The Heat of That Night with My Daughter on the Coast

I’m fifty-four years old and, though gray has already taken my temples, I can still hold my gaze in the mirror like a whole man. My life broke apart and started over seventeen years ago, when Marcela decided our house was too confining and left with a guy who promised the intensity I never knew how to give her. I was thirty-seven and had a daughter barely three years old, who became my only compass.

The pain of that abandonment turned into a necessary routine, and over the years happiness stopped being a couple’s project and became a silent pact between Renata and me. I had my affairs, of course, passing bodies that faded the moment I opened the apartment door and heard her voice calling me from the living room. No woman ever managed to break the bubble I share with my daughter.

But something changed in the air in this house. Renata is no longer the little girl who used to reach for my hand. At twenty, she is a blonde of almost unreal beauty, with a delicate face of deceptive innocence and green eyes that seem to read my thoughts before I even form them. Sometimes, when she tucks back a lock of hair, I find in her features an echo of Marcela that chills my blood, as if fate were giving me a corrected version of what I lost.

I’m not a monster, and before you condemn me, reader, I ask you not to judge me without understanding the weight of these years of loneliness. Desire was born the afternoon I went into her room to put away the clean clothes and found her apparently asleep, face down, with her T-shirt bunched up to her waist and a tiny thong disappearing between her white cheeks. I stood there, pulse pounding in my temples, devouring the pallor of her skin.

***

It was Sunday and the apartment’s silence weighed heavy, thick with a heat that refused to let up. I was in the dining room, surrounded by papers, trying to keep my hands busy when I heard her light footsteps and knew she had stopped just behind me.

—Still working, Dad? Don’t you ever get tired? —she whispered in my ear, and her breath raised gooseflesh on my neck—. Better let me help you.

She sat on the edge of the table, right over what I was looking over. She was wearing shorts so short they left almost all of her thighs exposed, and a sleeveless top that hid nothing. Above the waistband, the black string of a thong identical to the one from that afternoon peeked out. She looked at me with a wickedness that stole my breath.

—Why are you looking at me like that? —she asked, tilting her head—. Am I distracting you?

I didn’t know what to answer. She knows exactly what she’s doing, I thought, and that certainty scared me more than the desire.

The days that followed were an exercise in restraint. Renata seemed determined to inhabit every inch of my space: she’d come up behind me in the kitchen to reach for something, sliding her body against my back; she’d cross the hallway in those tiny shorts, swinging a perky ass that forced me to look away; and when she sat on the couch, she’d let her legs fall across mine without asking permission. “You okay, Dad? You suddenly got serious,” she’d say, her green eyes searching me with a persistence that was anything but innocent.

***

It happened on a Tuesday afternoon. The heat was stifling when Renata bent down in front of me to look for a pen under the table. She wasn’t wearing a bra. When she leaned over, the neckline of her T-shirt gave in to gravity and gave me an unobstructed view of her chest: two small, firm breasts, crowned by pale nipples that stood out like perfect buttons.

—Here it is —she said, straightening with a smile that put me on the spot—. Are you okay, Dad? You got all red. Is the heat getting to you?

She held my gaze with those eyes that reminded me so much of Marcela, but with a wickedness that made it clear she knew exactly what I had just seen. She didn’t cover herself. She stayed there, one hand on my shoulder, while the scent of her skin surrounded me.

***

It was under that electric atmosphere that my brother’s call came. It was his birthday and he wouldn’t accept a no. He wanted us to go to Caleta Brava, to that house facing the sea on the Costa Bermeja that has been our refuge since Marcela left. I thought the change would do us good, that the roar of the ocean would give me back the sanity the routine with Renata was stealing from me, even though part of me knew that taking our tension to a tropical paradise was like striking a match to a trail of gunpowder.

The trip was long, crossing the mountains under a sun that seemed determined to melt the asphalt. Confined in the car, Renata stretched her legs over the dashboard, reached for my hand to change the music, ignoring —or maybe enjoying— how her closeness forced me to grip the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.

My brother’s house was packed to the brim. Amid the noise of laughter, he dropped the news: the back bedroom was for the two of us, and the air conditioner was failing.

—No other choice, Beto. Everything’s full already. It’ll be hot, but if you open the windows, it cools down at night —he said, shrugging.

Renata didn’t object. Minutes later I saw her come out onto the terrace in a tiny sky-blue bikini that barely contained her body. She looked so much like Marcela in that setting that time seemed to fold in on itself, but my daughter had a confidence her mother never had.

***

Lunch gave way to the party, and the party to a marathon of laughter and bottles under the palapas. Renata danced barefoot in the sand, sang at the top of her lungs those old songs my brother put on, her green eyes lit by alcohol and salt.

—Come on, niece, have a drink and feel the tropics! —my brother said, offering her the mezcal bottle.

She didn’t need to be asked twice. She threw her head back and let the liquid burn her throat while I watched from my chair, feeling the mezcal loosening me up. As the night went on, she kept coming back to my side to hug me around the neck or sit for a moment on my lap, leaving the trace of her damp skin on my shoulders. At one of those moments, while she leaned in laughing at one of her uncle’s jokes, the top gave way and for one eternal second her breast was exposed to my eyes. I had to dig my feet into the sand to hide the evidence of my arousal from the whole family.

***

The night closed in with the roar of the waves and the tiredness of alcohol on our eyelids. We walked toward the back bedroom, staggering a little. When we went in, the air was stale; the AC only gave a useless groan before giving up.

—We have to open the windows —she murmured, dragging out the words with a sensuality I couldn’t tell was from the alcohol or from knowing I was cornered.

We threw them open, letting the roar of the sea flood the room. I stayed in my boxers. Renata went into the bathroom to take off her bikini; the door, swollen with humidity, didn’t close all the way and left a crack that became my damnation. I couldn’t help it: I spied on her from behind, drying the salt off with a towel. She put on a white sleeveless shirt and a tiny pair of panties that barely covered the roundness of her ass, and I went back to my side of the bed before she came out.

We settled in under the sweat and the tropical darkness. I rolled over to one side, turning my back to her, looking toward the window. But Renata didn’t take long to close the distance. She settled in front of me, also with her back to me, and as she leaned back seeking my warmth, her ass sank straight against my groin.

The contact was a jolt. My body, treacherous and soaked in mezcal, responded with a hard erection that pressed against the fabric of her panties. She didn’t move away. On the contrary: she leaned farther back, trapping my bulge between her cheeks. I could smell the coconut scent of her hair invading my senses while the roar of the sea marked the rhythm of my racing pulse.

I stayed still, holding my breath. It’s just the inertia of the alcohol, nothing more, I told myself over and over. But sweat bound us in a sticky layer and her cheeks stayed there, molding against me. I don’t know when my hand left the edge of the mattress. It started as the faintest brush against her hip, fingertips tracing the curve of her thigh. Renata didn’t tense up: she let out a long sigh and pressed herself more firmly against me.

I slid my hand upward, along her waist, until my fingers found the curve of her breast beneath her shirt. There was nothing underneath but her burning skin. When I brushed a nipple with the pad of my thumb, a muffled moan escaped her lips. Then she stopped pretending to be asleep. She reached for my hand with hers and pressed my palm against her breast, as if she wanted me to take possession of that body I had watched grow under my roof. She turned over on the mattress with calculated slowness until she was facing me.

—We’re not in the city house anymore, Dad —she whispered, and her mezcal-scented breath was the final spark.

***

Her words demolished the last wall. I pulled her toward me and the distance vanished.

—Do you want us to keep going, Dad? —she asked in a thin voice, with that expression that reminded me so much of Marcela, but with a surrender that was only for me.

I couldn’t manage a word. I simply nodded, accepting the wreck of my principles. She smiled with a tenderness that shattered my soul and gave me a soft kiss, almost a farewell to our former life. But the gesture didn’t last long: with the agility of her youth, she climbed on top of me astride.

Feeling the weight of her hips on my erection tore a growl from me. She took my face in her hands and bent down to kiss me, and this time there was no tenderness: it was a hungry kiss, packed with all the desire we had both kept locked away. My hands slid down to knead her ass, feeling through the fabric a dampness that wasn’t only from the heat of the coast. Without stopping her movement, she took off her shirt completely and stood before me like a forbidden vision: the small torso, soaked with sweat and salt, the pale nipples pointing toward my face.

—You have no idea how many times I imagined this —she confessed in my ear, in a broken voice—. I wanted you to see me like this. I wanted you to touch me like this.

She started tracing a path with her tongue, down my neck, down my chest, until she reached the edge of my boxers. She slipped her fingers under the elastic and yanked them down, freeing my cock, swollen in the darkness. She paused for a moment, looking at it, then opened her mouth and circled the tip with her tongue before swallowing me down completely. The heat of her throat was a furnace compared with the salty breeze. I felt the pressure of her lips and the softness of her tongue sliding over me while her hands held me firmly at the base.

Seeing her there, kneeling between my legs, finally blew apart whatever was left of my composure. The girl I had protected had become the woman who was claiming me as a man. I couldn’t take that torment anymore: I grabbed her by the shoulders and, in a movement driven by alcohol and desire, turned her onto her back. Renata let out a gasp that turned into a hoarse laugh as her legs opened to receive me.

I knelt between her thighs and slowly pulled down her damp panties, revealing a shaved mound, white, taut skin shining with sweat. I buried my face right there, without restraint, parting her folds to find the center of her storm. At the first touch of my tongue, she arched so violently her head hit the headboard.

—Dad! —she cried, and her voice had nothing childlike left in it; it was a desperate demand.

I went at her hard, my hands gripping her thighs to keep her open while my tongue worked in a tight rhythm. I could feel her trembling, her fingers tangled in my gray hair, her hips seeking my mouth. The sound of my sucking mixed with her ever-louder moans, defying the silence of my brother’s house.

—More, Dad... there! —she panted, arching her pelvis as if she wanted to devour my face.

I stopped for a second and she couldn’t hold back anymore. She sat up suddenly, hair stuck to her forehead and green eyes blazing, forcing me up until my fifty-four-year-old body ended up over hers.

—Fuck me, Dad —she said in my ear, her voice husky—. I want to feel you all the way inside, I want to know what it feels like to be really yours.

Her hand caught my cock at the base and guided it to her entrance. I pushed in with agonizing slowness, savoring the way her tightness embraced me millimeter by millimeter. Renata let out a long, deep moan that reminded me she was no longer the girl I protected, but the woman who was devouring me. She started lifting her hips, seeking more depth, and I took her hands, lacing my fingers with hers against the pillow, while I began to drive into her with a rage I hadn’t known I was holding. The bed creaked, the air smelled of sex and salt spray, and all I could see was her face lit by the moon.

***

When we stopped for a second to change the rhythm, I let myself fall onto the soaked sheets and she, with a feline movement, positioned herself on top of me. Completely naked, her skin shining with a thin layer of sweat, she wrapped her fingers around my hardness, set it at her entrance, and, with a calculated slowness that tortured both of us, began lowering herself down.

When she finished sinking down, she let out a long moan that vibrated through the whole room. She started riding me with savage urgency. The sound of us joining was a wet, rhythmic echo that betrayed how drenched she was, while her hips traced circles that made me see stars.

—Dad, I love how you fill me up! —she exclaimed, voice breaking, bracing her hands on my knees to bounce harder. Then she stopped, trembling from the effort—. Put me on all fours. I want you to take me from behind.

I took her by the waist, feeling my palms slide over her skin, and guided her until she was supported on her knees and forearms. Her back arched like a feline’s, offering me that perky ass that had so many times forced me to look away in the hallway at home. I got behind her, kneeling, and with a single thrust I sank in to the hilt. The impact of my hips against her ass was a wet slap that echoed through the whole room.

—Dad, yes, there, don’t stop! —she cried, while the sound of our flesh colliding turned into obscene music.

The rhythm was frantic; that wet, constant splashing became the room’s only heartbeat. Renata had her fingers dug into the mattress, her shoulders shaking with every thrust.

—Dad, I’m gonna come! —she shouted, arching her back as far as it would go, while her body started to convulse.

Feeling her walls clamp down with that desperate force was the trigger. Just as the first spasm bent my spine, I yanked out of her. My cock sprang free and unloaded all the held-back fury over the base of her back, thick strings sliding down her damp skin, disappearing into that cleft that had obsessed me so much.

I stood behind her, breathing like a wounded animal. Renata, still on all fours, let her chest fall onto the bed and turned her face to look back at me over her shoulder, eyes cloudy and a languid smile on her lips.

—That felt so good, Dad... —she whispered, in a voice that was pure fire.

***

Silence returned to the room, interrupted only by the eternal roar of the sea, which seemed to grant us an absolution we had never asked for. I let myself fall beside her, fighting to catch my breath in the dense, salty air. My fifty-four years weighed on me, but it was a glorious weight, as if at last I had shed a burden I’d been dragging for half my life.

Renata slowly turned until she was facing me. Her green eyes, the same ones that had so often put me on the spot, searched me with a new steadiness. There was no malice or playfulness left, only a deep acceptance that raised gooseflesh on my skin.

—I love you, Dad —she whispered, and this time her voice wasn’t a weapon, but a bridge.

I didn’t know what to answer. I only let my gaze travel over her face, finding once again that echo of Marcela, but this time without pain; it was as if Renata had exorcised the house’s ghosts with her own surrender. I brushed a lock of blond hair off her forehead and she closed her eyes, enjoying the touch.

We settled into each other, her small body fitting into the hollow of mine. Sleep claimed us soon, wrapping us in a guiltless darkness, while outside the sea kept erasing footprints in the sand, oblivious to the fire we had just consumed in that forgotten room on the coast.