What I Did to Her While She Slept That Saturday

Whenever I wake up before Lucía, I spend the first half hour staring at the ceiling. I listen to her breathing, feel the heat her body gives off under the duvet, and tell myself I’m going to let her sleep. That I’m a considerate person. That I can wait.

I can’t wait.

Last Saturday was no different from any other Saturday. I woke up at a quarter past eight without an alarm, with that strange clarity your body sometimes gives you when it has slept exactly as much as it needed. The room was dim because the blinds have been broken since March and we still haven’t fixed them, but white morning light was coming in around the edges, that light I like so much. The ceiling fan turned slowly. It made its usual sound, that low, steady hum that annoys me in winter and calms me in summer.

I looked at Lucía.

She was sleeping face down, one arm under the pillow and the other stretched toward my side of the bed, as if even asleep she was looking for something. She was wearing a tank top that had ridden up to her waist during the night, so her back and the top of her ass were uncovered. Only a tiny pair of white cotton panties covered her ass cheeks halfway, and from where I was lying I could see the center seam, the curve of one cheek pressing against the other, the dark shadow where the fabric dipped between her legs. She has this way of sleeping that’s completely relaxed, with no tension in any muscle, which makes her look like someone else. When she’s awake, there’s always something lit up in her, something alert. When she sleeps, she seems switched off. In the best way.

I watched her for a long time.

Then I opened my phone. Checked my email, which had nothing urgent in it. Spent ten minutes on Instagram without really paying attention to any of the images scrolling by. Closed the phone. Opened it again. Closed it. Looked at the ceiling. Looked at Lucía. Looked back at the ceiling. I was getting wet just from having her next to me, breathing like that, with her panties almost showing what was underneath.

She was still asleep.

I’d been awake exactly an hour and forty minutes when I gave in. I told myself I wasn’t going to wake her abruptly, that I would be gentle, that if at any point she showed signs she didn’t want to be disturbed I would back off and that would be that. But I also knew, with that honesty you only give yourself before breakfast, that I wasn’t going to back off. Lucía never gives signs that she doesn’t want it. What she gives are signs of exactly the opposite, and sometimes you have to interpret them in silence, without waiting for anyone to confirm it for you.

I moved in carefully, rolling onto my side so I could fit myself against her from behind. I adjusted my position to follow the curve of her body. The contact was immediate and good: her warm skin against mine, her back against my chest, her ass against my cunt. I was sleeping in just a long T-shirt and thin panties, and I felt perfectly how my already-wet cunt fit against the curve of her ass. I stayed like that for a moment, not doing anything yet. Just breathing. Just existing in that space between the two of us where time works differently. Even so, I was already moving my pelvis very slowly against her, unable to stop myself, rubbing just enough to feel the friction.

I started with her hair.

Not with any intention of pulling or really stroking it. Just tangling a strand between my fingers, feeling its weight, its texture. Her hair is long and she always wears it loose when she sleeps, and when I touch it like that it calms me and turns me on at the same time in a way I’ve never really been able to explain. I moved a little closer to her neck. I didn’t touch it yet. I just let my breathing reach her skin, slow, very close.

She shifted a little. An unconscious adjustment of the body, not a real waking up.

I kept going.

I moved the strand of hair away from her neck and let my lips brush the skin just below her ear. It wasn’t a kiss. It was the bare minimum of contact, my lips pressed closed. She didn’t react visibly, but I noticed her breathing change a little, becoming slower, more conscious. I moved up an inch. Down two. I worked my mouth along her neck without opening it fully, letting her feel the heat without the wetness yet, building something that wasn’t going anywhere in particular but had a clear direction.

Then I opened my lips and let her feel the moisture. I stuck my tongue out a little and slowly dragged it over the patch of skin behind her ear, the one I know gives her goose bumps. I closed my teeth very carefully over the lobe and pulled just a little.

The sound she made was neither a moan nor a sigh. It was something smaller than that: the sound of someone beginning to cross the threshold between sleep and consciousness without yet knowing which side they’re on. Her eyelids moved. Opened slowly.

She looked at me from the corner of her eye, her eyes still half-lidded. She had that face she gets when she’s just come out of a deep sleep: a little lost, a little soft. She smiled without opening her mouth.

—Good morning —I said very softly, almost soundlessly.

—Mm —she replied. And closed her eyes again.

But she didn’t move away. She didn’t adjust her posture to show me she wanted to keep sleeping. She stayed exactly where she was, and on the contrary, pushed her ass back a little farther, pressing it against me. That was enough. That was more than enough.

I pressed closer to her and slid one arm over her waist. My hand rested flat over her stomach, on top of the T-shirt. The fabric was soft and warm from hours against her skin. I pulled her a little toward me, adjusting the fit of our bodies, and felt her back press a little more firmly against my chest in instinctive response. I pushed my hip against her ass with the same intention, and underneath the fabric I felt how hot she was, how her body was already responding before she was even fully awake.

I moved my hand upward, slowly, this time underneath the T-shirt. I traced the skin at her side, following the curve of her ribs. The shirt shifted with the movement. When I reached the lower edge of her breast, I stopped.

I don’t know exactly why I always make that pause. I suppose it’s to calibrate. To feel whether the other person’s body is orienting toward me or closing off. Lucía’s oriented toward me: she drew in a deeper breath and adjusted her posture, almost imperceptibly, as if she were settling in for what was coming. She arched her back very slightly so my hand could slide all the way up.

I kept going up.

When my hand covered her breast, I felt the nipple already hard under my fingers, stiff, puckered like a hard little button against my palm. I took the whole breast in my hand, squeezing it with an open hand, feeling the weight of the soft flesh fit into my palm. I ran my thumb over the nipple slowly, once. She exhaled. I did it again, with more pressure, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger, and this time the sound was clearer, with no ambiguity. A low moan from the back of her throat. I rolled it between my fingers, pulling gently outward, and it pulled another sound from her, longer this time. I buried my mouth in her neck and kissed it with my mouth open, using my tongue, sucking the skin until it left a red mark, while I kept working her nipple with the same rhythm.

She turned over.

Not completely. Just enough to be able to look at me. Her eyes were fully open now. There was something different in them: a focus I know well, one that has an immediate effect on me every time I see it. It’s not a soft look. It’s a look that assesses.

—Hi —I said.

—Hi —she replied.

And she kissed me.

It wasn’t a good-morning kiss. It was the kiss of someone who is already fully awake and has her own ideas about how this should continue. She slid her tongue into my mouth without asking, searching for mine, sucking on it. She ran a hand through my hair and pulled me toward her firmly, and for a moment it was me who had to follow the other’s pace. She opened her mouth. I let myself go. I stopped leading and gave it up without drama, without resistance. She bit my lower lip, tugged on it, and let it go slowly.

When the kiss ended, I looked at her. She was looking at me with that expression that still throws me off after two years together: that expression that seems to be evaluating and approving you at the same time, as if she’s measuring exactly how far you’ll go and deciding in real time whether you deserve to keep going.

My hand had kept moving while we kissed. It had gone down her stomach, lingered at the curve of her hip, and now it was playing with the waistband of her panties. I slipped one finger under the elastic, slowly, and took it out. I put it back in, this time a little lower, just brushing the pubic hair. Took it out. She sucked in air harder than she’d meant to, and I knew it because I saw her jaw tense slightly.

—You’re really annoying —she said. But she said it smiling, without taking her eyes off mine.

—I know.

I slid my hand all the way down and rested it over the outside of her panties, feeling the heat radiating from inside. The fabric was soaked, stuck to the lips of her cunt, tracing the cleft perfectly. I moved my fingers gently over the top, not quite getting anywhere yet, pressing just enough to feel the cotton sink between her lips. She opened her legs a little: just enough for the pressure to change, just enough for me to know I was heading the right way.

—Not here —she murmured.

She took my hand. Without asking, without hesitating, without any half-measure. She yanked her panties to the side and guided me exactly where she wanted me: directly over her clit, pressing my fingers against it with hers. It was swollen, slippery, and the moment I touched it against bare skin she let out a long gasp.

I stopped for a moment to process that. There’s something about the moment Lucía stops letting things be done to her and starts directing that completely short-circuits me. I don’t know if it’s because she does it so naturally, without any warning signs or any kind of theatrics. Suddenly she’s taking control, and I give it up without a second thought. Not because she demands it. But because, deep down, it has always been what I expected her to do.

My fingers found the spot she’d marked and started moving. Slowly at first, to calibrate. Drawing small circles around the clit, slipping over her own wetness. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, very slightly. I took two fingers down to the entrance of her cunt, circled it for a moment feeling how it pulsed, and slid them in slowly. She was so wet they went in all the way without resistance, to the knuckles.

—Fuck —she whispered.

I curved them inside, searching for that rough patch I know by heart, and started pressing against it with a steady motion of my wrist while my palm knocked against her clit with every thrust. I put my mouth to her ear.

—Good? —I asked, almost soundlessly.

She nodded.

I increased the pressure a little. The rhythm too. I slid in a third finger. I felt her open around my knuckles, clench on me, absorb me. I started fucking her slowly with my hand, pulling my fingers almost all the way out and driving them back in firmly, a long, deep rhythm that pulled a sound from her with every thrust. My face was close to her neck and I could feel her pulse speeding up under her skin. Her hand, which had been guiding mine before, had gone still over mine. She wasn’t directing the path anymore. She was just letting me know she was there, that all of this was exactly what she wanted.

Her breathing changed tempo. Shorter. More focused. She started moving her hips in time with my hand, fucking herself on my fingers, searching for the exact angle.

—Don’t stop —she said. So low I almost didn’t hear it, but I heard it—. Right there, fuck, don’t stop there.

I didn’t stop.

***

Lucía has this particular trait: when she concentrates on what she’s feeling, she goes straight there. Not because she’s impatient, but because she knows how to connect with her own body without anything distracting her. I’ve spent a long time learning to read her: I follow her breathing, notice the changes in how she tenses her muscles, notice how her cunt starts clenching rhythmically around my fingers before she even knows it herself, and I know exactly where she is before she gets there. I like that too. That feeling of anticipating something that hasn’t happened yet.

I kissed her while she came. Not on the mouth. On the temple, the cheek, the curve of her neck where the jaw drops and the shoulder begins. Her hips moved slightly forward, pushing against the palm of my hand. Her fingers, still over mine, clenched by accident. Her cunt closed around my fingers with a force that almost kept me from moving, throbbing against them in waves, while a gush of wetness slid down my wrist.

—Oh, fuck, fuck —she muttered against my shoulder, her voice broken.

A few seconds of tension. Then the release.

I stayed still with my hand where it was, with my fingers still inside her, feeling the last spasms tightening around me. Not moving. Letting everything settle.

Silence.

Her breathing gradually returned to something close to normal. Very slowly, I pulled my fingers out, glossy and sticky, and brought them to my mouth without thinking much about it. I sucked each one clean, tasting her concentrated on my tongue. She watched me from under half-open eyelids without saying anything, but the corner of her mouth curved.

Out in the building, somewhere downstairs, someone had put music on. Saturdays have that particular sound, that sense that time moves differently and that the things that happen inside the house remain suspended in a bracket no one else has access to.

I looked at her when she opened her eyes fully.

She had that expression she only has at this specific moment: relaxed, a little radiant, slightly smug. As if she knew exactly the effect seeing her like that has on me and enjoyed it deliberately. She probably does know. With Lucía, I’m never quite sure where what happens by accident ends and what she does on purpose begins.

—Satisfied? —she asked me.

—Pretty much.

She stretched slowly, arms over her head and legs extended. Her T-shirt rode all the way up and left her breasts exposed, with the nipples still hard and reddened from my fingers. I took the opportunity to pull my hand away and prop myself on my elbow to look down at her. From there, the morning light fell across her from the side. Her hair was tangled and her T-shirt wrinkled and her eyes still a little sleepy, and her panties were twisted, showing her wet cunt, still red and swollen, and it seemed to me like one of those images you’d want to be able to keep somewhere specific.

—What do you want for breakfast? —I asked.

She looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

—First finish what you started.

—I already finished.

—You haven’t finished.

She was right and we both knew it. There was something in her look that was a clear instruction, even if she hadn’t spoken an explicit order. She pointed downward with her eyes, never losing that expression of someone used to things happening more or less the way she wants.

I yanked the duvet away, leaving her completely exposed to the morning light. I positioned myself between her legs, which she spread without waiting for me to ask, opening them wide. I hooked her panties with both thumbs and pulled them down slowly, dragging them over her thighs, over her knees, over her calves, and let them fall to the floor any old way.

I looked at her for a moment. I had her all to myself, legs open, cunt soaked and shining, inner lips parted, that concentrated musky smell that drives me out of my mind.

—Hello again —I said, talking to her cunt.

She laughed. A short, genuine laugh, with no pretense at all. The kind of laugh that only slips out when she’s completely comfortable and not thinking about anything other than the exact moment she’s in.

I didn’t say anything else.

I put my mouth where it needed to go and started. No detours. No kind of preliminaries that serve the person doing them more than the person receiving them. I ran my whole tongue from bottom to top, from the entrance of her cunt to her clit, sucking up and gathering every bit of wetness that had collected. The taste was intense, a little salty, and I felt her arch her back at the very first contact. I spread her lips with two fingers to get full access and dedicated myself to licking her clit with the tip of my tongue, with short, precise movements, exactly the way I know she likes.

—Ah, fuck —she said, and her voice sounded hoarse, still hoarse from before.

Lucía rested a hand on my head, not to push me or set the rhythm: just to remind me she was there. That the two of us were aware of what was happening. But after a moment her fingers tangled in my hair more tightly and she did start gently pushing me against her, setting the exact pace she wanted. I wrapped my lips around her clit and sucked, pulling it toward me with firm suction, and felt her shake all over.

—Yes, like that, like that —she gasped—. Don’t stop again. Eat it all.

I slid two fingers inside again while still sucking her. They went in as easily as before, she was so wet, and I started pumping them inside her with a steady rhythm while I worked her clit with my mouth. Her thighs closed a little around the sides of my head, squeezing me, and I felt her whole body start trembling. A long moan slipped out of her, uncontrolled, louder than usual.

I knew she was close again. I could feel her tightening around my fingers, faster and faster, tighter and tighter. I increased the pressure of my tongue on her clit and sped up the movement of my fingers inside.

She came with her hand tightly closed in my hair, tugging it without realizing it, moaning my name through clenched teeth. Her hips lifted off the bed, pushing her cunt against my mouth, and I didn’t pull away until she herself pushed me off, exhausted, laughing and moaning at the same time, unable to handle the sensitivity.

I climbed back up slowly, kissing the inside of her thigh, her hip, her stomach, until I reached her mouth again. She kissed me without caring that her taste was on my lips. On the contrary: she licked my chin, shoved her whole tongue into my mouth, looking for herself in me.

The Saturday kept existing outside. The sun came in a little more through the broken blinds. The music from downstairs changed songs. At some point someone shut a door.

Inside the room, it took time for time to start moving again.