The Shower Was Only the Beginning of That Night

That night we went into the shower together with no intention at all, or so I told myself as I turned on the tap and waited for the water to stop coming out icy cold. Mariela slipped in behind me, pressed her body against my back, and let the stream fall over both of us. We’d spent the whole day out, our feet tired and our skin sticky, and all we wanted was to wash off the heat of the street.

We started soaping ourselves up like two normal people. I ran my hands over her shoulders, over her back, spreading the lather with an almost absent-minded care. She did the same to me, rubbing the nape of my neck, sliding down my spine. The water carried the soap away in white ribbons that disappeared down the drain.

“Turn around,” she said.

I turned. I soaped her breasts slowly, drawing circles with my open palm, and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back so the water would wet her face. I took the sponge and ran it over her belly, lower, over her pussy, with a softness that was no longer innocent in the slightest. The sponge slipped and I was learning the map of her body as if it were the first time.

She didn’t stay still either. She lowered one hand and began to stroke me, first with the tips of her fingers, then taking me fully in her hand. She wasn’t in a hurry. She massaged me with the water running between us, and I could feel all the tiredness of the day turning into something else, into an urgency rising up from my stomach.

Without warning, she shoved me against the tiled wall. The cold surface sent a shiver through me, but her mouth was on mine immediately and I forgot about the tile and the water and everything else. She kissed me deeply, biting my lip, and while she did it she took me in her hand again and set a slow rhythm that forced me to breathe carefully.

“I want you now,” she murmured against my mouth.

We turned. She lifted one leg and braced it on the edge of the tub, and I, who was already more than ready, sank into her in one smooth thrust. Mariela let out a long sigh and clung to my shoulders so she wouldn’t slip. It took us a moment to find our balance: the wet floor, the water hitting our faces, our legs searching for a foothold that never quite came.

She looped both legs around my hips and we let ourselves be carried along by something that was no longer thought, only drive. I moved inside her while holding her against the wall, feeling the warm water slipping over us everywhere. It was clumsy and slick and we were half laughing between gasps, because every time we thought we had the rhythm, one of us would lose our footing.

I’m not fully there.

I noticed it before I wanted to admit it. My body was responding, but my head kept drifting to the discomfort of the cramped space, to the water getting in my eyes, to the impossible position. I was turned on, yes, but not enough for it to go anywhere memorable. We kept going a little longer, holding on, laughing, until she herself stopped us.

“Not like this,” she said, and gave a soft laugh, without reproach. “I have other ideas.”

“So do I,” I said.

I shut off the tap. The sudden silence, with no sound of water, made everything more intimate. We were about to get out, I was already reaching for the towel, but I asked her to wait a second.

“Sit there,” I told her, pointing to the closed toilet lid.

She looked at me with one eyebrow raised, that half-smile I know by heart, and sat down. Her skin was still covered in droplets, her hair stuck to her forehead, and there was an expectation in her eyes that I liked more than anything else.

***

I felt like doing it slowly, without the clumsy rush of the shower. I knelt in front of her, on the cold tiles, and gently parted her legs. I ran my hands over her thighs, from the knee inward, marking the path without quite getting anywhere yet.

“Come closer to the edge,” I asked her.

She slid toward the rim, offering herself shamelessly, clean and wet from the water before. She was right in front of me and I took my time. I didn’t want to go straight for anything. I wanted to kiss her down there the way you kiss a mouth, play with her lips, linger, waste time on purpose. Play for the sake of playing, with no end goal, just for the pleasure of doing it.

I started slowly, barely brushing her, blowing lightly, letting anticipation do half the work. That slow game undid Mariela like nothing else. I felt her loosen, the tension in her shoulders melting away as she surrendered to the seat, to me, to the moment.

“Don’t stop,” she said in a thin voice.

I had no intention of stopping. She lifted her legs and rested them on my shoulders, opening herself wider, and I felt her slide a little forward until she was even more exposed. I used the new position to press more firmly, to use my tongue with more intent, alternating broad strokes with tiny, precise ones.

She answered with her whole body. Her hips began to seek me out, her fingers tangled in my hair, her nails digging lightly into my scalp every time I found the exact spot. I listened to her breathing like someone reading a map: when to speed up, when to stop for a second just to drive her crazy, when to keep insisting.

“Wait, wait,” she gasped suddenly, tugging gently at my hair to lift my head. “Stand up.”

I straightened up, my knees numb from so much tile, but I didn’t care in the slightest. My face was burning, my mouth wet, and she was looking up at me with a smile that promised payback.

“Now it’s your turn to sit,” she said.

***

We switched places. I sat down on the toilet lid and she stood there for a moment, looking at me, making me wait on purpose, returning my game of patience with interest. I was ready, more than ready after having her like that for so long.

She came closer slowly, stepped one leg over me, and straddled my thighs. She lowered one hand and arranged me to her liking, unhurried, deciding the angle, the moment, everything. And then she let herself sink down.

I felt her taking me in little by little, centimeter by centimeter, until we were completely joined. Mariela let out the breath she’d been holding and rested her forehead against mine. We stayed like that for a second, still, feeling only each other’s breathing and the heartbeat that seemed to have synchronized us.

“Now yes,” she whispered.

She started to move. First slowly, swaying with her hands on my shoulders, measuring every rise and fall as if she wanted to memorize them. I held her hips, not to guide her but to feel every movement, not to miss a thing. The bathroom light fell over her wet back and I couldn’t stop looking at her.

The rhythm grew on its own. A little faster. Then a little more. Her thighs slapped against mine, her chest brushed my face, and almost nothing was left of the calm from the beginning. Now we were pure instinct, two bodies seeking each other with a hunger that allowed no pauses.

And at some point, between gasps, she whispered in my ear what always finished setting us on fire.

“First one to come loses.”

I laughed without air. It was our usual game, that silly and delicious competition to see who could hold out longer without giving in. An excuse to stretch pleasure to the limit, to clench our teeth and breathe deeply and think about anything at all just so as not to surrender first.

“You’re on,” I said, though I doubted very much that I could win.

From then on it became a war of patience. She sped up on purpose, trying to make me lose; I held her hips back with my hands, stealing a second of truce that she didn’t thank me for at all. Mariela locked eyes with me, defiant, biting her lip, and I held that gaze even though inside I was on the edge of a cliff.

“That soon?” she teased, noticing how my thighs were trembling.

“Not even close,” I lied.

It was a lie and we both knew it. I pressed my hands against her hips, tried to slow her down, but she resisted, rocking forward and back in a way that made me lose track of my own tricks. I squeezed my eyelids shut, counted numbers, thought about anything stupid, anything at all, as long as I could hold out one second longer than she did.

She didn’t have it easy either. Every so often a moan escaped her that betrayed how close to the edge she was, and then it was my turn to provoke her, to push up just as she came down, to find with my hand the place that left her defenseless.

“That’s cheating,” she protested through clenched teeth.

“There are no rules,” I reminded her.

And it was true: there had never been any rules, only the absurd pride of not yielding first and the pleasure of pretending we could control something that had already outgrown both of us a long time ago. We held each other at the brink, laughing under our breath, gasping, challenging each other with our eyes, prolonging the inevitable until it was no longer possible to prolong it.

We came together. There was no way to know who gave in a second sooner; it was as if one body dragged the other over the same cliff at the same instant. Mariela clutched me, I pulled her against my chest, and everything we’d been holding back let go all at once in a single jolt that left us breathless.

We stayed still, pressed together, catching our breath. The bathroom smelled of soap and dampness, and the only light was the extractor fan’s, humming as if nothing at all had just happened.

“Who won?” I asked when I could finally speak.

She lifted her head, still breathing hard, and smiled at me with that mischievous face she gets when she knows she’s right.

“It’s a tie,” she said.

And we both laughed, wrapped around each other on the toilet lid, our wet skin cooling slowly, knowing that in that particular game a tie was, by far, the best possible result.