Seduction

The hospital smelled of bleach, but all she could breathe was the memory of callused hands on her back and the suspicion that tonight, too, she wouldn’t open the door.

I thought the family weekend would be like any other. Until she walked through the gate and I realized the past had never really been buried.

My tutor had just fallen asleep when I discovered the half-open drawer of her bedside table. Inside, something was shining that was about to change everything between us.

When he put my hand on his crotch while driving, I knew there was no going back. That night I stopped pretending and gave myself to him completely.

The moment I crossed that door, I stopped being me. He was waiting for me without a wig or makeup, with a bad-boy smile and my new name already chosen.

I thought the spa was empty until I heard the laughter. Five young voices, five gazes that never left the wet white bikini against my skin.

I accepted the room he rented me without suspecting a thing. Three weeks later I was already planning my new life with him, while my husband still called me every night.

I smelled fresh coffee and knew the night before hadn’t been a dream. Yamila was still there, in my kitchen, her skin still warm with desire.

When she came out of the bathroom with her robe tied carelessly and her nipples pressing against the fabric, I knew I could never look at her as just the cousin from summer beach trips again.

I wanted her from the very first day, with her perfect body squeezed into those leggings. What I didn’t imagine was what she was hiding underneath, or how far I was willing to go.

When he pulled down his boxers without asking me to leave the room, I knew the afternoon had stopped being about sportswear.

I arrived in a black dress and hairpins. She was waiting in red silk, with a jeweled pendant and a question: what do you expect me to offer you?

When I opened my eyes, her arm was resting on my chest and the makeshift bed still smelled like the night before. I was going to leave soon; I’d promised my husband.

She was the only woman at the club who charged to dominate men. Until a rich client sat beside her and, instead of stripping her, only wanted to listen to her until dawn.

I stopped at the light out of curiosity. An hour later I was on my back, asking her to take it slow, discovering a side of myself I’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.

When I moved to the capital I thought I was only looking for work. My roommate taught me something else: that men look at what they shouldn’t, and one gesture is enough to prove it.

When she suggested the loser take off a piece of clothing, I said yes without thinking. I had no idea what dare would come next, or that we’d end up with nothing on.

It was the first time I saw her appear in a nightdress at three in the morning, barefoot and with that smile that asked permission without asking.

When she walked into the bar, my boyfriend raised his glass and smiled as if he knew everything. And, in fact, he’d known for months. That night, the secret was over.

He was almost forty, lived door to door, and one day invited me for a drink. That night I stopped being the girl on the landing and became his desire.