My New Year’s Eve Date with the Man on the Phone

We had been talking for almost a year. Messages in the middle of the afternoon, calls at two in the morning, voice notes that kept stretching out like fine threads beneath my skin. Diego was a voice, a way of thinking, a low laugh that sounded closer than he really was. And to him, I was exactly the same: someone who existed only on a screen. Until that night.

We chose a hotel halfway between his city and mine, up in the mountains, with a restaurant booked for the New Year’s Eve dinner and rooms for those of us who didn’t want to go back home. We hadn’t talked about that last part. It was implicit. We each booked our own room, for appearances’ sake, although neither of us truly believed we were going to use both of them.

I arrived early. I left my suitcase, showered, and put on the black dress I had tried on three times in front of the bathroom mirror. Underneath, the red lace set I had bought two months earlier without really knowing what for. That night, I knew.

I went down to the lobby and saw him before he saw me. Diego, flesh and blood, still wearing his coat, looking at his watch. When he looked up, he smiled as if he were doing it for the first time in his life. He crossed the distance in five steps and hugged me. The hug lasted one second longer than courtesy allowed. That changed everything.

—You’re taller than I imagined —he said against my hair.

—And you smell like winter.

—Is that a good thing?

—I don’t know yet.

We ate without being hungry. The conversation lowered its voice on its own, without either of us deciding to. We talked about the previous months, about the voice notes I listened to in the car on my way to work, about the calls that went on until he fell asleep halfway through a sentence. His hands moved across the tablecloth, and mine sought them without bothering to hide it. The first time they brushed, neither of us pulled away. The second time, he laced his fingers with mine and left them there, on the wood, through the entire second course.

At eleven forty-five, someone started counting. Fifteen minutes to go. Diego looked at me as if there were no one else in the room. I took a long sip of cava without looking away from his mouth. When the countdown began, he leaned toward me. Three, two, one. The grapes. The applause. And his mouth on mine.

The first kiss was short, almost textbook. The second wasn’t.

I felt the restaurant’s noise fade away. His lips recognized me slowly, as if they had been waiting for that specific permission for months. His tongue entered my mouth and sought mine with a restrained hunger that went straight to my cunt. When we parted, neither of us said anything. There was no need. The table next to us was still applauding, and we were living in another time.

—Will you dance? —he asked afterward, his voice slightly broken.

—With you, yes.

The music was lively, but we danced slowly, against the current. My dress began to feel too short without him even touching it. I felt his hand on my waist like a promise already being written. When he turned me to pull me closer, I brushed my cheek against his and felt the hard bulge of his cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers at my lower belly. I whispered in his ear:

—I have room 314. And my panties have been soaked for an hour.

He didn’t answer. He only nodded slowly, his jaw clenched.

***

We went up in the elevator without touching. It was a way of delaying the inevitable, of stretching the seconds a little longer. Inside the room, the dim light from the hallway came in just enough that we didn’t need the lamps. Diego closed the door with his back and stayed there, looking at me from the threshold.

I took off my coat slowly. Then my earrings, one by one, leaving them on the nightstand. I slipped off my shoes without hurry. He didn’t move. When I began lowering the zipper of my dress, he stopped me with a gesture of his hand.

—Let me.

He came closer. His fingers searched for the clasp with a calm that didn’t seem like his, because I had heard his nervous voice so many times and knew everything inside him was trembling. The zipper slid down. The dress fell to the floor, forming a circle around my feet.

And then he saw the red.

The lace set wasn’t just lingerie. It was a declaration written two months in advance. The cups outlined every curve without hiding it, and thin straps crossed over my chest, drawing an X that led the eye exactly to the center. The panties were barely a transparent triangle, from which the dark shadow of my trimmed pubic hair showed through. Diego stood still. Not even a blink. Only his chest rising and falling a little faster than before, and the bulge of his cock marking the line of his trousers without the slightest attempt at concealment.

—I thought it was impossible for me to like you any more —he said, his voice coming out hoarse.

What finally undid him was something else. A small dark mole, just above the edge of the lace. I had seen it in the mirror a thousand times without attaching any importance to it. For him, at that moment, it was the center of the room.

He moved forward. His hands reached me before his mouth did, slow, almost reverent. He brushed the skin just beside the mole, and I let out a sigh I couldn’t control. He leaned in. He pressed his lips to that exact spot. Long. Unhurried. As if he were marking a map he planned to consult many times.

—I’ve spent months imagining you up close —he murmured against my skin—. Months jerking off to your voice in those recordings. I got everything wrong. You’re better.

I closed my eyes. His fingers continued tracing the outline of the bra’s straps with an attention that made my whole body prickle. When he reached the clasp and undid it, the garment fell away slowly. He didn’t take his eyes off the mole. He kissed it again. He moved down to my tits and stared at them as if he didn’t know where to begin. He licked around the nipple in circles, drawing wet loops that made me arch my back, seeking his mouth, and only closed his lips around it when it was already hard and demanding his mouth. He sucked it all the way in, eagerly, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, while his other hand pinched my opposite nipple, pulling and barely twisting it, just enough to tear a long moan from me. My pulse crowded my throat, and I let out a sound that wasn’t a word. He switched tits. He did the same to it. Then he bit me, gently at first, harder afterward, until I felt the edge of his teeth against the hard flesh of my nipple and felt my cunt contract sharply.

He moved lower. He kissed each rib, one by one, like someone counting a rosary. He ran his nose over my belly before giving me a long kiss just above my navel. His thumbs slipped beneath the elastic of my panties and lowered them a few inches, just enough to reveal my mound and nothing more. He pressed his face there, breathed deeply, and stayed.

—You smell like everything I imagined —he said—. You’re soaked.

—Because of you —I told him—. Since I came down to the lobby.

And then, instead of continuing downward, he jumped. He kissed the fold where my leg met my torso. I arched, seeking his mouth with my hips, offering him my cunt without shame, and he didn’t come any closer. He refused to give in. He moved down the inner side of my thigh with a slowness that seemed like revenge for something I still hadn’t done to him. When he reached my knee, I was already clutching the sheets with both hands, feeling a thread of moisture trickle down my groin.

He traced my calves. My ankles. My feet. He kissed every toe with a calm that hurt. When he reached the arch of my foot and licked it, I writhed all over. My cunt was empty, throbbing, waiting for a mouth that was moving away just when I wanted it most.

That was when I said enough without saying it. I arched my back, lifted my pelvis, and pulled my panties down myself. I threw them onto the floor without looking where they landed. I spread my legs in front of him, without the slightest modesty, and showed him everything: my open, glistening cunt, my lips swollen with waiting, my clitoris peeking out between them.

Diego, still at the foot of the bed, looked up.

What he saw took his breath away. I knew it without seeing myself. I knew how far I had gone, how much I was shining, how soaked that deliberate waiting he had imposed on me had left me. And I knew he knew it too when he stayed silent longer than a pause could contain.

—Eat me —I said, my voice rougher than I recognized—. Now.

He climbed onto the bed. He grabbed me by the thighs with both hands and spread me wider, as far as my body would allow. He settled facedown between my legs and looked at me for a second from there, his chin brushing the hair on my pubis. Then he lowered his face and ran his entire tongue over me, from bottom to top, flat and broad, gathering me up in a single lick from the entrance of my cunt to my clitoris. I screamed. I couldn’t help it. It escaped me as if something had been ripped out from inside.

He repeated the gesture. Again. And again. He licked slowly, savoring and swallowing what dripped from me. He paused at my clitoris and sucked it between his lips, squeezing it gently, and whenever I began to move too much, he went down to my entrance and slipped his tongue inside me, fucking me with it as if it were a small cock that knew exactly where to touch. I tangled my fingers in his hair and pressed his face against me, without care, without permission, and he let out a moan against my cunt that pierced me completely.

—Like that, don’t stop, like that.

He returned to my clitoris. This time with the tip of his tongue, drawing quick circles, while at the same time he slid two fingers inside me. He curled them. He searched for that spot that makes the ceiling collapse and found it on the second thrust. He began moving them in and out, in and out, while he sucked my clitoris with his closed mouth, and I felt something rushing toward me that I wouldn’t be able to stop. I lifted my hips. I rode his face without meaning to. He held on, continued, pushed harder with his fingers, faster with his tongue, and I came screaming his name, my legs trembling over his shoulders, squeezing his head between my thighs until he, laughing softly against my cunt, had to hold my hips so he could keep breathing.

***

I sat up, still panting, my cunt throbbing from the orgasm and my entire skin covered in goosebumps. I didn’t want it to be one-sided. I hadn’t come to that room so that only I could be worshiped. I knelt on the mattress until I was level with him. I placed my hands on his chest, still dressed from the waist down, and felt the heat rising through his shirt.

—Now it’s my turn —I said, so close to his mouth that the words brushed his lips. I licked his chin, tasted myself on his lips, and bit his lower one before letting it go.

I kissed him differently. Without hunger, without urgency. Slowly. I opened his shirt button by button, letting each one come free in its own time. Diego closed his eyes. His hands searched for somewhere to rest and ended up on my hips, without pressing, simply holding on to me like a shore.

—You make me lose control —he murmured against my mouth, with a crooked smile.

—Then lose it.

I pulled his shirt off over his shoulders. I kissed his neck, his collarbone, the hollow where his pulse beat so forcefully it could almost be seen from the outside. I undid his trousers. When I lowered the zipper, his cock sprang upward, hard and thick, the tip already shining with pre-cum. I stared at it for a moment. Then I pulled his trousers and underwear down together until he was naked. I gently pushed him backward. He let himself fall onto the bed, and for a moment I stayed above him, looking down from the height, as he had looked at me, his cock pointing toward my belly. Then I settled at his feet, just as he had with me, and began.

I began the same way: with the top of his foot. Barely a brush of my lips. Diego inhaled deeply, without hiding it. I moved up his ankles. His calves. The inner sides of his knees, where his skin visibly prickled. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wanted him to feel what I had felt beneath his mouth: the waiting, the slowness, that quiet torture.

I moved up his thighs. His breathing was no longer steady. When I reached his abdomen, exactly where the skin becomes thinner, I stopped. I pressed my forehead an inch from the base of his cock. I heard him tremble beneath me. I ran my nose over his pubic hair, his groin, his balls, and he gripped the sheet with both fists.

—Lara… —he said, my name coming out like a plea.

I smiled with my mouth pressed to his skin. And instead of moving up, I went down. I ran my entire tongue over his balls, one first, then the other, sucking them gently, taking them into my mouth without squeezing. Diego let out a guttural moan that came from somewhere in his chest. Then I moved up along the vein running from the base of his cock to the tip, slowly, following the line with my tongue all the way to the glans. There I stopped. I gave the tip a wet kiss and tasted the salty pre-cum on my lips.

—Put it in your mouth —he said in a broken voice—. Please.

I put it in my mouth. All of it at once, until the tip touched the back of my throat and I had to breathe through my nose. Diego threw his head back and moaned my name as if it hurt. I began to move, drawing it out slowly, letting my tongue brush the vein, pressing my lips around the glans when I reached the tip, then going down again. Again. And again. I ate him with both hands braced on his thighs, hungrily, noisily, all the spit gathering in my mouth running down my chin and over his balls.

I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, not to force me, but to accompany me. I sped up. I gripped the base with one hand and stroked his balls with the other while my mouth moved up and down in rhythm. Diego began thrusting his hips upward, seeking me, slowly fucking my mouth, and I let him. When I felt him getting too close, when his cock grew even harder and I felt him contract, I pulled it out abruptly.

He lifted his head, dazed.

—Not yet —I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

I climbed on top of him. I swung one leg over his hip and straddled him, my cunt rubbing against his cock without letting it enter yet. I slid back and forth, soaking his entire shaft with what was dripping from me, wetting his belly. Diego looked up at me with his mouth open, his hands on my hips, not rushing me, letting me do as I pleased.

I lifted my pelvis slightly. I gripped his cock and positioned it at my entrance. The tip settled exactly where I wanted it. We looked at each other. I lowered myself. Slowly. I felt him open me, fill me inch by inch, until my ass touched his thighs and he was completely inside me.

—Fuck —he said through clenched teeth.

—Fuck —I repeated.

I began to move. Slowly. In circles. Learning him from the inside. I braced both hands on his chest and rose and fell, looking into his eyes without looking away for a second. Diego moved his hands up my belly to my tits and grabbed them, squeezing them and pinching my nipples every time I lowered myself. I sped up. I began riding him harder, dropping my whole body onto him, feeling his cock touch the deepest part of me with every downward stroke.

—That’s it —he moaned—. That’s it, ride me like that.

—Fuck me —I replied—. Fuck me hard.

He turned me over. In one movement he laid me on my back without pulling out, settled between my legs, and began thrusting into me from above. Hard. Fast. The bed began banging against the wall, and neither of us cared. He spread my legs as far as he could, placed them over his shoulders, and pushed deeper. I screamed. Not once. Many times. I dug my nails into his back and felt his sweat beneath my hands.

—Look at me —he asked—. Don’t close your eyes.

I looked at him. His face contorted, his hair stuck to his forehead, his jaw clenched. One of his fingers moved down to my clitoris and began rubbing it in circles while he continued thrusting into me, and I felt another orgasm coming, stronger, deeper, from somewhere else. I squeezed his waist with my thighs. I bit his shoulder. I screamed at him not to stop.

I came again around his cock, contracting against him, squeezing him inside me with spasms I couldn’t control. Diego held out for two more thrusts, then let out a long, hoarse moan, sank all the way in, and stayed there, trembling, coming inside me in spurts I felt hot against my flesh. He collapsed onto my chest, panting, his cock still hard and throbbing inside me.

I stroked his hair. I kissed his temple. I felt his semen trickle down my thighs when he finally pulled out and lay down beside me. The room smelled of us, of sex, sweat, New Year’s Eve.

—Happy New Year —I said softly, laughing.

—I’m not done with you yet —he replied, turning toward me and running a hand over my belly.

And he wasn’t. Room 314 didn’t know silence until dawn.