She Went Alone into the Jungle, Fed Up with Lukewarm Men

Daniela was twenty-six years old and had learned early that her best tool was not on her résumé. It was a smile, the kind that lingered halfway at the corner of her lips and promised a secret it never quite revealed. She worked selling cargo space for a shipping company, which in practice meant spending the day on the phone and nights at cocktail events, convincing managers that her containers were worth more than the competition’s. She was good at it. Selling freight was almost the same as selling herself: projecting confidence, making the other person believe they were getting something exclusive.

That confidence did not come from a sales course. It came from years onstage, under hot lights, in front of an audience that applauded every sway of her hips. She had danced folk dance since she was a teenager, and the stage taught her to lift her chin, to hold a man’s gaze, and to flirt and refuse in the same gesture. That double-sidedness was already part of her nature.

Her slender body, with its narrow waist, was the perfect canvas for that grace. She didn’t flaunt anything; she simply walked into a room and the temperature changed. Men noticed her, always—some discreetly, others with such clumsiness it made her smile inwardly.

That night the stage was an after-office gathering in a downtown hall. It smelled of expensive perfume and red wine. Daniela moved among the groups like she belonged there, even though inside she was hunting. Then she saw him: in his thirties, impeccable suit, the air of a man who had never had to ask for anything. He ordered a whiskey at the bar.

—A strong-drink man among all this wine? —she said at his side, ordering the same.

He turned, surprised.

—I like things with character. Sebastián —he introduced himself, extending his hand—. Sales manager. And you?

—Daniela. Sales, for a shipping company.

The following weeks were a choreography. Dinners where he chose the wine, coffees where he talked about his projects. At every meeting she turned up the intensity a little: a hand that lingered on his arm, a laugh closer to his ear. He responded, but always a step away, as if afraid to cross an invisible line.

Until one night, in a softly lit Italian restaurant, she decided it was time. She leaned across the table, her hair falling like a curtain, her neck bare.

—Do you know what I like about you? —she asked in a low voice—. That you seem decisive.

He swallowed. He wiped his lips with the napkin, a clumsy gesture that gave him away.

—Look, Daniela… you’re incredible. But…

That “but” was everything. She leaned back in her chair and the playful smile vanished from her face at once.

—Don’t worry. It’s late.

She stood with a grace he could never have imitated even in his dreams and left without looking back. Outside, the cold air hit her face and she felt that hot frustration, a mix of anger and contained desire, that she knew far too well. Her cunt was throbbing through her underwear, tight, wet without permission, and she hated that a coward in a tie had left her like that.

***

Three weeks passed. Sebastián was filed away in the drawer of frustrations, along with other names. The next stage was an industry congress at a hotel in the south of the capital: booths, talks, and more men in suits with protocol smiles. Daniela had put on a navy blue pencil dress, made of thick fabric that hugged her like a second skin and forced her to take short steps. She didn’t need a neckline; her figure said everything.

She saw him during the coffee break. Gonzalo, operations director at one of the biggest companies in the port. Older than Sebastián, gray at the temples, a presence that did not shout: it commanded. He didn’t need to brag; his position did it for him.

—Daniela, right? —he said in a deep voice—. I saw your talk last year. Interesting.

—Thank you. I appreciate someone who pays real attention —she replied, with a smile that was not entirely professional.

That night there was a closing dinner. Gonzalo sat at her table and throughout the evening his hand rested, as if by accident, on her thigh, his fingers brushing her every time he leaned in. It was subtle possession, a marking of territory. And Daniela, that boldness lit her up. Finally someone who wasn’t scared. Under the tablecloth, Gonzalo’s thick fingers slid a couple of centimeters higher and pressed the inside of her thigh with a firmness that tore a gasp from her, which she hid with a sip of wine. Her cunt clenched at once. She crossed her legs to trap that hand and hold it there, against her hot flesh.

Later he guided her by the arm to a circle of directors and introduced her as his find, his hand firm on her waist, holding her with a force that was flattering and possessive at once. She defended her ideas with agility, feeling like a trophy and a player at the same time.

That was when one of the younger men in the group—a certain Joaquín, heir to a fortune and a company—came over to listen more closely and, in an awkward movement, brushed the side of her breast. It wasn’t crude, it was an accident, but the contact shot through her like electricity. He apologized instantly, red to the ears, losing the thread of what he was saying.

Gonzalo squeezed her waist and pulled her away from the young man, a silent warning. And there Daniela understood it: Gonzalo was a predictable possessor; the younger man, pure insecurity. She was trapped between two extremes and neither one was enough.

She excused herself to the bathroom. In front of the mirror she splashed cold water on her face. The heat between her legs was a torture with no relief in sight. She lowered a hand, lifted the fitted skirt just enough, and touched herself over the thong: the fabric was soaked, and her finger, when it slid, left a glossy thread that she stretched and brought to her mouth out of pure rage. She tasted herself, breathed deeply, recomposed her face, and went back out, determined to invent an excuse to leave.

On the way to the coat check, a hand stopped her. Gonzalo, with his power-smoothed smile turned into something more private.

—Let’s get out of this party —he murmured—. Come up to my room. The view is better from above.

The proposal was so direct, so unimaginative, it almost made her laugh. After parading her as a trophy, he thought an order would be enough. Her excitement evaporated at once.

—The view from your suite will be impressive —she said, her voice soft as velvet and sharp as a knife—. But I prefer the one from my own bed. It’s cozier.

And she turned her back, feeling his gaze nailed to her, knowing she had just fractured the ego of one of the most powerful men in the port. It gave her a shred of satisfaction. Just a shred.

At the hotel entrance, while she was asking for a taxi, a voice called out to her.

—Daniela, wait!

It was Joaquín, arriving a little out of breath.

—Sorry about dinner. That was really clumsy of me.

She looked at him. Without Gonzalo’s aura, without Sebastián’s fake confidence, he was just a handsome guy who felt bad. Tired of so much strategy, sincerity tasted like balm.

—It’s fine. It was an accident.

—Let me make it up to you. A drink, now that we can talk without anyone touching you.

The comment made him blush again and made her laugh. She accepted. In a quiet bar the conversation flowed for real: music, the absurdity of the corporate world, the urge to travel. For the first time in a long time, she felt comfortable. When he suggested a real date, a Saturday with no suits or work people, she gave him her number with a spark of optimism. Maybe this one will be different, she thought.

***

On Saturday, Joaquín neither canceled nor arrived late, and that was already in his favor. He took her to a no-frills place, soft music, good lighting. Talking to him was easy; he didn’t brag, he actually listened. Daniela laughed more than she expected.

Then they went dancing, and that’s when the problem began. He wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t good either: stiff movements, always a little off-beat. She gave him space, marked the rhythm for him, moved close enough to almost brush him. He followed, but always late.

When the music softened, she turned and closed the distance. She kissed him. A gift of a kiss, easy. And Joaquín froze for a second. One second. Enough. That microsecond in which he hesitated, in which he thought too much, in which he stopped flowing, broke everything.

She ended the kiss without emotion, more to close the scene than out of desire. She pulled away and looked at him with an expression that no longer held interest, only assessment.

—What a shame —she tilted her head—. You were doing well. But you fell apart at the end.

She took her purse.

—Relax. You’re not the first. —Nor the last, she thought, though she didn’t say it.

She left him a kiss on the cheek and walked away without looking back. She wasn’t angry. Just bored.

***

The taxi dropped her off in front of her house. Sebastián. Gonzalo. Joaquín. Three names, three attempts, the same ending. She went inside quietly so as not to wake her mother and went up to her room, shutting the door harder than necessary.

She yanked off her shoes and fell back onto the bed. It wasn’t just pride weighing her down: it was her body, that constant heat she’d been carrying for weeks, months, almost a year, since the last time anyone had touched her. Too long without a dick inside her, without hands squeezing her tits, without the weight of a man on top of her. Her cunt pulsed like it had a life of its own, swollen, hungry, demanding attention.

Her hands slid up her abdomen, brushing the fabric of the dress, until they stopped over her breasts. The light contact changed her breathing. She let the weight of her palms sink and found her nipples under the fabric: she pinched them between index finger and thumb until they stood up, hard as little stones, biting her lip to hold back a sound she didn’t want to let out.

One hand went down. Her fingers slid over the fabric until they found the edge, searching for the space between body and clothes. The first contact through the underwear was an electric shock: the thong was soaked, clinging to the lips of her cunt like a second skin, and it was not just the heat, but the need to feel chosen, even if it was by herself.

She wrestled with the waistband button until the dress gave way and cold air grazed her skin. She jerked off the thong and threw it to the floor. Freed, her hand went back down, and her fingers sank between her wet lips, sliding in her own wetness. The middle finger found the clit, already swollen, and she let out a long gasp that she smothered against her shoulder. She began tracing slow, precise circles, as if negotiating with her own body, while her other hand squeezed and kneaded one breast, tugging at the nipple until the little pain mixed with pleasure.

—Mm… —a rough sound broke the silence of the room.

She slid two fingers down to the entrance of her cunt and thrust them in at once. She was so wet they slipped all the way in without resistance. She curved the tips, searching for that soft spot inside, and began to fuck herself with her fingers, first measured, then with confidence. The wet, obscene sound of her fingers going in and out filled the room and made her clench her teeth so she wouldn’t scream. She imagined a cock there, a hard, thick cock driving her into the mattress, and her hips began to follow the motion, seeking friction, the exact angle.

She pulled her knees up, spread her legs wide, and returned to the clit with her thumb while her fingers kept going in and out with an urgency that almost hurt. She pinched her nipple harder. Her body tensed at once; her toes curled, her nails dug into the sheet, her legs closed around her hand, and with a muffled cry she smothered against the pillow, her back arching and her cunt clenching around her own fingers, squeezing them in spasms that came and went. She collapsed onto the mattress, panting, covered in sweat, her fingers gleaming up to the knuckles.

She lay there, her chest rising and falling out of rhythm. She brought her wet fingers to her mouth and sucked them, tasting herself. She had gotten what she wanted, yes. But the relief lasted little, and that nameless discomfort came back too quickly, reminding her it was not the same. It never was. One finger doesn’t fill what a cock fills.

—What a pain —she muttered, one arm over her forehead.

Her phone vibrated among the sheets. A story from her friend: smiling, hair loose in the wind, a background of open jungle contrasting with the stillness of the room. More followed: laughter, drinks, sun, freedom. No events, no men measuring themselves against her. Just simple moments.

Daniela replayed them, paying attention to the details. That lightness was exactly what she needed. Not another date, not another failed attempt.

—I’m going to go —she murmured, and a smile formed on its own—. Alone.

And for the first time all night, the decision came not with frustration, but with something like anticipation.

***

The truck’s rattling blended with the murmur of the jungle. Daniela watched the endless green through the window and, without realizing it, let the tension go. The air was different, more humid, more alive. For the first time in weeks she didn’t have to fake interest or measure every gesture.

She had spent a couple of days doing things that didn’t fit her routine: hikes where she ended up laughing when she lost her balance in the mud, swims in cold waterfalls that made her burst out laughing, local drinks she couldn’t pronounce but ordered anyway. She didn’t have to impress anyone, and for her that was almost a luxury.

The guide talked nonstop from the front seat, with the energy of someone who wasn’t reciting a speech but living it. But Daniela noticed the detail: every time he finished a story, his eyes sought her out in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t invasive. But it was there, constant.

—And if you get lost around here, we’ll find you anyway… or you can stay, which wouldn’t be so bad either —he said, and his gaze met hers in the reflection.

Daniela lifted one eyebrow slightly, with that half-smile of someone who understands the game without making it obvious. She held his gaze a second too long and went back to the landscape.

At night she returned to the hotel tired but light, showered calmly and went out alone, with no plans, to bars where the music filled everything. She danced as she knew how, with that mix of control and looseness her years onstage had left in her body, without looking for a partner. The looks came, but this time there was no real interest behind them, and that made her feel freer.

It was on one of those nights, on a crowded dance floor under changing lights, that she felt him before she saw him. A presence moving in with purpose. She turned without stopping her dance, and there he was: the guide.

—Did you slip away from the group or is this part of the tour? —he said with a broad smile, a little breathless.

—Depends —she replied, leaning in so he could hear her over the music—. Does it include a personal guide, or is that extra?

—For some people I make exceptions. Tomás —he said, extending his hand.

The conversation flowed with unexpected ease. Daniela found herself laughing, measuring, teasing just enough. Tomás didn’t back away; he caught every joke and threw it back effortlessly. There was a confidence in him that didn’t need to impose itself.

—Do you dance, or did you just come to criticize everyone else? —he said, tilting his head toward the floor.

—Depends on whether you’re worth it —she replied, letting him take her hand.

On the dance floor, the difference was immediate. Tomás didn’t just keep up: he understood it. He matched her, gave her space when she asked for it and closed it when the dynamic allowed. His hands found her waist firmly, guiding without crowding, and the touch stopped being accidental. Far from making her uncomfortable, it pulled from her that sideways smile of someone who knows exactly the effect she’s having. On one turn he pulled her back against his chest and she felt, unmistakably, the hard bulge pressed against her ass. He didn’t hide it, didn’t apologize. He just left his open hand on her belly, lower than her navel, marking her. Daniela let out a low laugh and rolled her hips against that hardness, teasing him slowly.

—You don’t dance badly —she murmured near his ear.

—Neither do you —he replied, without trying to impress her.

They ended up at the bar, the energy still floating between them.

—My apartment has better music and fewer people —Tomás said, direct, blunt—. If you’re up for it.

There was no insistence, no pressure, only a quiet confidence. Daniela sized him up for a second. He wasn’t playing the same game as the others: he wasn’t chasing her or running from her. He was simply proposing.

—A little while —she said at last, with a half-smile—. Don’t get excited.

***

The apartment was simple, tidy, with nothing trying to impress her, and that only added to it. Tomás made her a drink unhurriedly, without looking at her every two seconds to make sure she was still there. She didn’t miss that detail: she was used to being the obvious center, and here the attention was there, but it did not impose itself.

—Careful, this one sneaks up on you —he said, handing her the glass. Their fingers barely brushed.

—Let’s see if it’s worth it —she murmured, tasting it.

The low music set a slow rhythm. Daniela stopped turning the glass. The silence had become dense, almost wet on the skin. She took a step, enough to enter his space without touching him yet.

—Does the tour include touching the guide or is that an extra service? —she whispered, letting her hands fall onto his chest, on the button of his shirt. She felt the heartbeat beneath, quick but steady.

—Depends on what the client asks for —he replied, not moving, with a calm that irritated and excited her in equal measure.

She was sick of the ones who promised and never delivered. She gave him a soft slap on the chest, pushing him back.

—I don’t want to wait anymore, Tomás. Are you sure you can handle this?

—What are you waiting for? —he answered. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a challenge.

And that was enough. She leaned in and kissed him, straight on, voracious, not giving him time to waver. Tomás answered instantly, his hands at her waist, hauling her against him with a force that made her moan into his mouth. A tongue kiss, filthy, with teeth that bit her lower lip hard enough to pull a sound from her. The heat she had been carrying all month burst in that first kiss. She slipped a hand between their bodies and squeezed his cock over his pants: it was hard, thick, throbbing under the fabric. She smiled against his mouth when she felt it.

—Damn —she whispered—. You really were ready.

—Ever since I saw you get out of the truck —he growled, and bit her neck.

He dragged her toward the bed. She fell onto the pillows, her dress bunched up to her waist, and he lunged on top of her without leaving any space between their bodies. Clothes became an obstacle. He undid the button with a speed that left her breathless and slid the dress off her shoulders, leaving her in bra and thong. He ripped the bra off impatiently; her small, firm tits bounced up into his face and he went for them, sucking one nipple while pinching the other between two fingers. He bit her, just hard enough for it to hurt and for her to love it. Daniela dug her fingers into his hair and shoved his head against her chest.

—Yes, like that, bite them —she gasped.

He moved down to lick her stomach, followed the hip bone, and hooked her thong with his teeth. He pulled it down slowly, dragging it along her legs before tossing it away. She wanted to close her legs, ashamed by the wetness already betraying her, but he stopped her with one firm hand on each knee, spreading her wide, positioning himself between them.

—God… look at how wet you are —he murmured, gaze fixed on the open, shining cunt in front of his face—. Soaked.

—Shut up and eat me out —she snapped, no filters left.

He didn’t wait to be told twice. His head dropped and, when his tongue found her, the world disappeared. His broad, flat tongue licked her cunt from bottom to top, finishing with a suck on her clit that made her jerk.

—Fuck! —she moaned, arching her back, claws digging into his shoulders.

He wasn’t gentle. He was voracious, and he knew what he was doing. He parted her lips with two fingers, left her clit exposed, and flicked it with the tip of his tongue, fast, relentless. Then he slid in two fingers, curved them, and started battering that soft spot inside her while his tongue kept circling the swollen button. The sucking sound, of fingers sinking into something wet, was obscene and filled the room.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck —she moaned, twisting her hips against his face, grabbing his hair with both hands, rubbing shamelessly against his mouth.

He pushed in a third finger, stretched her a little more, and she lost track of time. Her legs began to shake, her thighs closing around his head, her lip bitten to keep from screaming. The first orgasm didn’t wait: a sudden wave that shook her from head to toe, her cunt contracting around his fingers, a gush of warm liquid soaking his hand and chin, while she muffled the cry against her own arm. Tomás didn’t stop; he kept licking while the shuddering went on, stretching the orgasm until she had to push at his forehead because she couldn’t take it anymore.

—Stop, stop, it’s too much —she gasped, laughing breathlessly.

He lifted his head with his mouth shining, chin wet, and licked his lips with a smile. But Daniela didn’t want to be the passive prize. For the first time in a year, she wanted the power. With a strength that surprised him, she shoved his chest and forced him onto his back on the mattress.

—Now it’s your turn —she said, voice rough.

She straddled his thighs and unbuckled his belt. She yanked down his pants and boxers, and his cock sprang free, hard, thick, the tip already pearled with fluid. Daniela bit her lip: it was better than she had imagined. She took it at the base with her hand, feeling it hot, throbbing against her palm, and gave it two, three slow strokes before lowering her head.

First she licked, long and filthy, from base to tip, following the thick vein underneath. She circled the head with her tongue, took it halfway into her mouth, and then pulled it out again with a wet smack. Then she swallowed it in one go, all of it, feeling the tip bump against the back of her throat.

—Fuck, Daniela… —he gasped, head falling back, fingers losing themselves in her hair.

She took control of the rhythm. Up and down, cheeks hollowed, sucking hard, her hand working what her mouth didn’t cover. Saliva dripped down her chin, over his balls, and she used it to slide better. She looked up at him, eyes shining, and he let out a rough groan seeing her suck him off with that look.

—If you keep this up, I’m going to come —he panted, tugging her hair in an attempt to pull her off.

She didn’t let him. She sped up, loosened her throat, and took his cock to the base, her nose against his belly, and stayed there, swallowing around the head. He lasted two seconds and then exploded. She felt the spasms, the cock throbbing in her mouth, and did not let go. A hot gush, then another, then another; she swallowed everything he gave her, not losing a drop, while continuing to suck slowly until he moaned and let her go, spent.

She pulled the cock out with a smack and ran her tongue over the tip to clean it. It was still hard, only slightly softer, ready to keep going.

—Good thing you can last —she whispered, surprised and delighted, her mouth still wet.

Tomás stood, lust in his eyes, and lifted her into the air with unexpected ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they kissed against the wall, tongues tangled—him tasting himself in her mouth—while he held her with one hand on her ass and the other squeezing a breast.

—Are you sure you can handle this? —she moaned, feeling the tip of his cock pressing against her soaked entrance, sliding between her lips.

He didn’t need more. He lowered her toward him with one firm, slow movement, spearing her in one thrust that filled her completely. Daniela screamed against his neck at the feeling of being opened, stretched, his cock touching her all the way in.

—Fuck, yes, like that! —she shouted, head falling back against the wall—. Don’t stop, don’t you dare.

He started moving, pinning her against the wall with every thrust. He pulled his cock out almost all the way and drove it back in with a hard slap. The sound of bodies colliding, of her ass hitting the wall, filled the room. Each thrust deeper, more brutal, her nails marking his shoulders and back.

—Harder, harder —she demanded in his ear—. Fuck me properly.

He growled and sped up, pounding her against the wall until her ears rang. When his arms began to tremble, he carried her, still impaled on him, to the bed. He ripped her off him with a wet tug and turned her over, leaving her face down. He lifted her by the hips until she was on her knees, body stretched out and ass in the air, face pressed to the mattress.

—Do you want it? —she asked, looking over her shoulder, wiggling her ass to provoke him.

In answer, a sharp slap on one cheek made her tense and curse. Then another, and another, until her ass cheek turned red and she pushed her ass back asking for more. Tomás knelt behind her and ran the tip of his cock over her entire cunt, soaking himself, before shoving it in to the balls in one thrust. The angle was deeper, the sensation more intense. He started slow, pulling almost all the way out and entering again, then built speed until he was hitting her with his full hip. The sound of her ass taking the blows of his hips was dry, obscene, constant.

—Harder, fuck, harder —she demanded, pushing her hips back to take all of him—. Break my cunt.

He grabbed a strand of her hair and threw her head back, arching her. With his other hand he drove his fingers into her hip and accelerated, fucking her with clean, exact violence. He dragged a thumb, wet with saliva, over her asshole and pressed a little, not entering, just to see her tremble from head to toe and scream into the sheets.

—Oh God, yes, like that, don’t stop…

She felt it before she saw it: his hands tensing, his breathing losing control. And she liked that. She smiled, leaned in a little more… and then, without warning, stopped her hips just enough to break his rhythm.

—Wait —she whispered, sliding back until he slipped out of her with a wet pop.

Before he could react, she turned and shoved him onto his back on the bed. She climbed on top, settling herself over his cock as if that place had always been hers. She grabbed the base with one hand, lined it up, and lowered herself slowly, impaling herself centimeter by centimeter until she sat on his thighs with his cock buried all the way in.

—Now I move —she murmured, and started.

She was neither clumsy nor slow: she was precise, deliberate, her waist drawing small figure eights so every stroke gave her a different pleasure. As if she were dancing, only the music was the wet sound of her cunt swallowing his cock again and again. She rose until only the tip remained inside and dropped down hard, her ass hitting his thighs. Her tits bounced with every rebound. Tomás took them, filling his hands, pulling at the nipples, then slid his hands to her hips to guide her, up and down, with more force.

—Like that, like that, keep going —he gasped, watching her ride him.

She leaned down and they kissed desperately while she kept going up and down, taking him almost to the tip before sinking all the way down. He bit her neck. She pulled his hair. She felt his cock growing inside her, throbbing, and knew he was close. She sped up, bouncing on him with everything she had left, chasing her own orgasm.

—Come inside —she demanded in his ear, voice cracking—. Give it all to me. Fill me up.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. His body tensed, he dug his fingers into her ass, and with one last deep thrust he slammed her against him and came inside her with an animal growl. Daniela felt the heat burst in her belly, thick spurts one after another, and that warm flood soaking her from within was what pushed her over the edge. She arched, screaming against his shoulder, her cunt clenching around the cock in long spasms that squeezed out the last drop. When it was over, she collapsed onto his chest, sweaty, trembling, feeling the cum dripping down her thigh.

They didn’t stop there. There were no plans and no pauses. Ten minutes later he already had her braced again on the back of a chair, bent at the waist, fucking her from behind while he watched her reflection in the window glass. He lifted her onto the kitchen table, seated her on the edge, spread her legs and ate her cunt until she came again, knocking over a glass that shattered on the floor. Then he put her on all fours on the rug, grabbed her hair and fucked her like he meant to split her open, until she let herself drop face down and he finished painting her back with cum. Every position was an opportunity to forget work, stress, and the disappointments of the capital. Daniela, at last, let go of every ounce of weight she had been carrying. She screamed, laughed, bit her lip, came three more times before losing count, until both of them were exhausted, sticky, sprawled on the rumpled mattress.

***

The morning light filtered warmly through the curtains, falling over her naked skin. Daniela opened her eyes with a body that was heavy but different. It wasn’t the uncomfortable exhaustion of other nights: it was a clean, deep tiredness, as if she had finally emptied out everything she had been carrying inside. Her thighs ached, she had fingerprints on her hips and a bite on her shoulder that would last for days. A smile slipped out of her on its own. Finally.

She turned, looking for warmth on the other side, but the space was empty. She put on an oversized T-shirt she found on a chair and walked toward a faint metallic sound. Tomás was in the kitchen, his back turned, smelling of fresh coffee and something in the pan.

—Since when do you do post-tour breakfast? —she commented, leaning on the doorframe.

—Since it’s worth it —he replied, lighting up when he saw her—. Sit down.

They ate in silence for a while, her calm, unhurried. Until he set his elbows on the table.

—Last night was incredible. But not just that. We connected, right? I’d like to keep seeing you.

Daniela lifted her gaze slightly, without stopping chewing. She let out a short laugh. Not warm, not cruel either. Unbelieving.

—Tomás… what are you talking about?

—About us.

She set down her fork softly.

—There is no “us” —she said it without harshness, but with no room for interpretation—. Yesterday was what it was. And that’s it.

He frowned, trying to fit it together. He wanted to insist, but she was no longer there for that conversation. She answered in monosyllables, nodded by inertia. There was no malice: she had simply closed the chapter.

She showered unhurriedly, letting the water carry away the remnants of the night, the dried semen on her thighs, the sweat from her hair. She felt clean, light, at peace. When she came out, dressed and with damp hair, Tomás was still waiting, as if he wanted to hold on to something.

—Hey, seriously, we could…

—Thank you, Tomás —she said, meeting his eyes at last—. Really. I had a good time.

It wasn’t a cold goodbye, but it wasn’t an invitation either. She gave him a short kiss on the cheek and headed for the door.

—Take care.

The fresh morning air hit her full in the face. She walked without looking back, with a new feeling settling in her chest. It wasn’t euphoria or excitement. It was relief.

Days later, back in the capital, everything seemed the same… but it wasn’t. She returned to her routines, to her work, to events. Only this time there was no pressure, no urgency. For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t looking for anything. And that made her feel ready.