The Bet at the Lookout We Almost Won

There were still a good two hours of daylight left, maybe three if the south wind kept holding, but the two of them checked their phones almost at the same time and knew it was over. Real life was waiting for them outside that cove, with its obligations and its distances and its excuses for not seeing each other.

—Time to pack up —Lucía said, shaking the sand off the towel with two sharp flicks—. What a pain.

—Yeah. —Marcos watched her stand up, stretch her arms over her head—. But we promise to come back, right?

—To this beach, yes. —She put on her sunglasses and looked at him—. No acquaintances, nobody to complicate the afternoon. It’s perfect.

They had arrived separately, each in their own car, following the directions he’d sent her the night before. A small cove south of the cape, with no easy access, known only to locals and to anyone patient enough to search for it on a map. There was no lifeguard, no beach bar, no families under umbrellas. Just white sand, green water, and couples who, like them, preferred not to be seen.

They walked together toward the parking area, hand in hand, at that slow pace of people who aren’t really in a hurry but know time is running out. Lucía wore black leggings over her swimsuit and a tank top knotted at her waist. Marcos walked two steps behind during the stretches of loose sand and watched her walk, thinking that four hours wasn’t enough. That it probably never would be.

The path to the parking area climbed along a boardwalk with uneven steps. Around one bend, a small lookout opened up: a concrete platform with an iron railing, jutting out over the cliff, with a view of the whole cove. At that time in the afternoon, the sun turned the sea a deep cobalt blue.

Lucía stopped before reaching the parking lot.

—Wait. —She put the backpack on the ground and leaned her elbows on the railing—. Just a moment.

—What is it?

—Nothing. I want to keep this with me. —She looked at the sea and closed her eyes for a second—. The light, the smell, how today has been. I want to remember exactly what it was like.

Marcos stayed quiet. He came up slowly and, without thinking too much about it, wrapped his arms around her from behind. She didn’t tense up, didn’t say a word. She just leaned back slightly, seeking the contact, and let him rest his chin near her ear.

The wind brought salty spray in short bursts. Lucía was breathing more slowly than when she walked. Marcos loosened his own rhythm too, learning her tempo, feeling how her weight gradually gave in to his.

It didn’t take long for him to notice it. A slow but unmistakable hardness pressing against the small of her back. Lucía noticed before he acknowledged it: she made a tiny hip movement, almost imperceptible, to make sure it wasn’t her imagination.

It wasn’t.

—From up here you can see everything much better —Marcos said.

—I can see that —she said, and there was a smile in her tone.

***

Down below, on the shore, a couple was gathering their things. The man wore a green T-shirt and the woman a straw hat the wind kept trying to steal. They watched them for a moment without saying anything.

—Do you think they’re a couple or are they doing the same thing we are? —Lucía asked.

—I don’t know. But she’s been looking up here for a while.

—Makes sense. The lookout is perfectly visible from the shore.

Silence. The wind moved a strand of Lucía’s hair and pushed it against Marcos’s cheek. He didn’t move it away.

—Do you trust me? —Marcos asked after a moment.

—That depends on what you have in mind.

—Just trust me.

—That’s cheating.

—I know. Trust me anyway.

She took a few seconds. Looked at the horizon. Then she said:

—All right.

Marcos checked that the path was empty and that the couple below was still far away. Then he began. With both hands on her hips, he started lowering her leggings slowly, just a few centimeters at first, feeling her tense and then relax, letting him do it.

The fabric slid down to her knees.

Then, more carefully, he found the knots of the bikini at each hip. They were a little tight. It took him a moment, but he managed to undo both. He pulled the fabric out from between her legs at the front, and Lucía felt the breeze directly on her cunt.

—God —she muttered, barely a whisper.

Marcos tucked the fabric into the pocket of his swim trunks and slowly pulled the leggings back up, with that deliberate slowness that had nothing practical about it. Centimeter by centimeter, the Lycra climbed over her legs, over her thighs, up to her waist. Then he grabbed the top with both hands and pulled hard, lifting her body a few centimeters, and Lucía let out her breath sharply.

—Now we have to adjust them properly —Marcos said, his voice so low the wind almost carried it away.

He ran his fingers through her cunt with slow, precise movements, pretending he was adjusting something. The Lycra was thin. Too thin for any of this to be accidental. He pressed, slid, worked the fabric until he got it to slip between her lips and stay there.

Lucía parted her feet by only a few centimeters. Her hands tightened on the railing.

—Like this —she said quietly, with her eyes closed.

He repeated the movement, front to back. Slowly. The fabric responded and Lucía responded with it: a tension running up her spine from bottom to top, a breath that was no longer the same as before.

—There. Better now, right?

—Better, yes. —She paused—. But you can leave your finger there for a while.

She found his hand with hers to make sure he didn’t move it. Marcos obeyed. Soft, steady pressure, right there, not moving, while the two of them looked at the sea.

***

Five minutes, maybe more. The sun kept dropping. The couple with the hat was still on the shore, still far away. No one else appeared on the path.

Marcos watched Lucía’s profile: her jaw slightly clenched, her eyes half-lidded, that strand of hair the wind kept moving and which she didn’t bother to brush away. It was the first time he had touched her like this, the first real time, after weeks of half-finished messages and looks that lasted too long and one excuse after another to avoid getting to this.

And now they were here.

—I have a proposal —Lucía said suddenly.

—I’m listening.

—That couple down there is packing up. The one with the hat. Do you see them? They’re folding the umbrella and putting their things away.

Marcos looked toward the shore. It was true: the man was clumsily rolling up the umbrella and the woman was stuffing things into a big bag.

—I see them.

—Good. —Lucía didn’t turn around—. You’re going to take your finger out of where you have it right now and put it back in, but inside the leggings this time. And I’m going to let you put it inside me.

Pause.

—If you make me come before that couple gets to our level, we stop at the gas station on the way out, buy condoms, and go fuck wherever you want.

Marcos took a few seconds to process what he’d just heard.

—And if I don’t make it in time?

—Tomorrow. Same beach, same time.

—And if I want both options?

Then she turned. She looked straight at him, with those sunglasses covering half her face but hiding nothing.

—Win first.

***

There was no time for more conversation. The couple below had started walking toward the path.

Marcos slipped his hand inside the waistband. Lucía spread her feet a little more and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the railing, giving him access without saying a single word.

He found her wet from the first touch. Much wetter than he had expected. Everything before that —the bikini, the adjustments, the minutes of constant pressure— had done its work. Lucía tensed when she felt him directly, with no fabric in between, and then relaxed completely, as if she had been waiting for that moment ever since before they got to that beach.

He searched for the right angle. He learned quickly: what made her press her fingers into the iron, what made her let out her breath without being able to control it. In less than a minute he had the answer.

Lucía’s knuckles were white against the railing. Her head tilted downward. She wasn’t looking at the sea anymore.

—Don’t stop —she said very quietly.

Marcos didn’t stop. He watched the path out of the corner of his eye, calculating. The couple was moving slowly: the bag was large, the steps uneven, the woman with the hat was wearing flip-flops. There was time. Maybe.

Lucía started breathing differently. Shorter, faster, with that broken rhythm that can’t be faked. Her hips made an involuntary movement and he followed it, without letting go, without changing the rhythm he already knew worked.

—Marcos —she said, and in the way she said his name was everything that didn’t need explaining.

She was close. He could feel it in every millimeter of tension in her body, in how she had forgotten the sea and the lookout and the couple climbing the path. She was just there, eyes closed and elbows on the railing and a breath she was no longer trying to control.

And then they heard them.

Laughter. First distant and then very close, turning the corner of the path. The woman with the hat and the man in the green T-shirt appeared at the left end of the lookout. They saw them immediately: they couldn’t not see them.

Marcos pulled his hand out in less than a second.

Lucía let out her breath sharply, between frustration and something that couldn’t help but sound a little like a laugh. She straightened up, brushed her hair back with one hand, and rested her elbows on the railing again facing forward, as if she’d been standing like that the whole time.

The other couple walked past them. The man nodded. The woman smiled, and there was something in that smile that clearly said they weren’t stupid.

When they had gone far enough away, Lucía turned to Marcos.

—I think you didn’t make it —she said.

—I think I didn’t. —He had the face of a man who has just lost a bet that promised a lot—. So close.

—Very close.

The two of them stood there in silence for a moment. The sun had dropped another couple of degrees. The cove was starting to empty out.

—Tomorrow —Lucía said then.

—Tomorrow —he repeated, as if the word was worth saving.

She came closer. She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his with that kind of contact that is no longer innocent at all. Marcos felt the heat she still gave off, the soft pressure of her body seeking his.

—Tomorrow I’ll bring other leggings —Lucía said against his ear—. Even thinner ones. And I’ll make sure that couple is much farther away when you start.

—And if someone else shows up?

—Then we keep trying until there’s no one left.

She kissed him. Not quickly, not like someone saying goodbye. With the kind of kiss that promises something specific for the next day. Her hips moved toward his, just an inch, but they both felt it perfectly.

—That’s only the beginning —Lucía said when she pulled away.

—Of tomorrow.

—Of tomorrow.

She picked up her backpack from the ground, adjusted her sunglasses, and started walking toward the parking lot without looking back. Marcos followed a few steps behind, watching her walk over the concrete of the lookout, thinking the night was going to be very long and tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.