The Afternoon My Daughter’s Boyfriend Looked at Me Like That

One Sunday in late summer, Lorena was preparing lunch with the kitchen full of sunlight and the smell of sautéed garlic and onion filling the apartment. She was wearing a tight top and a pair of shorts that, she admitted, she’d put on without thinking too much about it. She was forty-two, with a body honed by years of the gym and a life that had not always been easy, and on days like that she simply forgot that someone might be watching.

Tomás had been sitting for half an hour on the living room sofa, waiting for Lucía to finish getting ready. He was twenty-two and had that particular confidence young men have when they know they’re attractive and haven’t yet learned to hide it. Lorena had noticed it from the first time her daughter brought him home: his eyes followed people in a way that was either unsettling, or intriguing, depending on the day.

It was when Lorena bent down to take a tray out of the lower drawer that she felt the gaze. Not the kind of look one throws by accident; it was a still, deliberate look, the kind that makes you aware of every inch of your own body. She straightened slowly, and when she turned her head toward the living room, Tomás did not look away. He just smiled.

—Sorry to say it, Mrs. Lorena —he said from the sofa, in a voice that made no effort to sound innocent—, but you’ve got an ass that doesn’t look like a mother’s.

Lorena froze with the tray in her hand. It had been a long time since anyone had said something like that to her, and less so with that word, so direct it hit her in the stomach. Her ex-husband had stopped looking at her that way years before they split up, and since then she’d lived more with the idea of her own body than with the real experience of someone wanting it. Heat rushed to her cheeks and, lower down, a tug between her legs she hadn’t felt that clearly in ages.

—Thank you —she replied, and turned back to the stove before he could see the expression on her face.

But now she could no longer move the same way in the kitchen. She was aware of how her hips shifted as she walked from one end of the counter to the other, of how the shorts tightened when she reached up to the top cupboard and outlined her ass. She wasn’t doing it on purpose. Or maybe she was, a little.

Tomás got up from the sofa. She heard him before she saw him: the sound of his steps on the parquet floor, then on the kitchen tiles. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

—Need help with anything?

—No need —she said, without looking at him.

Even so, he came in. He stood beside her, too close to be merely helping with lunch, and stretched out an arm to take a glass from the cupboard. His arm brushed her shoulder. Lorena did not move.

—Lucía is taking a long time —he said, filling the glass at the sink.

—She’s always taken a long time —Lorena replied—. Since she was little.

—Then we have time.

Lorena let the wooden spoon hit the counter. Not hard, but with enough weight for the sound to be clear.

—Tomás.

—Mrs. Lorena.

He said it the same way she had said his name: like a warning that wasn’t quite a warning either.

When she turned to face him, he hadn’t moved. He was there, less than a handspan away, with that calm smile Lorena was beginning to understand was not arrogance but certainty, the difference between a boy who thinks he might get something and one who knows he already has it.

He’s your daughter’s boyfriend, she told herself. He’s twenty-two. He’s in your kitchen because he’s dating Lucía and has no other reason to be here.

She did not step back.

Tomás rested one hand on the counter beside her, not touching her yet. Just closing the space.

—How long until lunch is ready?

—Half an hour.

—Ah. —He paused—. And Lucía’s been upstairs for more than forty minutes.

Lorena turned back to the stove. She heard him set the glass down on the counter. And then she felt his hands: two points of heat on her hip, still at first, without pressure, as if he were giving her time to move them away.

She didn’t move them away.

The hands slid slowly to her waist, and Lorena closed her eyes for a moment. Tomás had large, warm hands, and they gripped with a confidence she hadn’t expected from someone so young. She felt him bring his body closer to hers from behind, unhurried, not pushing, simply closing the distance between them.

—I should go check what Lucía is doing —said Lorena. She didn’t move.

—Lucía is fine —he said near her ear—. She’ll be a while longer.

When he pressed his hips against hers, Lorena let out a short sound and gripped the edge of the sink. She could feel his hard cock through his trousers, a thick bulge pressing right between her ass cheeks, and there was something about that, about the clarity of that detail, that made it impossible to pretend this was an ambiguous situation. He moved his hips once, very slowly, rubbing against her, and Lorena felt the wetness gather between her thighs.

—My God —she murmured, more to herself than to him.

—You can feel it, can’t you? —Tomás said near her ear, his voice low—. How hard I get just looking at you.

One of his hands slid beneath her top and grabbed a breast over the bra. He squeezed firmly, found the nipple through the fabric and pinched it slowly until Lorena let out a gasp. The other hand moved down her belly, slipped inside the shorts and found the fabric of her panties soaked through.

—You’re absolutely dripping, Mrs. Lorena —he whispered, not removing his fingers—. All wet for your daughter’s boyfriend.

—Shut up —she said, but she pressed her ass harder against his bulge.

Tomás pulled her panties aside and ran two fingers through her open cunt, very slowly, from back to front, gathering the wetness. When he reached her clit, he began to circle it slowly, unhurried. Lorena had to bite her lip not to moan. His fingers went lower again and one slid inside. Then two. He moved them slowly, curling them, while his palm kept pressing her clit, and Lorena felt her knees weaken.

***

It was her who leaned forward. A small thing, a slight adjustment in posture, but it changed everything. Tomás understood at once. His hands moved down her hips to the hem of the shorts, and she did nothing to stop him.

—Wait —said Lorena, and he stopped immediately. That surprised her too, that instant obedience—. The kitchen door.

Tomás crossed the kitchen in four steps and slid the bolt. Then he came back.

Lorena had let go of the sink edge and was leaning against the breakfast counter, her hands behind her on the cold surface. Tomás approached. This time he looked her in the face before touching her, and in his eyes there was none of the awkward urgency Lorena had expected to find, but something calmer, more patient. He brushed a strand of hair off her face. Then he kissed her.

He was a boy who knew how to kiss, that much she couldn’t deny. No rush, both hands on her jaw, not trying to go any further at once. Lorena felt something loosen in her chest, something that had been tense for a long time, and when she opened her eyes he was still looking at her.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—Don’t talk —she said.

She pulled her shorts down herself, and the panties with them, and let them fall to the kitchen floor. She stood naked from the waist down, with her top still pushed up over the tits where he’d shoved it. Tomás stepped back only to look at her, and she felt that gaze like a hand running over her body.

—Fuck —he said softly—. You look like you should be fucked all afternoon.

Lorena was about to say something, some warning, some “don’t say that,” but he was already down on his knees in front of her. He opened her thighs with both hands, spread them with no delicacy at all, and ran his tongue from the bottom all the way up to her clit with deliberate slowness. Lorena threw her head back and gripped the edge of the counter with both hands.

Tomás ate pussy like he’d been doing it his whole life. He sucked her lips, pushed his tongue inside, climbed up to her clit and licked it in circles, with a firm suction that made Lorena arch her hips toward his face. He grabbed one thigh and threw it over his shoulder. The other hand moved up her belly and seized a breast, squeezing it while he kept sucking.

—Wait —gasped Lorena—, wait, you’re making me...

But he didn’t wait. He sank two fingers into her again while he sucked on her clit and sped up. Lorena came with her mouth open and unable to breathe, clenching her fingers in his hair so she wouldn’t scream, feeling her legs tremble and her cunt pulse against the tongue of the boy who was dating her daughter.

Tomás did not pull away until she let go of his hair. When he stood up, his chin was glistening and he wore a half-smile that was unbearably calm.

—Take your pants off —said Lorena, her voice hoarse.

He did. And when he pulled out his cock, Lorena couldn’t stop herself from looking at it. It was hard, thick, veined, pointing straight at her belly. Just seeing it sent a wave of dizziness through her legs. She stretched out her hand and grabbed it, squeezed once, pumped slowly up and down. Tomás closed his eyes and let out his breath.

—Put it in my mouth —he said.

—Don’t talk —Lorena repeated.

But she dropped to her knees too. She took the tip between her lips, sucked it slowly, swallowed it down as far as she could. Tomás took her hair in one hand, not to force her, but to get it out of her face and watch her while she sucked his cock. Lorena pulled it back out, ran her tongue underneath, took it back into her mouth until it hit the back, tasting the salty flavor of the tip.

—Fuck, Mrs. Lorena —he murmured—. Your daughter doesn’t suck me like that.

The line should have stopped her. It should have chilled her blood. Instead, she felt her cunt clench again, dripping wet, and she took him deeper until he scraped her throat.

She got up. She pushed his chest a little so he’d move back, turned, and placed her palms on the breakfast counter. She arched her back and stuck her ass out. No need to say anything.

Tomás moved behind her. He ran the tip of his cock through her cunt, up and down, soaking it, and Lorena felt she was going to say something stupid if he didn’t decide soon.

—Fuck me —she said through her teeth—. Fuck me now.

When he entered her, braced against the kitchen counter with the sound of the television filtering in from the living room, Lorena pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t make a sound. It wasn’t fear of pain, but of pleasure, which came with an immediacy she hadn’t expected. His cock filled her completely, opening her with every centimeter, and when he was all the way inside he stayed still for a second, letting her get used to it.

—Move —she panted.

Tomás was deliberate. That was the word. Not fast, not clumsy; deliberate, as if he were paying attention to every little signal he received. He started slowly, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in to the hilt, with long strokes that made Lorena bite her arm to keep from moaning. When Lorena arched her back more, he noticed and adjusted the angle. When she let out a sound by accident, he sped up and kept hitting that same spot again and again. It was a way of learning Lorena hadn’t expected to find in someone his age.

He grabbed her hips with both hands and started fucking her harder. The sound of his thighs slapping against her ass filled the kitchen, dull and rhythmic, and Lorena had to put a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Tomás pushed her top up, unclipped her bra with an ease she didn’t want to think about, and grabbed her tits from behind while continuing to thrust into her.

—You get fucked better than anyone —he told her in her ear, not stopping—. Look at yourself, leaning here, my girlfriend’s mother with my cock inside her.

—Shut up —she panted—, shut up, shut up, don’t say that.

But he put more into it. He gave her so much that she felt it beginning to build again, that concentrated, unbearable pressure she hadn’t felt in so long. He must have noticed because he brought one hand around and found her clit with two fingers, rubbing it to the rhythm of his thrusts.

—Come for me, Mrs. Lorena —he whispered—. Come with my cock inside you.

The heat gathered slowly and steadily until it broke all at once. Lorena buried her face in her arm to muffle the cry, feeling him move inside her with that steady rhythm, his ragged breathing in her ear, his hands firm on her hips. She felt the cold counter in her palms, the contrast with the heat of his body pressed against hers, and the second orgasm went through her completely, clenching her cunt around his cock in waves.

Tomás kept going, a little faster, a little rougher. He grabbed a lock of hair with one hand and tugged gently until she arched her neck. He leaned down and bit her beneath the ear.

—I don’t have protection —he said, his voice rough, clenching his teeth—. And I don’t want to stop.

—Pull out before —Lorena said.

—Yeah.

She knew she shouldn’t trust that. But she also knew she wasn’t going to ask him to stop. She could feel him growing even more inside her, thicker, throbbing against her walls, and deep down, in some place she wasn’t going to admit out loud, she wanted him to come inside her. She wanted to feel it.

He didn’t pull out. What passed between them in that moment was too intense, too focused, and when he reached the limit he sank in all the way, gripped her hips hard, and stayed still with a deep sound that came from the very bottom of his chest. Lorena felt his cock pounding inside her, felt the hot cum filling her pussy in long spurts, one after another, and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth against her arm.

He stayed there for a few seconds, breathing into the nape of her neck, without pulling out. When he finally withdrew slowly, Lorena felt semen sliding down the inside of her thigh.

That’s it. Nothing changes, she thought.

She knew it was a lie.

***

They separated in silence. Lorena went to the bathroom, Tomás picked up his clothes from the floor. When she came out, he was already in the living room, sitting on the sofa with his phone in his hand, exactly as before. Only now his hand was trembling slightly.

Lucía came down five minutes later, with freshly dried hair and a denim jacket that was a little big on Lorena but suited her. She went over to Tomás and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

—Ready. Have we been waiting long?

—No —he said—. Time went by fast.

The three of them ate together. Lorena set the table without looking at Tomás more than necessary, served the food, answered Lucía’s questions about work and the week’s plans. She could still feel his cum between her legs, trapped against the clean panties she’d put on in the bathroom, and every time she shifted in her chair, she was reminded of it. Tomás looked at her now and then, with the quietness of someone keeping something to himself.

Lucía noticed nothing. Or so Lorena wanted to think.

After coffee, the two of them went to the movies. Lorena saw them out at the door, the dishes still in the sink and the kitchen smelling of lunch and something else that couldn’t quite be named so easily. She closed the door. Leaned her back against the wood.

That can’t happen again, she thought. It was the correct thought, the reasonable one, the only one that made sense. She thought it with conviction.

And while she thought it, she remembered how he had said her name when he first walked into her kitchen that afternoon: “Mrs. Lorena,” with that smile that made no effort to be anything else. And she remembered, without wanting to, how he’d fucked her afterward, how he’d come inside her with the television sounding in the background, how he’d gripped her hips at the end.

She went back to the kitchen. She washed the dishes, put on the music she liked on Sundays, made the afternoon normal again. But every time her hands touched the breakfast counter, she took an extra second to pull them away.