kitchen’s marble counter, my hands gripping her hips, her arms around my neck and her legs crossed behind my back. The stool shifted sideways with every thrust. The dishes I had just washed clinked in the drainer. She bit my shoulder to keep from screaming, and I whispered filthy things in her ear, things I had never said to Silvia in six years.

“Your brother-in-law fucks you so well, huh?”

“Yes… yes… more.”

“Tell me you like it better than your husband.”

“I like it better. I like it better, fuck.”

I came inside her this time, all the way in, holding her against the counter until I stopped trembling. We stayed like that for a while, pressed together and breathing hard, listening as my semen began to run down the inside of her thigh.

Then we sat on the sofa and stayed there until after midnight, without talking much, neither of us making any move to get up.

I slept in her bed. I fucked her again in the middle of the night, half-asleep, with her face down and me on top, without saying anything, our movements slow and heavy, like people who weren’t entirely awake anymore. Then I slept deeply, without dreams.

***

Sunday morning dawned with low fog. I made coffee while Laura was still asleep and drank it alone in front of the kitchen window, looking at the wet rooftops. I thought about sending Silvia a message, asking how she was. I didn’t.

Laura appeared in the kitchen with her hair tousled and her eyes half-closed, took the cup I’d left ready for her, and sat on the stool without saying anything. She wore only a pair of black panties and sat with her legs spread without the slightest embarrassment, as if by then there was no point in hiding anything.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked.

“Yes. And you?”

“Me too.”

A comfortable silence. Outside, the fog was beginning to lift. She set her cup aside, came closer, pulled down my pajama pants, and put my cock in her mouth right there in the kitchen, kneeling on the cold tiles. She sucked me slowly this time, unhurriedly, like a farewell. I came in her mouth, and she swallowed everything while looking at me, never looking away even once.

I gathered my things slowly, without drama. Laura walked me to the door. On the threshold, she looked at me with the same difficult-to-decipher expression she’d had when I arrived.

“Take care,” she said.

“You too.”

We didn’t kiss. Neither of us made a move to. I went down the stairs, stepped out onto the street, its cobblestones still wet, and got on my motorcycle.

The road back to Barcelona was the same one I’d taken there, but it felt different. Longer, perhaps. Or shorter. I couldn’t quite tell which.

Silvia called when I was about to enter the city.

“I’ll be there in two hours,” she said. “How was your weekend?”

“Quiet,” I replied. “Nothing to report.”

“Good. I had a lovely time with my parents. They send their regards.”

“Give them mine.”

I hung up and parked the motorcycle in the garage. I went upstairs, left my backpack in the bedroom, and sat on the sofa for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

Two hours.

I got up, opened the window to let in some air, and began preparing dinner.