The Storm Locked My Son and Me In

I’m exhausted. Fourteen hours of travel to the hotel, counting flights, layovers, a boat, and an endless wait at the airport.

I shouldn’t complain. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. “A corporate recognition,” they told me, “thanks for your sales record.” And yes, I’m the best salesperson in the entire company. Number one, the one who leaves them all behind. When I get back, I, Valeria Solberg, will be the new regional merchandising manager.

“Enjoy it with Andrés, you’ve earned it,” the HR woman told me.

Private island in the Caribbean, luxury hotel, all expenses paid. The electric cart takes us from the dock. The photos didn’t lie: it’s paradise on earth.

There’s just one problem. Andrés was ejected from my life four months ago. He vanished like an annoying mosquito you crush without remorse.

And that’s when I had my big, stupid idea. I could have come with a friend. Or alone, to hop into bed with some tourist and have him fuck me hard until I forgot Andrés’ name. But no. Instead of any of those reasonable options, I have this kid beside me, who hasn’t said a word to me since we left, buried in his phone. How am I supposed to have fun with this kind of zombie, sweating hormones?

I scold myself. He’s my son. He’s not having a good time and, let’s face it, I’m not exactly the ideal mother either. He needs a little time with his mom.

—Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry —the concierge tells me—. You should have made it clear you weren’t coming with your partner. I already explained that we don’t have rooms with separate beds.

Tomás looks at me in horror.

—No problem —I wink at my son—, it’s not like we’ve never slept together before. We’re going to have a great time.

The room overflows with tropical luxury. It floats above the white sand and gives the impression that the turquoise ocean is about to come crashing in through the huge window.

—Kiddo, I’m going to take a shower. Get settled and we’ll go for a walk —I tell him as I start taking off my clothes.

I slip out of the dress with a lazy movement and let it fall to the floor. My panties follow the same path, sliding down my thighs with the calm of someone who has nothing to hide. Tomás’s gaze locks onto my body. The phone is forgotten in his hand. His eyes travel over my upright tits, drop down my stomach, and stick to the neat triangle of dark hair crowning my pussy. His innocence can’t possibly conceal it.

—O-okay, Mom —he stammers.

—What’s the matter? Now you’re getting red because you’re seeing my tits? Kiddo, for almost a year you were stuck to them like a tick —I squeeze them to emphasize the tips, and my nipples harden between my fingers.

I don’t know who he inherited that shyness from. I’m not going to miss out on the pleasure of walking around naked on a private beach because this boy feels embarrassed. Better get used to it.

The hot water washes the fatigue off me. I run soapy hands down my neck, over my cleavage, and lower them to squeeze my tits. My nipples answer, hard. I go lower, between my thighs, and linger for a moment over my clit. No one has touched me there in months. When I turn, I see him at the door looking toward the shower. He’s holding two pairs of shorts.

—Which one? —he asks.

—The red one.

—Thanks —he answers without taking his eyes off my pussy.

—Do you want to come in and get a closer look? —I open my legs just a little and drag my soapy hand over my lips, defiant. One finger sinks between my folds and comes out shining.

With a face even redder than the swimsuit, he closes the door.

***

We go out for a walk. The island can be crossed on foot in just a few hours. The resort has everything I don’t need in order to rest: yoga classes, exercise, extreme sports. Do these people think you come here to relax or to a training camp?

Light lunch. Fruit and cold cuts. On a television, they announce a storm warning. They offer us a boat ride. My stomach turns, but I keep smiling. The kid is still staring at his fucking phone. I don’t say anything. It’s my vacation, and I’m not going to ruin it with a pointless fight.

Evening falls.

—Kiddo, dress nicely for dinner.

—Yes, Mom.

I leave my clothes on my side of the bed while the boy is sprawled out watching videos on his phone. I go back for my cream in the suitcase. I find him with his back turned, bent over my clothes. He has the thong I was planning to wear between his fingers. He brings the lace to his nose. Well, I breathe a sigh of relief; at least blood is still flowing to the zombie. A short laugh escapes me over the sound of the ceiling fan.

Tomás jumps and drops the garment onto the bedspread. A blush climbs his neck. He blurts out a clumsy excuse about looking for the charger. I let him talk. His nervousness is an entertaining show.

—If you’re going to get up to mischief, don’t do it halfway —I cut him off with a wink.

I walk to the bathroom, open the dirty laundry bag, and search until I find the panties I wore during the flight hours and layovers. The dark fabric holds the weight of dampness and the raw trace of the trip, with the visible stain in the crotch where my pussy was pressed against the cloth for fourteen hours. I go back into the room and throw them against his chest.

He catches them in the air by pure reflex.

—If you want to know what a woman smells like, don’t use clean clothes. Take a deep sniff. Right there, where the stain is. That’s what a real pussy smells like.

Tomás swallows. He grips the fabric in both hands. He tries to give it back, but I step forward and plant myself in front of him. The distance shrinks and my authority fills the whole space.

—I said smell them. And describe what’s there to me.

He lifts the garment slowly. The trembling of his fingers sends a slight vibration through the fabric. He buries his face in the dirty cotton. His breathing catches for a second and his pupils widen. He brings it closer again, but this time he presses his nose right over the stain and inhales hard. The bulge in his shorts shows instantly.

—Well? —I insist, folding my arms, amused by his agony—. Speak.

Tomás shakes his head, but he doesn’t let go of the garment. The fabric stretches between his fingers.

—Do I disgust you, Tomás? —I let out with a cynical smile—. Do I smell that bad?

He gulps air.

—No... —his voice comes out muffled—. Quite the opposite. It smells like... bitter almonds. And warm skin. It’s a nice smell.

I burst out laughing, the sound bouncing around the room.

—What a poet my kid turned out to be. To me this is pure cat piss and rotten fish. But if you like the smell of your mother’s sweaty pussy, enjoy it. Now move that ass, I’m hungry.

***

We go down for dinner. The restaurant is a wooden-and-palm structure that stands up to the wind beginning to blow outside. We order lobster and a white wine.

—The company pays for all this? —he asks, impressed.

—Something like that. This year I closed the Apollo Tower deal and the Costa Marina Residential project, kiddo —I tell him, savoring the triumph—. Two megaprojects in one year. Nobody in the company had managed it.

—And they pay you with a trip with your son?

I laugh hard at the comment.

—No, honey, this is just a gift. When I get back I’m going to lead the whole region. That’s the real payoff.

He looks at me with a flash of pride I hadn’t seen in years. I like that he shows interest. I seize the moment.

—And you? Any girl heating up your phone?

Tomás shrugs and fixes his gaze on the plate. Color returns to his cheeks.

—I don’t have anyone.

—You’re alone because you’re too shy. You need to loosen up, Tomás. Life doesn’t happen through a screen.

The music from the beach bar gets louder. It’s a tropical rhythm that invites movement. I take his hand and drag him onto the dance floor before he can protest. My short beach dress is a transparent gauze that leaves nothing to the imagination; it clings to my thighs with every step, and my nipples show dark through the fabric. I move like a cat around him, circling him, making his hands search for somewhere to rest.

—Have this —I order, handing him two tequilas.

He hesitates.

—Can I?

—Boy, today everything’s allowed. Down it in one go!

He knocks them back in one gulp. The burn of the alcohol lights up his eyes. He loosens up right away. We jump, we dance, we get up on karaoke. As the tequila works through him, he grows more enthusiastic.

The music slows down. Slow songs. I wrap my arms around his neck and make his hands slide down to my hips. The stiffness comes back, as if he’s wary of me.

—No, kiddo, that’s not how you win over any girl. You have to take control. See? That’s how it’s done —I whisper in his ear while pressing my chest against his. My tits flatten against his torso, my hard nipples pricking through the fabric—. You have to use your body, feel skin.

I slip one thigh between his legs, breaking the distance, forcing him to feel the pressure of my flesh against his. I move my hips slowly, rubbing my crotch against his leg, and I can feel his cock swell inside his pants until it jams into my hip like a bar of iron. Tomás nods, rigid, his pupils dilated by alcohol and proximity. In the distance, a lightning flash lights up the beach.

We return to the room with seven tequilas in us and a dizziness that makes us laugh like idiots. We collapse onto the huge bed without even taking off our shoes. The world spins a little, but sleep knocks us down before the tension can fully explode.

***

The next morning, Caribbean light is a knife slicing through the hangover. We eat breakfast in silence, sharing coffee and fatigue.

—Today we’re going to the secret beach —I say, adjusting my swimsuit—. They told me it’s the most private corner of the island.

We pack the picnic bag and walk along the coast to a limestone cliff. A small cave, dark and cool, opens in the rock. We cross the threshold and the stone swallows us only to spit us out onto a strip of white sand, surrounded by outcroppings that hide us from everything and everyone. Paradise is ours. Just the two of us.

I put a little sunscreen in my palms.

—Turn around —I order him.

I spread the cream over his back. The skin is pale, almost translucent, as if the sun were a novelty in his life. I keep going over his shoulders, his chest, and down to his flat stomach. My fingers brush the line where his shorts begin, wondering what shape will lie beneath, but I keep going. I hand him the bottle.

—Your turn.

I undo the knot on my bikini and let the top fall onto the sand. Tomás is left holding the bottle. His muscles lock.

—Please, don’t start acting like a child —I sigh, resting my chin on my crossed arms—. Yesterday you couldn’t keep your eyes off them, and now you’re going to tell me you’re too embarrassed to touch them?

I feel the cool cream against the heat of my back. His hands trace clumsy, hurried circles. When he finishes, I turn over on the towel, exposing my chest completely. I grab his hand and press it against one tit.

—The front too. Don’t be stingy with your mother.

He rubs it in with trembling fingers, sliding over the soft flesh, brushing my nipples with his palm. Each touch sends a jolt to my lower belly. When he finishes, he jerks back, breathing hard. The bulge in his shorts is about to burst the seam. Tomás swallows and looks out toward the sea. I smile to myself. How much fun it is to make him uncomfortable. I need something to entertain me.

I open a cheap mystery novel. He puts on his headphones and retreats into his phone. After an hour, I slam the book shut. The inertia exhausts me.

—In the water. Now —I decree.

The sea is warm, a liquid caress that wraps us up to the neck. I ask him what he does for fun. He talks to me about computers and virtual friends. I tell him that at his age my world was much more fun: you had to sweat and touch to entertain yourself. Since he doesn’t get it, I sink my fingers into his ribs.

He jumps in the water, writhing. I keep digging without mercy until, in a burst of self-defense, he strikes back. The tickle fight turns into a wrestling match. We intertwine, struggle. Anything goes. Our legs tangle as we try to bring each other down. My thigh squeezes his crotch and my tits press against his skin. I feel it get hard again under the water, rubbing against my hip. He’s thrown off balance. I take advantage and, grabbing his head, dunk him under. He comes up snorting and charges at me. He pushes at my shoulders trying to force me under. If this boy thinks he can beat me, he doesn’t know me. Mercy didn’t make me regional manager.

I go under. I reach for the cord of his swim shorts and give a hard yank. Before surfacing, my eyes catch sight in the greenish water of the pale silhouette of his cock hanging erect, bigger than I had imagined. I smile underwater and come up spitting salt.

I emerge several meters away, holding his wet shorts high like a trophy. I swim back toward shore while he stammers pleas. I don’t hear him. I get to my lounger just as a voluptuous woman, around fifty, in a one-piece swimsuit, settles beside me. We chat animatedly, ignoring the kid floating there in despair, not daring to come out.

—We got here yesterday —I answer the woman, crossing my legs.

—We’re leaving tomorrow. They say a big storm is coming.

—I heard something. Is it serious?

—Yes, look at those black clouds —she comments, pointing toward the horizon—. And that boy over there? He’s been in the water for ages. He must like it.

—That’s my son, Tomás. A swimming fanatic.

The lady raises a hand to wave at him. Tomás, trapped and naked with the water at his neck, waves back with a stiff smile.

—Wouldn’t he want something to eat?

—Better leave him be. Once he gets in the water, I can’t get him out.

The woman spends hours telling me about her husband, her company, and her newborn grandson. I listen amused, and every so often I glance sideways at Tomás, who floats there with eyes burning with anger.

When the intruder finally disappears through the cave, Tomás comes out of the sea. He’s shivering. His skin has wrinkled like a raisin. He puts his shorts on in silence and slips on his headphones.

I take some sandwiches out of the bag. He eats while staring at the sand.

—You left me naked in the water —he says at last.

—And what’s your problem with that?

—That I was naked and that woman showed up. I couldn’t come out.

—For God’s sake, kiddo. Half the world walks around without clothes here. You need to stop being so shy.

—It’s one thing for you to look at me —he raises his voice—, and another for a stranger to be staring at me.

—Ah. So if I look at you it’s fine, but if someone else does, it isn’t? —I tilt my head—. Do you like it when I look at you?

—No —he hesitates—. Yes. I don’t know, you confuse me. I like it when you look at me, but I don’t want anyone else to see me.

The salty wind hits our faces and carries the heat off the beach. The temperature drops all at once.

—We have to go back.

***

We get to the room just as the storm is biting at the coast. A resort employee tells us we must stay inside; dinner will be brought up to the room. We change in silence. I notice Tomás take off his wet swimsuit in front of me, without hiding, and pull on a short linen pair of pants directly against his skin. I catch a glimpse of his cock hanging thick and heavy between his thighs before the fabric covers it. I smile with satisfaction. I put on a transparent beach dress and we sit in front of the window to watch the storm lash the glass.

The hamburgers and fries arrive. We eat hungrily, sheltered by the sound of the wind.

—Tell me something —I break the silence, wiping my fingers—. What’s your problem with your body? Yesterday I nearly had to get you drunk just to make you dance, today the beach embarrasses you. Why are you so shy?

—I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem proper.

—And who put those ideas in your head? The body is the most natural thing we have. Why shouldn’t you show it to me, or give me a little affection with it?

—Because you’re my mother.

—So? Because I’m your mother, am I some hideous monster better kept at arm’s length? Good heavens, I carried you in my womb!

—You know you’re not ugly —he cuts in, staring at me—. You’re the most beautiful woman that exists. Everyone looks at you when you walk into a place. It’s just that you’re...

—I’m what?

—Intimidating.

I let out a clean, honest laugh.

—Intimidating? People have told me many things in my life, but never that. What do you mean?

—That you’re too perfect. Your legs, your tits, your ass. When I’m in front of you, I don’t know... I feel things.

—Things?

—You know. Things.

—Ah —I settle back in the armchair, crossing my legs—. Does your dick get hard looking at me?

The color explodes across his face. He keeps looking out at the storm, which is now battering the glass with fierce gusts.

—I like you a lot —he finally confesses, voice cracked.

—And have you jerked off thinking about me? —I say in a malicious tone—. Tell me. How many times? What do you imagine about me? I’d love to see you come with my name in your mouth.

He hesitates. It’s the moment to land the blow with a bit more humiliation, but I pity him and let him dodge the answer.

—You don’t understand. Your beauty makes me feel like I’m not good enough. Look at me. I’m skinny, awkward, I’m hideous. I don’t deserve to be your son.

I put the food back on the table.

—If I could, I’d put my hand in your brain and wash all those ideas out with a sponge. What are you talking about? You’re a beautiful boy. Your skin is delicate, your muscles are long, and for God’s sake, that cock I saw hanging down there is going to break more than one pussy. I’m more than proud of you. Do you think that if I were ashamed of you I would have told you to come out of the water in front of that woman? I wanted you to come out. I wanted everyone to see that you’re mine.

Tomás smiles, confused but disarmed. We watch a couple of umbrellas fly across the beach, swallowed by the wind.

—Want to watch a movie? —he asks quietly.

We lie down on the giant bed and put on anything on the television. I stretch out an arm and he, without hesitation, settles in with his head against my chest.

***

The movie ends with the sun already down. We guess at the force of the storm from the howling of the wind and the lightning that, every so often, lights up the room in flashes.

I take off my gauze dress and settle between the sheets to sleep, in panties and nothing else. After a while, I open my eyes. Tomás is moving back and forth, restless, burying and lifting his head from the pillow.

—What’s wrong, kiddo?

—I don’t know, I can’t sleep.

—Try closing your eyes. Or do you want me to rock you like when you were a baby?

He doesn’t answer. He stays still, but after a few minutes he starts squirming again. I exhale and turn on the bedside lamp.

—Are you scared of the storm? Is that it?

—No —he says, avoiding my gaze—. Turn off the light, better.

I look down. Through the linen pants, his cock is marked hard as an iron bar, stretching the fabric to the point of threatening to tear it. The tip pushes against the linen and a dark stain of fluid betrays the fact that he’s already leaking. I smile.

—Oh, come on, you’re not going to let me sleep all night. Take those pants off before you stain everything, and hug me.

He pulls the linen pants down with embarrassed clumsiness. His cock springs free in a rush, hard, long, throbbing against his stomach. The tip glistens wetly, swollen and red. It’s a beautiful cock, thick at the base, and I keep staring at it a second longer than I should before looking away with a smile. I turn around with my back to him and he presses against me. His cock jams hot against the small of my back. I reach back and run a caress over his buttocks. He closes the distance, pressing his body fully against mine, and without meaning to—or maybe meaning to—he starts moving his hips slowly, rubbing his cock against my ass.

Time passes and I come back out of that half-sleep. Tomás is still, clinging to my waist. But his pulse is beating uncontrollably against my ass, each throb pumping the cock that’s wedged between my cheeks. The dampness of his pre-cum is already soaking the skin of my lower back. The kid is definitely not going to let me sleep.

I reach back and grab his cock. It’s soft, delicate, hairless like the rest of his body, but hard as a hot stone. I wrap my fingers around it and squeeze firmly. The moisture immediately wets my palm, and I feel his cock lash violently in my hand. A muffled groan escapes him.

—Do you want to come so we can fall asleep?

—No —he answers in a guttural whisper.

—Why not? You’re about to explode, you need to let out all that cum you’ve got stored up.

—Please, I’m so embarrassed about this.

—I can’t believe you. What are you embarrassed about?

As I speak, my open hand moves up and down against the tension of his cock, setting a slow, steady rhythm. I peel back the skin covering his glans with my thumb, exposing the smooth, sensitive tip, and spread the thick drop of pre-cum all over the crown. His body goes rigid as a board, but his mouth seals shut so he won’t moan.

—I don’t know —he manages to murmur—. You looking at me. You touching my cock. It’s my mom jerking me off.

—Yes. Your mom is jerking you off, kiddo, and your cock is about to burst. Look how much you’re dripping.

I shake my head. This boy needs a little action, or he’s going to be a timid coward all his life. I turn to fix my eyes on him in the dimness. I use the movement to slide my panties down my legs and toss them onto the floor. I’m left completely naked in front of him.

—All right, let’s make this clear. At this point you’re overflowing, with your little scene you infected me too, and now I’m the one who won’t be able to sleep. I don’t think that’s fair.

—I’m sorry. I can’t control it. Do you want me to...?

—No, it’s too late. If you come too quickly, you’ll leave me wanting more. We’re going to do something else, see if you can stop being so self-conscious.

I push him until he’s on his back and kneel between his legs. His cock lifts against his stomach, pointing to the ceiling, thick and throbbing. I take it in my hand and hold it steady while I lean over it. Tomás opens his eyes wide.

—Ma... Mom, no...

—Shut up and enjoy it.

I stick out my tongue and lick the tip with mine, gathering the thick drop of pre-cum. The taste explodes in my mouth, salty, bitter, heavy. Tomás jerks and lets out a long moan, the sound of a wounded animal. I lick again, this time with my tongue flat, going from base to tip, tracing that thick vein that runs under his cock. His body writhes on the sheets.

—Look carefully, kiddo. Watch how your mother sucks your cock —I tell him without breaking eye contact.

I open my mouth and swallow him whole. His cock fills my mouth, pushes against my palate, hits the back of my throat. I start sucking him with firm suction, bobbing my head up and down. My lips slide over his smooth skin, coating every inch in saliva. With my free hand I grab his balls and massage them carefully, feeling their weight, the load stored inside.

Tomás moans without control. His hands go to my head, grabbing my hair. He doesn’t push me away, but he doesn’t let go either. Everything in him is trembling. I suck faster, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock on every upstroke, pressing the tip against the roof of my mouth on every downstroke. Saliva drips from the corner of my mouth and soaks his balls. The wet, obscene sound of my mouth fills the room above the roar of the storm.

—Mom... Mom, stop... I’m going to come...

I pull away in one sharp motion. His cock leaves my mouth with a smack and bounces against his stomach, shiny with saliva, swollen to the extreme, throbbing like it might burst on its own.

—Not yet, kiddo. You don’t get to come yet.

I climb over him astride. The pulse between my thighs demands relief, a constant vibration that has my pussy soaked, lips swollen and slick. I take his hands and force them to cover my tits. A harsh pinch on my nipples tears a sharp moan from me. I squeeze them harder and feel the electric current running through me from the tips to my clit. I clamp my legs against his sides to hold him still and bend down. I give him a kiss on the mouth. Soft. Wet. When his lips give way, I slip my tongue in to take control. I fill him with my saliva, sweeping through his mouth and making him taste his own cock in my mouth. He writhes and arches his back looking for more friction, trying to find my pussy with the swollen tip.

No easy treatment. Not that fast. I keep kissing him and move just enough to make sure my folds still don’t brush his cock. I slide my drenched pussy over the top of his cock, not letting it enter, rubbing my clit against the hard skin, smearing it with my juices. Tomás moans into my mouth. He wraps his arms around my back and his hands go down, drawn like magnets, to my ass. He squeezes my flesh with a strength that disarms me from the inside, digging his fingers into my cheeks, spreading them apart.

—Please, Mom... please, put your cock in me... please...

I smile against his mouth. Now that’s it, this kid is learning how to ask.

I take his blind hardness and place it at my opening. I rub the tip against my soaked lips, letting it slide between my folds, brushing my clit with the glans. A shiver runs down my back. Then I position it right at the mouth of my pussy and drop down with all my weight. The inside yields and wraps around it, taking up every empty inch. The cock sinks all the way in in one stroke, hitting me so deep that a gasp escapes me.

Tomás chokes back a desperate cry. That’s the signal.

—You’re inside your mother, kiddo. Your whole cock is buried in my pussy. Can you feel it?

—Yes... yes, Mom... it’s so hot... so tight...

I start moving. I do it without hurry. The slowness of my cadence clashes with the fury of the hurricane pounding the glass. I move with density, a heavy, wet friction that clears the way, devouring all his length. I rise until the tip is barely caught at the entrance and lower myself slowly, feeling every inch fill me until his balls slam against my ass.

Tomás’s body arches. I lean back, placing my hands on his knees, so he can watch his cock going in and out of my pussy, shiny with my juices, marked by the swollen folds that hug it. The sight makes him moan in a visceral way.

—Look at yourself, kiddo. Watch your cock sinking into Mom’s pussy. Look at you going in.

I reach around and feel his balls. They’ve contracted under the skin, hardened to the limit, pressed tight against his body. My fingers caress their taut texture and an electric convulsion runs across his abdomen, foretelling the fall.

I stop. I cut off the motion and leave him choking on the wait, with his cock buried to the hilt, throbbing inside me. I rhythmically clench my inner walls, milking him with my muscles, fully aware of the desperation I’m injecting into him.

—Mom, please... please, move...

—Hold on, kiddo. Not yet.

At last, I take pity on him. I rise and fall with a hard stroke. One, two, three times. Each descent draws a wet, obscene sound from the collision of our sex. I stop so he can absorb the impact. When need makes him moan, I repeat. One, two, three times. I keep the sequence, forcing his cock to swell to the limit, stretching me inside more than I thought possible.

I lean forward and press my tits into his face. He, without hesitation, opens his mouth and sucks on one nipple as if he were that baby he once was. I bite his ear.

—Good boy. Suck your mother’s tits while she fucks you.

The dirty talk lights him up. He changes the rhythm. He grabs my hips in desperation and starts thrusting up into me, driving in with hard, savage blows. The bed creaks. Our bodies collide with a wet, rhythmic slap. I feel his cock hit bottom with each thrust, feel it swell even more, feel it getting ready.

I repeat that delicious torture until the tension breaks him. The dam gives way in an uncontrollable convulsion. He cries out my name —not “Mom,” but “Valeria,” for the first time— and a thick, sudden heat floods me from the inside with such abundance that it spills over the folds and slides down my thighs. I feel every spurt, every hot lash coming from his cock and bathing my inner walls. It’s a brutal amount, weeks of pent-up desire pouring out all at once into his mother’s pussy. That fire inside me is the missing trigger. Before his body can process the relief, I slam my hips down with savage desperation, riding him brutally, searching for my own release on his cock, still hard and full of cum. I don’t take long to break. The walls of my pussy contract around his cock in violent spasms, squeezing out the last drop. The climax drags me to the edge and forces out a scream that disappears into the thunder of the storm.

I collapse onto Tomás’s chest. His cock is still buried inside me, slick, soaked in the mixture of both our fluids. When I finally slide it out, a warm stream of semen mixed with my juices runs down my thighs and stains the white sheet. Both our breaths collide in the heavy air, our bodies drenched in sweat and exhaustion.

I give him a slow kiss on the mouth, tasting his ragged breathing. With my hand I gather some of the semen dripping from my groin and bring it to his lips. He, obedient, opens his mouth and licks my fingers without taking his eyes off mine.

—That’s my kiddo —I whisper to him.

We give ourselves over to sleep hours later, wrapped in darkness, holding each other and fused in a pact of skin neither of us could explain.