What Began as Admiration Between Women

I closed the office door and stood motionless in front of the window. Buenos Aires glowed twenty floors below, oblivious to what I was feeling. The quarterly reports were stacked on my desk, the phone was silent, and I had an hour free I didn’t know how to fill. Well, yes, I did know. What I didn’t know was how to stop thinking about Valentina.

My company had sent me from Madrid with a clear mandate: establish the regional branch, organize the local team, have it up and running within twelve months. I was good at that. I’d spent fifteen years solving problems other people considered unsolvable, and I’d learned to move through any environment with the same efficiency that comes from knowing exactly what you want and how to get it. I’d never had trouble recognizing my goals. I’d never had trouble acting on them.

Until that year in Buenos Aires.

Valentina came recommended by headquarters. Operations director, two languages, ten years in the sector. On paper, she was exactly what I needed. In person, she was a little harder to categorize.

I couldn’t tell you when she stopped being my colleague and became something that had no name. There isn’t an exact moment. It was a process, like when the sky before a storm changes from blue to gray without your being able to point to the precise instant it happened. One day I watched her walk into the meeting room and something in me stopped. Not for long. Just a second. But I never forgot that second.

Valentina had a particular way of occupying space. It wasn’t that she was flashy, though she was. It was that when she was in a room, the room seemed to reorganize itself around her. Her voice was never too loud, her gestures were measured, her presence was compact and precise. And when she left, she left something in the air that took a while to dissipate. More than once I found myself staring at the empty doorway long after she was gone.

I convinced myself it was professional admiration. I convinced myself it was because she did her job well, because she handled the team with a skill I respected, because her judgment was almost always right. I convinced myself of many things for weeks.

The problem with self-deception is that it has an expiration date.

One night, in my rented apartment facing the river, I stayed awake with the image of her hands on the pages of a proposal. Long hands, slender fingers, nails always short and unpolished. Hands that moved while she spoke, underlining the air when she explained something, resting on the table as if they knew exactly what position to take. And I realized I’d been staring at her hands for days, imagining them buried to the knuckles in my cunt, imagining those slim fingers opening me, fucking me slowly while she covered my mouth with the other hand. I realized I’d been falling asleep for nights with my hand between my legs thinking about her, coming silently against the pillow like a teenager.

And I realized I had a problem.

Because Valentina was married. Because for years I’d been telling myself my life was exactly how I wanted it. Because I didn’t know whether she felt anything, half of anything, a fraction of what I felt when I looked at her. And because in my experience, acting without information is the most expensive mistake an executive can make.

So I kept working. I kept meeting with her every morning. I kept watching her hands when she thought I wasn’t looking. And I kept knowing nothing.

***

It happened on a Tuesday, at the end of a meeting that had run longer than expected. The team left, the lights in the room dimmed halfway, and the two of us stayed behind reviewing the last points in the report. It wasn’t the first time we’d been alone together. But something that afternoon was different. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was that we both knew the important part was already done and what remained was only protocol.

Valentina stretched her arms across the table and sighed. Then she looked at me.

—You’ve looked like you’ve been thinking about something else for three days —she said.

—I’m thinking about the third-quarter numbers —I replied.

She smiled. Not with her lips, but with her eyes. That smile I’d already learned to tell apart from the others.

—No. It’s not that.

I didn’t answer. I dropped my gaze to the report and pretended to look for something I wasn’t looking for. She was right, of course she was right. Then I felt her hand over mine. It wasn’t a gesture of comfort or support. It was something slower than that. Her fingers wrapped around mine with deliberate pressure, and for a moment neither of us moved.

—You have hands that never seem to rest —she said softly—. As if they’re always waiting for something.

I looked up. She was watching me with an expression that was not ambiguous. And I knew then that the information I’d been missing had been in front of me for weeks. I simply hadn’t dared to read it.

***

The first time was in her office, two days later. It was late, the building was almost empty, and without saying it out loud we’d both found the excuse of reviewing some pending contracts. When she closed the door, the click of the latch was the only signal I needed. I stood up from my chair before she’d crossed half the room. I stopped her by resting my hands on her shoulders, slowly, and backed her up against the wall carefully, as if she were something that could break. But I didn’t want to treat her carefully. I wanted to tear her clothes off right there.

She lifted her head toward me, eyes half-open, saying nothing. I took her jaw in one hand and kissed her with my mouth open, driving my tongue all the way in. She moaned against my lips and the sound went straight to my cunt. I felt my underwear get wet in two seconds.

—I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks —I whispered in her ear, biting it—. Weeks thinking about what your mouth would taste like.

—Shut up and keep going —she said, her voice hoarse.

I trailed my lips down her neck, sucking her skin until I left red marks exactly where the collar of her blouse would hide them the next day. My fingers found the buttons of her blouse and I undid them one by one, unhurried, while she dug her nails into my nape. When the blouse came open, I pulled the cups of her bra down without unfastening it and her tits came bare, nipples already hard, dark, pointing at me. I bent down and took one whole breast into my mouth. I sucked it hard, tugging the nipple with my teeth until she let out a sharp gasp and brought her fist to her mouth to stifle herself.

—Shhh —I said, smiling against her skin—. There are still people on the floor.

—I don’t care —she panted—. Keep going. Please, keep going.

I hiked her skirt up to her waist in one yank. She was wearing thigh-high stockings and black lace panties that were soaked through. I touched her over the fabric and she threw her head back against the wall. I moved the panties aside with two fingers and found her dripping. I ran my middle finger all the way through her slit, from bottom to top, and her clit was swollen, pulsing under my fingertip.

—Look at how wet you are —I murmured—. You’re soaked. How long has it been?

—Since you closed the door. Before that. I don’t know. Weeks.

I shoved two fingers into her at once. She opened her mouth and no sound came out. Only a tremor. I started fucking her with my fingers while she was braced against the wall, curling them forward to hit that spot that makes women’s legs shake. While I penetrated her with my right hand, with my left I grabbed one breast and pinched the nipple. She clung to my shoulders, nails sinking into me, and began moving her hips against my fingers, fucking my hand.

—That’s it —I told her in her ear—. Like that, ride my fingers. I want to feel you come.

—I’m… I’m going to…

—Not yet.

I pulled my fingers out and she let out a frustrated growl that made me laugh. I shoved her against the desk, turned her around, and bent her over the surface, ass high and skirt bunched up at her waist. I pulled her panties down to her ankles and knelt behind her. I spread her ass cheeks with both hands and ran my tongue over her cunt, top to bottom, sucking in all her flavor. She tasted like salt, like something sweet, like an aroused woman. I plunged my tongue inside and she moaned so loudly she had to bite the arm braced on the desk.

I took my time eating her out. I sucked her clit with my lips, drove my tongue into her, slid two fingers inside her while I kept licking her little bud. Her whole body started trembling, her legs apart and her heels barely keeping her up, and when I felt the contractions around my fingers, she came with a muffled cry against her own arm. I kept licking her while she came, feeling the orgasm shake her in waves, feeling the hot liquid run down the insides of her thighs.

When she finally calmed down, I turned her back toward me. Her hair was a mess, her mouth open, her eyes wet. She looked at me as if she’d just discovered something. Then she dropped to her knees in front of me, hiked my skirt to my waist, and yanked my panties off in one motion. She didn’t ask. She didn’t hesitate. She spread my legs and buried her whole face between my thighs.

She told me later that it was her first time with a woman, but I didn’t know that then and it certainly didn’t seem like it. She licked my cunt with a hunger that was anything but shy. She sucked my clit with her lips closed around it, moving her tongue in circles, while digging her nails into my ass to pull me tighter to her mouth. I braced one hand on the wall so I wouldn’t fall and tangled the other in her hair. I was fucking her face. I moved her head against me, setting the rhythm, and she let me, moaning against my pussy, and the vibrations of her moans went straight to my spine.

—Put your fingers in me —I begged, my voice broken—. Two. Three. Whatever you want. Put them in.

She put three in. Curved them inside me and kept sucking my clit and I came in less than a minute, clenching around her fingers, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t scream. I felt the orgasm climb from the soles of my feet to the nape of my neck. My knees shook. She held me with an arm around my hips so I wouldn’t fall, and kept licking me slowly until the last contractions faded.

When we finally separated, both of us had wrecked clothes, smeared makeup, and the same expression of not quite knowing what had just happened.

—I don’t know what this is —she said at last.

—Neither do I —I answered. And it was true. But I also didn’t much care to know.

***

What came after took up four weeks. Four weeks without structure or plan, only impulse and presence and the accumulation of small moments that didn’t fit any category I knew. An afternoon in her car, stopped at a red light that lasted long enough. An hour in my apartment on a Saturday while it rained outside. A coffee on a corner far from the office where we sat very close and talked about everything except what we were doing.

One of those afternoons we stayed inside her car with the engine off and rain hammering the roof. We started talking and ended without talking. She grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me like she’d been holding back all day, and that was probably exactly what she’d been doing. She slipped her hand under my skirt before I could say anything. The windows fogged up fast. I opened her shirt and bit her tits over her bra while she pushed my panties aside and slid two fingers into me with a precision that couldn’t have been accidental.

—You’re soaked through —she whispered against my mouth—. You didn’t even wait to get home?

—I came wet from the office. Since I looked at you in the meeting.

—Dirty girl.

She laughed against my neck and started fucking me with her fingers, moving them in and out, hunting for that spot with the tip. I spread my legs as far as the seat allowed and rode her hand, moving my hips. I bit her neck to stay quiet, leaving a mark just under her ear she’d have to cover with makeup the next day. She let out a long, slow sigh I would remember for weeks, and with her thumb she began rubbing my clit while she kept fingers inside me. I came on her hand, silently, teeth clenched against her shoulder, with the windows completely fogged and the rain covering everything.

When I was done, she sucked my fingers clean in front of me, staring hard, saying nothing. Then she lowered my head to her skirt. I lifted it myself and ate her pussy there, bent over the passenger seat, with the steering wheel digging into my back and her holding onto the car ceiling with both hands while she came in my mouth.

Valentina had a way of touching you that always started slowly. As if she were remembering something. Her hands moved with an attention that took nothing for granted, that asked permission with every gesture even if you’d already given it. And when she got to the point where I couldn’t hold back anymore, she would stop right there, look at me, and wait for me to be the one begging her to continue. She made me ask. She made me say it with exact words.

—Say it —she’d murmur, her fingers stopped right at the entrance to my cunt—. Say it all.

—Fuck me. Put them in. Put them all the way in, please.

And only then would she slide them in.

One Saturday afternoon, in my apartment with the lights on, I had her completely naked on my bed and took all the time I wanted. She had skin that held heat, that prickled in places I least expected, that responded before I finished touching her. She let me look at her without covering herself, legs open and one hand resting on her belly. I ran my tongue along the insides of her thighs, slowly working upward, breathing over her cunt without touching it until she started moving, searching for my mouth.

—Ask me for it —I told her, copying her, looking at her from between her legs.

—Eat me. Eat me all the way, please, Inés.

I ate her for a long time. I sucked her clit until her hips started moving on their own, drove my tongue inside, used my fingers and made her come once with my mouth. Then I turned her face-down, lifted her hips, and ate her from behind, my face pressed to her ass while she clutched the sheets and moaned with her mouth against the pillow. I ran my tongue over her asshole and she jolted, looking back over her shoulder with wide eyes.

—Never? —I asked.

—Never.

—Can I?

She nodded without saying anything. I ran my tongue there again, slowly, carefully, and slid two fingers into her cunt at the same time. She came like that, with my tongue in her ass and my fingers fucking her, biting the pillow so hard her jaw hurt afterward. I climbed up over her and held her from behind while she trembled, face buried in her sweaty neck.

Later I got on top of her. I straddled her face and she grabbed my hips and pressed my cunt to her mouth. I stayed there, moving on her tongue, looking at myself in the wardrobe mirror while I came for the second time that afternoon, watching my back contract and watching her suck me without dropping a single drop. Still in the dark, she told me she’d never been with a woman before. I told her I’d suspected as much, but it didn’t show. She laughed. It was the only time we truly laughed during those four weeks.

***

The strangest thing wasn’t what we did when we were alone. It was what happened when we weren’t.

In team meetings, surrounded by ten people, Valentina could catch my eye for less than two seconds and I’d feel that second in my nape, in my arms, between my legs. Like a current that didn’t need contact to pass through. I watched her from the other end of the room, without moving, and later she told me that in that moment she felt my gaze running over her like something physical. That it changed the rhythm of her breathing. That her nipples hardened under her blouse. That she had to press her thighs together under the table to hold out.

She told me in a low voice, during breaks, standing next to the coffee machine with our cups in hand, as if we were discussing the monthly figures.

—I’ve been soaked through since the meeting started —she’d murmur without looking at me, stirring her coffee—. When we go back in the room I’m going to be thinking about your mouth the whole time.

And I heard every word and felt something that had no name but felt awfully like happiness, and an urgent wetness between my legs that lasted until night.

There was an afternoon when we passed each other in the hallway and the fingers of her hand brushed mine as she walked by. Nothing more. A touch anyone would have taken for accidental. But five minutes later she was in the women’s bathroom on the floor, locked in the last stall, skirt hiked up and panties at her ankles, and I was on my knees in front of her eating her cunt while she covered her mouth with both hands so she wouldn’t scream. She came on my tongue in less than three minutes, trembling all over, and then made me stand up, turned me against the door, and shoved her hand down the front of my pants until she made me come too, whispering things in my ear that neither of us would repeat out loud afterward.

That kind of tension changes you. It makes you see the world differently. Everything becomes sharper, more present. I started noticing the exact color of the light at five in the afternoon in Buenos Aires. The smell of coffee at ten in the morning. The weight of silence before someone spoke in a meeting. I was more awake than I had been in years.

***

We didn’t talk about what would happen when I left. It was an unwritten agreement. She had her life, her husband, her routine, her city. I had Madrid, a contract that was about to expire, and too many questions I didn’t know if I wanted to answer yet. What we had was that: four weeks with boundaries set from the start, without anyone having to say it.

Maybe that’s why it worked so well. Because when two people know time has an end, they stop saving things for later. There is no later. There is only now.

On our last afternoon together, in my apartment already half emptied out, Valentina sat on the floor with her back against the sofa and I sat beside her. We stayed silent for a while. Outside, the sunset turned everything orange. Then, without saying anything, she knelt between my legs and pulled my pants down. She sucked me slowly, eyes closed, as if memorizing me. I came over her mouth with my hand in her hair and tears beginning to rise in me, with nothing I could do to stop them. Then I pulled her on top of me and seated her on my lap on the sofa. We stayed there, cunt to cunt, moving slowly, touching each other’s tits and kissing, until both of us came again almost at the same time, staring into each other’s eyes without blinking.

—When’s your flight? —she asked afterward, her head on my shoulder.

—Tomorrow at eleven.

She nodded. Her fingers found mine on the floor without looking, as if by memory. We stayed like that until it got dark. There were no more words. None were needed.

***

At the airport the next day, we had coffee in the terminal. We talked about work, about the projects still pending, about who would take care of what in the coming months. We talked about everything except what we wanted to talk about. And when it was time to go through security, we hugged for one second longer than was professionally reasonable.

As I walked away down the corridor, I heard her voice behind me.

—Inés.

I turned.

—I think you drove me crazy —she said. She was smiling, but it wasn’t a joking smile.

I looked at her for a moment. Then I shook my head, slowly.

—It wasn’t me. It was you from the beginning. I just saw it before you did.

I turned and kept walking toward the boarding gate. I didn’t look back. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I knew that if I did, it would take me more than a second to keep going. And I had a plane to catch.

But while I waited in the boarding lounge, headphones on and my eyes on the runway, I thought about her hands, her mouth, the taste of her cunt, the five o’clock light, the rain on the car roof. And I thought that some things don’t last forever precisely so you can carry them whole, without time wearing them down.

Four weeks. I don’t regret a single one.