I Never Forgot Her Mouth After That Afternoon

The alarm went off. I didn’t move. From the hallway, my mother shouted for me in that tone that mixed love with impatience. I got up reluctantly, put on ripped jeans and an Iron Maiden T-shirt, ate something standing up, and walked the steep streets separating my neighborhood from the university.

I hated it. I had always hated it. At nineteen, already in my second year, the only thing that made it bearable was the group of friends I shared my favorite classes with. That Tuesday in October, however, history class was going to bring something that wasn’t on the syllabus.

Don Ernesto, the professor, announced that Francoism would be on the final exam but that he wasn’t going to have time to explain it, so we would do a project in pairs. Not with whoever we wanted: in alphabetical order.

I got Nicolás.

I knew him by sight: dark-haired, round glasses, slightly long hair. A few weeks earlier, I’d heard him laughing with a classmate about me studying Latin, telling him it was a dead language and asking what use it was. I’d disliked him intensely ever since.

I approached his desk without much enthusiasm.

“We’ve been paired up. I wouldn’t have chosen you either,” I blurted.

He looked up, his cheeks slightly red. The boy beside him, Pablo, snickered.

“Do you want to switch?” Nicolás asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“No, whatever. Five at my place?”

“Yeah, sure.”

***

He arrived on time. My mother had gone to work, and I had the apartment to myself. I opened the door wearing what I’d changed into when I got back from university: a tank top and short pajama bottoms. It wasn’t what I would have chosen to receive anyone in, but it hadn’t occurred to me to change.

In the end, it mattered.

We put on some hard rock in the background and started on the project. Within the first twenty minutes, I discovered that Nicolás knew more about music than almost anyone I knew. We talked about bands for quite a while before remembering what we were supposed to be doing. I felt comfortable. Much more than I’d expected.

“I don’t actually mind having had to come over,” he said at one point, looking at the laptop screen.

I glanced at him.

“I thought you disliked me. Because of the Latin thing.”

“It was stupid. I was trying to get your attention.”

“What a strange way to do it,” I said, and we both laughed.

We didn’t finish the project that afternoon. We arranged to meet the next day. When he left, I stayed on the sofa with the music playing, thinking that Nicolás, who at first glance wasn’t usually the kind of guy who caught my attention, had suddenly seemed like something completely different.

***

He came back the next day. This time I was wearing the same oversized T-shirt, but beneath my waist I had nothing on except lace panties. It wasn’t entirely a conscious decision. Maybe it was, a little.

We finished the project in record time. When I got up to bring him more soda, the T-shirt rode up enough as I stretched my arm that I accidentally—or deliberately—showed him the lace of my panties and the top of my ass. When I sat down again, I saw him shifting uncomfortably on the sofa and his cock outlined beneath his jeans, already hard.

I liked realizing I had that effect. It made me incredibly horny. I felt moisture beginning between my thighs, pressing against the lace.

“That’s it, we’re done,” I said. “I’m almost sorry, honestly.”

“Me too.” He lowered his voice. “And I seriously doubt I’ve surprised you. I don’t usually surprise anyone. I haven’t been with anyone, actually. Not even a kiss.”

He said it without drama, almost in passing. I held on to the sentence for a second, looking at him. And then I felt something I hadn’t expected: desire. Not pity, not tenderness. The urge to be the first.

“Will you let me fix that?” I asked.

He looked at me without moving from his spot.

“Are you asking my permission to kiss me?”

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Valentina,” he said slowly, “I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me.”

I moved closer without hurrying. I put my hand against his face and kissed him. Slowly at first, then more deeply. I bit his lower lip, sucked it, pushed my whole tongue into his mouth, and heard him let out a moan from somewhere deep in his chest. I straddled him and immediately felt his cock hardening beneath his jeans, a hot lump pressing against my pussy, with only the soaked lace of my panties between us. I began moving slowly against him, rubbing myself against him, searching for the exact friction that made me close my eyes.

“Fuck,” he murmured against my neck.

His hands were on my back, nervous but not clumsy, sliding beneath the oversized T-shirt. I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back to suck his neck, to bite the vein throbbing there as if it had a life of its own. I helped him yank off my shirt. I was naked from the waist up beneath it. His eyes fixed on my tits, and his hands trembled for a second before he lifted them.

“Can I?” he asked hoarsely.

“Do it already.”

He squeezed them first with both palms, pressing them against my body. Then he lowered his mouth and sucked an entire nipple, wrapping his tongue around it, gently biting it until I arched. Then he moved to the other. He alternated between them with his tongue and lips while I kept rubbing myself against him, seeking out his hard cock beneath his pants. The wet patch on my panties kept spreading across his jeans. I slid my hand down his stomach and undid his button. I pushed my hand inside his underwear. He was hard as a rock, thick and hot. I wrapped my whole hand around him and he growled against my chest.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been hard for you,” he whispered.

“Show me.”

He pulled his pants down to his thighs. His cock bounced against his stomach, thick, the tip already wet with pre-cum. My mouth watered. I worked him with my hand from top to bottom, spitting into my palm to make it slide better, while he slipped his hand inside my panties and searched for my clitoris with two fingers.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered.

“It’s your fault.”

He began moving his fingers in circles, clumsy at first but learning quickly, finding the exact rhythm. He slipped one finger inside me, then two, curling them upward while he kept eating my tits. I squeezed his cock, ran my thumb over the head, spreading the fluid across the entire glans. I felt wetness running down my thigh.

He didn’t go straight for the finish. He took it slowly, looking into my eyes every time I arched my back. His mouth was open and hot, and he knew what he was doing even though he said it was his first time. Or perhaps precisely because of that: no bad habits, no hurry, attentive to everything.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to ask you to fuck me,” I said, breathing hard.

“That’s all I want,” he replied hoarsely.

I slid to the floor, kneeling between his legs. I licked his cock from base to tip. One long, wet lick. He let out a muffled growl.

“Valentina… fuck…”

I took him fully into my mouth as far as I could. I sucked him slowly, drawing him out and taking him back in, feeling his whole body tense. I spit all over him and ran my tongue over his balls, kissed them, then took him back into my mouth all the way to the back. I buried one hand in his hair. With the other, I caressed his balls and squeezed his base. My mouth filled with saliva and his taste. I felt him tremble.

“Stop, stop, or I’m going to come,” he gasped.

I released him with a wet pop. I climbed back on top of him and pulled at the lace, tearing my panties down one side. I was naked, his hard cock pressed between our stomachs, searching for the angle to slip inside me.

And just then I heard the key in the lock.

I jumped off him. I ran to the bathroom for a pair of pajama bottoms and wiped away the dripping wetness with toilet paper. When I came out, Nicolás was sitting upright on the sofa with the laptop on his legs and a cushion strategically placed over his cock, which was still visibly hard beneath it. My father came in humming something, asked if we were studying, and went into the kitchen.

We passed the project back and forth on paper with trembling hands, barely looking each other in the eyes.

***

The next day, while running laps around the campus track, Nicolás came up behind me. When we finished, he whispered in my ear that he’d been watching my ass move the entire time and had been hard for half an hour.

He didn’t text me that afternoon.

Nor that night. Nor the next day. Nor the day after that.

A week later I learned what had happened: his father, from whom he had been estranged, had died in a traffic accident. His mother, who was from Valencia, decided to return there with both children. Nicolás left without a charger and couldn’t properly let anyone know. By the time he finally found a compatible one, he had already been gone for days.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know when we’ll be back. I’d love to see you,” he wrote.

“I’m sorry too. I hope you’re okay,” I replied.

But he didn’t come back. The final exams arrived. Summer. Another academic year. One more message in September telling me his exams had gone well. By the time he returned to the city, I was traveling with some uncles. When I came back, he was already gone. And that was how it remained.

***

In the years that followed, I met a lot of people. Men, women. Regular sex, no commitment. But whenever someone put his cock inside me, I thought about how his would have felt. Whenever a woman sucked my nipples, I thought of his awkward yet precise mouth on my tits that afternoon on the sofa.

He was the unfinished business of my life.

I was jealous of women I didn’t know. I envied ghosts who didn’t exist. And I also felt something close to resentment, though I had no right to: he hadn’t come back, but I hadn’t gone looking for him either. Neither of us did, and we both paid the price.

***

Rodrigo’s club was on the outskirts, in a tastefully renovated industrial warehouse: dark walls, good rock music, low lighting. I met him one night when I went there with some friends out of curiosity. It was a place for adults, for meeting people, for swinging. Rodrigo came over to introduce himself as the owner, and that same night we ended up in one of the rooms at the back. Four years later, he had asked me to marry him.

We loved each other. Our relationship wasn’t conventional: he liked experimenting and I allowed him to, although I rarely took part. That New Year’s Eve, however, something was going to change.

It was a party for couples. The private rooms were closed to customers that night; we had the keys. Rodrigo had a list of registered couples. We had dinner with my family, toasted with the New Year grapes, and went to the club.

I had put on a black corset that pushed my cleavage up high and a fairly short denim skirt. Rodrigo looked at me when I took off my coat.

“Do you want people to eat you with their eyes?”

“Maybe,” I said, drawing out the word.

People began arriving. I stayed at the bar helping Carmen, the trusted bartender, while Rodrigo acted as the doorman at the entrance.

I was on my third cocktail of the night when a blonde woman came in wearing a dress that was far too elegant for the place and vertiginous heels. She ordered a vodka on the rocks for herself and a rum and Coke for her partner. I turned to prepare them and, when I turned back, searched for her companion, who was standing with his back to me, observing the club.

I recognized him before he turned around. The broad back, the height, the dark hair tied back with a black elastic. When he turned his eyes toward the bar and I saw his glasses, the floor shifted beneath my feet.

He looked at me and went completely still.

Oh my God.

“Who’s the vodka for?” I asked as calmly as I could.

“For me. I’m the tough one in the relationship,” the blonde said, laughing.

Nicolás hadn’t said a word. He stared at me.

Rodrigo came behind the bar for a moment and went over to greet them.

“Have you met my girlfriend yet? Guys, this is Valentina.”

“Lorena,” said the blonde. “And he’s Nico.”

Carmen glanced at me when they moved away.

“That guy looked at you like he knew you from somewhere.”

“I know him,” I said simply.

***

Rodrigo found me in the storeroom ten minutes later.

“Do you like that guy?”

“Rodrigo.”

“Seriously. The blonde seems perfect for what we do. If you want to try him, it’s your choice.”

“I don’t mind experimenting,” I said. “But I want to be with him too.”

“I figured, from the way he was looking at you. When the night’s over, we’ll go home…”

“No. Here. In the rooms.”

Rodrigo smiled.

“Should we all start together?”

“Yes. Then I want a room to myself.”

***

A song Nicolás and I had listened to eleven years earlier that afternoon on my sofa was playing. Lorena went to the bar for another vodka. I stepped onto the dance floor and approached him.

“I love this song,” I told him.

“I know. I remember,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face with his hand, with a naturalness that completely disarmed me.

I blushed as if I were nineteen again.

“And do you remember me?”

“More than you think. Why did you never write to me again?”

“A guy from class told me you were already with someone when you came back in September. It hurt so much.”

“That wasn’t true. I wasn’t with anyone that year. I suffered terribly when you disappeared like that.”

“So we both suffered without knowing the other was suffering too.”

We fell silent for a second. The music filled the space between us.

“Rodrigo wants to fuck your girlfriend,” I said at last, bluntly.

“I know. And I’ve wanted to finish what we started at your house that afternoon for eleven years.”

My knees began to tremble.

“This time, no door is opening,” I said.

***

The room was dimly lit and smelled of dark wood. The four of us went in, but as soon as Rodrigo and Lorena met at the opposite end of the bed, Nicolás took me by the waist and separated me from the others as if he had been waiting eleven years to make that gesture.

He pressed my back against the wall and kissed me as if he wanted to devour the eleven lost years all at once. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth, bit my lip, and gripped my jaw with one hand. He took off my corset slowly, lace by lace, with more patience than I expected, until my tits were bare before him.

“Fuck,” he said. “You’re not a little girl anymore.”

“And you’re not a virgin anymore,” I replied.

“Because of you.”

He knelt in front of me and ran his tongue from my side up to my chest, leaving his mouth on every tattoo he found. He took his time with my nipple: licking it, gently squeezing it between his lips, carefully biting it. I held his head by the hair, pulling whenever I wanted him to move a little higher.

Across the bed, Rodrigo’s voice mingled with Lorena’s moans and the unmistakable sound of a mouth sucking a cock. The sound entered my body and made me even hornier. Nicolás looked at me for a moment, checking how I was taking it.

“Does listening to them turn you on?” he whispered.

“You turn me on.”

He pushed my skirt all the way up and tore my panties down one side. He slipped his hand between my legs and immediately found me dripping wet. He smiled against my stomach.

“Soaked.”

“I’ve been like this for eleven years.”

He slid two fingers inside me and curled them inward. He put his thumb on my clitoris and began making slow circles. My head was against the wall, my mouth open, and I could see his face pressed to my stomach while he worked me with his hand. He moved his mouth between my legs and licked me right above where his fingers were inside me, sucking my clitoris while opening me from within.

“Fuck…” I gasped.

“Does this make you want me to fuck you?” he whispered, looking into my eyes, his mouth shining with my wetness.

“For eleven years,” I replied.

At some point I heard Rodrigo’s ragged breathing at the back of the room. I barely cared.

I took the keys to the second room from my purse and placed them in Nicolás’s hand.

“Now.”

***

We closed the door, and the world shrank to that room.

He pushed me gently toward the bed. He laid me on my back, finished tearing off my skirt, and ripped my stockings with one pull. He took off his shirt over the back of his neck, the way men do, and undid his pants without taking his eyes off me. His cock sprang free from his underwear, thick and hard, the swollen tip already shining.

“Show it to me again,” I said.

He came to the edge of the bed. I turned toward him, gripped him at the base, and put him in my mouth. I ran my tongue around the head, kissed the frenulum, sucked him slowly from top to bottom, pulling him out completely to spit on him before taking him back in. I licked his balls one by one, carefully took them into my mouth, then went back up to the tip. He held my hair, not forcing me, simply guiding the rhythm. I saw his face: his eyes half-closed, his mouth open, wearing the expression of someone experiencing something he had spent eleven years imagining.

“Lie down,” he asked thickly. “I want to eat you.”

I lay down. He lowered his mouth from my ankle to the inside of my thigh, slowly, with that maddening patience that drove me wild. He sucked the inside of my thigh, bit it, and moved up to my groin. He spread my legs with his hands and paused for a second, looking at my pussy, whole, exposed, dripping wet.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about this,” he said.

“Show me how.”

He licked me slowly. Without hurrying. From my perineum to my clitoris, one long, complete lick. Then he spread my lips with his fingers and licked me inside, pushing his tongue in and out as if it were a small cock. He returned to my clitoris and carefully sucked it, alternating flat licks with tiny circles made with the tip of his tongue. He slipped two fingers into me while he sucked, curling them upward in search of the spot that made my legs tense.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I gasped.

He savored me as if he had all night, alternating between licking and sucking, attentive to every tremor in my legs. Between little laughs, he asked whether I couldn’t take any more. He knew from the spasms in my thighs before I said anything. My hands were clenched in the sheets, my back arched, my mouth open as I searched for air. When the first orgasm shook me, he pressed my thighs against his head so I couldn’t let him go and kept licking me through the final contraction, until the pleasure became unbearable and I pushed his forehead away so he would stop.

When he came back up to me, I put my hands on his face. I wiped it clean with my thumb. I kissed him and tasted myself all over his mouth.

“Don’t close your eyes.”

He didn’t.

I pushed him onto his back and climbed on top. I gripped his cock, rubbed it over my clitoris a couple of times, then slowly lowered myself onto it, feeling every inch. His mouth was half-open, his eyes fixed on me. He filled me completely. I felt him settle inside me, opening me, pulsing.

“Eleven years waiting for this cock,” I whispered.

“Ride me,” he gasped.

I began moving on top of him. Slowly at first, rising and lowering myself completely, pulling him almost all the way out before sinking back down. Then faster, bracing my hands on his chest. I saw the muscles in his jaw tense, his lips pressed together. His hands held my hips and pulled whenever I slowed down, demanding that I keep going. I leaned forward and put my tits in his face. He ate them, sucking one nipple while squeezing the other with his hand. I moved faster and harder, slamming my ass against his thighs, listening to the wet squelch of my soaked pussy swallowing him whole.

“I’m going to come,” I gasped.

“Come on my cock,” he said through clenched teeth. “Squeeze it dry.”

I drove myself all the way down, pressed against his pubis, and stayed still while my whole body shook. A long, deep orgasm, the kind that leaves your mind blank. I felt him pulsing inside me, barely holding back.

“Pull it out,” I asked when I could breathe. “I want to taste you.”

I lay on my back at the edge of the bed with my head hanging down. He stood in front of me and slowly put himself in my mouth. In that position, my throat opened differently and I was able to swallow him whole. I felt him strike the back of my throat, moving in and out, his balls resting against my nose each time he sank deep. I spit saliva around him to make him slide better. With one hand I touched my tits, and with the other I went down to my clitoris. He fucked my mouth slowly, in control, looking down to watch himself disappear completely inside me.

“I’m not going to last,” he gasped. “Where do you want me to finish?”

“In my mouth,” I said, my voice muffled by his cock.

He sped up. He pushed harder, one hand braced against my neck, and I felt him grow even harder just before he exploded. He came in spurts inside my mouth, thick, hot loads that filled me. I swallowed what I could; the rest dripped from the corner of my mouth into my hair. I was touching myself and came almost at the same time, a second orgasm, smaller but just as intense, his cock still in my mouth, pulsing through its final contractions.

I took him out slowly. I licked the last drops from his glans. I wiped the corner of my mouth with my finger and sucked it clean.

We lay on our backs in silence, breathing toward the ceiling. The room smelled of sex and eleven years of waiting.

“I don’t want you to disappear again,” I said at last.

“If you don’t want me to disappear, I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he replied, and gave me a long kiss on the temple.

Someone knocked on the door.

***

The next day I received a message from a number I didn’t have saved.

“It’s Nico. I accidentally took the room keys with me. Shall I bring them to you tomorrow?”

Rodrigo had padel that afternoon.

“Tomorrow at five is perfect,” I replied.

He arrived at five fifteen. Old habits.

“Nice house,” he said, leaving his coat on the rack. “And you have a very wicked mind. Those keys didn’t put themselves in my pocket.”

“I wanted to see you,” I said bluntly. “I needed an excuse.”

We sat on the sofa. I tried to explain what I was thinking: that I wanted him, that I had always wanted him, but that I had built something with Rodrigo, eleven years of shared life, a future I couldn’t ignore. That I didn’t know whether what we had could be more than desire.

“For me, I lost an incredible girl the day I left,” he said, his voice slightly broken. “I compared you with every woman I met afterward. None of them was you. And now I find you, and I’m going to lose you again.”

I took his hands. A tear slid down his cheek. I kissed it where it was wet. I put my arms around his neck.

“I looked for you too,” I said. “A thousand times. But through sex. Sometimes I couldn’t come without thinking of you.”

We stayed silent for a full minute.

“We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes,” I said at last. “Do the math on how many times I’ve thought about kissing you.”

I kissed him. Deeply, with tongue and hands and no apologies. I undid his shirt, button by button, and ran my tongue over his chest as I moved downward. I undid his belt, pulled down his pants and underwear in one motion. His cock sprang free, already as hard as I remembered from two nights before. I gripped it at the base, brought it to my face, and took it into my mouth without ceremony. I sucked him deep, squeezing his balls with my other hand, pulling him out only to spit on him before swallowing him again. He held my head with both hands, not forcing me, simply holding me in place.

“You’re going to make me come in two minutes,” he gasped.

“Not yet.”

I stood up, pulled my dress over my head, and presented my soaked pussy at the level of his face. I pushed him backward on the sofa and climbed on top, my knees on either side of him, putting myself directly into his mouth. Nicolás licked me as if he had been starving for days. He was no longer the uncertain boy from the sofa: he was a man who knew exactly what to do with his tongue. He opened me with two fingers, sucked my clitoris, creating a seal with his mouth, then pushed three fingers inside me while licking and moved them quickly, pressing against the exact spot inside me. My hands were in his hair, my head thrown back, moving his face against me without restraint.

I came in his mouth in two minutes.

When I recovered, I pushed him onto his back on the floor. I climbed on top. I drove his cock into my pussy in one thrust, all the way to the bottom, and stayed still for a second, feeling my orgasm still pulsing around him. I began fucking him slowly. My hands were on his chest. My mouth was on his. I licked one nipple and bit it. I dug my nails into his shoulders.

“I’ve missed you so much…” I gasped.

We changed positions. He put me on all fours on the rug and got behind me. He pushed his cock inside slowly, and once he was in, he began fucking me hard, gripping my hips and pulling me back every time he thrust. I heard the wet squelch of my arousal, his balls striking my pussy, his gasps behind me. He grabbed my hair with one hand and pulled my head back.

“Like that, fuck, just like that,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

Then he rolled me onto my back on the rug and penetrated me, looking into my eyes, his arms on either side of my head, never breaking eye contact. Every thrust drew a gasp from me. His cock grew even harder, and I saw his face tense.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he said.

“Not this time,” I replied.

He pulled out just in time. I lay on my back across the back of the sofa with my head hanging down. He pushed himself into my mouth all the way, sliding over my tongue and touching my throat. In that position I took everything. He fucked my mouth slowly, in control, his hands resting on my tits, squeezing them and pinching my nipples. I saw his balls tighten, the vein in his cock pulsing above my lip. I touched myself as he did it, two fingers rubbing my clitoris quickly. When he emptied himself, he filled my mouth with thick, hot semen, load after load, and I came at the same time, swallowing and trembling together.

A thread ran from the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away with my finger and offered it to him to lick. He did so without hesitation.

I said goodbye to him with a soft kiss at the door.

“Find another excuse,” he asked.

“I will,” I said.

***

New Year’s Day, 2028. A party at the club, as always.

Carmen arrived carrying boxes and asked me to hold one. Rodrigo appeared out of nowhere.

“Carmen’s pregnant, so don’t make her carry things,” he said.

“It doesn’t weigh anything,” I protested, laughing.

He put his hand on my stomach for a second, on the stomach that was already showing quite a bit, then continued toward the entrance to greet the couples on the list.

Among the people arriving that night, a man I knew very well approached the bar and ordered a soft drink.

“Wouldn’t you rather have something stronger?” I asked.

“If I kiss you afterward smelling of alcohol, it’ll make you nauseous,” he replied. “Better not risk it.”

We looked at each other and smiled.

Once a month. That was the arrangement when I explained to Rodrigo who Nicolás was and what he had meant to me throughout all those years. I told him I loved him, and it was true. I also told him what I felt for Nicolás, which wasn’t the same but was just as real. Rodrigo liked exploring; he always had. Lorena went with him several times, as did a few others. So once a month we exchanged the keys to the club’s rooms.

The rest of the month, we were a couple like any other.

I don’t know who the child’s father is. The truth is that neither Rodrigo nor I care very much. Whoever it is, he’ll raise the child as his own.

Although, if I’m being completely honest with myself: I was the one doing the ovulation tests. I knew the exact day. And that month, the day I chose to see Nicolás was that day.

Because I wanted him. Nothing more.