My neighbor the lawyer was watching us from his window

My sister Daniela took three months to decide to go see the lawyer. Three months in which I had to listen to her complain about the bank, the contract, and her ex-boss. When she finally made the appointment, she didn’t choose just any office: she chose the one in apartment 4B, in the building across the street, the one that had been looking at me for three years every time we crossed paths in the lobby.

—You’re coming with me —she said, without really asking.

—I’m going with you —I replied, not bothering to hide my satisfaction.

Adrián Velasco’s office was on the second floor of a sober-looking building on a narrow street in the city center. The bronze plaque beside the door gleamed as if freshly polished. When we went in, the secretary asked us to wait seated and to keep two meters away from the attorney. The pandemic had turned us all into living-room astronauts.

He received us standing. Navy suit, white shirt, narrow tie. And black leather shoes that didn’t quite match. I noticed it instantly, because I always notice those things, but I also knew it didn’t matter: Adrián was one of those men who look good in anything. He was a little over six feet tall, lean without being skinny, with the straight back of someone who has played a lot of tennis. His eyes were light, a gray that seemed blue depending on the light, and he looked at you as if he were reading you from the inside.

—Daniela, you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other —he said, as he offered her his hand without shaking it, just a gesture in the air—. I’m warning you so you come armed with patience.

My sister laughed. I sat in one of the chairs he had placed at the required distance and tried not to look like an idiot.

For the first few minutes I listened to him talk about clauses, deadlines, notifications. But after a certain point I stopped listening. I started looking at him in a way it isn’t decent to look at anyone. I started noticing his hands when he turned the pages. The way he bit his lower lip when he was thinking. The two or three strands of black hair, already threaded with gray, that fell over his forehead.

If I straddled him, I’d still have to crane my neck to look at him. And if I unzipped him right there on the table, over my sister’s papers, I don’t know if I’d be able to take his whole cock in my mouth all at once.

He picked up my sister’s papers and stood to review them against the light. The trousers fit him snugly in front, not in a vulgar way, but enough. My eyes went where they shouldn’t have gone and stayed there longer than they should have. What showed beneath the fabric seemed generous. Generous was the polite word that came to me. The dirty word was another: you could make out a thick, long cock sleeping against his left thigh, and just thinking about waking it up made my cunt clench, suddenly wet, as if it had a life of its own. Heat flooded my cheeks and a different throb rose lower, deeper inside me. I crossed my legs and felt my thong stick to me, soaked through, a hot thread between my thighs.

He sat back down and kept talking to Daniela. Once, twice, three times, his eyes drifted toward mine. Those weren’t coincidences. The third time he held my gaze for a second too long, and I knew, I knew without needing words, that he had also spent years watching me go up and down in the elevator. And that he too, some night, had jerked off thinking about me.

***

That same afternoon I had plans with Mateo, my partner. A good guy, one of those who call to ask if you got home safely and bring flowers on anniversaries. We had dinner at an Italian place near the river. I wore a short black dress, with a modest neckline in front and a dangerous one in back. Mateo kept telling me how good I looked, and I let him, because it was true and because, inside, I was still thinking about Adrián. About his mouth. About his hands. About the cock that had outlined itself under that blue suit trouser.

By the time he parked in front of the building it was almost midnight. He cut the engine and turned the music down. The yellow streetlights drew circles over the hood. We talked for a while about nonsense: a movie we’d seen, a wedding we’d have to go to. I answered without being fully present. Part of me was counting windows in the building across the street.

—Are you coming up? —I asked, not really expecting an answer.

—I’ve got an early flight tomorrow morning —he replied.

I kissed him. I kissed him long and slow, holding the back of his neck. When I pulled my mouth away, I leaned toward the window to check whether the lights in my apartment were on. Daniela had a habit of falling asleep with the TV on, and I always looked before going up, so I wouldn’t wake her with the sound of the door.

And then I saw him.

Adrián was in the window of his kitchen, on the fourth floor of the building across the street. He had a lit cigarette in one hand and the other resting on the frame. He wasn’t looking at the street. He was looking at us.

I felt a jolt in my chest. I slid back inside the car, slowly, never taking my eyes off the rearview mirror. The kitchen light lit up half his face. The other half stayed in shadow. He didn’t move when he realized I had seen him. He didn’t lower his gaze. He didn’t pretend he was looking at something else.

He knows I know he’s there. He wants me to know he’s there.

Something switched on inside me. Something old, something I didn’t fully control. I turned to Mateo and ran my fingers along his neck, slow, slow. I kissed him again, but this time with my mouth open, biting his lip, pushing my tongue all the way in, doing it in a way that could be seen from outside. Mateo responded at once. He put a hand on my thigh and slid it up a little. I let him.

—Stay a little longer —I murmured.

Discreetly, with a gesture meant to look careless, I spread my legs. The black dress rode up like a badly closed curtain and revealed far more than was reasonable: the black thong clinging to my cunt, the inside of my thighs white under the streetlamp, the line of my groin. I knew that from the height of the fourth floor the inside of the car was perfectly visible. I knew Adrián was seeing exactly what I wanted him to see.

My hand slid over Mateo’s body and settled on the bulge that had begun to form. I squeezed it lightly. He let out a breath I hadn’t expected. I slowly unzipped him, never taking my eyes off the fourth floor, and slipped my hand inside his boxer briefs. I pulled his cock out in one motion. It was hard, hot, pulsing in my palm. I gripped it with a closed hand and started moving it up and down, unhurriedly, teasing the head with my thumb, spreading the clear slick already seeping from it.

—Fuck —Mateo gasped, throwing his head back—. Not here, baby…

—Shh.

I leaned over his lap and took him into my mouth. All of it, to the hilt, until the tip hit the back of my throat and I had to fight the gag. I sealed my lips tight around the base and sucked. Mateo jolted, grabbed the steering wheel with one hand and my hair with the other. I started bobbing on him with my mouth, deliberately noisy, letting the slurping, the saliva, the air be heard when I pulled him all the way out and took him back to the hilt. I licked his balls, sucked them one by one while still moving his cock with my hand, and then climbed back up the shaft, licking slowly, with my tongue flat, the way you lick an ice cream that’s dripping.

And while I was sucking him off, I turned my face just enough that from the fourth floor my profile could be seen: my mouth open, Mateo’s cock going in and out, my tongue out. Adrián had pressed himself against the glass. With his free hand he was touching himself over his trousers. I saw it. I saw how he squeezed himself, how he adjusted the bulge outlined under the dark fabric.

I let go of Mateo’s cock with a wet smack of my lips, a thread of saliva hanging from my chin. I climbed onto the seat, half kneeling, and yanked my thong off from under the dress. I left it hanging from the gearshift, wet and twisted. I took Mateo’s hand and brought it to my open cunt, no ceremony, no asking permission.

—Are you sure? —he murmured.

—Shut up and put them in.

His fingers went in two at a time, sliding in at once from how soaked I was. Soaked because of Adrián, not because of him. Though I was never going to tell him that. He drove them in to the knuckle and started moving them inside, bending them upward, searching for the spot he already knew. I rested my head against the passenger-side window, the side facing the building across the street. From that position I could hold Adrián’s gaze in the fourth-floor kitchen. He hadn’t lowered the blinds. He hadn’t turned off the light. He had unbuckled his belt. I saw the gleam of the buckle, the fabric falling, the movement of his hand against himself. He was jerking off to me. He was jerking off watching me fuck in the car.

I spread my legs all the way. I put one knee against the dashboard and the other on Mateo’s seat, so that from above my open cunt could be seen, my boyfriend’s fingers going in and out, my swollen clit shining under the orange streetlamp. Mateo realized something had changed in me but didn’t ask. He added a third finger. The sloshing inside the car was obscene, a wet, muddy, filthy sound. I took one hand to my left breast under the dress and started pinching my nipple, twisting it between two fingers, pulling until it hurt.

—You’re impossible —Mateo whispered against my neck.

I didn’t answer. I just kept looking.

Adrián lifted his chin very slightly, as if acknowledging my shamelessness. He had taken his cock out of his trousers. I saw it. I saw it perfectly, with the kitchen light behind it: long, thick, his hand closed around the base, stroking it up and down without hurry. He was showing me what I had guessed that morning. He was showing me what he wanted to put inside me.

A moan escaped me that Mateo misunderstood. He sped up his fingers, added his thumb to my clit, began making fast, wet, brutal circles. I arched my back against the window. My dress was bunched up to my navel. My tits out of the neckline, pressed against the glass. My cunt, impaled on three fingers, dripping down Mateo’s wrist onto the seat. My boyfriend breathed against my ear, not knowing he had become the supporting actor in a scene I was offering to another man.

I grabbed Mateo’s cock with my other hand and started pumping it again in time with his fingers inside me. I squeezed hard, my palm tight around him, tugging his foreskin down and up. I wanted him to come at the same time I did. I wanted Adrián to see everything. My boyfriend’s cum in my hand and mine running down his arm.

I felt the first wave climb my legs and forced myself not to close my eyes. I didn’t want to miss it. I didn’t want to stop seeing Adrián seeing me. If I was going to come, I was going to come with him as witness, his cock in his hand against the glass.

—Look at me —I asked Mateo, to keep up appearances.

But the “look at me” was for the man in the window.

When it hit, it hit in silence. No screaming, no commotion, nothing to give away from outside what was happening inside the car. Just a deep, long shudder, the walls of my cunt closing around Mateo’s fingers, one contraction after another, my hips lifting off the seat, a hot stream running down the inside of my thigh. I squeezed my boyfriend’s cock with my closed hand and he came two seconds later, in thick spurts that landed on my wrist, my dress, the gearshift. I smeared it over my lips as if painting my mouth, and stuck out my tongue to lick it up. Slowly. Very slowly. So the man on the fourth floor would see exactly what I was dedicating to him.

Adrián was still there. The ember of the cigarette had burned down almost to the filter without him noticing. I saw the semen spill from him too, against the glass, a white lash that stained his fingers and the window frame. He rested his forehead against the pane for a second, with his cock still in his hand. I saw him blink at last. I saw him finally let go of the frame.

And then, slowly, he lifted two semen-stained fingers in my direction. A tiny salute. A sign of receipt. A way of saying he had been there, with me, the whole time. That he had finished with me. That next time we were going to do it without a window between us.

***

—Are you coming up for a minute? —Mateo asked afterward, his voice rough.

—We’ll talk tomorrow —I said, and stroked his cheek.

I got out of the car with shaky knees, my dress still half wrong, my thong bunched up in my bag, and the inside of my thighs sticky with my own climax. I didn’t look up at the fourth floor of the building across the street because there was no need. I knew he was still watching. I would always know.

When I went into the lobby, I stopped for a second in front of the mailboxes. There, beside the bell for 4B, it said: “Adrián Velasco · Law office.” I read it as if for the first time. I ran my finger over his name.

I went up alone in the elevator. In the mirror, a disheveled woman looked back at me with a smile I had never seen before. Her mascara was smudged on her right eye, there was a red mark on her neck that I’d have to cover with concealer on Monday, and a thick drop was drying in my cleavage, stuck there like a badly placed pearl.

What came next I decided on the landing, while I was looking for my keys in my bag. Tomorrow, before leaving for work, I was going to run into him in the elevator. It wasn’t going to be a coincidence. I was going to seek him out. And when the two of us were inside, with the door closed and six floors ahead of us, I was going to unzip his trousers, kneel on the carpet, and take into my mouth the cock I already knew by sight, all the way to the back, until I made it hit my throat, so he’d understand that what happened in the car hadn’t been an accident and that this time I was going to swallow him whole.

If he was half the man his gaze promised, there’d be no need for me to ask anything. He was going to pin me back against the elevator mirror, lift my dress, and fuck me between the third and fourth floors without saying a word.