She Watched Without Moving, and That Excited Me More Than Anything

That night started the same as all the ones before it: cold beers, popcorn in a plastic bowl, and something on Netflix no one ever finished watching. Marcos’s apartment smelled like pine air freshener and fried food, and the TV light flickered over the three of us who had been sprawled on that too-small sofa for two hours, all that tension piling up between us.

Nadia arrived before I did. When I walked in and saw her sitting there with her legs crossed and that look of hers that seemed to size everything up, something in my chest tightened for no reason I could name. She greeted me with a brief smile, one of those that never quite reached her eyes, and went right back to staring at the screen. Marcos kissed my cheek and offered me a beer.

During the first hour, Nadia and I barely exchanged a few words. She talked with Marcos about people I didn’t know, about plans that didn’t include me. It’s not that it exactly bothered me, but it did make me feel like an intruder in a story that already had more chapters than mine. When she went to the bathroom, I took the chance to ask Marcos in a low voice whether anything was weird between them.

—Nothing —he said, shrugging—. Years ago I tried something and she turned me down. Since then we’ve been friends, that’s it. She has a boyfriend.

He said it without bitterness, but I noticed something in his voice. It wasn’t sadness. It was resignation. And that irritated me more than anything else: that she’d had the chance and left it there, waiting, while now she looked at any girl who came near him as if she were a threat to some emotional territory she didn’t want to claim.

When Nadia came back from the bathroom, something had changed in me.

I didn’t make any conscious decision. I just scooted a little closer to Marcos on the sofa and rested my head on his shoulder. He didn’t move. His body stiffened for a second with surprise, then relaxed and wrapped his arm around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Nadia frowned ever so slightly. She kept looking at the screen.

I started running my fingers over his chest, slowly. Without urgency. As if I were distracted and my hand were acting on its own. I felt his breathing change rhythm, the muscle under my palm tightening slightly. The heat of his body came through the T-shirt. I moved my hand lower, dragging my nails across his stomach, and without taking my eyes off the screen I let my fingers fall onto the hard bulge already pressing against his jeans. Marcos let out a breath through his nose. I pressed with my open palm, feeling the shape of his cock through the fabric, feeling it throb beneath my hand.

Nadia said nothing.

That, instead of stopping me, lit me up. There was something in her tense silence, in that clenched jaw and that gaze too fixed on the television, that turned me on more than anything else I’d felt that night. I kept sliding my hand upward, brushing his neck, tangling my fingers in the edge of his T-shirt.

Marcos turned his head toward me. His eyes were asking and confirming at the same time.

I kissed him.

First softly, like a question. Then he answered, and the answer was clear: his lips parted, his hand went up to the back of my neck, and the kiss turned long, wet, and urgent, with a hunger we’d both been holding in without realizing it. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and he gave a low groan, a rough sound that went straight down between my legs. Alcohol hummed in my temples. The sofa creaked when I turned more fully toward him, half-climbing onto his thigh, rubbing myself shamelessly against the hard denim. I was already soaked and could feel the wetness soaking through my underwear.

I felt Nadia’s gaze the way you feel the sun on your back: without needing to see it to know it was there.

Marcos broke the kiss and lowered his mouth to my neck. He bit slowly, carefully, finding the exact spot where skin is most sensitive. I gasped. His hands found the hem of my top and pushed it up without asking.

—Wait —I said.

But I wasn’t saying it to stop him. It was just to look.

I turned my head toward Nadia. She was still at the other end of the sofa, knees together and arms crossed. But the color in her cheeks had changed. They were no longer the neutral shade from before. They were red, faintly, at the curve where her jaw met her neck. And her eyes weren’t on the screen. They were on us.

Not on my face. On my hands. On Marcos’s hands. On the space between our bodies.

She’s watching.

And that thought shot through me like an electric current.

—Keep going —I told Marcos.

He lifted my top and dropped it to the floor without ceremony. The apartment air was cool but I didn’t feel cold. His hands moved over my back, found the clasp of my bra, and released it with one firm press. When his fingers closed around my tits, I shut my eyes for a second and let out a sound I didn’t try to control. Marcos pinched my nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling them, tugging until a sharp gasp escaped me. They were hard, swollen, and he knew it. He bent down and took one fully into his mouth, sucking hard, while with the other hand he kept pinching the other.

I heard Nadia shift on the sofa. A rustle of fabric. A change of position.

I didn’t bother looking at her this time. I already knew what I’d find.

Marcos lowered his mouth to my nipples and I buried my fingers in his hair. There was something completely different about this moment from any other time I’d been touched: the sharp awareness that someone else was witnessing it. Not as an accidental spectator. As someone who had chosen to stay. I pushed his head down, guiding him, and he understood. He ran his tongue over my stomach, unbuttoned my shorts with his teeth, and pulled my underwear aside. He pried my legs open and buried his face between my thighs without a hint of ceremony.

The first lick arched my back. He started at my entrance, gathering all my wetness with the flat of his tongue, and slowly moved up to my clit. There he paused. He sucked it between his lips, licked it in circles, alternating the tip of his tongue with the full warm surface of his mouth. I gripped his hair with both hands and pressed his face into my pussy with no shame at all. I moaned loudly, knowing Nadia was hearing every bit of it, knowing she was a meter away from us watching Marcos eat me out.

I opened my eyes and searched for her gaze. Nadia’s lips were parted. One hand had drifted to the inner edge of her thigh and was there, still, as if she didn’t know whether to dare more. I held eye contact while Marcos slid two fingers into me and curled their tips against that spot inside that made me tremble. Nadia looked down for a second, then lifted her eyes again. She didn’t look away.

His lips moved back to my neck and that was where something in me finally let go completely.

—I want you to fuck me —I whispered in his ear—. Here. Now. I want you to put it in all the way.

I felt him smile against my skin.

He stood up to pull his pants down and used the moment to take a condom from his back pocket, which made me laugh under my breath because he had clearly come prepared for something. When the jeans hit the floor, his cock sprang free, hard and with a glossy head. My mouth watered. I leaned over from the sofa and grabbed it with my hand, closing my fingers around the base, and without thinking I took it all the way into my mouth. Marcos groaned loudly, grabbing my hair. I sucked him slowly at first, feeling him throb against my tongue, then I started moving faster, letting him hit the back of my throat. I heard Nadia’s muffled moan. A small, contained sound that slipped out of her before she could stop it.

I pulled his cock from my mouth with a wet sound and looked her in the eyes while I dragged it across my lips, licking the tip with the tip of my tongue. Nadia bit her lower lip. Marcos tore open the condom wrapper and rolled it on with hurried fingers. He yanked off the rest of my underwear in one quick motion, no pause for delicacy. He laid me back on the sofa and positioned himself between my knees.

I turned my head toward Nadia.

She had stopped crossing her arms. Her hands were on her thighs and her legs were slightly apart. Her breathing was visible. Her eyes moved from me to him and from him to me, unable to settle on either. I could see how her pants strained at the crotch, how she pressed her thighs together, looking for friction without seeming to realize it.

She didn’t look offended.

She looked completely caught.

Marcos entered slowly, measuring himself. I was soaked, and even so the first thrust made me clutch the cushion with my fingers. I felt him open me completely, millimeter by millimeter, until he was buried to the base. I let out a long, filthy moan without holding it back. It was the mix of alcohol, of the heat built up inside me, of that gaze I felt on my naked body like something physical and solid.

He started moving with a slow rhythm, but with weight in every stroke, as if he wanted me to feel every inch of cock going in and out. I moaned without inhibition. There was no reason to do it any other way. Nadia was already seeing everything.

—Harder —I begged Marcos, my voice broken—. Fuck me harder.

I looked directly at her for a moment. She held my gaze, defiant or frozen, I couldn’t tell which. Then she lowered her eyes to where our bodies met, where Marcos’s cock was sliding in and out of me slick and shining, and didn’t lift them again.

Good.

Marcos sped up. His hands gripped my hips firmly, fingers digging into my skin, and the wet sound of my cunt swallowing his cock filled the apartment above the murmur of the TV. The sofa creaked with every thrust. He lifted one of my legs onto his shoulder and from that angle I felt him even deeper, slamming into my back wall. I lowered my hand and started rubbing my clit with two fingers while he kept fucking me. I came to the first orgasm with my teeth clenched and my heels pushing against his back, feeling my pussy clench in spasms around his cock.

—Fuck —he growled—. You’re squeezing me so tight.

After a moment, he kept going. He turned me face-down on the sofa, lifted my ass with both hands, and shoved back into me in one hard thrust. I gave a muffled cry into the cushion. From that position, with my face turned to the side, I could see Nadia perfectly. And she could see everything: my arched back, my tits hanging down, my ass lifted to receive every thrust. Marcos was pounding me hard, each sharp impact making skin slap against skin, and I never stopped looking at her for a single second.

The second orgasm was more intense than the first. By then I wasn’t thinking coherently about anything anymore, only about the weight of his body on mine, about his cock opening me mercilessly, and about that silent presence at the other end of the sofa that still hadn’t left.

I heard Nadia shifting again. A small sound, almost inaudible, that wasn’t exactly indifference. I saw how she clenched her thighs, how she rubbed discreetly against her own hand slipped between her legs over her pants.

On the third orgasm, Marcos lost his controlled rhythm. His movements turned fast and uneven for a few seconds, hammering into me without cadence, chasing his own end, until he drove in deep and went still, his forehead resting on my shoulder and his breathing turning into a long, low growl. I felt his cock throbbing inside me, spilling semen against the condom wall, and I clenched one last time around him, milking him down to the final pulse.

***

We stayed like that for a moment, motionless. The TV kept talking to itself. Outside the apartment, someone shut a door in the hallway.

Marcos lifted his head and that was when he seemed to remember we weren’t alone. He turned to Nadia with an expression that mixed satisfaction with something like embarrassment. He hurriedly covered himself with the pants at his feet.

—Sorry —he said—. We should have gone to…

—Don’t apologize —she cut him off.

Her voice was calm. Too calm for someone whose cheeks were still red and whose hands still hadn’t found a place to rest.

—It was interesting to watch you —she added, with a smile that wasn’t quite her usual one.

I sat up on the sofa and looked for my clothes without really meeting her eyes. My legs felt weak and there was a kind of ringing behind my ears that wasn’t only the alcohol. I dressed slowly, went to the bathroom to clean myself up, and when I came back the three of us exchanged a few words about nothing in particular, as if we had to fill the space with something mundane before saying goodbye.

Nadia left first. At the door she paused for a second, looked at me, and simply said:

—Take care.

I’m not exactly sure what she meant by that.

Marcos walked me to the elevator. Before the doors closed, he told me he’d liked the night. He said it without emphasis, like someone stating a fact.

—Me too —I answered.

And it was true, though not in the way he probably thought. What I’d liked wasn’t just him. It was that strange, new tension of feeling watched, of knowing that someone who wasn’t supposed to look was looking anyway and wasn’t leaving.

***

That night, lying in bed with the lights off, the scene played on a loop. Not Marcos’s body on mine, but Nadia’s eyes. The tight curve of her mouth at the beginning and that final smile I couldn’t decipher. The hands that had relaxed on her thighs as the night went on. The way she’d clenched her legs together, the hand hidden between them.

I wondered if she would remember it the same way. If she would also stay awake thinking about it, fingers between her wet folds, coming silently in her own bed while remembering how Marcos had fucked me in front of her.

I wondered if the next time Marcos invited me over, she would be there again.

And I realized the answer to that question mattered to me more than it should have.