Curtains open in 1108
The 11th-century bar was emptying with that slowness of the hotels when the city had already turned off its work lights. They left the ice melting in the glasses, the piano in low loop and the smell of varnished wood. Nora supported the elbows in the bar and looked at the reflection of the lanterns in the large glass. She was not looking for company. She sought, if anything, a margin of silence that they would not give her at the meeting floor.
Matthew arrived without haste, with his jacket open and his tie already stored in his pocket. He asked for a black vermu and sat down two stools beyond. He didn’t raise his voice. He just said, when the waiter walked away:
"If you prefer to move, I do. I don't come here to interrupt.
She looked at him with a glance. Thirty-thirty, clean eyes, still hands. Whole adult. Like her.
"Stay," he replied. "The shared silence also counts.
They spoke of the city without urgency: of the taxis that take on the Gran Vía at three o’clock, of the noise of the air conditioning in the suites, of the habit of leaving the curtain ajar “in case the dawn alerts”. It was that detail that barked the conversation. Nora smiled with her mouth barely, without dissimulation of puddhic.
"I like to be looked at," he said. "Not as a mirror. I agree. With someone who knows he's watching and I know he's there.
Mateo didn't blink too much. He drank a drink and supported the glass.
"And I like to watch when they ask me, without forced doors, without surprises to whom I would not consent.
The contract was closed without papers. Room 1108, yours. He would take 1106, communicated by a short corridor and by an interior window that the hotel used for “crosslight” between suites of noble floor. The curtains on both sides could be opened at all. No holes or deception. She would leave the light low, the bathroom door ajar and the mobile phone at a message of distance. If at any time he wrote “stop”, he would close, go to the elevator and not ask.
"Are you sure?" he insisted, standing up.
"Sure. I want you to see me. I want to know that you're on the other side and that you're not hiding.
They went up together. In the thick carpeted hallway they barely heard steps. Nora opened his door, let him check the window angle and the wall lamp switch. Then they kissed once, briefly, to seal the deal, not to advance the act. His skin smelled of hotel soap and night; hers, perfume worn and felt contained.
"Twenty minutes," she said. "Turn on only the standing lamp. I begin when I see you sitting.
Matthew nodded and crossed the 1106. “He ran the curtain. He sat on the couch of dark cloth, with his back straight and his hands on his thighs visible. He did not undress at all: he took off his shirt, left his pants and waited. The city blinked far behind both outer crystals; inside, only the illuminated rectangle of her room.
Nora appeared on her back first. She unbuttoned her blouse calmly, without window choreography. Each button was a decision. When she turned, she looked through the glass and nodded, slow. He responded with a gesture of the hand: here I am. Consent. Present.
She put her skirt down. She remained in simple black lingerie, without catalog lace. She sat on the edge of the bed, passed her palms over her thighs and opened her knees just enough so that he could see the contrast of the fabric with her skin. There was no hurry. There was temperature. The lamp drew a golden cone on her chest when she took off her bra and let it fall. She touched her nipples with her index fingers and a half, slowly, looking at it at intervals. Every time I found him attentive —not voracious, attentive — a shadow of smile crossed her mouth.
"I see you," she whispered, knowing that he would not hear the words but would read his lips.
Matthew loosened his belt. He caressed himself on top of the cloth first, without haste, coinciding with the rhythm of her hands. When Nora slipped her panties down the calves and leaned against the cushions, he lowered his zipper. The erection was already heavy; she did not hide it. She saw it and opened her legs more, taking two fingers to her mouth, moistening them, and then between her lips. The first circle was soft. The second, deeper. He arched a little, without theatricality, and the chest went up with a breath that he could count.
The glass didn't turn off the sound at all. They came to it, dampened, the short blows of the headboard against the wall when she pushed the pelvis into her own hand. The brush of sheets came. Above all, there was the certainty that it was because the two had named it in the bar.
Nora knelt on the bed, side by side to the window, to offer her the chest profile, the back curve and the movement of the hand between her thighs. She looked at herself for a second in the reflection of the outer glass and then returned to him. She gestured to her chin: more. Matthew completely freed himself, wet his palm with saliva and masturbated in sight, without hiding the glans or pulse of the veins. She groaned high enough for the glass to filter it. She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them and denied with her head: do not close. Look at me.
He didn't close.
When she approached a small vibrator from the drawer—black, discreet—and supported him against the clitoris, the body was stretched from shoulders to heels. The calves shook him. Matthew accelerated his fist, feeling the heat rising through the groin, the lower belly, the throat. He did not run before her. He waited for the visible bow of Nora’s back, his mouth opened without sound at first and then with a gash that did go through the hallway. Only then was the end allowed: semen jumped over her abdomen and fingers, hot, as he looked still open, still offering himself to the agreed gaze.
They stayed breathing on both sides of the glass. Nora covered herself with the sheet at half height, not by late modesty, but by the cool air conditioning. He cleaned himself with the towel in the bathroom and put on his shirt without buttoning. She took her mobile phone.
The message came in seconds: It is still yes. Come if you want the closure in the same room. If not, tomorrow breakfast and nothing else.
Matthew wrote: ♪ I'm going. Same rule. If you say enough, stop. ♪
Nora opened up. They smelled the clean sweat, the recent sex, the light alcohol of the bar. They kissed him with more body this time. He asked him quietly if he could touch her; she put his hands on his waist and said yes, he had already looked at everything and now wanted the weight. He led him to the bed. They caressed him without rushing clock, with the certainty that he had first fulfilled the covenant of the look. When he entered her, he did it by looking into her eyes and asking again; she nodded and surrounded him with his legs.
It was a short, intense stretch of sincere hips and nails on the back. They ran close, almost together, and fell sideways, still tied by a knee and a hand.
Later, with the city already in its grey at dawn, Nora rose to close the curtain of the outer window a little. He left the interior as it was.
"In case another night," he said.
"Only if we say it out loud again," he replied.
They smiled. They made no promises of novel. They showered in turns, dressed themselves just enough and went down to order coffee at night service. In the elevator, the low lights returned the color of their skin still sensitive. No one else went up. The desire, sharp and with rules, had stayed up, well closed between two room numbers and a glass that, for once, did not hide anything that had not been offered.
When the coffee came to the table in the empty lobby, Nora leaned barefoot against Matthew’s under the wood. He did not remove it. Outside a sweeper was beginning to move. Inside, the agreement remained intact: look and be looked at, only when the two said yes.
Comments