The routine with my partner always ends in desire

To a certain extent, they are a normal couple, whatever that means. Andrés is forty-eight, Uruguayan, a little over five foot nine, sturdy, with deep gray eyes that she falls in love with. He wears a thick beard already shot through with some gray and skin speckled with moles. Camila is thirty-seven, Venezuelan, slender, with straight brown hair that falls all the way to where her ass begins, a radiant smile that gets him to agree to anything, and hips that turn heads on the street.

He is a good guy, a family man, devoted to his parents, his brothers and, above all, to his daughter, who is the center of his life. She is outgoing, cheerful, kind, but also reserved and solitary. The light of her world is her mother. She has no siblings.

Andrés loves the delicacy of Camila’s lips, her long neck, her rounded shoulders and her small, firm breasts, with nipples that are always hard, contrasting with the more primitive force of her wide hips. She loves his power, his honed body, the way he lifts her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. She loves the contrast between those huge hands and the softness with which he touches her.

He enjoys seeing her angelic face overtaken by desire. She enjoys seeing his masculine hardness surrender to tenderness.

Andrés works Monday through Friday, long shifts lifting heavy loads, so his back pays the price often. When he’s done, he still studies, hoping to land something better. He comes home late and exhausted. Camila works twelve-hour shifts, sometimes days, sometimes nights, and some weekends too.

If she’s off and he’s out, she waits for him with desire piled up inside her, though she does her best not to show it. She admires how hard he works and doesn’t want to pile anything else on him. When he gets home, she almost always gives him a massage until he falls completely asleep. And then, already in the middle of the night, he feels him looking for her in the dark: a kiss on the back, another on the neck, a hand moving up toward her breasts. They make love until one of them, or both, has to go to work. Afterward, during the day, sleep takes its toll. They don’t regret it. And they do it again and again.

On weekends he goes out with his daughter, visits his parents, or gets together with his brother to watch soccer. If she’s not on duty, on Saturdays they come up with something for the late afternoon or evening. They go out to eat, go to the movies, wander aimlessly. Sometimes he takes her dancing, though he’s not very good at it. She insists on teaching him, hugging him, kissing him, keeping time for him with her hips. To be fair, he’s improved, but he’s still nowhere near comfortable. On the other hand, her movements, her hair, her arms, those hips, leave him on the edge. More than once he’s dragged her to the car to take her right there.

On Sundays, if they can, they stay home and rest. Though there’s never a shortage of groping on the couch while they watch whatever’s on TV. Sometimes it goes further, sometimes they fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

Camila usually walks around the house in very little clothing. For him, depending on how distracted he is, that’s already enough. If his mind is somewhere else, he might not even register it. But as soon as he comes out of his daze and looks, his friend downstairs doesn’t take long to make itself known.

That Sunday afternoon she was very turned on, but she was pissed because he had been glued to a game for quite a while. She was too proud to admit to him that she wanted him while he seemed not to notice a thing. And that he didn’t even notice she was upset irritated her even more.

She was wearing an old, worn black sports bra that barely held up her breasts and hid very little. And a pair of women’s boxer briefs, also black. Nothing else.

She got up from the couch in a bad way and ended up banging her leg against the coffee table. A small cry escaped her, and Andrés’ gaze shot over immediately.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

She shot him a furious look, put her hands over the spot where she’d hit herself, and didn’t answer.

—Did you bump it? —he insisted.

Camila kept staring at him in silence.

—Come here —he called.

She went over to the couch, still rubbing her leg. Andrés sat up and gently moved her hands away.

—Is it here?

—Yes —she finally answered.

—Damn, that was a hard hit. —He leaned down and left a kiss right on the mark.— I’m going to get some ointment.

—No need —she said, stepping back.

—Wait. —He caught her by the arm.

He looked her up and down for a few seconds, in a way that made her shiver. It was an expression she knew all too well. Guessing what was probably coming next sent a jolt from her nipples straight to her sex.

—How do you manage to always be so provocative? —he said as he turned her back toward his body, holding both her arms.

He kept drinking in the view a little longer.

—Come on, let’s watch the game together. —He made room beside him.

Camila obeyed. She knew perfectly well what that invitation meant.

She wasn’t wrong. Soon she felt his hands over the thin fabric of the bra, squeezing firmly, then sliding down her torso and belly to her thighs. She could feel his hardness against her ass. He never took his eyes off the TV or his hands off her. For both of them that mixture lit them up.

He spent a long while exploring her. Light caresses that suddenly turned more intense. Circles over her breasts and nipples. Squeezes on her thighs. Then he focused on her crotch, stroking her over the boxer briefs. He ran his fingers along her sex until the fabric began to dampen. She grew more and more agitated. He slipped his hand inside her underwear without looking away from the screen, and let out an angry shout because they had almost scored.

As he moved beneath the boxer briefs, her scent became unmistakable, as did how soaked she was. That aroused him. He let his fingers slide over her lips to stop at her clit. He wasn’t in a hurry. He enjoyed every touch as much as she did. He was discovering her slowly, exploring her. He knew that, at some point, she would come apart on him asking for more. But he still had time to touch her calmly.

He stroked her clit with slow movements. Then he picked up the pace. She was so wet his fingers went in without effort. First one, then two, sometimes three. She clung to the couch, eyes closed, panting, letting out long, deep moans.

—Take off the boxer briefs —he asked, turning off the TV.

Camila sat up and pulled the garment off.

—Stand in front of me and spread your legs wide.

She settled herself, drew one leg to the side and planted the other on the floor, giving him the access he was after. Andrés positioned himself in front of her, staring at her hard, and kissed her with a tenderness she didn’t expect. He caught her lips, ran over them with his tongue before slipping into her mouth. He paused to remove her bra. He went back to the kiss while stroking her bare breasts. He lowered his hand and fingered her without stopping kissing her, until she surrendered onto him with a hard gasp. Then he withdrew and waited, holding her, supporting her.

After a moment, she sought his mouth again and kissed him hungrily. She stopped and whispered in his ear:

—Fuck me.

—You want me to fuck you? —he asked, looking into her eyes.

—Yes —she replied without looking away.

—How much? Tell me how much you want me to fuck you.

—A lot. It’s what I want most.

—Ask me for it. Say my name and ask me to fuck you.

—Fuck me, Andrés. Fuck me now.

He stood up. He took off his T-shirt, shorts, and boxer briefs with her eyes on him. He knelt in a corner of the couch, took her by the thighs, and lay her back, one leg tucked up and the other resting on the floor. He gripped her hips and settled her on top of him. He held his cock and rubbed it against her soaked sex. The two of them found that friction immensely pleasurable. He moved up and down, sliding in easily, until only the tip slipped inside. He pushed it in and out a few times, hard.

Camila closed her eyes again and dug her nails into the couch, moaning low. There he worked his way in until he was fully inside. She tried to resist by tightening around his cock. Both of them moaned with pleasure.

Andrés started thrusting. Watching himself go in and out of her drove him to the limit. He took her by the hips again so she would lift her pelvis and follow the rhythm he set. He fucked her with force sometimes, deep and slow at others. On one of those quick strokes he saw her contort herself, desperate to get there.

He decided to change positions and moved on top of her, between her legs. She wrapped herself around him, hands on his back, legs at his sides and feet on his hips.

—Look at me —he asked, taking one of her hands.

Camila opened her eyes.

—I love you —he said.

She smiled, eyes shining.

—I love you too, my love —she replied.

He kissed her and resumed moving inside her. He sped up until she could no longer hold his gaze and let herself be swept into climax. At that same instant he gave a hoarse groan and emptied himself completely inside her.

He let himself fall on top of her, careful not to crush her, until he managed to roll to one side to catch his breath. They spent a few seconds in silence, both with their eyes closed, sweaty and exhausted. Then they looked at each other. Smiled. Held each other. Fell asleep. They knew it would soon all overflow again. And so it did.

***

Two hours passed and daylight gave way to the darkness of night. In the shadows, she groped his chest with her fingers. Behind her fingers came her mouth. She kissed his skin slowly until she felt him wake up.

—Hi, love. You woke up even needier, huh?

—Always… I’m always horny for you —she answered.

They melted into a kiss. Camila stroked his head. He closed his eyes and let her. She ran her fingertips over his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. He smiled without opening his eyes. She traced his lips with one finger and felt him stir. Then she leaned in and let all her hair fall over him, tickling him, while she kissed his cheeks and nose.

Andrés took her by the arm and sat up to find her mouth. She returned the kiss tenderly, taking his lips calmly, running her tongue over them without quite going inside. He didn’t open his eyes. He only focused on feeling.

Camila moved down his neck, leaving a wet trail. She caught his earlobes between her lips. She stroked his chest with her hands, kissed his mouth, kissed the tip of his chin. She went back down his neck, licked it, kissed his chest, licked one nipple and took it into her mouth until she made him shudder. She repeated it several times, licking and sucking. Then she traced his torso’s sides with her tongue, from his armpits down to his hips. He groaned, squirmed, and his erection swelled huge.

She didn’t stop. She kissed his shoulders, licked his arms from top to bottom until she reached his hands. She took one, sat up, and brought it to her face.

—Look at me —she said, making him open his eyes.

He gazed at her nudity in the gloom. Camila kissed his fingers, licked them, sucked them provocatively, never looking away, sliding them in and out of her mouth. She knew very well the effect that had on him. Andrés watched her in ecstasy, beside himself.

She paused. She studied him and delighted in how hard he was. She leaned in and took the head of his cock into her mouth. She sucked. He noticed how aroused she was. Camila closed her eyes and let the cock slide over her mouth. She squeezed. She repeated it several times. Then she pulled it out and licked the sides from base to tip. She looked at him. She began to run her tongue over the most sensitive area while holding him with her hands. He tensed and moaned. He was close, so she stopped.

She stretched out and settled herself over his hips. She spread her legs as wide as she could in that position. She let him see her sex, never taking her eyes off his. She took his cock in her hands and masturbated with it, as both of them loved so much. She ran the tip over her lips and clit. He felt the wetness. She rubbed for a while and began moaning softly.

Then she let him in slowly. She stayed still. He took her by the ass and invited her to move. She did, but slowly. She didn’t want him to come yet. She wanted to feel him. She opened and closed her legs, swayed her hips, moaned, and he moaned with her.

He wanted more rhythm. She didn’t give it to him. She tortured him. She moved slowly. He was desperate, he couldn’t take it anymore. Camila smiled mischievously.

—Bad girl —he said.

Even so, she stayed motionless. Andrés held her firmly by the hips, pulled out, and dragged her toward him, making her fall onto the couch on her back. He moved between her legs and pinned her hands above her head.

—Stop playing, my butterfly —he whispered in her ear, stroking her with his breath.

Those words turn her on, melt her, and soften her in equal measure. He knows very well when to say them. He brought his cock to her opening and rubbed it there. She was very wet and he very hard. He entered her slowly and, when he reached the bottom, started moving. Fast. Intense. She was the first to come. Andrés didn’t stop. He moved even faster and tore several orgasms out of her in a row, until he came too.

Camila was left exhausted in the position he’d left her in, eyes closed and legs parted. He watched her. He loved seeing her like that. He was drained, but that image aroused him all over again. He had barely lost any firmness after his orgasm.

She was still relaxed, far away. He leaned in and kissed her, while brushing her clit to caress her again. He touched her breasts. He lifted her in an embrace and entered her again.

They stayed seated, facing each other, touching, feeling each other in the dark. The silence was only broken by their soft moans. They moved slowly. They kissed. They held each other. They prolonged that intimate contact until he took her by the thighs and lifted her onto his hips, planting one leg on the floor. He breathed against her neck, kissed it, and fucked her with energy until, amid gasps, sighs, and muffled cries, the two of them reached heaven almost at the same time.

That’s how another day together goes by, turning the routine of life into something extraordinary and dear.