It was a sticky night, one of those that foretells a storm without releasing a single drop. The bar was half empty, save for the hum of an old fan and the clinking of glasses. Lucía entered as if the place owed her money: high heels that echoed like gunshots, a tight black skirt that accentuated every curve, a white blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal the black lace of her bra, and a neckline that invited you to get lost in it.
She sat down next to Mateo without asking permission. She ordered a neat whiskey, just like him. Their eyes met for a long, intense moment. There were no greetings or fake smiles. Only that silent electricity that says, “We already know how this ends.”
“Do you come here often?” she asked in a deep voice, without turning her head.
“Only when I want to stop thinking about tomorrow,” he replied.
Lucía swirled her glass. The ice clinked.
“Then tonight we can both stop thinking.”
No more words were needed. They paid and left. The building's elevator was old, with a scratched mirror. As soon as the doors closed, she pushed him against the wall. Her lips tasted of liquor and urgency. She bit his lower lip until he groaned. Mateo's hands moved up her thighs, bunching her skirt until they found her soaked panties. He slipped two fingers inside without warning; she gasped against his neck and squeezed her thighs around his hand, trapping him.
The elevator stopped. Lucía dragged him down the hall. As soon as she entered the apartment, she pushed him onto the sofa. She knelt between his legs, unzipping his pants with eager teeth and fingers. When she freed his cock, it was already hard as a rock. She stared at him as she licked it slowly, from bottom to top, leaving a glistening trail of saliva. Then she took it deep into her throat without flinching. Mateo felt her throat tighten around him, how she fought back the urge to gag and kept pushing deeper. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't stop. She moved up and down with a rhythm that drove him wild, moaning around her flesh.
Mateo grabbed her hair and lifted her up. He turned her around, yanking down her skirt and panties. She leaned back against the sofa, ass in the air, legs spread. He spread her buttocks and spat directly onto her ass. Lucía trembled. He inserted a finger, then two, opening her up while with his other hand he rubbed her swollen clitoris. She moaned as if she were being tortured in the best way. When she was ready, he pressed the tip against her rear entrance and thrust all the way in. Lucía screamed, a mixture of pain and raw pleasure. He began to fuck her hard, deep, without mercy. Each thrust made her breasts bounce against the fabric. He ripped off her blouse; her hard nipples pointed to the ceiling. He pinched her nipples as he penetrated her, and she came like that, trembling all over, squeezing his ass so hard he almost pulled out.
He didn't stop. He pulled out, turned her around, sat her on the edge of the sofa, and spread her legs as wide as they would go. He thrust into her cunt in one swift motion. She was so wet that he slid right in without resistance. He pounded in as if he wanted to break her. Lucía dug her nails into his back, biting his shoulder until it bled. "Harder," she gasped. "Break me." He obeyed. He put her on all fours on the floor, grabbed her hair like reins, and fucked her from behind while spanking her, leaving red marks. Each blow made her clench tighter around him.
When he couldn't take it anymore, he put her on her knees again. "Open up." She obeyed. He came in thick spurts all over her tongue, her chin, her breasts. Lucía swallowed as much as she could; The rest trickled down her neck. She licked her lips, looked at him with glassy eyes, and smiled.
"I even forgot my own name," she whispered.
Mateo could only nod, panting.
They lay on the floor for a long time, smelling of sex, sweat, and spilled whiskey. Outside, it started to rain heavily.
And neither of them was in any hurry to move.