What Happened in the Cove with My Coworker

We drove almost an hour along a dirt track to get away from the hotel where the company had us locked up all weekend. Adrián swore he knew of a cove nobody ever went down to, and for once I decided to believe him. We were nothing more than two coworkers who had drunk too much wine the night before and said things that, the next morning, neither of us dared repeat.

Before getting into the water, I took off my ring and slipped it into the inside pocket of my bag. I didn’t want any souvenir photo to give me away, or for him to start getting ideas that were none of his business. At home, two hundred kilometers away, my husband thought I was at a sales seminar. And, in a way, I was.

The sea had that midday stillness where the water looks like oil. I swam alone for a good while, letting myself float on my back with my thoughts, until the silence began to weigh on me more than the heat. Then I signaled to him with my finger to come over.

The sun glinted on his skin as he walked toward the shore. He was carrying a half-erection that the salt water took care of disguising as soon as he submerged himself up to his neck.

—Welcome to my beach —I said, slyly, while he shivered a little as he got in.

—Do you think anyone saw us? —he asked, looking toward the two umbrellas that could just be made out in the distance.

—Who? I doubt those people’s beach gear includes binoculars —I laughed.

—Yeah, well. —The growl slipped out of his mouth just as he realized I was treating him like a little kid.

—What does it matter? —I said, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my chest against his back—. Nobody here knows us.

He turned around without breaking the ring of my arms and rested his hands on my hips. The shyness with which he held me bore no resemblance to the man who, at the office, signed off on six-figure decisions without blinking.

—What does your tongue taste like? —he asked with almost innocent curiosity.

—What do you think? —I shot back, pretending to be annoyed by the question after what I had just done to him a few meters away.

—Sorry —he replied, blushing like a schoolboy.

—You taste like me. Try it, if you want —I offered, letting the tip of my tongue peek between my lips so he could catch it with his.

I took advantage of how close he was to devour him. Our tongues tangled in a struggle to see who could go farther. He grabbed my hair with both hands without stopping kissing me, and I gave a small jump to wrap my legs around him and press my pelvis against his abdomen. He bit my lip, maybe a little harder than he should have, judging by the heat that immediately rushed to my face.

I like him better like this, when he dares.

Taking advantage of the position, I let myself fall backward, stretching my arms out in a cross and closing my eyes. My chest and my face were the only things showing above the surface. He caressed my stomach, my navel and my pubis, walking his fingers along an invisible path.

—You know your breasts are almost exactly as I imagined them? —he said, breaking the silence.

—And when, exactly, had you imagined them? —I answered, smiling without opening my eyes.

—Oh, come on! What do you think we talk about at the office gossip circles? Reports?

—Yeah, sure —I said, thinking maybe the question should have been rhetorical—. After all, that’s the only thing you think about from the moment you learn to walk until they bury you. I’m not surprised.

—Look at it this way. I’m sure you’ve been the inspiration for more than one of those boring afternoons. Or at least mine.

—Are you serious? —I said, this time genuinely surprised.

—If only you knew how many times I imagined us getting locked in the archive all night... And all without leaving my house.

—I’m flattered that I served as your muse. Too bad you were so accurate; you ruined the element of surprise for me.

—Well, not completely —he replied, sliding his hands down my abdomen until he gently closed them over my breasts and stole a moan from me that I disguised with a smile—. In your head, you can never get anything right that has to do with touch.

The moment weighed more than the water temperature. Between his legs, an erection grew again that he couldn’t help brushing against the small of my back.

—I can already tell that, with touch, you like what you see too —I said, smugly.

He took me by the feet, untied the knot trapping him, and, lifting them up, managed to swing my legs over his shoulders. His hands swam beneath my body and supported my back to bring me up, lifting me halfway out of the water. He pressed his legs against my buttocks and leaned in to kiss my neck. He sought out the hollow of my clavicle with his tongue and left a bite there, careful not to mark me; the last thing I needed was to get home with explanations pending.

He traced my sternum with his nose and his mouth drifted down the cleavage until it found what it was looking for. His lips closed over one of my nipples, bristling from the contrast between cold and heat. He played with it for a while, trapping it between his teeth and drawing the areola’s circle with his saliva.

—Taste-wise, they’re not bad at all either. You should try them —he said against my skin, bringing one close to my face so my own tongue would twine with his over it.

—I prefer your taste —I replied, pressing his head against me, wanting him to finish devouring me.

I sank all the way under to stand up, and, holding him with my excitement, I tugged on him to make him come out of the water with me. I led him by the hand like someone taking a well-behaved dog, and he seemed to like it more than he was willing to admit.

***

Under our umbrellas, the sand burned. I ordered him to lie faceup on his towel and he stayed still, waiting, with that mixture of impatience and respect I love provoking. I sat astride his thighs without letting him touch me. I wanted him to understand, once and for all, who decided the pace of things there.

—Hands still —I warned when he tried to slide them up my sides—. Nobody touches today until I say so.

He swallowed and let his arms fall to his sides. Watching him obey, him, who in the boardroom couldn’t endure silence without filling it, lit me up more than any caress. I leaned down slowly and ran the tip of my tongue over his chest, deliberately avoiding the place he needed most. Every time his hips sought mine, I moved back a centimeter, leaving him halfway between pleasure and pleading.

—Please —he finally said, his voice hoarse.

—Please what? —I asked, stopping right where his breathing turned ragged—. Learn how to ask for things.

And then, when he had no pride left to defend, I let myself drop onto him. I took him in fully, slowly, marking out every centimeter myself, watching how he clenched his jaw to keep from finishing too soon. I put my hands on his chest and started moving with the deliberate slowness of someone who knows she has all the time in the world and all the power in the situation.

The sun beat on our backs, the murmur of the waves drowned out my gasps, and salt mixed with sweat in every fold of skin. I dug my nails in when I sped up, and he moaned my name as if it were the only thing he remembered how to say. I held him at the edge as long as I wanted, stopping, starting again, until the accumulated frustration showed in every muscle of his neck.

—Don’t move —I whispered—. I’ll finish.

And I did. I let myself be carried against him until pleasure ran through me whole and slipped out in a shiver I disguised by biting my lip. Only when I was sure of my own end did I let his find it, holding his hips so he wouldn’t move a millimeter from where I wanted him.

***

Afterward we stayed silent for a while, catching our breath in the shade. He had that silly smile of someone who thinks something has just begun. I sat up, gathered my bag, and before anything else, put my ring back on. I did it slowly, on purpose, so he would watch me do it.

—On Monday, when you pass me in the hallway —I said, brushing the sand off my legs—, you’re going to greet me as if none of this ever happened. And you’re going to do it properly.

—And if I don’t want to pretend? —he asked, still lying there, looking up at me.

—Then it’s going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me. —I slung my bag over my shoulder and held his gaze—. This was mine, not yours. You were only lucky enough for me to choose you.

I left him there, stretched out on the towel, his gaze lost in the sea and the uncomfortable certainty that he would never again take the reins of anything with me. I went back up the dirt track alone, dried my hair with the window down, and, while I drove back to the hotel, I surprised myself by whistling.

On Monday, sure enough, he greeted me in the hallway with a flawless “good morning” and a slightly trembling voice. I smiled at him like any other coworker. No one in that office ever knew that, in a nameless cove, he had learned what it was to beg.