What Nobody Knew About That Halloween Night

Valeria arrived at the department in September, transferred from another branch. Dark-haired, short, with wide hips and a smile you could spot from the other end of the office. She was the kind of person who filled a space without meaning to, and we men knew it from day one.

I became obsessed with her feet almost immediately. She came in wearing sandals in summer, boots in winter, always perfectly cared for. She posted videos on Instagram dancing in contemporary class, in fishnets or sneakers, and I found myself staring longer than I should have.

At first we barely spoke. She was outgoing with everyone but truly selective, and I still wasn’t in that circle. What changed was discovering that we listened to the same kind of metal. One day they put music on in the break room and I changed the song. She looked up and said, “I saw that band live last year.” From then on, we started seeking each other out.

The problem was that someone always showed up. Every time we were alone in the kitchen or the boardroom, a coworker came by to cut the moment short. And I already knew Valeria was married, even if she didn’t look it: she let the men she liked get close, talked freely, laughed loudly. She almost never wore her ring to work.

***

The first time we were truly alone was on a trip to Monterrey for a certification course. We went in my car. On the road we talked about things you don’t discuss at the office: her family, her university years, how she’d gotten married at twenty-two because that was what was expected at the time. I listened and thought that woman was more complicated than she seemed.

On the way back we stopped for dinner at a roadside place. We shared a platter of snacks and cheap wine. At one point I took a bite and brought it to her mouth; she did the same with me.

“You’ve got sauce at the corner of your mouth,” I said.

“Which?” she replied, searching for it with her finger.

“This one.” I leaned in and kissed the corner of her lips. Not her mouth. Almost.

She froze for a second and then let out a nervous laugh. Ten minutes later, back in the car, she kissed me. Without warning, leaning over from the passenger seat. It was a long kiss, with pressure, with intent. Her tongue pushed just between my lips, testing, demanding, and I gripped the steering wheel with one hand so I wouldn’t swerve. Her phone rang and she pulled away, breathing fast, her mouth wet and her eyes blazing.

The rest of the trip was silent, but in a different kind of heavy silence. I couldn’t stop thinking about her hand squeezing my thigh, the way she’d looked at me when she pulled away. When I dropped her off in front of her building, she stayed in the car for a moment before getting out.

“I had a really good time,” she said at last.

“Me too,” I answered.

She kissed me again, slower this time, her hand on my shoulder and her fingers sinking just slightly into the fabric of my shirt. She parted her lips a little, brushed my lower lip with her tongue, and let out a hot breath against my face. Then she opened the door and got out without looking back at me.

“Nobody can know about this,” she said from outside before closing it.

“Trust me,” I told her.

***

What followed were weeks of that specific tension that only exists when two people know they’ll end up together but haven’t taken the step yet. We looked for each other at the office. If someone came by, Valeria changed the subject or simply cut them off. We kissed in the hallway by the storage room when everyone else was at their desks. Once she shoved me against the wall in the printer room and gave me a kiss that lasted all day, pushing her tongue into my mouth hungrily, pressing her hips against my crotch so I could feel exactly what she was doing to me.

A coworker told me this wasn’t the first time she’d done something like this, that he’d seen things. I didn’t ask him anything else. I knew what I was getting into and it didn’t matter to me anyway.

***

The Halloween party was organized by Valeria and Mónica from finance. They were going to hold it at Mónica’s apartment, a spacious place near downtown. At first I didn’t really feel like going, but Valeria started posting stories trying on costumes and it changed my mind completely.

The one she ended up choosing was a vampire queen outfit: a tight black-and-red dress that outlined every curve, a plunging neckline, and on her feet thin-strapped heeled sandals that left almost everything exposed. She’d painted her lips a dark red to match the costume. When I saw her arrive, it was hard not to stare.

“You look incredible,” I said, taking her by the waist.

“I know,” she replied, and kissed my cheek, leaving a trail of lipstick.

We drank. We danced for a while with the group. After several beers and a couple of rounds of mezcal, the party got louder and Valeria sat down beside me on a sofa away from the main room.

“Is Roberto coming?” I asked. Roberto was her husband.

“No, he has a meeting with some friends.”

I put her legs over my lap. Slowly I slipped the right sandal off her foot and started stroking the arch with my thumb. Her foot was warm, soft, with perfectly aligned toes and neatly painted nails. She let out a nearly imperceptible sigh and kept looking at me as if she already knew where we were going to end up.

“Hey,” she said. But she didn’t pull her foot away.

“Your feet are perfect,” I told her.

“I like taking care of myself.”

I kept stroking her foot, then her ankle, then her calf. I went up slowly, unhurried, letting my hand linger on the arch, on the sole, on the curve of the instep, feeling her skin rise in goosebumps beneath my fingers. When I reached the hem of her skirt, she breathed differently, deeper, and opened her legs a little without realizing it.

“Someone might see us,” she whispered.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

I picked up her sandals from the floor and led her toward the stairs. We found a room at the end of the hall with the door ajar and went inside.

***

I pushed her gently against the door. I kissed her slowly at first, then harder, sinking my tongue into her mouth until she answered in kind, biting my lip hungrily. I slid my hands under her skirt and rested my palms on her ass. Her breathing was quick and her body hot, trembling slightly when I lifted her a little to pull her against me. Her dress rode up and brushed her thighs, letting me feel the edge of her underwear against my fingers.

She pulled back, looked at me for a second, and dropped to her knees in front of me. She unbuttoned my pants with a calm that made me more anxious than any rush would have. When she freed me, she started kissing the tip, then worked her way down, taking her time, looking up at me from below every so often. She took my cock into her mouth slowly, pressing with her lips, wetting it with her tongue before taking more of me in, until she had me gasping and bracing one hand against the wall.

“That’s it, asshole,” she murmured, her mouth full. “You like that?”

I didn’t answer. She was pulling sounds out of me I didn’t think I could make out loud. She swallowed almost the whole length, pulled back just enough to lick the base, then went back in and left my cock shining with saliva, hot, hard, throbbing between her lips. When she felt me shaking, she smiled with that filthy face she never showed at the office.

She stood up and walked toward the bed. She lay down without taking the costume off and waited for me. Her legs open just enough to tempt me, one hand playing with the hem of her skirt, the heels still on, as if she wanted to remind me she was still the same impeccable woman from every day while inviting me to do indecent things to her.

I took off her underwear — a very small black thong — and bent down between her legs. She was hot and wet, soaked from my mouth and from the arousal she was no longer trying to hide. I parted her with my fingers and tasted her slowly, running my tongue from top to bottom, burying myself between her folds, sucking her clit patiently until I heard her breath break. Her thighs tensed on either side of my head.

“You knew what you were coming for, little fucker?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“For weeks,” I said, without taking my mouth away.

“It shows.”

I slid two fingers inside her, then another, opening her carefully, feeling how she squeezed me and sucked on my fingers as she moved against my face. My other hand went to her ass, sinking into the firm flesh, pulling her toward me so she wouldn’t slip away from my tongue. She arched her back, let out a louder moan, and buried her fingers in my hair.

I took out a condom, handed it to her, and let her put it on me. I worked her a little more with my fingers, pushing in slowly, sliding in and out, until I felt her ready, slippery, open, and trembling beneath me. Then I got on top and entered her slowly. She was tight and hot, fitting around me like a wet trap that gradually squeezed me until I let out a growl.

“One word about this and you’ll regret it,” she said, grabbing my neck with one hand and gripping my back with the other.

“Nobody’s going to know anything,” I answered.

I started moving, first short, then deeper. The sound of our bodies filled the room: skin against skin, the bed hitting the wall, her broken breathing, my own panting getting dirtier by the second. She asked for more, digging her nails into my back, pushing her hips up to take me better, and I gave it to her, driving all the way in, pulling almost completely out and plunging back in while I watched her chest rise and fall beneath the shifted dress.

I took her feet. I slipped off the remaining sandal and brought the sole of her foot to my face. They still held the warmth of the whole night, that smell mixed with leather and clean skin. I licked them from heel to toes, slipped my tongue between each one slowly, sucked on the tips of her toes and let the taste linger in my mouth. She tightened her hips and something inside her clenched around me completely.

“Just like that!” she said softly, holding back a scream. “Don’t stop.”

I picked up the pace. I held her ankle with one hand and her hip with the other. She was biting her lip so she wouldn’t cry out, with her dress bunched up and her lipstick smeared to one side of her mouth. I fucked her harder, faster, feeling how each thrust shook her body and how she returned the pressure with shameless wetness that drove me out of my mind.

“Lie down,” she ordered suddenly.

I rolled onto my back. She sat up, opened another condom — she’d brought them in her purse, she’d come prepared — and put it on me herself. She climbed on top, took her time getting settled, rubbing the tip against herself before letting me enter all the way. She braced herself on my thighs and started riding me slowly, biting her lip, moving her hips in circles to rub where she liked it most. I held her waist and helped set the pace.

She began moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that kept speeding up. I squeezed her hips, then took her breasts over the dress, pinching her hard nipples through the fabric. She tilted her head back, her neck long and her mouth half open. She dug her nails into my chest when she felt herself getting close, and I held her ass to drive her down against me harder.

“Don’t stop,” she repeated.

I watched her start shaking on top of me, her legs tense, her stomach tight, her breathing in pieces. She bit me in the neck when she came, sinking her teeth just enough to hurt me and make me lose control. I came almost at the same time, squeezing her hips against me to the hilt, emptying into the condom with a groan that came up from my throat, her name mixed with the sound of the bed and the hard knock against the wall.

She stayed still on top of me for a few seconds, catching her breath. I stroked her back in silence, sliding my hand down the line of her spine to her ass. She was still wet, hot, breathing against my neck as if she’d been taken apart and put back together by force.

***

I put her on all fours. I kissed her ass, ran my tongue over her folds, gave her a soft bite that made her tense and loosen at the same time. I put her sandals back on her — that contrast between the leather and her brown skin turned me on more than I could explain — and knelt behind her.

“Do you like my feet that much?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

“More than I should,” I admitted.

“Then kiss them.”

I kissed the sole of her foot, over the leather straps, between her toes. She lowered her head and rested her forehead on her hands, waiting. I ran my tongue over the full sole, sucked each toe, barely bit the edge of her heel, and felt her shiver with pleasure and shame at the same time.

I opened another condom. I grabbed her by the hips and entered her slowly, then sped up. I tugged her hair with one hand. With the other I slapped her ass, leaving a clean sound in the room. Her flesh bounced under my palm and she let out a hoarse moan, dirtier than before.

“More,” she said.

I gave her more. Her ass started to redden and her moans became less and less restrained. She clung to the sheet with both hands, clenched fists wrinkling it, while I fucked her from behind with firm strokes and made her arch so she could take me all the way.

“Harder,” she asked.

“Ask nicely,” I said.

“Please,” she said, and that was enough.

I grabbed her by the hair to lift her head and slid two fingers into her mouth, wet with saliva, before plunging back into her from behind. I heard her swallow air when I drove her all the way in and slapped her ass again, then again, marking her skin while I watched her tremble between pleasure and the need to keep taking it. The mattress creaked with each thrust and her nails scratched at the sheet as if she were trying to hold on to something that didn’t exist.

When I felt I couldn’t hold back any longer, I pulled her by the hair to raise her head and told her in her ear that I was close. She asked me not to come on her face, said she’d taken a long time to do her makeup. I laughed and did it anyway: I pulled out, turned her face toward me, and let it go over her cheek and lip. What landed in her mouth she caught with her tongue, without a fuss, looking at me with a crooked smile while she wiped herself with the back of her hand.

She collapsed onto her side on the bed. Her phone rang.

“We have to go back down,” she said.

“Not yet.”

“Yes. Before someone comes up looking for us.”

“Give me your sandals.”

“What?”

“As a souvenir.”

She laughed. She told me she wasn’t going downstairs barefoot, but that she’d give them to me on Monday. We got ourselves together in silence. I gave her one last kiss in the hallway before we went down separately.

“Remember what I told you,” she warned in a low voice.

“Trust me. And I want the thong too.”

“You’re such a pervert.”

“Just enough.”

Monday came with a small bag, and she slid it into my desk drawer without saying a word. The sandals and the black thong. She kept her word.

We kept working together. The stolen kisses in the hallways haven’t stopped. And I already know very well what I want to make happen next.