The Last Night with Her Before Her Flight

Mariana opened her eyes slowly, as if she were still shaking off a good dream. The slanted morning light came through the curtains, and I had been watching her from my side of the bed for a good while.

“Are you okay?” I asked her with a warm smile.

It took her a second to recognize me. Not from confusion, but from pleasure. It was me, the woman who had kissed her until she was breathless, the one who had buried herself between her legs, the one who had held her while she slept until her breathing softened.

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat a little. “I’m very well. Last night was beautiful.”

She sat up in bed with the calm of someone who has nowhere better to be. She took the man’s shirt I had lent her the night before and slipped it over her naked skin. She buttoned only the third and fourth buttons. She left the rest open, like an invitation that needed no words.

I sat up too, the sheet sliding down to my waist. I could feel my thigh sticking to the fabric. The heat of the night was still pulsing between my legs, and seeing her like that, with the shirt half-open and her hair tousled, did nothing to calm it.

“Do you feel like watching the sunrise from the terrace?” I asked.

She fixed her gaze on me without blinking.

“Yes. With you, even more.”

I held out my hand and we both got up. I put on another shirt, also a man’s, but I didn’t bother buttoning it. I thought for a second about looking for my panties and dismissed the idea. By then, clothes were a detail that no longer protected us from anything.

Mariana walked ahead of me down the hallway. The white shirt outlined her ass with every step, and I followed, trying to keep a distance that did me no good. I got close enough to smell her in the morning, that mix of old soap and her own scent that had gotten into my nose from the very first night.

We crossed the living room. In that very room we had acted like two crazies the week before, on the rug and against the edge of the sofa. Crossing it at that hour, with the sun still not fully up, was like walking through a field after battle. Invisible traces remained, a complicit scent only the two of us could recognize.

We went out onto the terrace. The morning air brought cold from the sea. I stood behind her and wrapped my arms around her, crossing my hands over her belly. I rested my chin on her shoulder. Above the rooftops, an orange band was starting to burn the horizon.

“Have I told you today how much I love being with you?” I whispered in her ear.

She tilted her head back. Her mouth was a finger’s width from mine, and I kissed her without hurry. I kissed her slowly, because hurry had already kept us company too many times.

By then Mariana knew that with me anything less than cerebral was possible. I opened her shirt with two fingers, button by button, and slid my hands up to her breasts. She let out a small sound and arched her back. Her ass pressed even more firmly against my body, and I understood that sunrise was going to have to wait.

My right hand slid down her belly, slowly, drawing the path. It reached the opening between her legs. She was wet. My finger moved over her clit and her lips with the ease that can only be learned by listening very closely to the other woman’s body.

“Keep going, please, keep going,” she said through clenched teeth. “Mmm...”

I obeyed her for a while, with my face buried in the side of her neck. Then I pulled my finger away and, using her own dampness, I traced two letters across her stomach: “IY.”

I love you. Even if today isn’t the day to say it, I love you.

Wanting and loving are words not to be said lightly. I made her a promise right there, with the sun finishing its rise. I promised her I would never be an obstacle in her life, that I would never put her in front of an impossible choice. If that moment ever came, I would lay my cards on the table like a player standing up before the game is over. The only thing I asked was that she not force me to keep quiet about what I felt.

She reached her hand back, searching for me. I was lucky I hadn’t buttoned the shirt, because her fingers found my sex without having to move anything aside. I thought I was going to collapse when she touched my clit. She did it with tenderness and determination at the same time, two things that seem contradictory and aren’t. I came with my cheek pressed to her hair, biting my lip so I wouldn’t wake the neighbors.

***

That was going to be our last afternoon together, at least for a while. We didn’t know when we’d be able to see each other again. Her flight left the next morning and I had decided not to count the hours. I invited her to lunch at a small restaurant in the old quarter, one of those places I only take someone to when I truly care about them.

I wanted to enjoy the food, the wine, and her conversation. One of the things I like most about Mariana, besides the sex, is the way she talks. She writes well, but speaking, she dazzles me even more. She has this slow way of letting ideas out, as if each sentence deserves its own space.

Halfway through the meal I noticed she had been looking at my lips for a while. I wondered if it showed too much. It wasn’t the first time I had gone out with another woman, but it was the first time I didn’t want to hide it. I had chosen the restaurant thinking we would go unnoticed on a Saturday at noon. I was wrong. The waiter couldn’t take his eyes off her, and she either didn’t notice or was hiding it very well.

I’m still surprised that a woman like Mariana, educated, with her own life together, would be interested in someone like me. I smiled at her. I saw the color rise in her cheeks. I prayed she wouldn’t notice the embarrassment I was feeling too. On the outside I may seem like a woman who’s been through a lot. Inside, there are gestures that still throw me off balance.

She let out a short laugh, almost a sigh, and then did something I had been wanting her to do for minutes. She held my gaze. We stayed like that for a while, like two kids playing to see who would blink first.

I lost.

When we were at that distance where the heart starts beating differently, I smiled at her. She opened her mouth and leaned in a little more, as if she were about to ask me if I knew the place. She said nothing. She took my face in one hand, pulled me toward her, and kissed me.

It was a tender, soft kiss, but loaded. My mind went blank. I let her, eyes closed, aware only of the weight of her hand on my cheek and her lips on mine. I didn’t care about the waiter, or the couple at the next table, or anyone. Definitely, I like being with her.

She pulled away a few seconds later and looked me in the eyes. Her eyes are the color I can never quite define, something between honey and the wet bark of a tree. Her gaze was bright and steady. She smiled at me once more, and I swore to myself that if she ever did that again, she would have me in her hands forever.

“One last drink at your place,” she asked softly. “Tomorrow I leave.”

“I’ll ask for the check,” I replied.

***

We took each other by the hand and I let her guide herself, even though she knew the way as well as I did. We walked two blocks in silence, without needing to fill it with anything. We reached the small entrance to my building, the one with the red door she had learned to recognize among all the doors in the neighborhood.

I didn’t need to let go of her hand to take the keys with my other one. I opened the door, we went in, and before it had even finished closing behind me, I shoved her against the wall in the vestibule. I buried my face in her neck. She smelled like herself and a little perfume, the one she only wears when she travels.

From there I lost all sense of time. I let her be the one to take my clothes off, first the light jacket, then the shirt, the pants, everything. My republic, our republic, was that little apartment where nobody asked us for explanations. Every caress of hers stole a second from the clock. Every kiss left me with a little more time uncounted.

When I regained a bit of my head, I opened my eyes. She was pressed against me, moving slowly, forehead to forehead. Only when her hand slid between my thighs and stroked my sex did I realize how far my arousal had gone. She smiled, because she loves knowing she’s the one who stirs that in me. She started moving in circles, with three soft fingers, and made me lose my mind for the second time that day.

We made it to the sofa half walking, half collapsing, not wanting to waste a minute separating. She lay down on top of me. Her long mane fell over my breasts and tickled me. I let out a groan without meaning to. Then I felt two of her fingers slide calmly inside me, and a rolling, slow motion that arched my whole back.

Her lips came down to my nipples. She licked them, bit them just enough for pleasure to brush against pain without crossing the line. I felt several false alarms. My body announced the orgasm and withdrew a second later, and I moved my hips to get closer to her hand. I let out a different moan, one she knows, the one that means “almost there.”

She understood. She sped up her fingers, pushed deeper, pinched my left nipple with just the right amount of force. A wave of heat rose from my belly to my throat. I grabbed her hair and shouted her name with my head thrown back.

As my heartbeat settled, her touches became slower. She lay down beside me and fit herself into my body as if she had been there much longer than she actually had. She gave me that smile I’ve been seeing in my head since the very first time. And only then did I remember that the next day, at seven, I had to drop her off at the airport.

I didn’t tell her. The whole night was still ahead of us.