The Night He Came Back and Broke All My Taboos

I’d been marking the days off in my planner for a week. Mateo had traveled to Lima for a work training program and, although we talked by video call every night, no screen could make up for the absence of his body in our bed. The last night before he came back, I slept wrapped around his pillow like a teenager, with my hand between my legs more than once, making myself come alone thinking about his cock, and I woke up with one fixed idea lodged under my ribs: when he got home, I wasn’t going to let him go until the plane marks had been rubbed off him.

The annoying detail was that my period had started that same morning. I found out in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, and let out a bitter laugh. Seven days waiting for him, and my body decided to welcome him like that. I thought about texting him to warn him, to suggest dinner, a movie, something to put off the inevitable. But I didn’t.

Not this time.

I decided not to tell him anything. If anyone was going to stop, it would be him, not me. I’d had my cunt burning all week and I wasn’t about to let a calendar beat me.

I put on the red dress he’d given me for my birthday, the one that hugs the waist and opens just a little in the skirt. Black heels, perfume behind my ears and on the inside of my wrists, lips painted a shade that was supposed to be discreet and wasn’t. When I looked at myself one last time before leaving, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me: it was the version of me that only showed up when he was about to touch me.

El Dorado airport at that hour was a gentle kind of chaos. I got there forty minutes early and spent them walking between magazine kiosks, pretending to be interested in covers I wasn’t reading. When they announced the landing of the flight from Lima, I felt my stomach start to turn as if I were the one getting off the plane too.

Mateo appeared at the exit gate dragging his suitcase behind him, his tie already tucked into his pocket. His hair was shorter than when he’d left—he’d had it cut in Lima—and he had a stubble I didn’t know. He saw me before I saw him, and the smile that spread across his face made me want to cry and bite his neck at the same time.

—You look different —he said as he hugged me, burying his face in my hair.

—So do you —I answered, running my hand over his rough cheek—. This is new.

—Do you like it?

—Ask me in an hour.

He laughed softly and kissed me, and that kiss was no airport kiss: it was a tangled-sheets kiss. He shoved his whole tongue into my mouth, not bothering to hide it, and I sucked on it like it was an appetizer. I felt his hand tighten on my waist, felt him press me against him just enough for me to feel the hard bulge of his cock digging into my stomach through his pants.

—Let’s go —I said without fully pulling away—. Now. I’m getting my panties wet just standing here.

***

The drive to La Calera felt endless. I took the wheel because he was tired, but it wasn’t a favor: I needed something to hold with my hands so I wouldn’t shove them into his pants on the highway. I failed anyway. At every traffic light, my hand would travel on its own to his thigh, slide up a little, find the bulge growing beneath the fabric and stay there, measuring it, squeezing it slowly.

—If you keep this up, we won’t get there —Mateo murmured, his voice hoarse, eyes fixed on the red light.

—That’s a risk I’m willing to take.

I opened his pants at the last stretch of highway, pulled down the zipper, and slipped my hand inside his boxer briefs. I brought him out into the light of the other cars’ headlights: his cock, stiff, thick, the tip already wet with that clear bead that always escaped when he’d been turned on for too long. I closed my fingers around it and started jerking him off slowly, squeezing the base hard, pulling his foreskin back so the whole head showed.

—Fuck, baby —he gasped, gripping the wheel with both hands as if that could hold him together.

I lowered my head without letting go of him. I ran my tongue over the tip, caught that salty drop, and took him into my mouth halfway. Mateo let out a rough moan that made the car jerk a few inches toward the curb.

—I’m going to crash, fuck, I’m going to crash.

I worked my mouth up and down him two, three times, sucking him hard, making noise with my tongue against my palate. Then I straightened up, wiped my lips with the back of my hand, and left his cock outside, hard, shining with my saliva, pointing at the car ceiling.

—I swear that as soon as we get into the house…

—What? —I cut in—. Tell me.

—I’m going to take you apart. I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name.

I smiled at the road. That was the answer I wanted.

***

We stumbled into the house. The door shut by itself from the wind outside, and before I could set the keys on the table, Mateo shoved me against the wall in the entryway. The keys fell to the floor with a metallic clatter neither of us bothered to notice.

He kissed me the way you kiss after a long time, with urgency and detail at once. My hands were tangled in his freshly cut hair, on his shoulders, on his back, everywhere. The red dress rode up a few inches from the friction of his thigh between mine, and I felt the heat of his hard cock, still outside his pants, crushed against the fabric of my soaked panties.

He slid his hand under my skirt, yanked aside the lace, and shoved two fingers into me at once. I screamed into his mouth. I was so wet his fingers went in all the way without resistance, and he gave a low laugh, sinking them to the bottom, searching for that spot inside me he knew perfectly well how to find.

—Look at you —he said in my ear—. Soaked.

—I’ve been like this for a week, idiot.

He pulled his fingers out, put them in his mouth, and sucked them one by one, watching me in the eyes. Then he shoved them into my mouth and I licked them too, tasting myself.

—Upstairs —he said against my mouth.

We went up the stairs in a mix of clumsiness and urgency, laughing when we stumbled on the last step. In the bedroom, Mateo pushed me toward the bed with one hand and pulled off his shirt with the other. The skin on his torso had gotten a little more tan in Lima, and for some reason that made me even hotter. He yanked off his pants and boxers in one pull and stood naked, his hard cock pointing at me like an accusation.

—Come here —I said, stretching out my arm.

He came. He climbed onto the bed over me, kissed my neck, worked his way down my cleavage, nibbled at the fabric of the dress at the level of my nipples until they showed through the lace. I arched my back looking for his mouth, and he made me wait, trailing his lips around without touching what I wanted him to touch.

—Mateo —I protested—. Suck them already.

—A whole week —he said against my skin—. A whole week imagining this. Let me.

I let him. He pulled down the zipper of the dress, slid it down until it was bunched at my waist, and the first time his tongue touched my nipple without any fabric between us I squeezed my eyes shut hard. He sucked it whole, took it into his mouth, bit it carefully, then more firmly. With his other hand he squeezed my other breast, pinched the nipple until it stood stiff. Two weeks condensed into that one second.

—Bite them harder —I asked—. Hard.

He obeyed. He sank his teeth into my left nipple until it hurt, and I arched and let out a moan that bounced off the ceiling. Then he moved to the other breast and did the same. When he let me go, both nipples were red, swollen, sore, and I was so wet I could feel my panties stuck to me like a second skin.

***

He kept going down. Kiss by kiss he left a map across my stomach, and by the time he reached my navel I suddenly remembered what was about to happen. I thought about warning him. I opened my mouth to do it. I closed it again.

Mateo lifted the skirt of the dress, slid my panties to one side, and settled between my legs with the concentration of someone doing something important. I looked down at him. His eyes were closed and he had a small smile, like someone about to eat his favorite dish after a long time.

The first lick was long, from bottom to top, over the whole cunt, with his tongue laid flat. I moaned louder than I expected. The second ran up my inner lips, searching for my clit. The third was when he stopped.

He lifted his head slowly. I saw him blink, look at himself, look at me. His mouth and chin were smeared red, a bright stain that looked like paint in the dim bedroom light.

There was a long silence.

—Well —he said at last, with that half-smile he got when something had completely undone him—. This is new.

I didn’t laugh. I burst out laughing. So hard I had to put a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound and not wake the neighbors’ dog.

—You look like a clown —I told him, and that seemed to unhinge him even more.

I thought he’d get up. I thought he’d go to the bathroom, splash water on his face, come back looking serious, and we’d suggest something else. That’s what I thought.

I was wrong.

—Is that why you didn’t tell me anything? —he asked.

—I was afraid you wouldn’t want to.

—And do you want to?

—I’ve been wanting this for seven days, Mateo. I want you to eat my cunt like this, blood and all. I want you to fuck me until you stain the sheets. I don’t care about anything.

He nodded once, slowly, and without taking his eyes off me he lowered his head again. What came next surprised me so much I almost lost my breath. Not only did he not stop: he did it with more hunger, with less care, with a surrender I hadn’t seen in years of being together.

He pried my lips apart with his fingers, found my clit with the tip of his tongue, and started lapping it in circles, slowly at first, then faster. When it was swollen and twitching, he took it all into his mouth and sucked on it like it was a tiny cock. I lifted my hips off the bed, slammed them against his face, and he, instead of moving away, grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me even harder against his mouth.

He pushed his tongue inside. I felt it go in, move, come out, return to my clit. He slid in two fingers too, curled them upward, found that spot only he knew how to find, and started massaging it while still sucking my little button. My hands ended up in his hair again. My hips moved on their own. I was panting, moaning, saying nonsense, and he didn’t stop, didn’t give me a break, licked and sucked and finger-fucked me like his life depended on it.

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

When the orgasm hit, it hit like a wave coming from far away: I had seen it building in the video call the night before, in every minute at the airport, in every traffic light on the way. When it broke, I broke too. My whole body jerked, I clenched my thighs around his face, felt myself leaking over his mouth and fingers a thick mixture he kept sucking and swallowing without a trace of disgust.

***

When he sat up, his face and neck were smeared, his beard coated, his lips red and shining, and instead of making me uncomfortable it seemed like the sexiest thing I’d seen in a long time. I grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him toward me, and kissed him without caring about anything. I tasted myself in his mouth. It was metallic and it was mine. I sucked on his stained tongue, licked one corner of his mouth, painted him all over with me.

—Come here —I said after—. Lie down. Now it’s your turn.

He obeyed. He lay on his back, his cock standing up, red, throbbing against his stomach. I took off what was left of the dress and the soaked panties and knelt for a moment between his legs. I took his cock in my right hand, squeezed it from the base, and lowered my mouth to suck him the way I like to when I want to drive him crazy.

I ran my tongue along the whole underside, from his balls to the tip. I sucked his balls one by one, took them into my mouth carefully, cherished them. Then I moved up, licked the head in circles, kissed it, and took him all the way in until he hit the back of my throat. Mateo jerked and grabbed my hair.

—Not like that, fuck, I’m going to come right now.

—Not yet —I said, and pulled him out of my mouth with a wet sound.

I sat on top of him, slowly. I looked him in the eyes as I slid down onto his cock. I drove it into myself in one motion, to the base, and felt him open me up inside. The blood and my own wetness made everything move with a new, almost scandalous ease: his cock went in and out with an obscene slapping sound, and every thrust pulled a new moan from me. Mateo clenched his teeth.

—Jesus —he said—. This… never…

—Don’t talk —I asked him.

I started moving. I raised and lowered my hips, rode him, driving his cock up into my womb, twisting my waist so I could feel him from every angle. His hands grabbed my hips, held my rhythm, pushed it faster when I threatened to go slow. I looked down for a second: his cock went in and out smeared red and white, the base coated in my slick, my thighs stained, his open hand leaving prints on my hips.

—Look at you —he panted—. Look at the way you ride me.

I leaned forward, put my hands on his chest, dug my nails in. Mateo looked up at me with an expression I didn’t know: a mix of hunger, awe, something like gratitude. That last part was what made me lose my mind. I straightened again, took one hand to my clit, and started rubbing it while I impaled myself on him, faster and faster, harder and harder.

—I’m going to come again, Mateo, make me come again…

I came with a shudder that climbed up my spine, deeper than the first one, squeezing his cock inside me with spasms he felt because he growled and dug his fingers into my hip hard enough to hurt. I collapsed onto his chest panting, soaked in sweat, and noticed that he still hadn’t finished.

—Turn over —he murmured in my ear—. I want to fuck you from behind.

***

I did it. I got on my knees and elbows, arched my back, stuck my ass out. I felt him move my hair to one side and rest his open hand between my shoulder blades to keep me still. He used the other hand to prep me patiently, with that slow, deliberate way of his that in bed served to show who was in charge: he ran his fingers over my cunt, over my perineum, over the other hole, playing there too for a while.

—Here too? —he asked, and I felt the tip of a finger pressing against my ass.

—Here too. Everything. Tonight, everything.

He pushed his cock into my cunt slowly at first. I gripped the sheet with both hands until my knuckles went white. The initial pressure was always the same, that uncomfortable border you have to cross before pleasure takes over, and that night, with everything that had already happened, my body crossed it faster than ever.

When he was all the way inside, he stayed still for a second.

—Are you okay?

—I’m better than okay. Fuck me hard, don’t treat me like porcelain.

He started moving. At first carefully, then less so, then with none at all. He drove his cock all the way in with thrusts that made my forehead hit the pillow, and the sound of his hips slapping against my ass mixed with the wet slosh of blood and slick. I buried my face in the pillow and let him take me. I felt him lean over my back, kiss my neck without stopping, squeeze one breast with one hand and search for my clit with the other to rub it while he fucked me. He told me things in my ear I won’t repeat here, things he only tells me and that belong to nobody else: how much of a whore I was, how good my cunt felt, how much he’d thought about fucking me like this all week.

—Mateo, come inside, come inside, it doesn’t matter tonight —I moaned into the pillow.

That was what finally broke him. He sped up even more, grabbed my hips with both hands, and slammed into me five, six, seven times in a row, each time harder, until he pressed himself against me and let out a rough groan from deep in his throat. I felt the hot spurts unload inside me, one after another, while he trembled over me and collapsed as if someone had unplugged him.

***

We stayed like that for a while, him pressed to my back, still inside me, while I listened to his breathing settle into a rhythm. When he finally slipped out, I felt the whole mix of everything running down my thigh. The sheet underneath us was a map: red marks, darker stains, shiny little puddles of semen, a geography of the night. In another time I would have been ashamed. That night it felt strangely tender.

—I’m going to have to buy new sheets —I said.

—I’ll help you —he answered, kissing the back of my neck.

I thought it was over. That after that I’d fall asleep wrapped around him, the travel fatigue and the body fatigue would come together and that would be it. I was wrong again.

A few minutes later, I felt the heat gathering between my legs again. There was no logic to it. But there it was: my cunt asking for it again, my clit swollen, my breasts still sensitive to the brush of the sheet.

—Mateo —I said.

—Mm.

—Turn over.

He propped himself up just enough to look at me. His eyes were half-closed.

—Again?

—Again. But different. Get on top.

He understood right away. He stretched out a hand, grabbed his cock, and showed it to me: it had gone hard again, with effort, that stubborn erection he gets when he’s already tired but doesn’t want to let me down. He turned me carefully, settled between my legs, ran the tip over my cunt lips a couple of times to lubricate himself in all the mess we had there, and before he pushed in he held my face with both hands. He looked at me for a long time, without smiling.

—You know I missed you? —he said.

—I know.

—I really missed you. Not just your body.

—Me too.

He entered slowly, all the way, and stayed there for a moment without moving, just pressing the base against my clit. This time it was different: no urgency from the entryway, no frenzy from the first orgasm, no insistence from the second. It was him looking at me, me looking at him, our hips moving in a rhythm almost silly in its calm, his cock going in and out whole, slowly, soaked. I wrapped my arms around his back, locked my legs around his waist, pulled him against me so I could feel him all the way in. The blood was still there, of course, and his semen from before, and my fluids, and by then we didn’t care. We didn’t care about anything that wasn’t the other person’s face.

—I love you —I said at some point.

—More than you —he answered, and that was what finally pushed me over.

I came without crying out, without a scene, squeezing his cock inside me with slow, long contractions, with tears that had no explanation. He came after me, slowly, without taking his eyes off mine, unloading for the second time that night in a warm little spurt I barely felt.

***

Afterward we stayed still, our legs still tangled, while outside Bogotá’s night made its usual sounds: a dog, a distant car, someone closing a gate. Mateo brushed my hair off my forehead and gave me a small kiss, almost shy, as if the uproar before had never happened.

—Tomorrow we’ll wash the sheets —he said.

—And we’ll buy new ones.

—And more —he repeated, smiling.

That night I slept curled against him, with my legs still stained and my cunt throbbing and a peace that surprised me. Before I fell asleep, I thought of the girl who had looked in the mirror a few hours earlier with doubts, with shame, with the idea of warning him. I sent her a mental message: you did right not to tell him.

And I closed my eyes.