Tonight I Seduce My Best Friend’s Husband

I saw his face when he opened the door, and the words vanished from it.

—Lucía? What are you doing here? I thought…

—Can I come in?

He hesitated for a second before answering. It was clear he was trying to pull himself together after finding me standing on his landing at that hour, three months after the last conversation we’d had.

—Uh… yeah, of course. Come in.

He stepped aside and I went straight into the living room. I let myself drop onto one of the sofas as if the house still belonged to me, at least a little. Diego followed me, uncomfortable in his own flat.

—Have you got something to drink?

—What do you feel like? A beer?

—Something stronger. And pour yourself one too, you’re going to need it.

—Lucía, you’re scaring me.

—Do what I tell you. I’ve come to ask you a favor, and you’re not going to like it.

Diego froze halfway to the bar cabinet, looking at me with an unreadable expression. After a couple of seconds he poured two short whiskeys and brought mine over. He sat on the sofa opposite mine and set his on the table between us, without touching it.

—All right. What favor? What’s all the mystery for?

I watched him in silence while I lit a cigarette, after asking him permission with a gesture. Diego took an ashtray from the lower shelf of the table and placed it within reach. I stared at it as if it were a roulette table. I was about to bet everything on a single number.

He shifted in his seat, uneasy under my scrutiny. At last I decided.

—How well do you know Rodrigo?

The question threw him off. His eyes went wide.

—What do you mean? Lucía, for fuck’s sake, get to the point, you’re making me nervous.

—Answer me, please. It’s important.

—All right —he said, running a hand through his brown hair—. Well… I don’t know. You know. We’ve all gone out together a few times so we could…

—I’m talking outside that. At work and outside work.

—Well, we’re colleagues at the company, though not in the same department. I joined a couple of years after him, and we became friends through the annual tennis tournament. Outside that, the usual. Beers after work. The odd match. Not much more.

—Does the company Aquanova Construcciones ring a bell?

His bafflement was genuine. Diego was too transparent to lie without showing it.

—Wait —he said, standing up—. Are you here as the police? I thought you were…

—Relax. I’m not here as the police. Unless you’ve got a bomb hidden somewhere —my joke didn’t amuse him at all—. I’m here as Marina’s friend.

The mere mention of Marina changed his face. I hadn’t made the wrong bet.

—What’s wrong with her? Is she okay? Did something happen?

I almost laughed, but the subject was too serious.

—Nothing happened. Yet. But it will happen soon, and I need to do everything I can to keep it from splashing back on her as little as possible. Does the company ring a bell, yes or no?

Diego sat back down, nerves tightening his jaw.

—No. It means nothing to me. What does it have to do with Marina?

—A few days ago a colleague from the prosecutor’s office came to see me. He knows I know Rodrigo, and he told me what’s coming. He’s handling a case of influence peddling and irregular contracting in canalization works for several new housing developments. Aquanova Construcciones, a sole proprietorship owned by Rodrigo, got the contracts in a clearly illegal way.

—No fucking way —Diego leaned forward—. But Rodrigo’s swimming in cash and…

—They found that the money used to capitalize the company came from a second mortgage on the house Marina and he have on the coast. He forged her signature.

—Are you sure?

—Absolutely. If Marina knew, she would have told me. I have the slightest doubt.

—What a son of a bitch.

—That’s not all.

—Does he also have a chain of nightclubs? —he tried to joke, without conviction.

—Not exactly. Though he’d be the only customer. The surveillance operation authorized by the judge has also revealed, incidentally, that Rodrigo sees a couple of lovers. And that he’s not above anyone who happens to be within reach.

I watched him closely. There was an involuntary flicker in his eyes that I couldn’t miss.

—You’re not surprised.

—I am… well. I mean, not entirely. But…

—Can you make that clear for me?

Diego cleared his throat, sorting his words before letting them out.

—I am surprised, yes. But not completely. It fits his… charming character.

—Yeah. Snake-like.

—You don’t like him, huh?

—No —I put all my honesty into that one syllable—. I never liked him. But until today I’d always had my hands tied.

Diego gave me a look halfway between surprise and doubt.

—So you didn’t know about his affairs either.

—I had no proof. I knew he was the type to flirt with the waitress, with the neighbor, with his best friend’s sister. But I never imagined he’d take it that far. I mean… why would he do all that when he had a woman like Marina at home? You have to be…

The sentence broke off because I saw Diego clench his jaw. There it was. The confirmation I needed.

—Well, I mean… —he hurried to clarify something that didn’t need clarifying.

—Yes, fine. I know what you mean.

Diego arched an eyebrow, blushed, and picked up his glass to bring it to his mouth. He didn’t get to drink. An idea had gone off like a lightbulb in his head.

—Is that the favor you came to ask me for?

—Which one? —now I was the surprised one.

He looked like a man who thinks he’s solved a riddle.

—You know. That I get close to him to squeeze information out of him and then…

I burst out laughing, almost knocking over the ashtray. Diego was left looking half thrown off, half offended.

—No, sweetheart. No —I rushed to say before the offended half gained ground—. I’m not trying to turn this into a spy movie.

—Then what?

It took a while, two cigarettes, and another drink to lay out the plan for him. Yes, I’m a bitch. But I know the four of them as well as the devil knows hell. The confirmation came with the jump Diego gave in his seat. This time he did take a proper swallow.

—But that’s madness! —he declared, getting to his feet.

—I know.

Diego started pacing around the sofas, stopping every so often to look at me the way a psychiatrist looks at a patient who’s about to jump out a window.

—It’s insane. But why all this theater? Why not talk to her and tell her what you know?

—It’s not that easy. Marina is brilliant, very determined. But when she falls in love… she can’t see beyond it. It’s as if she blindfolds herself and plugs her ears. She doesn’t want to see the ugliness of the world, especially if that ugliness lives in her own house.

—Right.

—I don’t know what Rodrigo has, I swear I don’t. But he has her completely tied up. On top of that, she has him on a fucking pedestal.

—When all this blows up and the legal and financial trouble starts, he’ll convince her he needs her more than ever. And Marina won’t be able to leave him to his fate. I know her.

—Would she forgive him the cheating too? —he asked, incredulous. There was a shadow of bitterness in his voice he couldn’t hide—. If she loves him as much as you say, that’s going to break her, right?

—Normally, yes. But when it comes to Marina, normal doesn’t apply. She has too big a heart, and in this case that works against her. Somehow, between apologies, tears, and some of his con-man tricks, he’s going to turn the tables and Marina will end up apologizing to him for his own horns.

I pictured the scene and my chest filled with something like sadness. A number of failed attempts to make Marina see the light came rushing back to me, along with the tensions I’d had to swallow afterward so things would settle back into place. In any conversation that included her husband, I and my opinion came second, so far behind first place that we were almost irrelevant.

Diego made a couple more laps, chewing over the idea.

—And what’s going to change when she finds out you slept with that… with Rodrigo?

—I’ve seen it many times. Too many. Rodrigo does something wrong, puts on his deeply repentant naughty-boy face, and that’s enough to trigger Marina’s sick savior complex.

—Messiah complex?

—No. Martyr syndrome. She’s dumber than a crucified saint. Stabbed, spat on, nailed to a wooden beam, and instead of telling his father and the whole heavenly choir to fuck off, what does the bastard do? He forgives them. With two balls.

—Well, Marina’s pretty much the same.

—So then? —he asked, worried.

—Then, if she doesn’t react to her best friend fucking her husband…

I let the sentence drop like a stone. Diego waited for a finish that wasn’t there. I improvised one anyway.

—I’ll crucify her myself. And then I’ll hand myself in at the nearest police station —I sighed—. If this doesn’t make her react, Diego, I don’t know what else to do. But she will react, because she won’t be able to look the other way. The betrayal is too big.

We sat in silence for a while. Diego topped up the glasses. I lit another cigarette and smoked it slowly, staring at a damp stain on the ceiling.

—Why me? —he broke the quiet.

I got up and sat beside him on the sofa where he’d slumped back down.

—Do you know why we broke up? —I asked, looking him in the eyes.

—Yeah. You made that very clear to me. We weren’t compatible. You wanted someone…

—Did you really believe all that bullshit I fed you? Come on, Diego. I may be a bastard, but I’m not stupid. And neither are you.

Diego looked at me, confused. I knew it. He knew it. There was no time for detours.

—Diego, we broke up because you’re in love with Marina.

I waited for several possible reactions. Flat denial. An operatic scene. But no. Diego simply smiled sadly.

—Is it that obvious?

I put a hand on his shoulder. I felt the warmth of his skin under the shirt, his uneven breathing. For a second I wondered what kind of couple we would have been if he’d really been in that relationship, and not halfway in, always stepping on someone else’s shadow. Suddenly I remembered one particular night, with him on top of me, moving slowly, and how I’d closed my eyes and focused on his breathing so I wouldn’t think that maybe, inside, he was making love to someone else in his head. Now that torment made sense, and my mouth even filled with a bitter taste that wasn’t the whiskey.

—Yes, sweetheart. Yes. That’s why you have to be the one there. Marina’s going to need someone who loves her the right way. She’s going to be able to forgive Rodrigo a lot of things, but not this. This is going to burn down every boat and every bridge he has to crawl back and charm his way into her head.

—But you…

I shrugged resignedly.

—I’d do anything for her happiness. I know it’s going to hurt her. I know I’m going to destroy her. But in the long run it’s a necessary pain to save her from a worse one.

—I know I’m not the one to make this decision. But still, I made it.

—Those of us who work with explosives know that sometimes, to do our duty, we have no choice but to go up with the bomb when disarming it isn’t possible and lives are at stake. It’s not in any manual. No superior tells you that out loud. We just accept it as part of the job.

—It happens rarely. But it happens.

Diego looked at me for a long time, weighing whether I was sane or not.

—Please, Diego. Help me.

He thought about it. Thought about it again. And before smoke started coming out of his head, he nodded.

—When it’s all done, give her this —I said, standing up and taking a sealed envelope out of my bag—. When the first few days have passed, when she’s ready to listen.

Diego took the envelope and looked at me with a question drawn on his face.

—You can open it. It’s a letter. She likes letters.

He broke the seal and read the first line over. “Dear Marina,”

—In there I explain everything you already know. And a few things more.

—Why don’t you give it to her yourself? Surely when she finds out…

I brushed a hand over his face. I felt the roughness of his stubble. My eyes were starting to cloud over. I shook my head.

—She’s not going to want anything to do with me —I answered, holding back tears—. Look after her, okay?

Another silence fell between us, this one much denser and more final. With one last look at my face, Diego nodded.

—I promise.

***

I met Rodrigo the next day. Some random excuse: a professional favor, advice on a delicate matter. I suggested we do it in private, at a hotel near the port. I dropped the choice on him as if absentmindedly, and he accepted it with a smile that confirmed everything the surveillance operation had uncovered. It cost me nothing. Before I’d even finished the sentence, he was already imagining something else.

I chose my clothes carefully. Not for me. For him. A short black dress, no bra underneath, suspenders and stockings I had no intention of wearing again, and lace panties I knew perfectly well would stay on him for less time than one of his promises. I looked at myself in the hotel elevator mirror and didn’t recognize myself. What I did recognize was the choreography. The work uniform of another Lucía, one who was about to step out of the elevator and do what had to be done.

When he opened the room door, his belt was half undone and two drinks were waiting on the side table. I didn’t need to act. I just let him come close and lean me against the door. I let him kiss my neck, lift my skirt, and slide a hot hand between my thighs as if he’d been waiting years for that moment. I let him do everything, without moving a muscle more than necessary. My body handled the formalities. My head was somewhere else, calculating how long it would take Marina to shatter into a thousand pieces the photo she had on the living room sideboard, the one where the two of us were hugging on a beach, a decade ago, when neither of us knew yet what life had in store for us.

Rodrigo kicked the door shut behind me with a weak push and squeezed my tits over the dress with both hands, kneading like he was checking merchandise. He lowered his mouth to my neck, bit, sucked, and whispered against my skin:

—You bitch. I knew one day you’d come. I knew it.

—Shut up and do it —I answered, without looking at him.

He laughed, a short, dirty laugh, and yanked the straps of my dress down in one pull to expose my tits. He bent and sucked one nipple, then the other, biting them until a complaint slipped out of me that he interpreted however he wanted. I let him believe whatever the fuck he liked. While he was sucking my tits, one hand was groping my cunt over my panties, pressing the fabric against my lips, rubbing my clit with his thumb in a crude, hurried way, with no intention whatsoever of pleasing me.

—You’re wet, slut. You’re soaked. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about this.

I was wet, yes. I hated my body for it. I hated that biology had no principles. I closed my eyes and let him slide his hand inside my panties. Two fingers went into my cunt at once and tore an involuntary gasp out of me. He started moving them inside with that impatience men have when they’ve never learned how to fuck a woman slowly, when they’re always rushing toward the end even though the end leads nowhere.

—Get on your knees —he ordered, pulling his fingers out of me and bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean.

I knelt. The hotel carpet scraped my knees through the stockings. He unzipped his fly, took out his already hard cock, and held it in front of my face. It was thick, short, with visible veins and a red, wet head. The typical cock of a man who thinks he’s blessed by it. He brought it to my lips and waited.

—Open that whore mouth for me, Lucía. Show me why Marina loves you so much.

Bringing up Marina at that exact moment was the only thing that made me hesitate. One second. Just one. Then I opened my mouth and he shoved his cock all the way down my throat without another warning. I gagged. My eyes watered. He grabbed my hair with both hands and started fucking my mouth at his own pace,不给ing me a break, driving my head harder and harder against his pelvis each time.

—Swallow it. Swallow it all. That’s it, fuck. That’s it, you bitch. Just the way I know you like it.

Saliva ran down my chin and dripped onto my tits. I let him do it. I closed my eyes and let him use my mouth like it was just another cunt. Every time his cock sank down my throat I thought about the forged signature, the mortgage on Marina’s house, the photo on the sideboard. Every gag was one more piece of evidence. Every yank of my hair, another nail in the coffin of my friendship.

When he felt he was about to come, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and slapped my face with it, once, then again, leaving trails of saliva and pre-cum on my cheek.

—Not yet, pretty thing. Not yet. Stand up.

He pulled me up himself by the arm and dragged me to the bed. He threw me onto my back with a shove, ripped my panties off with one swipe —I heard the lace seam tear— and forced my legs open. He paused a second to look at my shaved, shining cunt with that greedy look I’d seen him hide many times at the four-person dinners when he thought no one was watching him.

—Fuck, Lucía. Fuck. What a sweet cunt. Marina has no idea what she’s missing.

He bent down and buried his face between my thighs. He licked my cunt from top to bottom, nibbling my lips, pushing his tongue inside, tugging at my clit with his teeth with more rage than technique. I grabbed his head and pressed his mouth harder against me, more to get through that part than for anything else. My body responded despite me. I started moving over his tongue, squeezing his face between my thighs, feeling pleasure rise through me like a double betrayal. Hating someone and coming in his mouth at the same time is an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And yet I came. I came with a long spasm, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream, gripping the hotel sheets with my fists as if I wanted to rip them apart.

Rodrigo lifted his head, his chin wet with my release, and smiled.

—I knew it. You slut. You’re a real fucking slut.

—Shut up. Fuck me already.

He climbed on top of me, grabbed his cock, and rubbed it against the entrance of my cunt, soaking it in me. He thrust into me in one stroke, all the way to the hilt, with no tenderness at all. A short, hoarse cry escaped me. He started fucking me with a brutal rhythm, pressing my hands against my tits, squeezing them hard enough to hurt, shoving the bed against the wall with every thrust.

—Do you like it? Do you like the way I fuck you? Say it. Tell me you like it.

—Yes —I answered flatly, thinking of the letter inside the envelope.

—Louder. Tell me you like it more than your boyfriend’s. Tell me you like it more than anyone’s.

—I like it. I like it, Rodrigo. Fuck me harder.

He swallowed it whole. Men like Rodrigo believe anything you tell them with a cock inside you. He pulled out, turned me over, put me on all fours on the bed, and drove back into me from behind in one violent shove. He grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and started pounding me with all the pent-up anger he had, slapping my ass with his free hand.

—That’s it. That’s it, you bitch. That’s it. Let Marina know how I fuck you. Let her know.

I pressed my face into the sheets, eyes shut, counting the thrusts like someone counting seconds in a countdown. He sucked his thumb and shoved it into my ass while he kept fucking my cunt, laughing with that owner’s laugh certain men get when they have a woman in a position they consider defeated. A dull ache spread into my belly. I endured it. I endured everything.

—I’m going to come —he announced, growling, without stopping his thrusts—. I’m going to come inside. I’m going to fill you up, pretty thing.

—Outside —I cut in, with whatever firmness I had left—. On me. On my tits.

He considered it for a second. He couldn’t be bothered. But in the end he pulled out, turned me back over onto my back, straddled me, grabbed his cock, and jerked himself off quickly over my breasts. He came with a roar, in two or three thick spurts that landed between my tits, down my neck, one brushing my chin. He stayed there a few seconds, panting over me, his cock still dripping onto my skin, looking at me with a satisfied smile that confirmed what a son of a bitch he was.

—Fuck, Lucía. Fuck. This can’t end here.

—No. It’s not going to end here —I answered.

But I wasn’t talking about another afternoon in another hotel, and he, stupid bastard that he was, didn’t understand. He collapsed beside me on the mattress, lit a cigarette from mine, and started boasting about what he was going to do to me next time. I turned my face to the ceiling, with his cum cooling on my chest, and went back to the sideboard photo. Marina and I hugging on a beach. A decade ago. Neither of us knew yet what life had in store for us. I, now, did know. And even so, I didn’t get out of that bed until there was enough evidence that it had happened. Every minute I stayed there, with him badmouthing his wife, was one more minute in which Marina was getting closer to freedom without knowing it.