Call in Suite 47

Call in Suite 47

The rain struck the windows of the SoHo Grand hotel with the same insistent rhythm with which the cursor blinked on the black screen. Alejandro Herrero had arrived from Boston two days earlier to cover a technological summit; his luggage remained undisturbed in the chair and the tie hung from the lamp like a surrendered banner. At 23:47 the phone vibrated on the bedside table. It was a video call from Lucía Mendoza.

Lucia did not appear yet. Only her room was seen in Madrid: brick walls seen, a Luis XV armchair upholstered in eggplant velvet and the low light of a standing lamp that drew generous shadows. Alejandro perceived the imaginary scent of perfume she used to use, a mixture of vetiver and bergamot, before even hearing her voice.

"Are you still awake?" asked Lucia at last, framing her face. She wore loose hair, black as ink, and a white man's shirt so big that the cloth rubbed her bare thighs.

"I just got out of the shower," he replied, adjusting the frame so that she could see the towel knotted to her hip. "I was waiting for you at twelve, but I recognize that I am glad you made it.

Lucia smiled; on her face small wrinkles were drawn around her eyes, a sign that she was not afraid of the camera or intimacy.

"I finished the roof plan and needed something else," he said, as he settled in the chair and crossed his legs. "The shirt opened one more finger. The skin between his thighs appeared as a promise.

Alexander sat on the edge of the bed. The towel slightly tightened.

• Tell me what you need.

"I need you to speak," she replied. "Tell me what you would do if you were here. No filters, no mercy. I want to hear it in your voice before I touch myself."

Alejandro swallowed saliva. For six weeks they had flirted by message, first with the apology of an article that Lucia was designing for the magazine where he published, then with thinner and thinner excuses. This was the first time that they saw themselves without clothes mediating between them, even if it was through a encrypted connection and thousands of kilometers.

"I am sitting on the bed," he began. "The room smells like sandalwood soap and the storm outside. You are wearing a shirt that I imagine white and open. If I were there, I would kneel in front of you. I would kiss the inside of your left wrist first, where the pulse beats harder, and then go down the arm to the elbow hole.

Lucia let go of a sigh that the camera caught like a metallic murmur.

• Go on.

“I would unbutton the first buttons with my mouth slowly. I would like you to feel the breath slip through each new opening. When I reached the last button, I would ask you to lean forward. I like to see the fabric open without me having to do anything.

In Madrid, Lucía joined a little. The shirt slipped from one shoulder. Alejandro could see the upper chest curve, the shadow of the nipple hardened against cotton.

"What else?" she asked, the most serious voice.

"I would hold your hands against the armrests of the seat. Not to immobilize you, but to let you know that you have to remain still while my tongue runs around the contours of your breasts without reaching the center. I want to hear how you breathe when I deny you what you want most.

Lucia slightly separated her legs. The light from the lamp accentuated the glow that began to dampen her sex. Alexander noticed that his own breath had become deeper; the towel no longer concealed the erection that pressed against the cloth.

“Now it’s my turn,” she said. “Close your eyes for a second and listen to me. Imagine I’m kneeling in front of you in that hotel bed. My hands go up your calves, they feel the tension of the muscles. When I reach your thighs, I open them firmly. I don’t ask you. I just open up. And then I look at your cock, I watch it beat, how it beats the vein from below. I don’t touch it. Not yet. I just let my hot breath touch the tip.

Alexander let go of a low groan. His right hand closed around the base of his limb above the towel, without squeezing at all.

• Lucia...

"Now I do. I bow down and let my head rub my lips. I just open them, I close them again. Again and again, without taking it at all. I want you to notice the difference between the humidity of my mouth and the air in the room. When I finally take it, it's just an inch, two at most. My tongue draws slow circles. My hands, meanwhile, hold your hips so you can't push.

Alexander took off the towel. The erection was released, heavy, dark under the light of the screen. Lucia saw it and her right hand disappeared between her thighs.

"Masturbate," she said, looking at him. "Slowly. I want to see you running at the same time as I do.

Alexander obeyed. Her fingers closed around the phallus, going up and down with the cadence that Lucia marked with her own hand out of plane. She had incorporated herself more, the shirt completely open now. Two fingers of her left hand played with the left nipple while those on the right drew circles over the swollen clitoris.

"Tell me what you see," said Alexander, the voice snoring.

“I see your dick shining. I see the first thread of semen slip through your tip. I see you squeeze your jaw so you don’t moan too high. I love that you try to contain yourself.

"And I see you opening up," he replied. "I see your fingers shining when you take them out for a second. I am dying to suck them.

Lucia introduced two fingers into herself. The wet sound came clear through the microphone. Alexander accelerated the rhythm of his hand, the already purple glans, the shortening of his breath.

"I want to come with you," she said. "I want you to tell me exactly when you're going to do it.

Alejandro swallowed saliva. “The room seemed smaller, as if the walls had approached to listen.

"Right now, Lucia. I'm... very close. The head of my dick is so sensitive that any brush is almost painful. If you were here, I would shove it deep, mercilessly, and fill you as you run around me.

Lucia arched her back. Her fingers entered and exited with greater urgency. The sound of her excitement filled the Madrid room and, for a moment, Alejandro thought he perceived the salobre smell of her sex through the distance.

"Now," she gasped. "I run now. I want you to look at me.

The orgasm ran through her in visible waves. First a tremor in her thighs, then a spasm that forced her to close her eyes. Alejandro saw her belly contracted rhythmically, her fingers were bathed in a thick moisture dripping over the chair. The groaning she released was severe, long, almost a content roar.

Alexander could not stand it any longer. His own liberation came with strength, the semen shooting in white arches that fell on his abdomen and on the sheet of the hotel. Each contraction ripped off a grunt of guttural. When he finally opened his eyes, Lucia watched him with a tired and satisfied smile.

For a few seconds only his breaths were heard cut and the rain struck against both crystals, as if the storm wanted to confirm that the real world was still out there.

Lucia was the first to recover her voice.

• Are you still in Suite 47?

• Yeah.

"Stay there a while longer. Don't hang up yet. I want to see you asleep.

Alexander cleaned himself with a towel, turned off the main light and left the lamp alone on the desk. He lay down sideways, the screen of the laptop at the height of his face. Lucia turned off his lamp as well. Now he only saw the outline of his silhouette against the Madrid window.

"Good evening, Architect," he whispered.

"Good evening, journalist, tomorrow I'll send you the plans, and at night we'll continue to build.

The connection remained open until both fell asleep. On the screen, two green dots flashed all night, crossing the Atlantic like two patient fireflies waiting the next evening.