The Afternoon the Book Club Was Left Empty

Boiling water poured over Lucía’s shoulders like a way of erasing evidence. She pressed her forehead against the cold tiles and let out the breath she’d been holding ever since she’d locked the bathroom door. It still hurt. A dull, hot throb that wasn’t exactly pain and wasn’t exactly pleasure, and that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she worked soap between her legs.

She wasn’t going to think about him. She had promised herself that. But she was already thinking about him.

She closed her eyes and there he was again, bent over the wooden table at the club, with Damián’s fingers digging into her hips and his broken voice begging her for permission over and over, as if it hadn’t been her whispering “harder” through clenched teeth. The strangest part hadn’t been the initial sting. Not even the feeling of being too full, about to split. The strangest part had been coming. Like that, without anyone touching her where she’d always needed to be touched, just from the steady thrust of him moving inside her from behind, brushing against something she had never felt before.

Her hand moved on its own. Two fingers between the lips of her sex, one pressing her clit in slow circles. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t even close. Nothing compared to the weight of his body against hers, to the broken rhythm of his breathing in her ear.

—Like that, Damián —she whispered, and the steam swallowed the name.

The other hand slid back, carefully, as if the lower part of her body were a frightened animal that had to be tamed. Her fingertip brushed the still-tight opening and her whole body shrank in on itself. Not from pain. From memory. She pressed a little and a moan slipped out of her without permission.

How was it possible that something that had burned like that had become this hunger? Every time she remembered the exact moment he’d come inside her from behind, her sex clenched empty, begging. But then the cold came. Certainty. If she gave in even once, if she asked him for what she really wanted, her father would find out. She never knew how, but he found out everything. And the inheritance would be gone. And with it, the only real chance of getting her sister out of that house.

Her fingers moved faster. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to finish and sleep. But the fingertip at her back kept going, just barely entering, withdrawing, going in a little farther. She imagined Damián behind her, his mouth against the nape of her neck, repeating in a low voice that she should relax, that he knew how to make her feel good.

Really? You’re already done? she had asked him the first time, with a mix of mockery and tenderness, when he’d come too fast. The look on his face afterward—shame, anger at himself, renewed desire—had turned her on more than she was willing to admit out loud.

The orgasm caught her by surprise. She bit the back of her other hand to keep from screaming. Her legs trembled until she had to brace both hands against the wall, breathing as if she had run all the way there. The water kept falling, washing away what could be washed away. The rest could not be washed off.

***

Fifteen blocks away, Damián had spent twenty minutes with the same book open on his chest without getting past the first page. His cock pulsed beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs every time he closed his eyes. He didn’t need much to see her: Lucía bent over the club table, legs shaking, muffled moans pressed against her own forearm so no one would hear her from the hallway.

He couldn’t believe he’d come that fast. Fucking virgin, he told himself for the twentieth time that night, though the look on her face—first disappointment, then something like triumph when she felt him harden again under her fingers—made him hard all over again just from remembering. There was something about the way Lucía looked at him. As if she were discovering a new language through his body, and that drove him crazy. Knowing they were both equally inexperienced, that they could try without being judged, that there were no witnesses, kept him on the edge of an obsession he still didn’t know how to name.

He ran a hand over his face. Next time he wasn’t going to settle for what they’d done last time. Oh, no. First he was going to make her come with his mouth. He wanted to know what she tasted like. He wanted to feel her thighs squeezing his head. And then, when she was soaked and soft, then yes, he would take her from behind again, slowly, like she’d asked, but this time he wouldn’t stop until they both screamed.

The phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was the club group chat: “Reminder: next meeting in three days. Topic: eroticism in classical literature.” He let out a short laugh. Classical literature. Of course.

His hand slipped down on its own beneath the waistband. He gripped his cock firmly and didn’t need a new fantasy: the sound of Lucía saying “harder” was enough. He started slowly, imagining it was her tight body closing around him, not his fist. With the other hand he squeezed his balls while imagining her mouth, her small firm breasts, the vertigo of licking every inch of her. He came over his own stomach with a growl. Even after, when his body gave out against the mattress, he was still thinking the same thing: next time he wasn’t going to stop.

***

The air in the club room was charged three days later, thick as the silence before a storm. Damián arrived first, not because he was punctual, but because he couldn’t wait any longer. He paced in circles around the long table, drumming his fingers on the polished wood. He pretended to be interested in the spines of the books on the shelf, but he wasn’t reading anything. He only saw Lucía, panting, begging him not to stop.

The door opened with a soft squeak, and he turned sharply. Lucía came in carefully, as if the threshold might betray her. She closed it behind her with a click that sounded like a gunshot. She was wearing a pleated skirt that clung to her hips as she walked and a white blouse under which a lace bra was visible. Her glasses had fogged up from the street air and she took them off with trembling fingers, cleaning them against the hem of her skirt without looking at him. She didn’t need to look at him. The air between them smelled like something about to catch fire.

—No one else is coming today —Damián said, his voice rough, stepping toward her. It wasn’t a question. It was a warning.

Lucía swallowed, her knuckles white around the frame of her glasses.

—I know.

It was all the permission he needed.

He crossed the distance in two steps and grabbed her by the waist with one hand while the other sank into her hair. The kiss didn’t ask. It took. Teeth, tongue, a hungry clash. Lucía moaned against his mouth and the sound went straight to his crotch. Her hands tangled in his shirt, gripping, wrinkling it, as if she were afraid he’d let her go. He wasn’t going to let her go.

Damián’s hands went down, sliding over her hips, caught the hem of her skirt and hiked it up in one swift motion. The cold air grazed the hot skin of her thighs. Lucía barely had time to react: he was already on his knees in front of her, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her white cotton panties, pulling them down slowly to her ankles.

—Fuck —he muttered, and his voice cracked.

He spread her thighs with both hands. Lucía was soaked. The smell gave her away completely. He could see the shine on her swollen lips, the dark pink of the opening pulsing faintly, and higher up, between the folds, the tense little button begging for attention.

—No… we can’t… —Lucía stammered, but her hands were already on his head, pulling him closer. The words didn’t come out steady. Her body said something else.

Damián stuck out his tongue and licked slowly from bottom to top. A long motion, unhurried. Her legs jerked. Lucía let out a muffled moan and her hips pushed forward on their own, seeking more.

—Jesus, Damián —her voice broke when he repeated the movement, this time with more pressure, the tip of his tongue circling her clit before sucking hard on it.

She arched her back. A ragged sound tore from her throat. Her thighs closed around his head, trapping him, but he didn’t pull away. He pushed his tongue deeper, exploring every fold with almost obsessive attention. She tasted salty and sweet at once. Knowing that no one else had tasted that before, that he was the first, drove him insane. She was his.

He parted her lips with his fingers. The entrance gleamed. He pushed his tongue inside as far as he could, and Lucía screamed, nails digging into his scalp while her hips shook against his face.

—There! There, don’t stop! —she begged, voice broken, while he worked her clit with the tip of his tongue, fast, precise circles.

He felt her tightening, the inner muscles clenching around his tongue. With one last firm stroke over her clit, Lucía exploded. The orgasm ran through her whole body. Her legs trembled, her thighs squeezed his head, and a warm flood bathed his tongue, his chin, his lips. Damián didn’t move away. He drank it all until she collapsed against him, panting, her fingers still tangled in his hair as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

—Damián —his name was a trembling whisper.

He looked up, lips shiny, chin wet. His dark eyes met hers, glassy.

—I’m not done with you yet —he promised, slowly getting to his feet, dragging his body against hers so she could feel how hard he was.

Lucía didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She leaned against his chest, and the aftershocks of the orgasm were still moving through her when Damián’s fingers began unbuttoning her blouse.

—I’m not leaving you dressed —he murmured against her mouth—. I want to taste all of you.

Lucía nodded. Her trembling fingers undid his belt as if she needed to touch him, to make sure this was real. When Damián pushed her bra upward and freed her round, firm breasts, he groaned. He took one nipple between his lips, sucked hard, nipped just enough to make her gasp. Lucía’s hand slid between their bodies and stroked his balls with exact pressure.

—Fuck —Damián broke away for a second and looked at her, his eyes darkened—. Like that. Exactly like that.

He kept licking from one breast to the other while her fingers played with the one he didn’t have in his mouth. When he finally pulled back, lips shining, he left a trail of kisses down her sternum before giving her a crooked smile.

—Now get on the table —he ordered, his voice rough—. I want to fuck you from behind again.

Lucía swallowed. Her cheeks turned red. But instead of obeying, her fingers closed around his cock and started stroking it slowly. Damián’s breath caught.

—Wait —she whispered, with a smile he hadn’t seen before—. If I suck you off now, you’ll last longer later. Isn’t that what you wanted?

Damián couldn’t answer. He nodded with a groan. Lucía knelt in front of him. She tugged down the zipper of his jeans with a new urgency. When his cock sprang free, hard, with a drop shining on the tip, Lucía looked at it for a second before licking that shine off with the tip of her tongue.

—Mmm. You’re ready already —she purred, and wrapped her lips around him, sinking down slowly.

Damián cursed under his breath. His hands tangled in her hair while she took him deeper. She wasn’t experienced, but the urgency with which she sucked him, the way her fingers massaged his balls while her tongue traced the length of his cock, brought him to the edge in seconds. He tried to warn her, panting her name, but Lucía only looked up with those bright eyes and took him all the way to the base.

—Lucía, I’m coming —

The orgasm hit him like a crash. He spilled into her mouth in hot spurts, and she swallowed every drop with a moan that sounded like satisfaction. When she finally pulled away, she licked her lips as if she didn’t want to lose a thing. Damián looked at her stunned, his cock still throbbing.

—God —he murmured, helping her to her feet—. That was…

Lucía smiled, proud. Before she could say anything, he took her by the waist and lifted her onto the wooden table. The chill of the surface made her shiver. Damián spread her legs, knelt between her thighs, and his fingers slid between the soaked folds.

—Perfect —he growled, gathering the moisture with his fingers and bringing it to her other opening, massaging the tight ring carefully—. You’re going to feel me inside you again. And this time I’m not coming fast.

She nodded, biting her lip, while he pressed the tip against her back entrance. The stretch was slow. Unbearable. Damián didn’t give in. He pushed centimeter by centimeter, letting her adjust, panting.

—More —Lucía begged, her nails scraping the wood—. Please, Damián.

He obeyed. He sank all the way in in one fluid motion. Lucía screamed. Her whole body tensed around him, so tight Damián had to stop to breathe.

—Fuck. You’re squeezing me so hard —he growled, and started moving with long, deep thrusts.

Every time he pulled out, the cold air brushed her sensitive opening, only to be replaced by heat when he slid back in. Lucía wasn’t thinking. She was only feeling: the initial sting giving way to a dark pleasure, her nerves lighting up every time he hit that spot inside her that made white flashes dance before her eyes. The orgasms caught her by surprise, one after another. Damián held her by the hips, his thrusts growing more erratic each time.

—I’m coming —he warned, voice breaking—. Inside, Lucía.

She nodded. She couldn’t speak. Her inner muscles clenched around him when the first warm spurt filled her. The last orgasm tore through her with brutal force, her back arching, while Damián emptied himself inside her, growling her name like a prayer. When he finally collapsed over her body, sweaty, Lucía could only wrap her arms around him, feeling something warm run down the back of her.

—That’s it —Damián murmured against her neck, kissing her sweaty skin—. That was perfect.

Lucía lay there staring at the ceiling of the room while he stayed pressed against her, breathing hard. One more time, she thought. Just one more time and I’ll stop. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. She was never going to stop. And the fear she felt now—the fear of her father, of the house, of the inheritance—was different from before. It was the fear that it wouldn’t be enough. That three days would feel like three months again. That next time she would be the first one to close the door.