The Week Without Adrián That Almost Broke Our Pact
Monday dawned gray, as if the sky knew that week was going to be different. I watched Adrián leave with his suitcase slung over his shoulder, a quick kiss on my cheek and then a hug with Daniel that lasted three seconds longer than it should have. A week of work in Barcelona, he’d said the night before. One week alone with my husband, I thought, and the idea, which two months earlier would have seemed like a relief, now tightened my throat.
We fell back into routine like two rusted gears. Shared coffee in the kitchen, brief kisses before work, talk about the broken washing machine and the car insurance. At night, Daniel dragged me to bed with that urgency he gets when he wants to erase something. His erection pressed against my belly before the clothes had even finished coming off, and I felt the emptiness before anything had even begun.
He spread my legs with the familiarity of years. His tongue moved down slowly, licking my cunt in long, wet strokes, from the clit and lower, while I dug my fingers into his hair and arched my hips against his mouth. I moaned, yes. I was wet, yes. But my mind went elsewhere: I missed the weight of Adrián beside me, that big hand gripping one of my breasts while Daniel sucked me; I missed the rough voice in my ear telling me what he was going to do to me next.
“Look at me,” Daniel asked, lifting his face. His beard was shining.
“I’m looking at you,” I lied. I closed my eyes.
I rode him afterward, guiding his thick cock until I felt full and sore, until his balls slapped against me. I rode hard, my nails digging into his chest, my breasts bouncing against his face. He held my hips and drove up into me with thrusts that made the old bed in the bedroom creak. “Fuck, Sofía, you do it so well,” he growled. But in my head, Adrián walked into the room, took off his shirt unhurriedly, and stood behind me, spat into my other hole before sinking in, and I felt split by two fires at once, every space filled until there was no room left to think.
Daniel came inside me with a muffled roar against my neck. I faked an orgasm that sounded convincing and left me trembling, but the emptiness remained like an echo. We settled afterward, his arm around my waist, and when I heard him breathing deeply, I slid my hand under the sheets. I sank my fingers into the warm cum running down my thighs and rubbed my clit slowly, calling up memories of the previous weekend: Adrián fucking Daniel over the bathroom sink, Daniel biting the towel so he wouldn’t scream, me watching them from the crack in the door, masturbating with my mouth open.
I came in silence, alone, and stayed there listening to Daniel breathe until the clock struck three. This isn’t fixed like this, I thought. This needs the missing piece.
***
The week stretched out like a road with no turns. Adrián had taken with him, without meaning to, something I no longer knew how to live without having close: that third body that was not exactly a friend, nor a lover, nor a threat, but the vertex that closed the triangle. Sofía and I went back to fucking like before and, even so, it wasn’t the same. It was good sex. It was the sex we’d had for ten years. And that, precisely that, was the problem.
That first night I devoured her with accumulated hunger. My tongue explored every fold of her pussy, savoring that slightly salty wetness I know by heart. She moaned my name as if she were giving it to me. But while I fucked her afterward, sliding into her tight heat and driving in deep strokes that made her arch her back, I couldn’t erase the image of Adrián taking me from behind, his thick cock opening me without much patience, his left hand on my nape forcing me to look at Sofía while he fucked me.
I put her on all fours. I spread her ass cheeks with my thumbs to watch myself go in and out, my balls hitting her clit with every thrust.
“Harder,” she asked.
I obeyed. I fucked her with rage, sweat dripping down my back, while I imagined Adrián kneeling in front of Sofía, her grabbing his hair, or, better yet, behind me, syncing his thrusts with mine until the three of us breathed at the same time. I came hard, filled Sofía until it overflowed down her thighs, but the pleasure was hollow, a shadow of that other thing.
The next day, in the shower, I pressed her against the tiles. I lifted one leg and fucked her standing up, with hot water falling between us. My cock drilled into her with a frantic rhythm; her walls clenched around me; she came biting my shoulder. But that other thing was missing: the spit in the hand to lube up before Adrián turned me against the fogged-up mirror, the unfamiliar breath on the back of my neck, the humiliating, delicious sensation of not deciding anything for ten minutes.
I understood it that same afternoon, washing the dishes: I didn’t want to replace him. I didn’t want Sofía and me to learn how to fuck like before. I wanted to wait for him. I wanted the waiting to be part of the game. I wanted to break myself open a little again when he came back and asked to be let in.
On Wednesday I texted Adrián at three in the morning. Just a photo. My hand around my cock, shining, and underneath I wrote: this looks weird without you. He took eleven minutes to answer. I’ll be back sooner, it said. Three words that made me come again, this time alone, on the living-room sofa, with the sound of Sofía sleeping in the bedroom reaching me like a small tide.
That night I dreamed of the three of us in the kitchen, naked, eating something I don’t remember, and the details were so domestic that I woke up afraid. I’ve fallen in love with more than sex, I thought. And I knew that sex, without that other thing, would never again be just sex.
***
Barcelona buzzed with its usual chaos. The lights from the billboards flickered against the wet asphalt, slick with a fine rain that never quite managed to cool anything down. I’d been in the city three days when I opened the app with eager fingers, while waiting for dinner in a bar on the Ramblas. “Couple looking for a bi third for a discreet experience.” The photo was good: him, stocky, trimmed beard; her, brunette, big eyes, the kind of smile that knows exactly what it’s promising. Tomás and Carolina. Mid-thirties. We’ve been exploring for a year, their profile said. I accepted the date without thinking twice. The bisexual curiosity Daniel had awakened in me burned like a coal begging for air.
We met in a discreet bar near the Born. The kind of place where conversations are whispered and hands brush under the table without startling anyone. Tomás wore a shirt that fit his broad chest. Carolina wore a red dress and sandals, her hair pinned up to show her neck. We chatted about nonsense for a while: work, travel, how expensive the city center has gotten. But the air was charged and the three of us knew it.
“We’re open,” Tomás said with a wolfish smile, his knee brushing mine under the table. “And you seem to know what you’re doing.”
Carolina laughed softly. Her hand slid up my thigh until I felt her warmth through the fabric.
“We’ll pay the bill and go up,” she said.
The hotel was bland, with a view of a roundabout I don’t remember. The door clicked shut, and Carolina kissed me first, her tongue entering my mouth with practiced urgency. Tomás watched from the side, patting the bulge in his crotch over his trousers. I stripped her dress off quickly. Firm breasts, dark nipples already hard. I knelt and licked her shaved cunt, burying my tongue between her swollen lips, tasting that wetness while she tugged my hair and whispered words I didn’t understand.
Tomás came over already hard and out.
“Suck me,” he ordered.
I obeyed. I turned my head and swallowed him. He was thick, salty, the veins standing out against my tongue, his balls hitting my chin while I sucked him with long pulls and saliva dripping down my chin. It was hot as hell. It was everything I’d asked for when I opened the app.
We changed positions. Carolina rode me on the sofa, her tight cunt sliding over my cock until her ass hit my thighs, while Tomás positioned himself behind me. He spat into my other hole without warning, pushed his lubed cock in with a rough first thrust, and I moaned into her mouth as she kissed me fiercely. Tomás fucked me with short, brutal thrusts, his belly slamming into my lower back. “So tight,” he growled, and sped up until I felt that pleasurable burn that only shared submission gives.
We switched again. I fucked Carolina on all fours, drilling into her until she screamed and came, while Tomás licked me from behind with his tongue out. I fucked her hard, my hands clamped on her hips, driving all the way in. When he made me turn around and kneel so I could suck the cock just pulled out of me, I tasted that musky flavor I already knew. Carolina was masturbating a meter away, watching us with half-closed eyes.
The three of us finished with moans. He came inside me, I in her mouth, and she on the hotel carpet, rubbing her clit with two fingers until her whole body shook.
But while we panted, tangled up, sweaty and exhausted, something stirred in my chest that wasn’t tiredness. It was pure physical fire, yes: the friction of hard cocks, the taste of different mouths, the unfiltered roughness. My bisexuality rejoiced in that filthy freedom, in being the one who takes and is taken in the same night. But the deeper spark was missing. The complicity was missing. Sofía’s look from the crack of a door. The tremble in Daniel’s voice when he surrendered and asked for more. Tomás was strong, Carolina was hot, but they weren’t them.
I got dressed with a quick excuse, early session, and stepped out into the cold night. I walked aimlessly down a pedestrian street, with someone else’s cum still leaking inside me and my phone heavy in my pocket. I took out the phone and opened Daniel’s Wednesday message. The photo was still there. I read my own reply again: I’ll be back sooner.
I changed my flight in a twenty-four-hour café. I paid the difference without looking at the price. Three days sooner, three fewer nights, three thousand more heartbeats. While I waited to board, I texted Sofía: landing Friday at six. Don’t tell Daniel. I wanted to see them like that, the two of them together in routine, the door opening suddenly, the surprised faces, the crack closing from the inside.
The plane took off at dawn. I rested my head against the window and, for the first time in a week, the emptiness was starting to fill, not with another body, but with the idea of coming back.