My Red Lingerie for a Night I Won’t Forget

We’d been talking every day for seven months. Messages at three in the morning, calls that stretched until the battery died, photos neither of us ever saved but both of us kept asking for again. Damián lived six hundred kilometers from my apartment, in a city by the sea; I lived in an interior room in the capital. That distance had been a convenient excuse for half a year. Until it stopped being one.

The idea of the hotel halfway between us was mine. I booked it without telling him, sent him the confirmation one November morning, and waited. It took him forty seconds to reply.

—I’m in.

That was the whole conversation.

I chose New Year’s Eve for a simple reason: if it was a bad idea, at least it would be a bad idea with a countdown. If it was a good idea, no other setting could compete with it.

***

On the thirty-first I drove four and a half hours with a small bag on the passenger seat. Inside was a short black dress, a pair of heels I almost never wore, and a set of red lingerie I’d bought two weeks earlier in a shop where nobody knew me. I tried on three styles before choosing that one. Fine lace, straps crossing over the center of my chest, panties that barely covered the bare essentials of my cunt. It wasn’t a gift for him; it was a promise I was making to myself: that night I was going to fuck Damián the way I’d been imagining for months while I fingered myself alone in my bed.

I got to the hotel at six. Damián at six twenty. I saw him cross the lobby from the bar, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a face I knew from video calls but that in person, under the warm light of the lamps, was different. More travel-worn. More real.

—Hi —he said, stopping a meter away.

—Hi —I answered, not moving.

The hug lasted one second longer than courtesy recommended. He didn’t kiss me on the cheek. Neither did I. We went up to check in without saying much.

—One room or two? —the receptionist asked.

—One —I said before he could hesitate.

Damián looked at me. I didn’t look away. And there, at that marble counter with a blinking Christmas tree behind it, there was nothing left to negotiate. He knew he was going up to that room with me to fuck me.

***

We had dinner at nine in the hotel restaurant. He’d put on a dark blue shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. I wore the black dress and the heels. The light was low and the tables were spaced far enough apart that every conversation seemed private. We ordered wine. We ate slowly, barely looking at our plates.

—Did you imagine this? —I asked at some point.

—Every day —he answered—. But I didn’t imagine it like this.

—Like what?

—More comfortable. Easier to say.

I laughed, but I brushed my hand over his under the tablecloth and didn’t pull it back. Neither did he. The conversation went on, threaded through with loaded silences, with sentences started and left hanging. Under the table my thighs were clamped together, and every time I remembered the red lace panties I was wearing, I felt a hot pulse between my legs. We talked about the months before as if they were a country we were already leaving.

If this goes badly, I thought, it’s going to hurt for real.

***

At eleven thirty they brought us the grapes. At eleven fifty-nine the whole restaurant stood up, glasses raised. The TV at the bar showed the square in the capital, the clock. Damián was standing beside my chair. When the bells started, I looked at him.

—Happy New Year —he said when the last one rang.

—Happy New Year.

The first kiss was what you’d expect of a first midnight kiss. Short, warm, tasting of sparkling wine. The second wasn’t. The second we decided on at the same time, without separating, without opening our eyes, without looking at anyone. His tongue slid all the way into my mouth, searching for mine, and I bit his lower lip without even realizing it. His hand held the back of my neck and the other slid down my back until it brushed my ass over the dress. I felt the entire restaurant go dark for a second, and I also felt, when I pressed myself against him, the hard bulge of his cock against my hip. When we pulled apart, there was a waiter three meters away smiling and pretending not to look.

—Shall we go up? —I said, in a lower tone.

He nodded. We didn’t eat the grapes.

***

The room was on the fourth floor. A wide bed, a lamp left on, the curtains half open. From the window you could see the street and a group of people in party hats coming back from the square. I closed the curtain.

Damián stayed near the door, hands in his trouser pockets, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do. It was a gesture I’d never seen from him, not even on video calls. I found it funny, the part of me that could still think did.

—Come here —I said.

He did. He kissed me again, and this time he did slide his hands up my back to the zipper of the dress. He lowered it slowly, never taking his eyes off me. The dress fell to the floor in one second and suddenly he went still, arms at his sides, as if he needed to look before he touched. I was standing in front of him in heels and red lingerie, my nipples already showing through the lace.

—Fuck —he said quietly—. You didn’t tell me.

—I wasn’t going to tell you.

He came closer. He pushed my hair off my shoulder with two fingers and left his hand resting on my neck. Then he lowered his gaze to the lace, to the line of the straps crossing in an X between my breasts. I saw him linger on one specific point: a small, dark mole, right above the edge of the bra. I smiled despite myself.

—I’ve been wanting to kiss you there for seven months —he said.

—Do it.

He lowered his head and set his lips on the mole with a slowness that wasn’t theatrical, it was real. As if he were measuring time differently. I felt his hot breath on the lace, the pads of his fingers brushing my ribs, my back pressed against the wall. His other hand slid down over my belly and slipped inside the panties, two fingers working their way to find my soaked cunt. He let out a low groan against my chest.

—You’re dripping —he said.

—I’ve been like this all through dinner.

He slid his middle finger all the way in and I leaned harder into the wall so my knees wouldn’t buckle. He moved it slowly, searching, until he found the exact spot inside and started rubbing it with his fingertip while his thumb hunted for my clit through the lace. I let out the breath I’d been holding since the countdown.

—Damián…

—Wait —he murmured—. Let me look at you one second longer.

He pulled his fingers out, shining wet, brought them to his mouth without taking his eyes off me, and sucked them slowly. My whole body clenched just from seeing it.

***

I lay down on the bed by myself. He took off his shirt standing up and stayed like that, trousers still on, gaze lowered, as if he wanted to start somewhere specific and couldn’t find where. In the end he sat on the edge, took my ankle, and kissed the top of my foot.

He did it so slowly that I laughed, nervous. He moved up my calf, paused in the hollow behind my knee. By the time he reached my inner thigh I’d stopped laughing. Both my hands were gripping the sheets, my eyes closed, my breathing shallow. His mouth reached my hip, the edge of the red lace, and stayed there for a long time. So long I started thinking he was going to suck all the air out of the room.

—If you keep doing that I won’t last —I said.

—That’s the idea —he answered.

He ripped my panties on one side, tugging the lace until it gave, and spread my legs with both hands, without asking permission. When his tongue touched my cunt for the first time, I arched my whole back. He started at the clit, making slow circles, pressing the tip of his tongue where I needed it most. Then he moved lower, pried my lips apart with his fingers and slid his tongue inside, fucking me with it as if he had all the time in the world.

—Fuck, fuck, fuck…

I grabbed his hair. I pulled him against me without meaning to, and he let out a low laugh that vibrated against my cunt and set off another shiver in me. He went back to my clit, this time sucking it fully with his lips, and at the same time he slid two fingers inside me and curled them upward, searching for the spot he’d found before. The first wave hit me all at once, without warning.

—I’m going to…

—Come —he said, without lifting his mouth—. Come in my face.

I came screaming, both hands still gripping his hair, my legs closed around his head. He didn’t stop until I pushed him away, trembling, unable to bear the friction for even one more second.

He came up my stomach, my ribs, to my breasts. He unclasped my bra with one hand, unhurried, and set the lace aside. When his tongue circled my nipple, I felt the skin of my whole arm prickling with goosebumps, all the way to my fingers. He sucked it hard, barely biting, while his other hand kneaded the other breast. I gasped. I tugged at his hair without meaning to.

—Sorry…

—Don’t apologize for that.

He went back to the mole. He kissed it again, as if it were punctuation, a way of closing chapters. Then he moved on to my neck, my jaw, my ear. He whispered something that wasn’t a sentence, something between my name and a sigh. I pressed my hip against him. Against my thigh I felt the obvious: the hard cock, still trapped inside his pants, asking to come out. I’d been waiting for it so long I almost got dizzy.

***

—Stop —I said suddenly.

He lifted his head, alarmed. His face was flushed, his lips shining with my slick, his chin wet.

—What’s wrong?

—Nothing. Just… now it’s my turn.

He laughed softly, relieved. I pushed him gently so he’d lie back and knelt beside him. The room had warmed up without either of us noticing. I unbuckled his belt. The pants hit the floor just like my dress. I left his underwear on a little longer, not out of modesty, but to stretch that taut string a little more too. I ran my hand over the fabric, feeling the hard bulge, the whole shape of his cock against my palm. Damián clenched his teeth.

I started at the feet, just like he had, giving it back to him step by step. The skin on the top of the foot, the inside of the ankle, the calf. By the time I reached his knee, both his hands were in my hair, not guiding me, just touching me. I moved up his thigh. I rested my cheek on his hip. I felt his pulse under my jaw.

—Lucía —he said.

—What?

—Nothing. I just wanted to say it out loud.

I yanked his underwear down and his cock sprang free, hard, thick, the head already shiny. I stared at it for a second before taking the base in my hand. It was bigger than I’d imagined on video calls, and on video calls I’d already imagined it pretty damn big.

—Fuck, Damián.

—What?

—Nothing. Shut up.

I kissed it slowly, mouth open, looking up so I could see his face. I ran my tongue all the way along it, from bottom to top, and paused at the tip to suck it slowly, closing my lips around the glans. Damián closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, let out a hoarse sound I’d never heard before, not even in the most intimate video calls of the last few months. I took him in bit by bit, until he hit the back of my throat and I had to breathe through my nose. I started moving my head up and down, setting the pace myself, my hand circling what my mouth couldn’t take.

—Like that, fuck, like that…

I looked up from below him, lips stretched around his cock, and felt his hips tense upward. I let him go for a second to breathe and licked his balls, one and then the other, sucking them into my open mouth while my hand kept working his cock up and down. When I took him fully back into my mouth, he pulled me away gently by the hair.

—Stop, stop, stop.

—What?

—I’m going to cum. And I don’t want to yet.

I smiled with my mouth still full of saliva. I climbed up his abdomen, his chest, to his mouth. I kissed him as if I’d been saving it up for months, because that was exactly what I’d done. He held my face with both hands, not caring that he could taste himself on me.

—Do you have…? —I asked, not finishing the sentence.

—In the backpack.

—Go.

He got up barefoot and came back five seconds later, his cock swinging in front of him. I put the condom on him myself. I rolled it down slowly with both hands, squeezing the base at the end. I looked him in the eyes the whole time, without smiling, without theatrics. It was the part I’d fantasized about most in recent months, and I wanted to be fully present.

***

I sat on him slowly. I took his cock in my hand, set it at my entrance and lowered myself, letting it slide in centimeter by centimeter. I felt myself opening around it, felt my soaked cunt swallowing it whole until my hips touched his and he filled me completely. I let out a long moan, and he did too.

—Fuck, you’re so tight.

—And you’re huge.

I felt his neck tense, his hands pressing into my hips, him trying not to come on the first movement. I didn’t want to finish either. Not like this, not yet.

I moved only a little. A short, controlled rocking. I rested my hands on his chest. He lifted his hands to my tits and squeezed them, twisting my nipples between his fingers. We stayed like that for a full minute, almost still, breathing the same air, looking at each other as if it were the first time we’d truly seen each other. In a way, it was. Then I started moving up and down for real, bracing myself on his thighs, letting him see how his whole cock went in and out of me, shiny with me.

—I don’t want this to end —he said.

—Then it won’t end yet.

We changed positions three times. There was a moment when he was behind me, on his knees, one hand spread over my belly, the other on my hip, and I had my forehead against the headboard and my ass lifted to take him. He fucked me hard from there, his hips slamming into my ass, and with the hand in front he found my clit and started rubbing it at the same rhythm. Every thrust made a different sound escape me, each one deeper than the last.

—Tell me how you want it —he said in my ear, biting my neck.

—Harder. Fuck me harder.

And he gave it to me. He grabbed my hair, not pulling, just holding it, and sped up until the whole bed started hitting the wall. I pushed my ass back, searching for him, clenching around his cock every time he pulled almost all the way out.

There was another moment when we were on our sides, face to face, barely moving, laughing at some point without really knowing why. He had one of my legs hooked over his hip and he moved slowly, deep, barely coming out, while looking me in the eyes and running his thumb over my lower lip. I sucked his thumb without breaking eye contact. His face went cloudy for a second.

There was another when he was on top again, slow, deep, his forehead pressed to mine and my name repeated like a whisper between every breath. My legs were closed around his ass, heels dug in, pulling him deeper every time he pushed. He slid one hand under my back to lift me slightly and give me a better angle, and with the other he held my face so I couldn’t stop looking at him.

—Look at me —he told me—. Look at me, Lucía, don’t close your eyes.

I opened them. I kept them open even when I felt it coming again, when the hot knot started building again down below, bigger than the first, pushing its way out. I dug my nails into his back.

—Again —he said—. Come again. With me inside you.

I got there first, without warning, with a sound I didn’t recognize as my own, my cunt clenching around his cock in spasms. He waited one second longer, just enough to look at me, and then he stopped holding back. I felt him come inside me, with two, three hard thrusts to the hilt, groaning against my neck. I held him tight until he went still, his face buried in the hollow of my neck and his cock still hard inside me.

—Fuck —he said again, against my skin.

I laughed. I didn’t know what else to say.

***

We lay in silence for a while. The heater hummed. A couple was laughing in the hallway. Damián had his arm across my waist and his nose pressed to my shoulder. I was stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, slowly, as if it were the only thing I knew how to do at that moment.

—What are you thinking about? —he asked.

—About how we’ve been talking for seven months and only now do I know what happens when you go quiet.

—And what happens?

—That you talk too.

He laughed softly. He kissed my temple.

—Shall we go back downstairs? We still have the grapes.

—The grapes are over.

—Then something else.

We ended up ordering room service at three in the morning. Sandwiches and a small bottle of sparkling wine, because there wasn’t much else left. We ate in bed, half-dressed, talking about nonsense as if we’d known each other for years. At some point he touched the mole again and smiled.

—I’m moving in there —he said.

—It’s a mole, Damián. You won’t fit.

—I’ll make myself small.

Half an hour later his hand was back between my legs, playing with my soaked cunt, and I had his in my hand, feeling him slowly get hard again. We didn’t sleep much that night.

***

On January first I woke up with sunlight coming through the gap in the curtain I hadn’t quite closed. Damián was still asleep, face down, one arm across my chest. The red lingerie was on the floor beside his socks, torn on one side, a composition any photographer would have wanted to steal.

I stayed like that for a while, looking at him. I had the strange feeling that something hadn’t started that night; something had ended. The distance we’d guarded for half a year, that convenient alibi, no longer existed. What came after would be something else: more complicated, more real, probably more painful. I didn’t care.

When he woke up, he looked at me, blinked twice, and smiled as if he still couldn’t believe I was really there.

—Happy New Year —I said, this time in a low voice.

—Happy New Year —he answered.

And that, what I’m confessing here now, was only the beginning.