The Fantasy I Fulfilled While He Was Playing Online

It was an ordinary afternoon, one of those that have nothing special about them until someone decides they do. I was lying on the bed, doing nothing, staring at the ceiling and then at him. I was wearing one of his T-shirts, which hung huge on me, and a black thong I’d still had on from the day before. Only a few hours had passed since the last time we’d rolled around on those very same sheets, and yet my body was already asking for more.

Bruno was reclined in his chair, in front of the screen, playing with his friends. Hair tousled, shirtless, in sports shorts with the laces undone. Every now and then he laughed, other times he muttered some complaint at the monitor. He was completely immersed in his game, oblivious to the heat that was beginning to move through me, slowly, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

I watched him a little longer. I liked seeing him focused, his jaw tense, his fingers moving fast over the keyboard. And then I got a silly idea, a little fantasy I’d been keeping to myself for days and that afternoon, without thinking too much about it, I decided to make come true.

I got up without making a sound. The carpet muffled my steps, so I reached him without him noticing. I wrapped my arms around him from behind, around his shoulders, and left a kiss on his cheek. He, without taking his eyes off the screen, tilted his head a little to return it, suspecting nothing.

He didn’t know those cheek kisses were going to move lower. First along the side of his neck, small, almost innocent. Then a little more intense, with my lips parted. I held his jaw with one hand and gave him a soft bite right beneath his ear.

—I’m playing —he whispered, not sounding all that convinced.

—Keep playing —I purred in his ear.

I let go of his jaw and slid my hand down his neck, slowly, feeling him swallow. I kept going down over his chest, drawing lines with my nails, until I reached the elastic waistband of his shorts. I played with the untied cords, twined them around my fingers, and with the tips of my fingers I began to stroke him through the fabric.

—Hey, what are you doing? I’m… —he said, covering the microphone on his headphones with his hand.

I could tell he was getting worked up, his breathing a little shorter. I didn’t answer. I turned his face just a little and stole an intense, slow kiss from him, one of those that leaves you with no arguments. When I pulled away, he said nothing. Not a word.

In silence, he watched me step in front of him and kneel between his legs. He opened his mouth to speak and I cut him off before he could.

—You keep doing your thing —I told him, looking up at him.

I placed my hands over the fabric and touched him again, this time more slowly, unhurried. I gave him a little kiss over his shorts, never taking my eyes off his, and felt him harden beneath my lips. I grabbed the elastic edge and pulled it down just enough to free him. I looked for his gaze, but he was already watching me.

Without breaking eye contact, I ran my tongue from bottom to top, slowly, taking him in fully all the way to the tip. He let out a low gasp, almost inaudible. I winked and, with a finger over my lips, told him to keep quiet.

I kept playing with him. I took him into my mouth and out again, alternating with my hands, sucking the tip slowly and then going back down. I traced the area with my tongue, up and down, stopping right where I could feel his breathing catch. Every now and then I lifted my eyes to meet his, which were getting more and more lost. I could see him breathing hard, holding back, biting his lip so he wouldn’t make a sound and pressing one hand against the chair armrest.

On the other side of the headphones, his friends were asking if everything was okay. It made me smile, and at the same time it made me want to make things harder for him, to make him moan in front of them without them being able to know why.

—Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine —he answered, his voice breaking, while he looked at me as if he wanted to devour me right there and then.

I smiled at him without letting go, with him still in my mouth. This is better than I imagined.

When I moved my hand and sped up the rhythm, I didn’t just see him getting more aroused, I also saw the marks I’d been leaving on him, small, mine. A work of art of my own. I never found out whether he finished the match or simply didn’t care about losing, but suddenly he let out a curt:

—Guys, I’m out.

He yanked off his headphones, dropped them onto the table and stared at me.

—I can’t take it anymore —he said.

***

In one quick movement he shoved the chair aside, picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bed as if I weighed nothing, like a princess who in truth was nothing like a princess. He dropped me onto the mattress and climbed on top of me. I loved seeing him like that, with that intensity in his eyes, all defenses on the floor.

—Did I do something wrong? —I asked, putting on an innocent voice even I didn’t believe.

He clicked his tongue. Without saying anything, he slid a hand under my shirt and squeezed one breast while kissing me hard, almost with contained rage. With the other hand he held me by the neck, not squeezing, just enough to force me to look at him.

—You’re a bitch —he said, his voice deep.

His free hand went down between my legs, moved the thong fabric aside, and stopped there.

—Look at you. So wet —he added, clicking his tongue again.

A smile escaped me. I couldn’t help it.

—What are you laughing at? —he asked, just before sinking two fingers into me.

He drew a moan from me that I didn’t even try to hold back. He moved so fast that in an instant I wasn’t wearing the thong anymore, and I couldn’t remember when he’d taken it off. He held my legs apart and placed himself right at my entrance, without going in yet.

—You want me to go in? —he asked.

I didn’t answer. I looked up at him, biting my lip, making him wait.

—You suck me off while I’m gaming and now you won’t even tell me to put it in —he said, half smiling, turning the game back on me.

He started to tease me. He played with the tip, slid in only a little and pulled back out, rubbing against me without giving me what I was already screaming for inside. I moved my hips toward him, searching, shivering with every brush. I held out as long as I could, which wasn’t very long.

—Do it. Put it in, please —I said at last, defeated.

He smiled with a victorious air. He gripped my legs firmly and drove into me in one thrust, smothering my moan in a rough kiss. At first the movements were slow, deep, but little by little they grew stronger, setting a rhythm that climbed up my spine.

My moans grew in both number and pitch with every thrust. I covered my mouth with my hand, out of habit, but he immediately caught it and pinned both my hands above my head.

—I want to hear you —he said, looking me in the eyes.

I could feel him hitting deep inside, in a place that made me lose track of everything. It was hard to hold back, and he knew it.

—Don’t cover your mouth again. I want to hear how you moan when I put it in —he murmured.

He let go of my hands to lean back and settle on his knees, never leaving me. He grabbed my legs and lifted them onto his shoulders, kissed my ankles, and damn the timing: he started again, slow at first, always hard, gradually speeding up. I felt like he was splitting me in two. He knew exactly where and how to touch me to bring me to the edge.

—I’m about to come —he said, his forehead beaded with sweat.

The truth was, I was too. I stretched out my arm to caress his face. He let go of my legs, which fell to either side of his body, and bent over me. He kissed me while holding my cheeks with both hands.

—Don’t stop —I begged in a whisper.

He didn’t stop. He kept going, and my legs started trembling on their own, beyond my control. My moans turned sharper, broken. I clung tightly to his back, digging my nails in, and I felt him throbbing inside me just as a wet, warm wave flooded me completely. He moaned and sighed at the same time, as if he were letting out all the air in the world.

A few seconds later he let himself fall to one side. He kissed my forehead, ruffled my hair with his hand, and, still breathless, whispered something in my ear that only he could say to me that way.

—You son of a bitch. I love you.

I laughed against his chest, weak, my heart still pounding against my ribs. The screen was still on across the room, the game abandoned halfway through, the chat blinking with messages he wasn’t going to read. I curled up against his side and let the silence cover us. Sometimes the best ideas are the silliest ones, the ones you keep for days without daring, turning them over in your head, until one ordinary afternoon you stop doing nothing, get out of bed and finally decide to carry them out.