Yesterday I came home while it was still daylight. I honestly can’t remember the last time that happened (once the years start adding up, some habits slip away). The city was still breathing that crisp January cold, but I had fire under my skin. It wasn’t planned. It just… happened.
We were in that tiny bar in Malasaña where the lighting is so dim everything looks a little more dangerous. She came over because she said my laugh had reached her from the other side of the room. I looked at her and thought, wow—what is going on in those eyes? We talked about silly things, the kind that sound innocent until suddenly they aren’t.
At one point she brushed my wrist with two fingers—just that—and I felt the touch drop straight into my belly. No big declarations. We just looked at each other and knew we were going to kiss outside, up against the wall of a doorway that smelled like old rain. Her lips tasted like gin and held-back hunger. She bit my lower lip and I answered by sliding my fingers into her hair, tugging a little—just enough to pull that sigh out of her that drove me crazy.
We went up to her place because mine was too far and neither of us wanted to wait. The door closed and everything turned slow, deliberate. She unbuttoned my shirt carefully, like she was unwrapping something she’d been waiting for. I unfastened her jeans with my teeth, laughing because it was ridiculous and perfect at the same time. We fell onto the bed between giggles and breathless sounds, and when her hands found that exact spot between my thighs, I closed my eyes and let pleasure run through me like hot water.
We touched each other like we had all night—and all our lives. She kissed my neck while her fingers moved inside me with that precision only someone who truly listens to another body can have. I returned the favor with my mouth, tasting her slowly, savoring every tremble, every yes—right there. When she came, it was with a long, rough moan that made me press my thighs tighter around her hand. And when it was my turn, she didn’t stop until I came apart completely, surrendering to her tongue, skin damp and goosebumped.
Afterward we stayed wrapped around each other, breathing softly. Would we see each other again? Sometimes the best sex is the kind that promises nothing beyond itself: pure pleasure—no labels, no mandatory tomorrow.
I left at dawn. I got dressed smelling like her, like us. I walked through empty streets with a foolish smile and my body still humming.
Sometimes I think desire doesn’t need a grand story. All it takes is two people who look at each other and decide to say yes. No guilt. No drama. Just the urge to feel alive.
And you—when was the last time you came home with someone else’s taste still on your lips? Tell me in the comments.
And you know—if you want more, you can join the newsletter. I’ll whisper things in your ear every two weeks.
