My Former Boss’s Wife Sought Me Out at the Company Dinner

I’d gone almost a month without hearing anything from Lucía. I’d kept telling myself, like someone reciting a prayer he didn’t quite believe in, that what we had couldn’t go on. I had a comfortable life, a wife I still understood well in bed, and enough sense to know that sleeping with my former boss’s wife was playing with fire. During those weeks I convinced myself I’d forgotten her. I convinced myself of many things, really.

Then the phone rang. I recognized the old company’s area code and knew right away what it was about: the Christmas lunch, the annual event as always. What I didn’t expect was to hear her voice on the other end.

—Hi —she said, as if weeks hadn’t gone by—. We wanted you to come this year.

With those two sentences, my body reacted before my mind did. Something tightened below my belt, and I cursed how little had changed in me. She gave me the place, the day, and the time with a naturalness that hurt, as if she were speaking to any ordinary supplier.

I’d only recently retired, and they wanted to recognize my years of work with a little gesture in front of everyone. The first thing I thought of was her husband, my ex-boss, an asshole I’d never been able to stand. The second was that I’d see her again. I accepted without hesitation.

—If there’s any trouble, keep it discreet —my wife told me when I mentioned it, half joking.

I laughed and assured her it wasn’t the time or the place. I lied with a ease that even surprised me later.

***

The event was held at a hotel-restaurant on the outskirts of town, one of those places with manicured gardens and too many waiters. A bus picked up almost all of us. Lucía, her husband, her mother-in-law, her sister-in-law, and her little daughter came separately by taxi, as befitted the owner’s family.

There was a welcome cocktail and then we moved into the dining room. The seats were assigned, and when I saw my name on the card next to hers, I didn’t know whether to curse or thank whoever had laid out the table plan. Across from us, her husband. Beside her, the mother-in-law kept busy with the granddaughter, and the sister-in-law was teasing her brother over every little thing.

Lucía wore her thirty-five years with a kind of elegance that left me defenseless. A black strappy dress, fitted, above the knee. The neckline was an invitation I kept accepting with my eyes every time I thought no one was looking. Dark stockings, heels, always heels. Her blonde hair pulled to one side and soft makeup that lit up her eyes. I struggled to understand how her husband could have that at home and still go chasing after little throwaway strangers.

If he knew I’d taken her to bed twice —once on a business trip, once in a supermarket parking lot like a couple of teenagers— I don’t know what face he’d make. The thought amused me and made me nervous in equal measure.

Throughout lunch I barely spoke to anyone else. Her husband lived glued to his phone, oblivious to everything. The conversation between her and me never stopped for a second. Lucía could tell I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and instead of feeling uncomfortable, she decided to make it difficult for me in another way. A hand brushing my leg beneath the tablecloth. A low comment, spoken sideways, while she smiled at her mother-in-law at the far end of the table. Every gesture measured so no one would notice and I would notice everything.

—You’re quieter than usual —she said, pretending concern.

—I’m thinking —I answered.

—About what?

I didn’t answer. There was no need. Her hand squeezed my knee again for a second before withdrawing.

***

After lunch came the speech, the keepsake gift, the applause. Then the real party began: drinks, music, people loosening up as the afternoon went on. Everything was as expected, until it wasn’t.

I came out of the restroom and found her waiting for me in the hallway, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She said nothing. She took my hand and pulled me toward the stairs. We went up to the floor above, where the noise from the party reached us muffled, as if from another world.

We walked into what looked like a meeting room. A long table, chairs lined up, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside. She slid the bolt shut and led me to the back without letting go.

This is insane, I thought. I didn’t stop.

She knelt and undid my trousers with quick fingers. She pulled them down to my ankles, underwear and all, and before I could say anything she had me in her mouth. One hand at the base, the other stroking me slowly, unhurriedly, as if we had all night and not a hundred people drinking just beneath our feet.

When I couldn’t get any harder, she stood up. She hiked her dress up just enough, yanked off her underwear, and bent over the table, pressing her chest against the cold wood.

—Do it —she murmured, looking back at me over her shoulder—. I’ve spent the whole meal thinking about this.

I didn’t think twice. I spread her legs, pressed against her, and entered her slowly. She was burning, ready, and even so I went centimeter by centimeter, with short thrusts, letting her get used to me. I dug my nails into my palms from impatience to keep from going faster than I should. When I finally had her all the way, I held still for a moment, feeling her tight around me, and then I started moving for real.

The table was firmly anchored to the floor; it didn’t even creak. The only sounds in the room were her ragged breathing and the slap of my hips against her, a rhythm we were trying to keep silent and finding harder by the second. Knowing her husband was right downstairs, glass in hand, suspecting nothing, drove me to a level of arousal that was almost absurd.

—Harder —she begged against the wood, covering her mouth with her hand.

The first orgasm came quickly, like the other times. She arched her back, stifled a cry by biting the back of her hand, and I felt her clench around me with a force that nearly dragged me under. I sank all the way in and held still for a few seconds until her body softened and came back to my rhythm.

I wanted to lift her dress higher to get to her breasts, but the tightness of the fabric made it impossible. I settled for squeezing them through it, for feeling her hard nipples under my palm while she bit her lip to keep quiet. Every time I brushed them, I lost a little more of my mind.

—You’re going to break me —she said through clenched teeth—. Don’t stop, please.

I don’t know what made me do it. I let go of one breast, reached back with my hand, and started playing with her other entrance, softly, slowly. She turned for a second as if to say no, but when I pushed hard again she let out a long, defeated sound and didn’t protest again. I matched the two things, one rhythm inside the other, and that unraveled her. The second orgasm shook her whole body; she had to press her forehead to the table to muffle what came out of her throat.

—Don’t stop —she kept repeating, barely able to speak—. I’m yours, do whatever you want to me.

She was somewhere else, babbling phrases I could barely understand, her body trembling against mine. I’d been holding on for a while and couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her toward me with every thrust, and stopped holding back. When I came, I did it in silence, teeth clenched, the release so intense I had to brace myself on the table to keep my balance. Feeling myself finish inside her pushed her to the limit once again, and she trembled again, repeating my name in a broken whisper.

***

Lucía collapsed onto the table, motionless, silent at last. I pulled away slowly. In the little light there was, I looked for something to clean ourselves with and found a pack of napkins on a sideboard. I straightened myself as best I could, got dressed, and helped her do the same, though she still hadn’t moved, catching her breath.

When she finally sat up, she smoothed her dress and ran her hands through her hair. She kept repeating under her breath, almost to herself:

—I’m crazy. I’m completely insane.

She gave me a long, intense kiss, the kind you remember, and without another word she opened the bolt and disappeared through the door. I was left alone in that dark room, my heart still pounding, thinking it had happened again, that I’d let it happen again.

I gathered what I could, slipped out carefully without running into anyone, and went down to the restroom to splash my face with water. When I came back to the dining room, everything was exactly the same. The music, the laughter, the drinks. No one had missed us. I saw her in the distance, seated next to her daughter, chatting with her mother-in-law, wearing a face of complete calm, as if the woman in that room had been someone else entirely.

Soon after, the bus picked us up to take us back. Since then I haven’t heard from her. And yet every time the phone rings and I don’t recognize the number, something in me still waits.