What Happened in the Courtyard at Midnight with Mateo
I’m going to tell this exactly as it happened, without dressing it up too much, because I still can’t quite believe how shameless we were that night. It had been weeks since the cold had left us in peace, and at last one of those warm early-morning hours had arrived, when the air smells of wet earth and jasmine. I went out into the courtyard in a spaghetti-strap dress, with nothing underneath but a thong, and sank into the wicker chair with a glass of sparkling wine in my hand.
The house was quiet. So was the neighborhood. All you could hear was the distant buzzing of a cricket and the clink of my glass when I set it on the iron table. I had my phone in my hand, lost in a conversation I don’t even remember now, so absorbed in the screen that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.
Until two hands suddenly squeezed my ribs.
I let out a short yelp, half startled, half ticklish, and almost knocked the glass into my lap. I turned halfway and there was Mateo, laughing with that mischievous boyish face he gets when he manages to scare me.
—How do you always catch me off guard? —I protested, though it sounded more like a fake complaint than anything else.
And he always did. I know he loves every sound I make, from the silly squeal when he surprises me to the broken moans when I can’t take any more. I laughed with him, because the truth is I like it too. I like any excuse he invents to get his hands on me.
His hands went back to my waist and I couldn’t help tensing up, bracing for another squeeze that would make me jump. But this one was different. Slower, deeper. I relaxed and let my head fall to one side. One of his hands moved my hair off my neck and I felt his lips there, at that exact spot that undoes me, while the other slid up my side and closed around one of my breasts.
—Mmm... —slipped out of me, almost without meaning to.
Both hands ended up on my tits, kneading them through the fabric. When he pinched my nipples through the dress, I huffed out a breath. Thank God I had already taken off my bra after dinner, though even that fabric was too much for him. He yanked the neckline down and I arched my back, offering myself to the cool early-morning air and to his fingers, which were showing no mercy anymore.
I could feel his erection pressed hard against my shoulders, stiff, insistent. What a way he had of turning me on. That pressure against my back gave me a hunger that wine couldn’t satisfy.
I turned in the chair and pulled him toward me by his belt loops. I stroked the bulge over the fabric and felt it shift under my hand, searching for me. I looked up and found his eyes, reflecting the same hunger I felt myself. Nothing needed to be said.
I unbuttoned him, lowered the zipper, and with my fingers I pushed the clothes aside until he was exposed. His cock, hard, free at last, pointed straight at my face. I wrapped my hand around it and rubbed the tip against my lips like it was lipstick, smearing the fluid already beading there, just so I could lick it off afterward and taste the start of his desire.
I ran my tongue under it slowly before taking him into my mouth and starting to suck him. His hands went back to my breasts while I took him deeper and deeper. I get too turned on doing this to him, feeling him fill my mouth, feeling my own body answering his. Every time he pushed a little farther, something pulsed low between my legs, untouched for the moment.
The rhythm grew more intense, dirtier. I loved feeling his hand tangle in my hair and take hold hard, driving him down to the back of my throat. I was short of breath, but with my mouth full of him, breathing mattered very little. When he pulled away, a thread of saliva hung between my tongue and his glans, and another slid from the corner of my lips.
I opened wider. Don’t leave me like this, wanting this badly.
He came back in, and I was moaning without restraint now as he slid in and out again and again, holding me by the hair. Saliva dripped down onto my bare breasts, my eyes filled with tears, and still I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to empty him completely. I wanted to fill my mouth with him. I sucked him with eagerness, ravenous, and just when I felt him close, he pulled out.
—No! Give it to me —I whined.
—Not yet —he said, his voice rough—. First I want to see how wet you are.
***
He lifted me out of the chair almost in his arms and sat me on the edge of the iron table, cold against my hot skin. He pulled the dress over my head and the thong off just as easily, and stood between my legs. I spread them even wider, unable to resist, not thinking about the fact that we were outdoors, that any window could have been open. At that moment I didn’t care about anything.
He kissed me deeply, with his tongue, while his hand traveled up the inner side of my thigh to the center of everything. His middle finger found my lips, slid up and down, parted them, and then he noticed the mess he himself had made.
—Look how you get just from sucking me —he murmured against my mouth, pushing the finger in—. You’re not the only one who likes to eat.
He slid the whole finger inside me with no effort, so tight and wet I was. He pulled it almost all the way out and shoved it back in, slowly, looking at my face to see my expression fall apart. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t make too much noise, but he made sure that didn’t last long.
His face went from in front of mine to buried between my legs. The instant his tongue touched my clit, a lash of pleasure shot through me so suddenly I had to grip the edge of the table. He switched his finger for his mouth and started sucking me, licking me like a man dying of thirst who’s finally found water.
I leaned back, supported on my hands, his face buried between my thighs, tearing moans from me, each one needier than the last. My hips moved on their own, seeking his mouth, wanting more. Devour me whole, like this, exactly like this. I didn’t need to say it: he understood it in every tremor of mine.
I ended up lying flat on the patio table, with his hands gripping me from behind my knees, opening me for him. I was his and I told him so without words, my body arched and my breath coming in broken gasps. He could do whatever he wanted with me.
He licked my lips, penetrated me with his tongue, and when he went back to my clit while sliding two fingers into me at once, I knew there was no turning back. I grabbed my tits, pinched my nipples, and let his mouth drive me to the edge and hurl me headfirst over it. The orgasm went through me from center to skin, my body tightening, and he held me harder so I wouldn’t slip away from his tongue.
He didn’t stop. He kept going, relentless, while I shook and writhed on the iron, until the pleasure became almost unbearable. He was torturing me on purpose, I know it, because he loves seeing me fall apart.
***
At last he took pity on me. He straightened up, went around the table, and with my feet I pushed myself a little farther until what hung over the edge was my head, face up. His fingers, still shining, traced my bare skin to my mouth, and I sucked them clean, slowly, until he replaced them with something much better.
He was harder than ever. He ran his cock across my face until I could reach his balls and lick them, suck them one by one. I love making him moan like that, feeling his breath catch. And then came the main course: my mouth open, hungry, my head hanging over the edge of the table, and he thrust into my lips in one stroke.
His hands caught my breasts and squeezed them hard as he moved. He fucked into my mouth again and again, every breath of mine a delicious struggle for air. I wanted to drown in him, to devour him whole. Make me yours as many times as you want, in every way. At that moment nothing existed except him, going in and out, filling my mouth.
He sank in deep, stretching my lips with his thickness, and I felt him stiffen even more, swell right before the end. He stopped plunging all the way in and I sucked the tip with all my strength, short quick thrusts, until he came. I felt hot spurts filling my mouth, that thick, salty taste that belongs to him alone.
When he finished emptying himself, I let my tongue circle the sensitive tip slowly, so he could feel that I still had him inside my mouth before I swallowed it all, every last drop, with a wicked smile.
We stayed like that for a while, in silence, me still lying on the cold table and him stroking my hair. The cricket kept singing as if nothing had happened. I picked up my glass of sparkling wine again, which had gone lukewarm, and toasted myself softly. To warm early mornings. To shocks from behind. To everything no one else will ever know happened that night in the courtyard.