I Drove Six Hours to Touch Her Again

I left Mendoza at noon with rain stuck to the windshield and a knot in my stomach that wasn’t hunger. I’d gone almost seven months without seeing her. Seven months counted in bills paid, shifts covered, and nights when I hugged a pillow as if it had a body-shaped form.

It was a long six hours. I passed through three nameless towns, a gas station where the coffee tasted like cardboard, and a stretch of highway so dark I started to believe I’d driven off the map. But I kept going. I kept going because I knew Lucía was waiting on the other side.

While I drove, I thought about silly things. The first time I kissed her, on the balcony of her boarding house, when we were still afraid of the neighbors. The stupid fights over things I no longer remembered. Her habit of biting her lower lip when she got nervous. The way her neck smelled just after she woke up. The way her cunt tasted the last time I ate her out, three Sundays before she moved.

Near Junín I called her to let her know I was almost there. She answered in almost no voice, as if I’d woken her up.

“Are you sleepy?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I’ve got something else.”

“What?”

“My tits are hard and my hand’s between my legs thinking about you. Hurry up, I’m getting my shorts wet.”

I hung up with a stupid smile stuck to my face and sped up. I could feel the wetness rising in me too, sitting there at the wheel, squeezing my thighs against the seat every time a truck roared past me.

I got to Córdoba a little after eight. The sky was violet and the traffic lights blinked yellow. I drove up the avenue I already knew by heart, turned at the corner by the kiosk that closed at nine, and I saw her.

She was standing in the building’s doorway, barefoot, wearing a gray sweatshirt that was way too big on her. Bare legs, arms crossed as if she were cold even though it was warm. When she saw me get out of the car, she froze for a second, then ran.

We didn’t say a word. She hugged me so tightly I felt the whole trip had been worth it for that instant alone.

“You look tired,” she said against my neck.

“I look like I want to get inside.”

***

We went up to the apartment without letting go of each other’s hands. In the elevator she glanced at me sideways with that half-innocent smile that no longer fooled me. I knew her. I knew exactly what that smile meant. I slid my hand under her sweatshirt and grabbed one bare breast, no bra, the tip already hard against my palm. She let out a sigh, closed her eyes, and hung from my neck.

“Did you eat anything?” she asked, her voice rough.

“A nasty coffee and a pastry at five.”

“Then we’ll stop by the Chinese place.”

We went back down again with weak legs and both our panties already ruined. We walked two blocks to the supermarket, bought bread, cheese, a bottle of wine, and two packs of pasta just in case. While I stood in line at the register, she leaned against my back and ran one finger along my waist, very slowly, right where she knew I was ticklish. Then she lowered her hand, hidden by the bag, and squeezed my ass over my jeans. I had to bite my lip not to laugh and not to turn around right there and eat her mouth in front of the cashier.

Back at the apartment, Lucía left the bags on the counter and turned to put the wine in the fridge. The look she threw me over her shoulder wasn’t a look. It was an invitation.

I didn’t wait. I grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, and shoved her against the fridge with a force I hadn’t known I had. Her back hit the metal and a sound escaped her halfway between surprise and laughter. Then she stopped laughing.

I kissed her like I’d been saving that kiss for seven months. Because that was exactly it. Her mouth was warm, barely open, and I bit her lower lip because I’d always, always wanted to do that exactly that way. She dug her nails into my hip over my jeans and shoved her tongue deep into my mouth, searching for me, biting me, while her other hand held the back of my neck so I wouldn’t pull away.

“The bed,” she murmured against my mouth.

“Later.”

I pulled her gray sweatshirt up to her neck. Underneath, she had nothing. Nothing. Just skin, that skin of hers I’d been remembering for weeks and that, in memory, was never as soft as it was in reality. I ran my palm over her ribs, over the side of her chest, and she shivered in a way that wasn’t from cold.

“Did you plan this?” I asked her. “You were like this before I even got here.”

“I’d been waiting for you like this, without panties, since noon,” she said. “With my cunt dripping for you.”

I pulled her sweatshirt down off her shoulders and left her propped against the fridge, naked to the waist, hair tousled and eyes half-closed. I lowered my mouth and caught one nipple between my teeth. I bit it slowly and then sucked hard, tugging it toward me, and she let out a short moan that came from deep in her stomach. I moved to the other one, licked it in circles, nibbled it, and felt her legs start to give out. I took one breast in each hand and pressed them together to suck them both at once, my tongue going back and forth between the two hard tips. No rush. Because after seven months, you can’t go fast.

I let go of her tits and dropped to my knees on the cold kitchen floor. I yanked off her little shorts in one pull, not afraid of tearing them. Underneath, she still had nothing. Her cunt was shining, swollen, with dark hairs stuck down by dampness. The smell hit me in the face and my mouth watered. I lifted one leg, put it over my shoulder, and buried my tongue in her without warning.

She bent forward and grabbed my head with both hands.

“Oh, fuck,” she said. “Oh, keep going, keep going, don’t stop.”

I licked her from bottom to top, broad and flat, tasting everything she’d gathered while waiting for me. Then I found her clit with the tip of my tongue and made it dance in circles. It was rock hard, peeking out, throbbing. I sucked it between my lips, tugged at it slowly, and she dug her nails into my scalp. I slid two fingers into her and curled them upward, searching for that spot that made her eyes roll back, while I kept sucking her clit without giving her a break.

“I’m coming,” she gasped. “I’m coming standing up, fuck.”

And she came right there, against the fridge, with her thighs squeezing my head and her hips pushing against my face. She filled my mouth with a warm, thick liquid I swallowed whole, not letting a drop fall, because I’d been hungry for that for seven months.

I was shaking too. Not because I was cold. Because I couldn’t believe I was there, with her cunt over my mouth, after so many nights imagining it.

***

By the time we went to the bedroom, we could barely walk. We left a trail of clothes down the hall. Her jeans fell near the bathroom door. My T-shirt stayed hanging from the knob. We both reached the bed laughing and tangled together, completely naked, and threw ourselves down on our sides, staring at each other like two girls about to do something no one had ever taught them.

“I missed you so much,” she said.

“Shut up.”

And I kissed her again so she’d shut up, letting her taste her own flavor on my tongue.

Lucía was not passive. She never had been, not even the first time. She learned fast and she learned well, and sometimes I felt more like the student than the teacher when she took control. That night was one of those times.

She shoved me by the shoulders, turned me over on the mattress, and straddled me with her legs open and her hair falling across her face. She went down my neck first, bit my collarbone, and sucked my nipples one by one until they were red and hard. Then she kept going lower, licking my stomach, biting my hip, until she buried her face between my legs and gave me back, with interest, what I’d done to her against the fridge.

Her tongue was broad, hot, insistent. She opened my lips with her fingers and licked me slowly, tasting, taking her time. Then she latched onto my clit like it was the only thing in the world, and she slid two fingers into me, then three, while looking up at me with bright eyes. I lifted my hips against her mouth, grabbed her hair, and begged for more without words, because I couldn’t get them out.

“Come on, come for me,” she murmured against my cunt. “Don’t hold back.”

And I didn’t. I came on her tongue with a long tremor, legs tightening around her head, and she didn’t let go until I stopped moving.

Then she climbed back up, lay down over me, and found my mouth. We kissed with the taste of both of us mixed together, already sweaty, sliding breast to breast. I felt her hard nipples pressing into mine and a current ran back down to my belly.

We settled into scissors, that position we’d learned together years ago, without manuals, without teachers, through trial and error. She swung one leg over mine and I did the same, until our cunts were pressed together, swollen, wet against each other. At the first rub I closed my eyes. I was wet, warm, ready. We both were, again, as if we hadn’t just come five minutes earlier.

She started moving slowly, braced on my hips, looking for the angle she already knew. I grabbed her thighs to feel her better, to keep her from going anywhere, to keep her from ever moving again. Our clits searched for each other on their own, sliding one against the other with a wet sound that embarrassed me and turned me on at the same time.

“Look at me,” she said.

I opened my eyes. Her face was flushed, mouth open, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She looked at me like she was afraid I might disappear at any second, as if the night were a dream and she knew she was going to wake up.

“I’m here,” I told her. “I’m not going anywhere tonight. Come on, keep rubbing against me, like that, harder.”

She moved her hips faster. The friction was exact, that friction between two women that can’t be compared to anything else, because nothing goes in or out, just two bodies seeking each other through the most sensitive skin they have. My breathing caught. She leaned forward and planted both hands on my chest to keep her balance, and her tits bounced over me in time with her thrusts.

After a while, I took her by the hips and moved her gently to one side. I wanted to be on top. She let me do it with a ease that made me want to cry and laugh at the same time. She ended up underneath, open, one leg bent and the other stretched out, and I settled on top of her, crossing my legs again, fitting my cunt against hers.

The friction became constant, deep. I held one of her knees against her chest to open her wide, so there wouldn’t be a millimeter between us, and she dug her fingers into my back, my ass, tugging for me to press harder. The bed creaked softly. I could feel her clit throbbing against mine, feel our juices mixing and running down the inside of my thigh. I slid two fingers into her, without stopping rubbing against her, and searched for that spot inside while our sex stayed pressed together.

At some point a moan escaped her so sharp it sounded like it belonged to someone else, and I covered her mouth with mine to swallow it. I didn’t want to lose a single sound.

“More,” she said when I pulled away for a second to breathe. “Fuck me harder, come on.”

I gave her more. I gave her everything I had. I lifted her a little off the mattress, slipped my arm under her waist to keep her close, and kept going. I slid a third finger in, and she let out a choked cry. I drove into her hard, keeping time with my hips, while my thumb kept circling her clit. When I felt her come, it wasn’t all at once but little by little, like a wave that takes time to break. Her body went rigid, her thighs squeezed my hips, her cunt closed around my fingers until it almost hurt, and she let out a long, deep sound that was neither a cry nor a moan but something in between. She soaked my whole hand, drenched the sheet beneath her.

I came too, almost without realizing it, carried along by her trembling. It was strange, almost tender, to finish like that, without having planned it, just because she was coming under me and that was enough. I pressed myself against her thigh, still with my fingers inside her, and came apart over her with a moan I bit into her shoulder so I wouldn’t wake the whole building.

We stayed like that, one on top of the other, sweaty, breathless, the sheet sticky with both of us. Her chest rose and fell against mine. The ceiling fan turned very slowly, as if it too were tired of holding up the tension of the last few months.

“Don’t leave,” Lucía said with her eyes closed.

“I’m not leaving until Monday.”

“I meant never.”

I didn’t answer. I held her tighter and buried my face in her hair. She smelled like cheap shampoo, sweat, sex, and something else, something that isn’t sold in any pharmacy and only I knew.

***

That was the last time we were together in that city. Three months later we decided we couldn’t keep doing that, living six hundred kilometers apart and stealing weekends from time to time. She quit her job, packed two suitcases, and came with me.

But that night, in that borrowed bed, with the city lights slipping in through the half-closed blinds, we still didn’t know it. We only knew the trip had been worth it. That the bad coffee, the six hours on the road, and the seven months of waiting had been worth every minute.

And we fell asleep wrapped around each other, naked and sticky, as if no one in the world could ever separate us again.