My Three-Day Lover Woke Me on Her Knees

We had put those three days together like a puzzle, fitting my obligations around her free time. I had traveled to the city under the pretext of visiting old friends and a couple of relatives, and between dinner and dinner, between coffee and coffee, I had managed to steal three mornings and three whole nights from my schedule for her.

That Tuesday I had a breakfast set with an acquaintance of the family, a woman of good standing whom I was bringing a hard-to-get medicine, made in a European laboratory, for her son’s treatment. It was one of those formal appointments at an elegant club downtown, the kind you can’t cancel. But there were still hours to go before that, and the only thing that existed in that moment was the warm bed and Mariana’s body beside me.

When the phone alarm went off, I’d already been awake for a good while. So had she. We’d spent those minutes saying good morning without words, finding each other’s mouths in the dimness, giving ourselves those slow caresses I had missed so much. Neither of us was in a hurry. There was, however, a tenderness I hadn’t expected to feel with someone I had only known for a few weeks.

If I had to measure that encounter, I’d say it was twenty percent me and eighty percent her. I guided her very little. I enjoyed her immensely.

While we kissed, my left arm held her against my chest and my right was free to roam. And I roamed her completely. I slid my hand down her side, over the curve of her waist, over her generous hips that contrasted with her small, firm breasts. Her skin was warm from sleep, and every time my fingers found a new place, she answered with a brief sigh against my mouth.

I took advantage of that freedom in my right hand to lift my hip a little and pull down my pajama pants. Nights in that city are cold, and we slept bundled up, so freeing my erection beneath the sheets was almost a declaration of intent. She understood the gesture without my saying a word.

Her hand traveled down my chest, slowly, taking its time, until it reached my lower belly. She closed it around me and began to move it with deliberate calm, up and down, while our kisses continued, deeper now, more urgent. I felt the hardness grow beneath her palm and I felt her smiling against my lips when she noticed it.

I propped myself up slightly, resting on my left elbow, and rolled her over me. With both hands free at last, I could squeeze her the way I wanted: her back, her thighs—those thighs that drove me crazy—and that ass that had already been mine the night before and that I was claiming again with both hands spread wide. I squeezed her hard, without delicacy, with that raw, filthy thrill that only someone you truly want can awaken. And I really wanted Mariana.

I slid my hands up to her hair, that tangle of dark curls that had come loose during the night. I held her head gently, but with an intention that left no room for doubt. I looked at her. She looked back and understood everything in silence. She yielded to the slight pressure of my hand and started to go down.

She went down with kisses. My chest, my nipples, a slow lick at the navel, a wet path she traced with her mouth while I watched from above. When she reached where we both knew she would reach, I no longer had to push anything. Her head was exactly where I wanted it, and from there on I stopped directing.

Her mouth took me in completely. I closed my eyes for a second and opened them again because I didn’t want to miss anything. She slid down my entire length on her own until her nose pressed into me, and she stayed there for an instant, holding her breath, before rising again. There was no clumsiness. There was an almost devotional concentration in what she was doing.

I indulged myself by stretching out my arm and reaching for the phone on the nightstand. I lifted it carefully and started recording. Not for show, but because the image of her surrendering like that was something I wanted to keep, something I would want to remember when those three days were nothing more than a distant memory. She didn’t even notice, so immersed was she in what she was doing.

And then I remembered something I hadn’t told her.

I had never told her what drives me crazy.

There are few things that take me to the edge as much as finishing in my lover’s mouth and watching her swallow, gladly, without pulling away. But it’s not something every woman enjoys, and with her we had barely even touched on the subject. I didn’t know how she would react. When I felt I couldn’t hold back any longer, I recovered a shred of courtesy and warned her.

—I’m going to come —I said, my voice broken—. You’re going to make me come.

She lifted her face just a little, without letting go of me, and looked straight at me with those dark eyes. Mariana has a sweetness that lights up her face even when she isn’t doing anything, but the look in that moment was nothing sweet. It was a charged look, shameless, deliberately dirty. My hand was still tangled in her curls. Her right hand was squeezing me hard, setting the final pace.

I felt my abdomen tighten. My whole body went rigid. Because of the position, the orgasm shot upward and fell back onto my own stomach in warm spurts while I shook with something like small convulsions. But what really tore me off the floor wasn’t the physical pleasure, but the spectacle of her gaze accompanying every second of my release.

It took me a while to catch my breath. When I did, I blurted out an order before I even had time to think it.

—Next time you’ll swallow it.

The moment I said it, I realized my mistake. She wasn’t my submissive. She was my girlfriend for those three wonderful days, nothing more and nothing less. So I softened my tone and finished the sentence for what it really was: a desire, not a demand.

—I love it when a woman swallows my cum —I murmured, caressing her cheek—. Next time, please.

—Yes —she answered, with not even a degree less of that intense shine in her eyes—. I’ll do it.

***

The night before, I had fallen asleep like a little girl. It had been more than three years since I’d slept in anyone’s bed or with anyone beside me, and what surprised me most was how natural everything felt with this man. The fit was immediate, as if my body remembered something I thought I had forgotten.

My internal clock is relentless. At four in the morning I wake up no matter what, because if I don’t go to the bathroom my bladder will burst. That night was no different. But when I opened my eyes, instead of the usual darkness, I found him there, awake, looking at me in silence and stroking my curls with the tips of his fingers. He said nothing. None of it was necessary.

All the time we spent together there was that strange connection, the kind you can’t manufacture. What began as a stretch of tenderness, lazy kisses and aimless caresses, changed on its own. At some point, without either of us fully deciding, I ended up with him in my mouth. Or he with his mouth on me. The order no longer mattered.

He was completely relaxed, surrendered to pleasure, and I was at the other extreme: focused, almost obsessed with what I was doing. I filled my mouth to the edge of suffocation and wanted more. At first I held the base with my hand, like a brake, a safety measure. But little by little I took that stop away. I wanted to feel him whole, all the way to my throat, to that point where the air cuts off and everything becomes a game on the edge of the possible.

It was a delicious game. Dangerous and delicious at once. Every time my nose touched his skin and I stayed there, without breathing a second longer than necessary, I felt a jolt that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. With what I was able to allow myself to feel after so long kept in reserve.

I was so absorbed in my own thing that I didn’t even notice he was recording me. I found out afterward, when he showed me the video with a guilty smile that wasn’t really guilt. And it didn’t bother me. On the contrary. Seeing from the outside what it had been from the inside had its own kind of filthy thrill.

When he warned me he was coming, I lifted my face just enough to look at him. I wanted to see his face at that exact instant, I wanted to be the cause of that wrecked expression a man gets when he no longer controls anything. And I got it. I felt him explode, I saw him convulse, I heard him say things he probably doesn’t remember saying.

Then he let out that order, “next time you’ll swallow it,” and for a second my skin prickled. Not because I was submissive, but because I liked it. I liked that he wanted me with that intensity. And when he corrected himself, when he turned it into a “please,” I liked it even more, because I understood that behind the order there was someone who was willing to ask, too.

—Yes —I told him—. I’ll do it.

And I meant it. There were two days left, two mornings, two nights. Plenty of time to fulfill every promise we could think of, and to invent a few more. It was, simply, an exquisite morning quickie. The first of several. The one that reminded me my body still knew how to ask for what it wanted.