What Happened on the Cabin Balcony That Night

We had booked the cabin months in advance, one of those loft-style structures perched on the hillside, with huge picture windows and a wooden balcony suspended over the lake. The first day we barely left it: we slept late, ate whatever we found in the fridge, and stayed wrapped in each other’s arms listening to the wind through the pines. Mateo said we needed exactly that, to disconnect from everything, and he was right, but I was already starting to feel that the mountain silence was waking up a different kind of hunger in me.

The second night came on slowly, staining the water a deep orange that later turned violet. I was in the kitchen barefoot, wearing one of his shirts and nothing underneath, while he was in the shower. The glass screen let me see his silhouette through the steam, and I kept watching longer than I should have, the mug cooling in my hands.

The nights before, we had made love softly, calmly, the way things usually are when you’re comfortable. But that night, watching him through the fogged-up glass, I wanted something different. Something that would shake me.

I want him to remember this trip every time he sees a cabin.

I set the mug on the counter and went in without warning. The warm water hit me all at once and I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pressing my body against his, feeling him tense at the surprise before relaxing into me.

—I thought you were having tea —he murmured, turning his head slightly.

—I changed my plans —I answered against the nape of his neck.

My hands slid down his chest, over his stomach, until they closed around him. I felt him harden slowly, throbbing beneath my fingers while I stroked him without hurry. Mateo turned around and pushed me against the glass. The cold of the screen against my back contrasted with his hot mouth going down my neck, my breasts, my stomach, until he knelt in front of me.

The water poured over us when his tongue found my sex. I clutched his wet hair, threw my head back, and let pleasure rise through my legs in waves. It wasn’t slow or careful: he knew exactly where to press, and I came apart against his mouth with a moan that echoed off the tiles, my knees shaking, one hand braced against the glass so I wouldn’t fall.

We got out of the shower without drying off completely. In front of the bathroom mirror, while I ran the towel through my hair, he positioned himself behind me. Our reflections looked at each other. His hands ran over my waist, my hips, and I felt him, still wet, rubbing against me, teasing the most sensitive part of my body in slow circles.

—Look at yourself —he told me in my ear, holding my gaze in the mirror.

I couldn’t. I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and let the friction take me to the edge again. The sensation was hard to describe; every movement lit me up a little more until a second orgasm rippled through me, and a long moan escaped me that he swallowed by kissing my shoulder.

***

He didn’t let me recover. He practically carried me to the bed, threw me face down, and lifted my hips. When he entered me, he did it in one thrust, deep, and I let out a cry against the pillow. Every thrust was firm, steady, filling me completely. I clawed at the sheets, pushed back, searching for more, and felt pleasure gathering somewhere deep inside until it burst like a wave that left me breathless.

He turned me over. He settled over me, with his knees on either side of my head, and there he was before my eyes, hard and throbbing. Meanwhile his fingers moved between my legs, skilled, in and out, and I opened my mouth to take him in. I licked him, sucked him, felt him harden even more against my tongue at the same time his fingers carried me to another uncontrollable shudder. The contractions took hold of me just as he braced himself on my nape and finished in my mouth, hot, while I kept coming apart beneath him.

We stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, stuck together by sweat and the water that still hadn’t dried. Then he got up, opened the sliding glass door, and held out his hand to me.

—Come get some air.

***

We went out onto the balcony completely naked. The mountain breeze raised gooseflesh all over my skin at once, fresh, almost cold, a relief against my body that was still burning. The lake stretched out below, black and still, with a broken moon floating in the center. There was no sound but crickets and the water licking the shore.

I leaned against the wooden railing and he came up behind me, covering me with his warm body. I felt his erection between my ass cheeks while his hands rose to my breasts, massaging them, tracing circles over my nipples, hardened by the cold and by everything else. His mouth found my neck and left a trail of wet kisses that made me arch my back.

—Aren’t you cold? —he asked.

—Not at all —I lied, trembling, though it wasn’t from the cold.

His pelvis moved slowly against me, and I could feel his length sliding in a gentle sway, promising without delivering yet. I leaned a little farther over the railing, offering myself, and whispered through clenched teeth that I needed him now, that I was too turned on to keep waiting. He took my hips and pulled me back, leaving me bent forward, exposed to the night and to him.

That was when I heard it. A creak, a piece of wood complaining under a weight. I glanced toward the neighboring cabin, separated from ours by a few meters of pines, and I saw them: a couple standing on their own balcony, watching us without hiding it. The woman had a hand over her mouth; the man held a glass forgotten between his fingers.

My first instinct was to cover myself. The second, much stronger, was to stay exactly as I was.

—They’re watching us —I told Mateo, almost voiceless.

—I know —he answered, and his hand tightened on my hip—. Do you want me to stop?

I didn’t. For the first time in my life, the thought of someone else’s eyes fixed on me didn’t make me ashamed: it set me on fire. Something loosened in my chest and tightened everywhere else. I shook my head and gripped the railing with both hands.

—Don’t you dare stop.

He spread my legs with his knee and, still standing, began to enter me slowly. I could literally feel him opening me, centimeter by centimeter, going deeper and deeper, while the neighbors kept still, trapped by the scene. When he was fully inside, I let out a sigh that mixed with the breeze and, without thinking, held the woman’s gaze from the other balcony.

Mateo stretched out that slowness on purpose, knowing they were watching us, playing with time. My moans grew with every movement; I no longer cared who heard them. My body started shaking and another orgasm swept through me, this time with a new intensity, fed by the feeling of being seen.

Without giving me time to catch my breath, he slid his arms beneath my legs and lifted me. I was left in the air, supported only by my arms gripping the railing, my legs spread to the sides, all my weight between his hands and the wood. The sensation was maddening, unlike anything I had ever experienced. His thrusts turned deep, almost to the edge of pain, and I hung from the night as if the balcony, the lake, and the witnesses had disappeared.

Sensations I didn’t know existed flooded me. My whole body trembled, sweat ran down my back and dripped onto the balcony boards. One orgasm chained into the next without pause, until I felt I could no longer hold myself up.

—Stop, stop for a second —I asked him between gasps.

He lowered me carefully and laid me on my back across the little wooden balcony table. I was left stretched out, exhausted, looking up at the sky crowded with stars you never see in the city. I was wrecked, but I didn’t want it to end.

I looked at him. He was standing in front of me, tense, desire still obvious in every muscle. In a hoarse voice I asked if he wanted me to help him finish. He nodded and came closer, arranging me with my head hanging slightly back over the edge of the table while he positioned himself over me.

From that angle he looked imposing, firm, throbbing with a gentle sway a few inches from my mouth. I started at the base, running my tongue over him, licking slowly until I felt him respond. Then I opened my mouth and he leaned in, sinking inside. I tasted him, sucked him, and every time he sped up his breathing grew rougher. I took him in my hand and stroked him hard at the same time until he finished with a deep groan; I felt the heat on my face, on my breasts, on my stomach, while his legs finally gave out and he dropped beside me.

***

We went back inside holding each other, laughing like two teenagers. When I closed the sliding door, from the darkness of the other cabin came the faint echo of applause. We looked at each other and burst out laughing, the sound booming through the empty loft.

—Was that them? —Mateo asked, still laughing.

—Those definitely weren’t crickets —I told him.

I was fascinated, completely ecstatic. I had lost count of the orgasms, I was exhausted down to the last muscle, but so grateful for that night that I pushed him onto the bed before he could settle in.

—I still owe you one —I told him.

I tucked a few pillows under his hips, spread his legs, and gave him with my mouth exactly what he wasn’t expecting. I took him deep, sealing my lips to intensify every sensation, picking up the pace until his breathing turned into broken gasps. He was so close to the edge that he came again, and I didn’t pull away.

I looked at him with a smile he called devilish and kept going, stroking and kissing him at the same time, massaging him where I knew he lost control. Mateo kept sighing without being able to stop, his hands clenched in the sheets, until a choked cry ran through him from head to toe.

Afterward we lay on our backs, staring at the ceiling beams, with no strength even to talk.

—We do it again tomorrow —he said, eyes closed.

We both smiled. I got up, unsteady, heading for the shower, and before closing the door I answered him in a low voice:

—Of course. And leave the curtains open.