The Delivery Girl Stayed for Dinner with Me That Night

I got home a little after nine, my blouse clinging to my body and my mood wrecked by the heat. Madrid in July is a sentence. I stripped off my clothes in the hallway, leaving my shoes by the door, my skirt on a chair, and my blouse balled up on top of the sofa. I was left with nothing but a tiny black thong and a short burgundy silk kimono that didn’t bother covering much at all.

Cooking was out of the question. I dialed the corner pizzeria, ordered a large ham-and-arugula pizza and two sodas, and poured myself a glass of white wine while I waited.

Twenty minutes later I heard the engine of a scooter braking in front of the gate. I peeked out from the living room window. The figure getting off the bike wasn’t the usual guy. It was a girl, slight, with her hair tucked under the helmet. When she took it off, a chestnut mane fell over her shoulders.

I went out into the garden barefoot, half adjusting the sash of my kimono. She walked up to the porch with the pizza box balanced on her forearm and the drink bag dangling from her fingers. The uniform polo fit her snugly, too snugly. It outlined two small, firm breasts, and through the middle of the fabric you could make out her nipples, standing hard from the air conditioning in the entryway.

—I’ve got your order —she said, and smiled at me.

She was gorgeous. Fine features, a sharp jawline, thick dark brows. I gave her no more than twenty years old. Her nails were painted a bright red, perfectly groomed, and when she held up the box, her hands looked small and elegant.

—Great, I’m starving —I replied.

I made an effort to lace the line with a double meaning she didn’t miss. I asked her to come in while I looked for my purse, and let her step into the entryway.

I turned my back on her and leaned over the console without bending my knees. I knew exactly what I was offering: the kimono barely covered my ass, and underneath I was wearing only a very thin strip of black fabric. When I turned around with the bills in my hand, her eyes took a beat too long to climb from my thighs to my face. The neckline was open all the way to my navel. My breasts were almost fully on display.

She blushed. A pink flush climbed her neck up to her cheeks, and her breathing quickened. She didn’t say anything. I took the chance to look without hiding my interest at the swell of her nipples through the polo fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. It was obvious she didn’t need one.

—How much longer is your shift? —I asked, letting the belt of the kimono slip as if by accident.

The garment opened all the way. The red lace of my thong barely covered my shaved pussy, and her eyes flew there without any shame.

—You’re my last delivery —she murmured—. I was going to take the bike back to the shop.

—That’s too much pizza for just me —I said. —If you want, stay. You’d be doing me a favor.

She bit her lip. She glanced at the scooter parked by the gate, then looked at me again. She nodded. I closed the door behind her.

—Make yourself comfortable —I added, with that half smile you use when you already know how the night ends.

***

She started with my feet. She sat on the bench in the entryway and carefully took off her trainers and white socks. She had small feet, with her nails painted a pale pink, lighter than the color on her hands. They had spent the whole day trapped in work shoes, and even so, they were beautiful.

I led her into the living room without closing my kimono again. I felt her eyes tracing my back, my ass, the line of my legs. I set the pizza on the coffee table, opened the sodas, and when I turned back to her I let the silk slide to the floor.

—Aren’t you hot in those clothes? —I asked.

She unbuttoned her jeans with calculated slowness. She slid them down over her hips and revealed a cream-colored cotton thong, much more modest than mine. Right where the fabric covered her lips, there was a wet patch. She realized I’d seen it and looked down for a second before raising her eyes again, now with a different glint in them.

She sat down beside me on the sofa. Our bare legs brushed. I started talking about anything and everything—the job, the neighborhood, the heat—so she could relax before I moved further. I asked her about her life. She told me she studied while doing deliveries, that she lived with a roommate, that she didn’t have a steady partner. I asked if she only liked guys.

—I have a few girlfriends —she said, and laughed softly—. For experimenting.

I rested my hand on her knee. I slid my fingers up the inside of her thigh with the same calm she’d used to take her pants off. Her skin prickled. She didn’t pull her leg away.

***

I took hold of the hem of her polo and lifted it slowly. She raised her arms to help me. I trapped her wrists with the fabric wound above her head and leaned in to kiss her for the first time. She opened her mouth at once. Her tongue was warm, agile, with a faint taste of soda.

I let go of her hands. Hers went straight to my ass and squeezed hard. She kneaded my cunt as if she’d been thinking about it for hours. I pushed my tongue deeper into her mouth while my hands found her breasts. They were small, firm, tanned up to the line where there had once been a tiny top. I twisted her nipples, brushed my fingertips over her defined ribs, circled her waist.

I worked my way down her neck, kissing slowly. Her armpits tasted of sweat and worn-out deodorant. I ran my tongue through the hollow there and felt her shiver. I nipped gently at the skin beneath her breasts and let my mouth rise to one of her nipples. She let out a moan when I caught it between my teeth.

—You’re beautiful —I told her against her flat stomach.

***

I kept going lower. I brushed the tip of my tongue over her navel, traced the line of her pubic bone, and left her thighs for later. I knelt on the rug between her legs and started with her feet first. I took one in both hands and pressed it against my breasts. I dragged the soles across my nipples, kissed the top of her foot, put her big toe in my mouth and sucked it slowly, as if it were something else.

She threw her head back and laughed in a groan. It tickled, but she didn’t pull her foot away. I ran my tongue over the sole, over the arch, nipped at her heel. Then I climbed up her tanned calf to her thigh, to the edge of her wet cotton thong.

I moved the fabric aside with two fingers. Her pussy was already soaking. Without wasting any more time, I plunged my tongue between her swollen lips and heard her draw in a sharp breath. She grabbed my hair with both hands. She wasn’t pulling; she was just holding me there, setting the rhythm.

I found the clit peeking out between the folds and focused there. Long sweeps with my whole tongue. Small circles with the tip. I went back over her lips to return to the clit. I heard her moan louder and louder. The first time she came, she filled my mouth with her wetness and a flavor that was both salty and sweet.

***

I didn’t wait for her to catch her breath. I lifted her thighs and draped them over my shoulders. For a second she closed her legs, embarrassed. I gave her ass a gentle slap and she opened back up. I ran my tongue over her anus, bare, just a little darker than the rest of her skin. I felt her shiver all over.

She turned on the sofa and got on all fours over the cushions, her ass raised. She spread herself open with her own hands. I yanked her thong off in one pull and promised I’d give her one of mine. I bit her cheeks carefully before taking my tongue back to where I wanted to be. I sank two fingers into her sex while I kept licking, searching for the inner spot that made her writhe. When I found it, I knew she was coming again from the spasms that ran through her whole body.

She fell back onto the cushions, smiling with that look of someone who still hasn’t had enough. She tugged on my arm and pulled me over her. Our breasts collided. She kneaded my tits with both hands and took one of my nipples into her mouth with a force that made my back arch.

—Up —she told me against my skin.

I climbed up. I positioned myself with one knee resting between her head and the back of the sofa, the other foot on the floor, and lowered my hips until her tongue reached me. I felt it go in as deep as it could. I came almost without meaning to, almost without touching myself, just from the image of her face between my legs.

Her work-hardened hands gripped my ass and moved me however she wanted, back and forth. She licked through my pussy, my clit, my perineum. When her tongue ventured farther back, I didn’t ask her to stop. Her upturned nose buried itself against me every time she breathed. The hot air over my perineum made my knees tremble.

She tore three orgasms out of me in a row before I let myself fall beside her onto the cushions. I kissed her mouth with my own taste still on her lips. My fingers went back to seek out her sex with tenderness, stroking it slowly, unhurried now.

***

We had forgotten about the pizza. The box still sat open on the coffee table, cold, untouched. Neither of us seemed in any hurry to get up.

—Doesn’t it bother you that I smell like this? —she asked, almost shyly.

I laughed against her shoulder and told her no, that was exactly what I liked. That now we’d go shower together and the soap and water sliding over both of us would be a whole other scene.

I thought about taking her to my bed afterward. About not letting her leave until the next day. The bike parked on the other side of the gate could stay there overnight. The pizzeria would already be closed and her boss could wait.

I ran a hand through her mane, brushed a damp lock off her forehead, and kissed her again. Her body still smelled of sweat, of the street, of sun, and of something that was mine. I had no intention of washing it all away.