What My Teacher Taught Me When We Were Alone

That afternoon I had the whole house to myself. My roommates had gone away for the weekend, there was no one left in the other rooms, and the most desirable woman I had ever known was sitting on my sofa, ready to stay as long as it took. For days I had kept telling myself this was my chance, that for once the balance was tipping in my favor.

Because who wouldn’t want me? Young, fresh out of adolescence and still carrying that reputation for inexperience that people loved so much. I thought that was my power. I thought Renata, my private Literature tutor, had fallen for that mix of innocence and cheekiness I practiced in front of the mirror.

How naive I was. To think I had any power over her. If Renata had asked me to throw myself into the open sea without knowing how to swim, I would have jumped in after her without hesitation. It was enough for her to look at me for the rest of the world to go dark. Why, when she fixed her eyes on me, did I feel like the only woman on earth?

We had spent almost an hour pretending to review. The notebook was still open on the same page, the notes half-finished, and between us hung that tension we both knew far too well. It wasn’t the first time. But it was the first time we were completely alone, with no risk of a key turning in the lock.

It had all started months earlier, almost by accident. My mother hired her to help me with a subject I was struggling with, and at first Renata was pure professionalism: punctual, correct, with that way of explaining things that made any text seem fascinating. I devoted myself to flirting for sport, sure that it would never go anywhere. Until one afternoon she answered one of my provocations with a line that left me speechless, and I understood the game was serious.

Since then, every class had been a battlefield disguised as revision. A hand lingering too long as it pointed to a line in the notebook. A loaded silence neither of us dared to break. I thought I was the one in control of that tug-of-war, that I was leading her right to the edge and leaving her there, wanting more. And yet it was I who counted the days until the following Tuesday.

—So, Professor —I said, stretching out the word with full intent—, I still don’t quite understand some of the exam topics. Can we keep going with the lesson?

Renata lifted her eyes from the notebook. That slow smile she wore when she knew exactly what was going on.

—Of course —she replied, her voice lower than usual—. I still have a lot of things to teach you, princess.

I didn’t wait another second. I threw myself on her mouth without mercy, as if I’d been holding back for weeks, and the truth was I had. It was a battle of tongues, a silent war I was determined to win. I shoved her until her back hit the hallway wall, grabbed her wrists, slid one knee between her legs and began to press.

I could feel her heat through the denim. Those pants were in the way; the barrier between my hand and her skin was driving me crazy. I undid the button impatiently, pulled the zipper down and slipped my fingers inside, until I found what I was looking for.

She was soaked. My fingers went in and out with no difficulty at all, and I could feel the way she clenched around me, the way her body answered every movement. Renata let her head fall back. All I could hear was her ragged breathing, those gasps escaping against my neck, the tremble running through her legs.

—Ah… —she moaned in my ear, and the sound went straight through me—. You’re torturing me.

—And you like it —I whispered, feeling powerful for the first time—. Don’t you?

That was the mistake. The moment the words left my mouth, something changed in her. Her expression hardened, she frowned, and her gaze became sharper, more penetrating, as if she suddenly remembered who really held the power in that house.

—Get on your knees —she said.

It wasn’t a question. It was an order, delivered with a kind of authority that left no room for argument. And before my mind could even process what was happening, her hand settled on my shoulder and pushed me down firmly.

I fell to my knees on the wooden floor. I looked up and there she was, staring down at me with that half-smile that no longer held a trace of sweetness. She gripped my forehead, finished pulling down her jeans, and an instant later there was no distance between her body and my mouth.

I lost all sense of time and space. Nothing mattered anymore but her, her smell, her taste, the way her fingers tangled in my hair to guide me. And God, how she liked it rough. There was no trace left of the patient teacher who explained metaphors to me on Tuesday afternoons.

—That’s it, very good —she murmured, her voice breaking—. I’d have you on your knees all night.

She pressed her hips against my face, holding me hard by the hair, and I let her do it. My knees hurt against the wood, my jaw ached, and for a moment I felt used, reduced to a single function. There wasn’t a single trace of tenderness in the way she handled me. And yet I couldn’t think of a single place I’d rather have been.

I couldn’t understand where she got that much stamina, standing there and controlling everything. I, on the other hand, was completely at her mercy. But I wasn’t going to give in. Over my dead body would I give her the satisfaction of asking for a break.

Renata let out a rough, almost animal sound, and I felt her legs lose their balance for an instant. Her whole body shuddered. A wave ran through her from head to toe, and I knew I had won at least that small battle.

***

Buoyed by that small triumph, I got up. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins and making me feel capable of anything. Between clumsy kisses and impatient hands, I finished stripping her completely, and took off the little I still had on. That was when everything started spinning.

I swallowed. It was the first time we’d seen each other completely naked, without dim light, without half-removed clothes, without any rush to hide. And she was perfect. A bead of sweat ran down her abdomen, the muscles in her arms taut, her small firm breasts, her nipples standing up as if demanding me. It was heaven; I can’t think of any other way to say it.

She watched me with curiosity, studying my reaction, measuring the effect she had on me.

—Are you okay, Camila? —she asked, and for a second she was herself again.

—I couldn’t be better —I answered, and took her by the hand to lead her toward the living room sofa.

I laid her back on the cushions and climbed on top of her. I began to trace every inch of that glorious body: her neck, the curve of her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her waist, the inside of her thighs. I kissed, sucked, bit, and nothing seemed enough. I couldn’t get enough of her skin, as if every kiss only made me hungrier.

I sat on her, adjusted my hips until our sex brushed together, and the sensation stole my breath. I started moving against her, slowly at first and then mercilessly, searching for that exact point where pleasure became unbearable. At the same time I caressed her breasts, slid my fingers across her mouth, and she sucked them without hesitation, moaning between one and the next.

We were both at the limit. I felt myself slipping away, like there was nothing left that could stop me. I threw my head back, surrendered, letting the wave rise from some deep place in my belly.

—Look at me —Renata said then.

She sat up a little, grabbed my hips hard, and forced me to stay still on top of her. Her eyes searched for mine in the living room’s dim light.

—Look me in the eyes while you come.

Nothing else was needed. The orgasm hit me all at once, brutal, emptying me from within while I kept my gaze locked on hers, unable to look away. She came with me, both of us at the same time, and for an instant the world shrank to that corner of the sofa and two trembling bodies.

I collapsed, spent, against her chest. I could hear her heartbeat, out of control, just like mine, slowly calming at the same pace. We stayed like that, wrapped around each other, with no need to say anything, until sleep finally claimed us both.

***

I woke up a while later with her arm around my waist and her head resting on my shoulder. The afternoon light came slanting through the window and painted her skin a warm color. I watched her sleep for a long while, memorizing every detail, aware that those stolen minutes were the closest thing to happiness I had ever felt.

Because that was the difficult part of all this. Our encounters became more and more intense, harder and harder to space out. What had begun as a game of power, an absurd tug-of-war to see who dominated whom, had turned into something I no longer knew how to name.

I had entered that game convinced I had the upper hand, that I was the one who had my professor eating out of my hand. And there I was, naked on my sofa, finally understanding the truth: I never had control of anything. Every atom of my body had belonged to her long before that afternoon.

The only thing that kept me up at night was how the hell I was going to keep it secret. Not the classes, not the exams we never actually reviewed. My feelings. How I was going to hide, from everyone, that I had fallen head over heels for the woman who taught me Literature on Tuesday afternoons.

Let the lesson continue, I thought, curling up against her. Let it never end.