That Night I Let Him See Everything I Had Been Hiding

I’d gone seven days without Mateo, and my body had gotten weird. It wasn’t just the lack of him, it was something murkier, more physical. My period had started on Tuesday and, against all logic, instead of leaving me apathetic it had jacked my hormones all to hell. Every time I sat down in the office I felt an electric current rising through me, a heavy tingle in my cunt that wouldn’t let me focus. On the subway I looked at strangers and thought things I shouldn’t have been thinking: mouths, hands, cocks hard against my ass at rush hour. At night I would masturbate in silence under the sheets, two fingers buried to the knuckles and my thumb pressing my clit, and I’d come biting the pillow; then I’d fall asleep with a hollow ache that not even the most expert finger could fill. I needed a cock inside me. His, specifically.

Mateo’s flight landed at ten-thirty. I left work at six, got in the shower, shaved with the obsessive attention of someone who knows she’s going to be touched that very night, and opened the closet looking for something. Something that would say what I wanted to say without saying it. I settled on a tight, short red dress. A dress that was almost a statement. Over it I put on a black coat because it was cold in Buenos Aires that August, but underneath there was only skin, lace, and a decision.

The decision was this: I wasn’t going to tell him about my period. I was going to let him find out. And if Mateo got scared, if he twisted his face, if he suggested “maybe tomorrow,” then I would know something important about us. But if he went ahead, if he devoured me anyway, if he fucked me with his mouth full of blood, then I would know something else.

I waited for him at the Ezeiza exit with a small bag hanging from my shoulder. When I saw him come out through the automatic doors with that tired look people get when they travel too much, my knees went weak and my panties started sticking to me. Mateo has that way of walking that says he knows he’s being waited for. He doesn’t check the name board or scan for anyone with a lost look: he lifts his head, finds me right away, smiles.

—You look different —he said when he hugged me.

—I am different —I answered against his neck.

He smelled like airplane cabins and used cologne and something of his alone that made me lose all modesty. He tipped my chin up with one hand and kissed me as if we’d gone months without seeing each other instead of a week. There were people around us. Families with signs, taxi drivers, a little girl asleep on a dog. None of it mattered to me.

—Let’s go home —I whispered in his ear—. Let’s go now.

The Uber took twenty minutes to get to Belgrano. Twenty eternal minutes. As soon as we pulled away, I put my hand on his thigh and slid it upward, slowly, until I felt what was already hard under his jeans. I squeezed his cock through the fabric and felt it throb against my palm. Mateo glanced at me and gave a low laugh, that laugh of his that isn’t mockery but a warning.

—That impatient? —he murmured.

—You have no idea —I said—. I want to suck it right here.

The driver was cruising with the radio set to a bolero station. I leaned in, kissed his earlobe, and whispered that I’d spent a week waiting for him, that I’d been touching myself every night thinking about him, that I’d slipped in three fingers imagining they were his cock, that I needed him inside me before midnight. I felt him shiver. His hand slid to my thigh and started moving up beneath my dress, searching for my cunt with the pad of his thumb. I stopped him before he got there.

—Not here —I whispered—. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.

Mateo looked at me with curiosity. He knew I was hiding something from him, but he trusted it would be worth it. He dropped his hand to my knee and left it there, squeezing, letting me know.

***

We got to the apartment and the second the door shut I shoved him against it. I yanked off my coat. He saw the red dress, those inches of naked thigh, and his breath caught.

—Jesus Christ —he murmured.

—Upstairs —I said.

We didn’t go upstairs right away. We kissed in the elevator, his hand under my skirt kneading my ass over the lace, my hand finding the bulge and squeezing hard. In the hallway he backed me into the wall and bit my neck while I unbuckled his belt without thinking. Against the kitchen counter, when I bent down for a second to get some water, he yanked my panties halfway down my thighs and shoved two fingers into me in one go, no preamble, and I cried out against his mouth because I was so wet his fingers sank all the way in. He pulled them out shiny, wetter than he’d expected, and stared at them for a second under the kitchen light.

—Upstairs —he said, his voice rougher—. Now.

By the time we got to the bedroom, I was already holding my heels in my hand and the zipper of the dress was halfway down my back. Mateo finished pulling it down while sucking on my neck with that calculated slowness he knows undoes me. The dress fell to the floor. I was left in black panties and nothing else.

—Wait —he said when he saw the bra discarded—. I want to look at you like that for a while.

I stood in the middle of the room and let him look. Mateo took off his shirt without hurrying, never once looking away from me, as if he were memorizing me all over again. He slid out of his jeans and was left in his underwear, his cock outlined, straining the fabric, the tip already dampening the cotton. That look made me feel like it was the first time. Every time.

He gently pushed me toward the bed and made me lie back. He started with my mouth and worked down my neck, to my cleavage, to my breasts. My nipples are sensitive even when I’m not on my period; when I am, they become a forbidden zone that burns at the slightest touch. When he sucked them for the first time, nibbling with his teeth and tugging them just a little, I let out a cry that surprised even me. Mateo looked up, saw it wasn’t a cry of pain, and kept going. He took one whole breast into his mouth and sucked until he let it go with a wet sound. Then the other. Then both nipples at once, pinching them between his fingers while he licked the hollow between my breasts.

—You’re so fucking hungry —he murmured against my skin.

—I’ve been holding out for a week —I answered, my voice breaking—. Fuck me already, please.

—Shut up. Not yet.

His tongue moved down my stomach. It circled my belly button, traced my hip bone, lingered in the fold of my groin. I knew where he was going and started trembling before he got there. He opened my legs with both hands, unhurried, resting my knees against the mattress, and settled mouth-down between my thighs. He pulled my panties aside with his teeth, tugging them from one side without looking at me, and then he went still for a second. Just a second. Enough to process what he was seeing: my swollen cunt, shining, blood peeking between my lips, a thick thread running down toward my ass.

He lifted his eyes.

—Nina —he said.

My name. Just my name. I ran out of air.

—Does it bother you? —I asked in a voice I didn’t recognize—. If you want we can stop, if you want…

Mateo didn’t answer with words. He lowered his head again and kissed me there, slowly, without urgency, a closed-mouth kiss on my cunt lips, as if he were telling me there was no need to hide anything. Then he opened his mouth and licked me from bottom to top with a determination that tore another cry out of me. I felt his whole tongue flat against my clit, his beard scraping my lips, and a heat that was warm and red and mine. His tongue sharpened and he drove it into me, in and out, fucking me with his mouth. I was leaving a mark on him. I was leaving a mark on the sheets. I didn’t care.

—Mateo… —I gasped—. Mateo, you’re smearing yourself.

—Good —he answered in that rough voice, without taking his mouth away—. I want to get messy. I want to eat you whole. All of it.

He buried his face in me again. I grabbed his head with both hands and pressed him hard against me. He didn’t complain. He kept sucking my clit with that held-back animal intensity, alternating between tongue and lips, drawing at the little bud until my whole back arched off the mattress. Then he dropped down again to my entrance and slid his tongue in like a little cock, sinking into me as if he wanted to take me completely. I felt the tide rising. He slipped in one finger, then two, and kept sucking above while he curled his fingers inside, searching for that spot only he knows how to find.

—Oh, Mateo, like that, like that, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m going to come…

—Come in my mouth —he murmured against me—. Come, go on, fuck my face.

I felt the orgasm hit me from a very deep place, not from the skin but from inside the bone. I dug my heels into his shoulders. When I finally exploded, I pulled his hair without meaning to and his name slipped out of me like a prayer. I held his head to my cunt while I shook apart, soaking him with everything, while he kept licking, swallowing, not letting me breathe.

Mateo sat up with his mouth painted in me. His chin was red, his mustache red, a drop running down to his neck. He looked at me with that fire in his eyes and I burst out laughing. Nervous, grateful, embarrassed laughter.

—You look like a clown —I told him.

—I’m your clown —he answered, and leaned in to kiss me.

He kissed me on the mouth with all of that on him. I tasted metal, my own taste, his mixed with mine. His tongue came into my mouth loaded with me, and I sucked it like I was sucking his cock. It should have disgusted me. It didn’t disgust me. It gave me a kind of tenderness I didn’t know existed. I took his hand down to his underwear, pulled it aside, and grabbed his cock with my palm all sticky. It was rock hard, hot, wet at the tip. I ran my thumb over the head and he groaned into my mouth.

—Now come here —I told him.

***

After that first orgasm I sat on top of him. Mateo had lain back on the bed and was waiting for me with a smile that was half provocation and half adoration, his cock erect against his stomach, gleaming. I bent down first. I ran my tongue from base to tip, slowly, looking him in the eye. I took him into my mouth all the way, until he pressed against the back of my throat, and came back up slowly leaving a trail of saliva. I sucked him like that for a while, taking him all in, squeezing his balls with my other hand, until I felt him start trembling and he yanked my hair upward.

—Enough, enough, like that I’m going to come on your face and I don’t want to yet.

I climbed on top of him. I grabbed his cock with my hand and pressed it to the entrance of my cunt, rubbing it over my lips, soaking it. Then I sank onto his cock little by little, feeling it slide in without effort, all slick, all on fire, every inch opening me in a way that after a week without him felt brand new. I stayed still for a moment, with him all the way inside, breathing, letting my body settle around that hard presence.

—Move whenever you want —he said, his hands on my hips.

I moved. Slowly at first, a short sway, just barely lifting the tip and sinking back down. Then rising higher, letting him almost slip out entirely before dropping onto him all at once. I started bouncing on him with my tits hitting my face, and Mateo grabbed them with both hands, squeezing, twisting my nipples between his fingers. I found a rhythm that felt good, a filthy, animal rhythm, with my pelvis grinding against his every time I came down. I looked him in the eye. Mateo had his lips parted, that expression he gets when he’s close and still holding on.

—Ride me harder —he gasped—. Harder, Nina, fuck me.

I felt my own blood running down my thighs, wetting me and him, painting his stomach, soaking his balls, painting the room in a color that wasn’t modesty. I looked down and saw the scene: his cock going in and out of me all red, the base covered in me, a thick pool in his groin. Instead of stopping me, it turned me on more. I put one finger in my mouth, pulled it out wet, and took it to my clit. I started circling it while I kept bouncing on him.

—Look at me —I told him—. Look at it. Look what I’m doing to you.

—You’re beautiful —he said, voice breaking—. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

—Don’t tell me that now —I begged—. You’re going to make me cry.

I cried anyway. I cried while I came a second time, without stopping touching myself, with my face on his shoulder and my fingers dug into his chest. It wasn’t one of those orgasms you scream through. It was silent, dense, almost sad for how deep it went, a tremor that shook my whole cunt and clenched around his cock from the inside. I felt him holding back, clenching his teeth so he wouldn’t come with me. Mateo held me together while I shook, with his hands open on my back, pushing up slowly from below to keep me with him.

***

After that we lay there in silence for a while. I slipped off him and fell beside him. His cock was still hard, resting against his stomach, shiny and red halfway up. He stroked my back, I slowly bit his earlobe and grabbed his cock every so often, squeezing just enough to hear him moan. The sheets were a mess. There were red stains, darker stains, a handprint on his chest, the shape of my ass marked where I’d been sitting. I’d have to soak the sheets in the morning. I didn’t care.

—Are you okay? —he asked after a while.

—I’m better than okay.

—And what was that you wanted to tell me?

I lifted my head. Mateo was looking at me with a smile that knew. That already knew.

—That I’d been ashamed for years —I said softly—. That every time my period came I pulled away a little. That I didn’t want you to see this. That I thought it would disgust you.

—You? Disgust me? —he said, and laughed softly—. Did you see how I ended up? Did you see how my cock still is?

I looked at my hands. I looked at his face, still painted. I looked at his cock, hard between his legs. I laughed too, a laugh that turned a little shaky.

—I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore —I told him—. I don’t want to turn off the light. I don’t want to ask you to wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to ask permission for anything that happens to me.

—Then don’t ask me.

***

That early morning I had him once more. I asked for it myself, softly, after a long while of holding each other. I asked him to get on top. To hold me tight. To look at me. The oldest position, the simplest, the one that had always seemed silly to me and that night, for some reason, felt like the only one.

Mateo settled between my legs, grabbed his cock with his hand, and started slipping it into me slowly, watching me, seeing it sink in inch by inch. I opened myself for him, looped my legs around his waist, held him with my heels. When he was all the way inside he paused a second with his forehead against mine. Then he started moving. This time it was different. This time there was no surprise, no reunion adrenaline, no shock of the first sight. This time there was only weight, heat, intimacy. His thrusts were slow and deep, each one reaching me all the way inside, pushing me a little higher on the mattress. I could feel his breath on my face. I could feel him thinking me through.

—Slower —I asked—. Like that. Stay there inside me.

He stayed there, buried to the hilt, moving only a little, grinding his pelvis against me so the bone rubbed my clit. He kissed my mouth, kissed my eyes, sucked my tongue. Every movement of his pulled a soft moan from me. There was no sound in the room except our breathing and the noise of our bodies sticking, peeling apart, and sticking together again.

—I love you —I said, because nothing else came to mind.

—Me too —he answered, and it showed in his eyes.

He started moving faster, his forehead pressed to mine, never once looking away. I lifted my hips to meet him, to take each thrust deeper. I came for the third time that night, slowly, without cries, a long wave that rose from my cunt to my throat and made me claw his back. He came almost with me, biting my shoulder, sinking in one last time to the hilt, and I felt that hot pulse inside, that thick stream mixing with everything already there, marking me from within the way I had marked him from the outside. He held me even tighter, as if he were afraid to let me go.

Afterward I fell asleep on his chest with the sheets turned into a map of the two of us, with his semen and my blood running slowly down my thigh, with no desire to clean up, no desire to move. Before closing my eyes I thought that had been the dirtiest and the cleanest night of my life. I couldn’t find the contradiction. Maybe there wasn’t one.

The next morning, while we drank coffee in the kitchen and I looked with some sadness at the bundled-up sheets on the balcony, Mateo rested his hand on the back of my neck and kissed my forehead without saying a word. And I understood that something had changed. That I wasn’t going to hide anymore. That four years later I had learned how to be whole with someone. That, even if no one tells it, is a kind of confession too.