Foto de Alexander Krivitskiy en Unsplash
The apartment smelled of recent rain and melted candle wax. I was standing by the window, holding a glass of wine I hadn’t tasted yet, when I felt her hands on my hips.
I turned around. Her hair was loose, dark, and a bone-colored silk shirt clung to the dampness of her skin. She said nothing. We had already spent all our words in late-night messages, in confessions written with a racing pulse.
She came so close that I felt the heat of her breath on my mouth, of mint and something darker, something older. Her lips grazed mine without sealing the kiss, a promise suspended in the air. I closed my eyes. I waited. When I couldn’t take it anymore, her mouth closed over mine with a certainty that buckled my knees.
Her tongue entered slowly, the way one enters a temple, and I received it with the same devotion. I tasted the inside of her mouth, a blend of saliva and desire. Her hands traveled up my back, found the zipper of my dress, and pulled it down with a slowness that drove me mad. The fabric fell to the floor like a flower detaching from its stem.
I was left in my underwear, exposed, feeling her gaze trace every centimeter of my skin. She took my hand and led me to the couch. She sat down and made me straddle her thighs.
“I want to see you,” I whispered in a hoarse, broken voice.
She unbuttoned her shirt. Beneath it, her skin was warm, olive-toned, with a mole just below her left breast that I had already memorized in my fantasies. Her breasts, small and firm, rose with each ragged breath. I leaned in and captured one of her nipples between my lips. It was like a ripe cherry, sweet and resilient. I sucked it, nipped at it with my teeth, and she arched her back, burying her fingers in my hair, guiding my head with a silent urgency.
“More,” she whispered.
I went lower. I kissed her stomach, the dip of her navel, the curve of her hips. I tore off her underwear with my teeth, pulling slowly, revealing her inch by inch. When she stood naked before me, I stopped to look at her. She was soaked, glistening, open like a night-blooming flower. The scent of her arousal intoxicated me, made me fierce.
I parted her thighs with my hands and went in. My tongue found her clit —that knot of nerves, that point where everything converges— and I began to lick it with long, measured strokes, like someone savoring an exotic fruit. She shuddered, her hips lifting off the couch seeking more contact, more pressure. I slid a finger inside her, feeling the warm, soaked contraction. She gasped with a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the apartment.
“There, right there,” she breathed out.
I picked up the pace. My tongue drew relentless circles over her clit while my finger —and then two— moved inside her with a steady, deep rhythm. I felt her body tense, her inner muscles closing around my fingers, her breath turning ragged, almost a sob. She gripped the couch cushions, her body like a bow drawn to its limit. Then she snapped.
She reached her climax with a stifled cry, a jolt that ran through her entire body from the root up. Her inner walls fluttered around my fingers in spasms that seemed endless. I held her, waited as she came down, as she trembled, as she sobbed my name into the humid air of the room.
When she opened her eyes they were glassy, lost in a haze of pleasure. I sat over her again, and she —with a strength that surprised me— flipped me onto the couch. Now I was the one on my back, panting, waiting.
She leaned over me. Her breasts brushed against mine as her lips traveled down my neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks that tomorrow would be violet poetry. Her hands tore off my underwear and I lay completely naked beneath her, open.
She penetrated me with two fingers in one thrust, without warning, and the pleasure was so intense I screamed. I was so soaked that the sound of her entry was obscene, beautiful, primitive music. She began to move inside me with a perfect, cruel rhythm while her thumb pressed my clit in circles that grew faster and faster.
“You’re so beautiful when you come undone,” she murmured against my ear, and her breath made me shudder.
I felt the climax building deep in my belly, a wave rising, unstoppable. My hips moved to the rhythm of her song, seeking more, always more. When it hit, it was like a shipwreck. I shattered into a thousand pieces of white light, my body convulsed, and I screamed her name with a voice I didn’t know I had, a voice of wounded animal and goddess at once.
She didn’t stop. She kept moving inside me, prolonging the peak until it was almost painful, until tears ran down my temples and I begged her to stop, to never stop.
When she finally withdrew her fingers, they glistened with my nectar. She brought them to her mouth and sucked them, looking into my eyes with an intensity that made me feel alive.
We stayed embraced, intertwined like roots beneath the earth, listening to the rain that had started falling again outside. The wine untouched on the table, forgotten, demeaned before the taste that lingered on the tongue.
