The fourth-floor neighbor was waiting for him, soaked

The building on Gurruchaga Street had five floors, thick 1940s walls, and a metal-grille elevator that took a firm yank to shut. It was the kind of place where everyone knew each other by sound: the man on the second floor with the news at eight, the woman on the first and her phone calls in the hallway, and the smell of food drifting down from the fifth every midday. A vertical little microcosm where privacy was more illusion than fact.

Valentina had lived on the fourth floor for three years. Thirty-two, graphic designer, with an outdoor plant that survived the balcony sun and a collection of movies that no one who visited her ever quite recognized. She was trans, and she was trans without drama: her body was the result of years of hormones and decisions made with the calm of someone who knows exactly what she wants. Small breasts, defined hips, well-cared-for skin. And beneath her clothes, the proof of a story that was hers and nobody else's: a cock she had learned to love, sensitive and well proportioned, which some nights she stroked herself in front of the mirror without guilt or hurry.

Nicolás had lived on the third floor for four months. He had arrived with two boxes of technical books, a road bike he kept inside the apartment, and a way of saying hello that was more of a question than a social gesture. Thirty-five, engineer, serious without being unfriendly. They crossed paths in the elevator two or three times a week. He looked at her the way everyone looked at her at first: with that mix of curiosity and an effort not to seem curious. Over time that changed. Valentina had noticed it months earlier: the way his eyes kept sliding to her neckline, the way he swallowed when she stretched to press the button, the way he discreetly adjusted his pants before heading downstairs.

The whole city that February was irritable. Forty-two degrees. The pavement buckled. Dogs didn’t bark. Bars put tables out on the sidewalk and nobody went to sit down because the sun fell straight down and burned the metal chairs.

***

It was 3:15 in the afternoon when Valentina decided the bedroom fan wasn’t enough and moved out to the balcony. She put on the white lace slip she wore to sleep in the summer, thin as paper, and forgot the rest. Sweat stuck it to her body in ten minutes. She stayed leaning on the railing, looking at the empty street, with the music from the stereo coming out through the open windows at a volume she would have toned down in another season but that afternoon she didn’t much care about.

The track was playing loud. Electronic, repetitive, with that kind of bass that vibrates in the walls and slips through every window frame in the building.

The voice came from below.

—Hey! Fourth floor? Could you lower that?

Valentina leaned over the railing. Nicolás was on the third-floor balcony in a damp cotton T-shirt, brow just slightly furrowed. He was looking up at her with that expression she already knew: half irritation, half something else.

—It’s the only air coming in —she replied, unhurriedly.

—I’ve got the fan on next to the bed and I can still hear the lyrics. Seriously, turn it down a little.

She rested her elbows on the railing and studied him for a moment. The slip opened slightly at the side and let him see one whole breast, the nipple hardened by the friction of the wet lace.

—If it bothers you that much, come up and turn it off yourself.

Silence. Nicolás didn’t answer right away. He lowered his gaze for one second, just one second, toward the wet slip and the red thong peeking above the lace, and then looked back into her eyes with a seriousness that didn’t quite convince either of them. Valentina saw perfectly how his cock bulged through his shorts.

—I’m coming up —he said.

He disappeared from the balcony.

Valentina smiled and went inside the apartment.

***

She heard the elevator coming up. The familiar metallic squeal, the gate clanging on the fourth floor, and then three knocks at the door. She waited a moment before opening, just so she wouldn’t look like she had been waiting right there.

Nicolás came in with his hair plastered to his forehead and an expression meant to be neutral. He was tall. Taller than the elevator ever let you remember; he had to duck his head slightly to avoid scraping the frame. He walked in, looked at the stereo on the shelf, looked at the living room, looked at Valentina. He looked her up and down without hiding it this time, pausing on the nipples outlined beneath the lace and on the obvious shadow between her legs.

The apartment smelled of body lotion and something fruity coming from a small jar left open on the living room table. Afternoon light came in through the balcony in that thick orange tone summer has at that hour, horizontal and sticky, lighting up the dust particles floating in the still air.

—Are you going to lower it? —he asked.

—I haven’t decided yet —she said.

They looked at each other. Valentina was barefoot, with the soaked slip clinging to her body. She made no effort to change that.

—You’ve been living on the third floor for four months —she said, crossing her arms, which lifted her breasts against the fabric—. And only now are you coming up to complain.

—I didn’t complain before.

—No. You didn’t complain before.

He slowly took a breath. The fan in the corner moved the hot air around without solving anything. The music kept playing.

—Want something cold? —she offered—. There’s juice in the fridge.

—I didn’t come for juice.

—I know.

Nicolás moved closer. He did it unhurriedly, without abrupt gestures, as if he wanted to give each step room to be turned away. She didn’t turn him away. When he reached her, he put a hand on her hip, just barely, and pulled her toward him. The wet lace pressed against his chest. Valentina could feel the heat he gave off over the heat in the room, two layers of the same thing stacked on top of each other. And against her belly, hard, Nicolás’s cock pushing up beneath his shorts.

—I’m trans —she said, direct, looking him in the eyes—. I have a cock. Just in case there was any doubt.

—There was no doubt —he replied, his mouth close to her ear—. I want it anyway.

She closed her eyes for a second. She dropped her hand to the bulge and squeezed it over the fabric. It was thick, hot, and it pulsed under her palm.

—Good —Valentina said—. Then show it to me.

***

She took him to the living room. There was no reason to go to the bedroom: it was just as hot everywhere, and the big couch was close to the fan. She guided him gently until he was seated, and then climbed on top of him, straddling him with her knees at either side of his hips.

She kissed him first on the neck, slowly, without rushing, letting her tongue trace a path of saliva from his jaw to his collarbone. He answered by tightening his hands on her waist. His fingers were rough, the pressure firm without being rough. Valentina lifted his T-shirt and tossed it aside. His chest was damp, broad, with a line of hair running down to his navel. She dragged her lips over his collarbone and felt him hold his breath. She nipped one nipple carefully and he let out a short gasp.

—I’ve been thinking about this for months —he said, his voice lower than usual.

—Tell me what you’re thinking about —she whispered, rubbing herself against the bulge pressing between her legs.

—Fucking you —he said, not looking away—. Sucking your whole body. Making you scream until the whole building knows.

—You should’ve come up sooner —she replied, lightly biting his earlobe.

He pulled the slip straps down from her shoulders. The lace slid slowly off her and bunched at her waist. He took both breasts in his hands, with a tenderness Valentina hadn’t quite expected, learning their shape with his palms. He pinched her nipples between thumb and forefinger until she moaned, then took them into his mouth one by one, sucking hungrily, tugging with just enough teeth. She threw her head back and felt her own cock stiffen against the thong, making a damp bulge beneath the lace.

She started moving on top of him, her hips making a slow, circular motion. She could feel him answering beneath the fabric of his shorts, his cock bumping against her perineum through two layers of clothing. The heat between them was already its own thing, separate from the forty-two degrees outside, a temperature they had created themselves.

—Stand up for a second —she said.

He obeyed without asking. She unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down along with his underwear in one tug. Nicolás’s cock sprang upward, thick, the tip purplish and already wet with pre-cum. Valentina smiled. She knelt between his legs on the rug without saying a word.

—Come here —she murmured, taking his cock in her right hand.

She weighed it, measured it with her fingers. She ran her thumb over the glans, spreading the wetness. Then she took it into her mouth slowly, unhurriedly, looking him in the eyes as she swallowed him all the way down. Nicolás let out a hoarse groan and put a hand on her neck, not to push but to hold. She started sucking for real, her hand moving with the rhythm of her mouth, saliva dripping down her chin, her cheeks hollowing each time she went up. She licked his balls one by one, took them carefully into her mouth, and returned to the glans, circling her tongue around the crown with expert patience.

—Holy fuck —he panted—. You’re going to make me come like this.

Valentina pulled him out of her mouth with a wet sound and smiled with glossy lips.

—Not yet —she said—. You’ve still got the best part to go.

She stood and ran her tongue over his lower lip before kissing him deeply. He kissed her back hungrily, tasting himself in her mouth, and pulled down her thong with both hands. Valentina’s cock, hard and curved, was exposed. Nicolás didn’t hesitate: he ran his fingers along its length, wrapped his hand around it, and started stroking her firmly. She moaned against his mouth.

—Like that —she whispered—. Just like that.

—I want to taste it —he said.

He sat her on the couch, knelt between her legs, and spread her thighs with his hands. He looked at her for a second, as if memorizing the scene, and then took her into his mouth halfway. Valentina threw her head back and let out a long moan. He didn’t have her technique, but he had enthusiasm, and that enthusiasm translated into a clumsy, eager suction that drove her crazy. She took his head with both hands and started setting the rhythm, fucking his mouth slowly.

—That’s it, Nico. Suck it. Deep.

He obeyed. He gagged once, coughed, and went back to it. He licked her balls, ran his tongue underneath, came back up to the glans. Valentina let him at it for a long while, until she felt that if he kept going she would finish too soon.

—Enough —she panted, pushing him by the hair—. Come on. Fuck me now.

She picked up the small bottle on the living room table and set it within both their reach.

—Are you sure? —he asked, searching her eyes.

—I’ve spent half an hour being sure —she replied.

Nicolás gave something like a laugh and kissed her.

Valentina stood and turned around, kneeling on the couch and pressing her chest against the backrest, offering him her ass. She used the bottle calmly, letting him watch her spread the lubricant between her cheeks, the way she opened herself with two fingers, the way she prepared without hurrying. She heard Nicolás’s breathing change as he watched her. Then she tossed the bottle over her shoulder.

—Put some on yourself too. Properly.

He did. She felt him run his hand over his cock several times until it was slick. Then the tip pressed against her entrance, warm and firm.

She took him in slowly. Centimeter by centimeter, pushing her ass back to control the pace. He held her by the hips without pushing, letting her set the rhythm. The sensation was intense and dense at once: that kind of fullness that forces you to breathe through your mouth and think about nothing else. Nicolás’s cock opened her little by little, and each new centimeter was a jolt running down her spine.

—Slowly —she said, not as a complaint but as an instruction—. Like that. Put it all in me.

—Yes —he said, voice rough.

When he was fully inside, they both stopped. The fan hummed. The music kept coming from the speakers, though neither of them was thinking about turning it off anymore. Through the balcony window came a gust of hot wind that stirred the lace slip lying on the floor. Valentina clenched her ass around him and heard him groan.

***

They started moving together. He followed her rhythm without trying to impose his own, and that was exactly what Valentina had needed him to do. Their hips rose and fell slowly at first, with the concentration of someone paying attention to every detail. Their sweat mixed. Skin slid against skin with that soft, specific sound no euphemism can match: pelvis slamming into cheeks, balls knocking against the perineum, a wet splash each time he drove all the way in.

—I love the way you move —he said against her neck, leaning over her back—. I love the way you clench.

She didn’t answer. She sped up a little. She slipped one hand between her legs and started jerking herself in time with the thrusts, feeling her hard cock between her fingers, wet with pre-cum.

The rhythm rose gradually, almost imperceptibly at first. Valentina’s moans began as short and controlled, then less and less contained. He tightened his hands on her hips and started moving back and forth harder, driving into her all the way to the balls. The couch creaked. The music fought with the sound of the two of them.

—There —she said—. There, holy fuck. Like that. Don’t stop. Fuck me harder.

The internal pressure was precise and deep, brushing exactly where it had to brush. His cock hit her prostate with every thrust, and pleasure concentrated in one point and radiated outward from there in uneven waves. Valentina dug her fingers into the back of the couch and sped up even more.

—Turn me over —she panted—. I want to see your face.

He pulled out for a second and helped her turn around on the couch. He laid her on her back, lifted her legs onto his shoulders, and thrust back in with a lunge that made her cry out. From that angle the penetration was brutal, even deeper. Valentina wrapped her arms around his back and dug in her nails.

—Like that, daddy —she moaned—. Ruin me. Don’t stop.

—You’re a beautiful slut —he said, pounding her in rhythm—. Look at you sucking it with your ass.

He took her cock in his right hand and started jerking her off at the same time he was fucking her. Valentina had not been prepared for that combination. Her vision blurred. His cock driving into her to the hilt, his firm hand giving her a perfect stroke, his mouth biting at her neck.

—I’m close —she said, her voice a little broken—. I’m going to come. I’m going to come, Nico, don’t stop.

He answered by speeding up. Without speaking, without asking: he simply understood. His hands and hips worked in unison, and that coordination was what was going to make her come. That was what Valentina had noticed since he put his hand on her hip in the living room: that he listened with his body, that he really paid attention.

The orgasm came in two stages. First a deep, prolonged contraction that made her close her eyes and let out a low, involuntary sound from the back of her throat. Then a wave that ran all the way down her back and loosened her arms. Her body answered completely, ass and cock at once, layered over each other, with no hierarchy between the sensations. Thick spurts of semen splattered her stomach and breasts while her ass clenched in spasms around Nicolás’s cock.

—Jesus —he murmured through clenched teeth, watching her come underneath him—, I’m going to come inside you.

—Inside —she panted—. Empty yourself inside. All of it.

Three more thrusts were enough. Nicolás drove in all the way and stayed there, tense, trembling, as he came in long waves. Valentina felt him throbbing inside her, hot, each beat leaving another spurt. He let out a rough moan that scraped his throat and collapsed with his forehead on her shoulder.

They stayed still for a long while. Her forehead resting on his shoulder. His arms around her, softer now than before, still inside. Outside, someone honked twice in the street. The fan kept humming. When he finally withdrew, a thread of semen ran down her thigh. Nicolás looked at it with mute satisfaction.

***

Valentina went to the bathroom and came back with a towel. She handed half of it to him without saying anything. They sat side by side on the couch, looking toward the balcony where the orange light of afternoon kept coming in uninvited.

—Want that juice now? —she asked.

—Yeah —he said—. Now I do.

Valentina went to the fridge and came back with two glasses of cold orange juice, still naked, feeling the semen slide inside her thigh with every step. They drank in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the silence of two people who have just done something that subtly changes the map of things, and who need a moment before speaking to update the picture.

—How much longer is this heat going to last? —Nicolás asked, looking out the balcony toward the rooftops of the neighborhood.

—Until March, at least —she said—. Sometimes until April.

He nodded slowly, with that expression of someone carefully weighing information.

—Then I guess I’m going to have to come up to complain more often.

Valentina took the stereo remote without looking at him.

—Next time I won’t turn the music off either —she said—. And I’m going to suck you on the balcony so the neighbors know who’s boss.

She turned the volume up two notches. From somewhere downstairs came the outraged voice of a neighbor shouting something neither of them paid attention to. The elevator squealed in the building shaft. Afternoon moved on and the heat did not let up.