Lights On

Chapter 3

Alma

As soon as we leave the bar, my phone is buzzing. I don’t let go of his hand when I fish it out.

Me: I’m going for a walk with Máximo (elevator guy).

Lis: Use the apartment, we won’t be there for a couple of hours.

Sabrina: And if you want to change your airplane ticket and spend a summer in Buenos Aires, we’ll come visit.

I press my lips together to not laugh and put the phone back in my purse quickly.

It’s past midnight and neither the heat nor the nightlife has calmed down in Palermo. We’re walking slowly, in the same silence we had in the elevator. I glance at our joined hands and suddenly remember. The tattoo is peeking through his rolled sleeve.

“Can I see your tattoo?” I ask and he lowers his head to look at me. I forgot how much taller he was while we were sitting on bar stools.

“Which one? This one?” he rolls his sleeve a bit more and I finally see the source of all that yellow: Bart, Lisa, and Maggie from The Simpsons.

“Does it have a meaning or you just like the Simpsons?” I touch it with my free hand, his skin is warmer than the night.

The corner of his mouth tilts. “Well I like the Simpsons, yes. But I have two sisters, so the three of us—me, Marilina, and Milena—got the same tattoo. They picked it because we always end up talking in Simpsons quotes.”

“That’s nice, so you guys are close?”

“Yeah, I grew up surrounded by women. My dad left us when Milena, the youngest, was two. Never saw him again.”

“I’m sorry. I lost my dad too. I was eighteen.”

Máximo stops walking. He doesn’t say anything for a second, which is somehow more right than anything he could have said. Then he pulls me in—not the way you hug a date, the way you hold someone while they remember, steady and present.

He kisses the top of my head and nuzzles me.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” I tilt my head to look at him, and he kisses me. His kiss is soft, his hands are cupping my cheeks while I press into him. His cologne hits me again, the same way it did when we kissed at the bar. Looks like I’m extremely weak for men who smell amazing, who are sensitive, and who hold me like the killing snow from The Eternaut could hit Buenos Aires any minute and they’d be happily quarantined with me. Before the kiss breaks I breathe him in one more time. He’s still cupping my cheeks and looking at me when I open my eyes.

I take his hand and we keep walking. I want to stay in the lighter version of this night for a while longer, the one where we get to be people who just met, “So what music do you like?”

“Mostly Argentine bands,” he says. “Babasonicos, El Kuelgue, Las Pelotas. I’m not ashamed to say that thirteen-year-old Máximo bought a Babasonicos hoodie that’s still on rotation now that I’m thirty-six.”

“You realize you just mentioned half the headliners for Cosquín Rock next month, right?”

“You like those bands too? I’ve got tickets for Cosquín Rock.”

I raise a brow and laugh. It’s not that rare of a coincidence, since Cosquín Rock is a big festival. “Of course I like them. And yes, I’m going. My mom has a house in Cosquín. She hates that I use it for rock festivals and not folklore.”

He doesn’t say anything. We walk half a block before he speaks again. “Maybe we can meet up there?”

“I can be your sherpa,” I smile to him. “Since Cosquín is at the foot of the Sierras Chicas.”

“It’s a date.” He lets go of my hand and slides his arm over my shoulders, I slip mine on his waist and we walk like that.

The conversation between us flows naturally, comfortably, warmly. I feel relaxed, almost for the first time in days.

“You know, my night started with something unexpected. I should’ve guessed more would come my way,” I tilt my head to look at him.

“Unexpected how?”

“Well, the cab had to take a detour after the conference. There was a DJ Priest playing somewhere downtown and they shut half the city for it. And then I met you in the elevator. And then again at the bar.” I shrug under his arm. “You were also unexpected.”

He laughs, low, and his thumb grazes my dress strap. “Honestly? That tracks. A priest closing the center is the most Buenos Aires thing I’ve heard all week.”

“A Holy set is pretty amazing, in fairness.”

“Yeah. I just hope I landed somewhere better than a catholic rave.”

“You did,” I let that sit for a second. “More welcome than a catholic rave.”

The rental is only a block away. At thirty-three years old I’m fully aware that the feeling of comfort around someone, the easy conversation, the things in common are more rare than when we were younger. I know exactly how rare it is, and I know exactly how many hours I have left of it. I can feel each one leaving as it goes, walking me closer to a departure time I picked weeks ago and would now very much like to un-pick.

“Máximo, would you like to come upstairs?” I say when we reach the building.

He stands in front of me and nods before answering. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

I tap the key fob against the reader, unlock the front door, and we call the elevator. Same one we were in a couple of hours ago. Difference is that this time he is closer, his chin on my shoulder, his fingers on the strap of my dress. When the doors open we go inside, I press ten and decide silence is not an option for this ride.

“I want to play another version of the red flag game.”

He raises his gaze from the strap of my dress to my eyes. “Okay, so what’s the new version about?”

“We say two things we like in bed and one that we don’t.”

“Oh.” He pauses like he wasn’t expecting that. “Okay. Do you want to start this time?”

I smooth the skirt of my dress but then I meet his eyes. They’re the warm and expectant. I melt a little. Pull yourself together Alma, it was your idea after all. “I like the lights on. The whole time.”

He swallows. His eyes don’t leave mine. “I like watching. Lights on, looking at you, the whole thing.”

The elevator doors open and we walk to the door of my rental. While I’m unlocking I can feel him behind me, his breath fanning my hair, the heat of him at my back. I chuckle and close my eyes. How on earth could I forget the code for the door? I never forget a code. I press the numbers and we go inside. I leave my bag on a chair and lead him to the couch. We sit very close but no touching yet.

“Alright, second round.” I look up pretending to think, but I know my answer. This is nobody’s maiden voyage, but I like the suspense. “I’m not in a hurry. I don’t want to be rushed.”

He inhales sharply. “God Alma.” While he’s still recovering, I swing my legs onto his lap and take my sandals off. He’s tracing small circles on my calves. “Okay. I like using my hands. I want to take my time with my hands.”

God, if someone threw a match at me I’d combust in five seconds. “Looks like our yeses align, right?”

He smiles and pulls me onto his lap. “I know. It’s a good start.”

“Third round? The no’s?” He nods so I keep going, “I don’t want to be told I’m beautiful in some prepared way. Just say something true.”

He pulls back and fishes his phone out. He leaves it on the coffee table. “I don’t want my phone in the room.”

If there’s anything hotter than having somebody’s full attention I don’t want to know it. After that, there are no more words in my brain. I push my palms against his chest and move to straddle him, the skirt of my dress bunches up and his hold settles on my thighs. His mouth is on my shoulder, kissing around the strap of my dress. “I can feel where your dress was, there’s a line. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about putting my mouth here tonight?” His voice moves along my shoulder and up to my throat before his teeth begin to graze on my jaw, kissing and biting up to my ear.

“Tell me, since when?” I ask already guessing his answer but wanting it anyway. I’m holding on to his shoulders while he’s attacking my neck. I slide up into his hair.

“Since I was a smoked caveman and we were in the elevator. The first time.”

I groan and grind down against him. He’s so hard and thick that my hands tighten in his hair, and for a second I lose track of where his breathing starts and where mine ends.

He slides his palm from my neck, down to my sternum and my stomach. Still looking at me. That’s the thing I keep noticing. He’s hard and he’s still here, still in this with me, like he’s not going to let himself disappear into it. Like the conversation is still on.

I roll my hips again, slower this time. Testing. “What were you thinking, in the elevator? The second time.”

His breath catches. His hands flex on my thighs but they don’t move. “You want the truth?”

“Always.”

“I was thinking I should have showered before dessert. I was thinking your strap had slipped and you hadn’t noticed and I liked that you hadn’t. I was thinking—” he pauses, mouth against my throat “that whatever floor you were going to, I wished I lived there.”

I have to stop moving for a second because a dozen butterflies sacrificed themselves on my stomach in the name of meet-cutes.

“That’s a lot of thinking,” I manage.

“I’m a thinker.” He kisses the spot where my pulse is. “I run a lot of options.”

“I noticed.”

“What were you thinking?”

I roll my hips again because answering is going to be easier if I’m doing something with my body. “I was thinking that you smelled like someone who cared about people. And—” his teeth on my collarbone make me lose the sentence for a second. “And I wanted to know what your tattoo was.”

He pulls back to look at me. His eyes are dark and his mouth is red from kissing and he's still present, looking at me like I’m a person and not just the thing on his lap.

“I want you in my room,” I say.

He picks me up as if I weigh nothing and I giggle. “Tell me where,” he says and I point to my room while he wraps my legs around his waist and drags me closer, making my dress ride up.

He closes the bedroom door with his foot. The lamp by the bed is on. He doesn’t move for a second; just stands there with me in his arms and looks at me in the light I asked for. I think, distantly, that I've never had anyone look at me quite like this in a fully lit room.

“You good?” he asks, quietly.

“Yes,” I say. “Put me down.”

He does and I walk backwards. He follows and presses me against the bedroom wall and I move my lips from his neck to his face. He kisses me and I cup his face. His stubble scratches my palm a little but I don’t care. He runs his palms over my back, slow and soft. The sensations are sending fire into my brain and I can’t think anymore. It’s just him everywhere.

“Your dress doesn’t have a back. I just realized,” he says as his fingers trace my spine.

I chuckle and tug him down by the collar to kiss him.

I start unbuttoning his shirt one-handed, my mouth and free hand busy with the skin I uncover. Once I reach the last button, I push the shirt off his shoulders and it falls behind him. I take my time to watch him. Fine dark hair on his chest, and another tattoo on his left shoulder; an intricate design, triangles overlapping. I move closer, drawn, and kiss it.

“This is beautiful,” I say.

“It’s sacred geometry,” he finds the zipper at my back and slides it down. I arch before I decide to. He slides the straps off my shoulders and the dress falls at my feet. I’m just in white lace underwear. Thank God I’m wearing nice underwear.

He looks stunned. “This stays on for now.”

I smile. It doesn’t sound like a request, and I don’t mind that it isn’t one.

“Please,” he whispers.

I nod and tilt my head until our lips meet. He pulls me onto him and I laugh against his mouth. Then we’re kissing harder, his hands on my ass, mine in his hair. His hair feels like everything I fantasized about on that elevator ride and more. It’s soft and it curls a little between my fingers. We stumble toward the bed because neither of us wants to stop kissing. My brain goes quiet. Finally, finally quiet.

My knees touch the bed first and he follows me down. He pulls back enough for me to lie down, and I’m on the bed in my underwear, watching him. He’s kneeling between my legs. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulls out two condoms and sets them on the bedside table next to the lamp, then puts the wallet down beside them. I watch him do it—the small, unfussed preparedness of a grown man—and whatever was still keeping score in my head stops. Then he takes off his pants and leans down to kiss me.

The small pause is fuel to the fire. We’re back to kissing and touching, harder than before. His mouth is on my neck, going down to my breasts.

“You have a freckle here. I want to know this one,” he says.

“You better—” Whatever I was about to say gets interrupted when he puts his hand on my breast and catches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger through the lace and pinches. I moan and my hips buck up, grinding on his leg. He presses on my hip and groans, low, into my collarbone.

“What?” he says against my ear. “Tell me what you need, Alma.”

I take his hand from my breast and press it between my legs. He touches me through the lace and I press my forehead against his shoulder, trying to find my words. I find his eyes again. He’s not blinking.

“Look at me when you do that,” I say.

His pupils are blown, his lips parted. “Like this?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Tell me if I should—”

“Don’t stop talking. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking… God. I’m thinking I want to remember this.”

His hand slides inside my panties and he glides two fingers along my slit, catching the wetness there. He drags it up and presses my clit. I bite my lower lip hard enough to hurt.

“Max—mierda—Max—Max,” I plead.

His hand rubs, rolls, nudges. He strokes the base of my clit and presses. Up and down. Light at first, then firmer. Our eyes are glued to each other as I get lost in the sensations.

Holy fucking shit, he’s a fast learner. I guess testing things for a living makes the trial and error part move at the speed of light. Now I’m moving my hips along with his hand, desperate for more.

“Mhmm… yes, there.”

“Say it again. My name, Alma.”

“Max,” I whimper, while his other hand glides from my sternum to my throat, just resting there. His fingers are on my chin and I tilt my head to take his index finger in my mouth. I feel his wrist tighten against my jaw while I suck and moan at the same time.

My eyes are still on his, daring him to escalate while I lick his fingers and take another one in my mouth. His answer comes instantly when he sinks two fingers into me with a twist. I nip the tip of his middle finger and he hisses, then smiles. He presses my clit with the heel of his hand and pumps his fingers. The sound that fills the room is wet, unmistakable.

“Your breath changed, when I did that,” he rasps. “I love watching you take it.”

When he speeds his fingers up, I match him with my mouth. He presses his cock on my leg, grinding there, and I love watching him lose his composure. I wish I could find words, tell him how good this is. I moan and he takes his fingers out of my mouth, using my saliva to work my nipples through the lace. My body starts to writhe and his lips crash into mine. I can feel the pleasure cresting until it breaks, washing over my body in waves. Max’s lips are still on me, swallowing every sound he tears out of me.

When I stop moving he eases his hand out and my panties go back into place. Even that makes me spasm. We stop kissing. I’m panting. I open my eyes and he’s still looking at me.

“You frown when you come, I could feel it in my forehead when we were kissing. It was beautiful,” he says, and kisses my forehead.

“Involuntarily beautiful. I appreciate that compliment.”

He pulls back enough to look at me properly. His hair is a mess, his mouth is wrecked, and I did all of that.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers.

“I want your skin. I want all of it.”

He lowers himself over me, his mouth never leaving mine. I find his tongue with mine. He sucks it gently and I moan. The need is building again, which isn’t a thing my body usually does. At least not this fast. It’s doing it tonight.

I open my legs and nudge my hand between the mattress and my back because I need this bra off me. I need to feel him. I tug it off and the second I feel his skin on mine, the heat on my sensitive nipples, I exhale into our kiss. He moves his kisses to my breasts and I watch him do it.

“Is it too weird if I want to lick your bikini line?” he says and I burst out laughing.

“No, not weird—” he doesn’t waste a moment and does it. I stop thinking again. This man has a gift for shutting my brain up. I reach between us and touch him through his boxers.