The elevator that stopped the world

The elevator that stopped the world

The studio Arquitectura Lúmina occupied the last three floors of a glazed tower in the center of the city. Sofía Varela always arrived before anyone else; she liked the silence of the office still in the dark and the way the morning light slipped on models and planes. At seven and a half I turned on the coffee machine and checked the emails. At eight Clara, his assistant, entered, and at eight and five the voice of Hugo Llorens burst through the answering machine.

—Good morning, Varela. Gather the team in the blue room at nine. I want to see the proposal of the cultural center before we send it.

His tone was courteous, but never familiar. Llorens, forty-three years old, led the study with a mixture of surgical precision and almost irritating magnetism. Each employee knew that behind his hazelnut eyes there was a line that no one crossed.

Except, maybe, Sofia.

It had all started six months ago, at a company dinner on the roof. Hugo invited her to dance when the orchestra played a slow bolero. The rubbing of his hands, the way he breathed in the perfume of his neck without touching it with his lips, were enough for them to look at each other differently in the elevator the next day.

Since then, they crossed into corridors, together, in the printing corridor. Never a word too much; however, something crackled between them, as tangible as the heat that ascended through the concrete columns.

That morning, Hugo entered the blue room in the lead grey suit he wore on Tuesdays. Sofia exposed the project while he was watching it, not the plans. When he finished, Llorens nodded.

"Perfect. Send it as it is. Varela, can you stay for a moment?

When they all left, he closed the door but not the key.

"Sofia," he first used his first name out loud, "this is becoming dangerous.

She held her gaze.

"I know. And yet I keep coming.

"I thought I'd ask you to move to the Valencia delegation," he continued. "You'd be the project manager, away from me.

• Are you firing me or protecting me?

Hugo approached until the air between them became lukewarm.

"Neither. I'm asking you to choose, because I can't.

Sofia took a step and grazed just the flap on her jacket.

"I don't want Valencia, Hugo. I want you to stop pretending that this is just professional.

He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, his pupils were dilated.

"Come to my office tonight, nine o'clock, the door will be open."

She left before she could answer.

At eight and forty-seven, a sudden blackout left half a city in the dark. Emergency generators lit up corridors and exits, but the main elevator stopped between the 19th and 20th floors. Inside were only two people: Sofia and Hugo.

The emergency red light tinted their faces. Space was reduced, just two square meters of air loaded with contained breath.

"It could take hours," said Hugo, looking at the panel. "I called the service. They're handling hospital breakdowns first.

Sofia let go of a nervous laugh.

"The universe seems to have locked us away so that we can make a decision.

Hugo leaned his back against the metal wall. The cold leaked through the jacket and reminded him that there was still an outside world.

"We can wait in silence," he proposed. "Or we can talk.

• Of what?

• What we haven't said in six months.

Sofia took a step. “The heel of her shoe rang on the aluminum floor.

"I don't want Valencia, Hugo. I want you to kiss me like we have nothing to lose.

He stretched out his hand, grazed his back with his thumb.

"If we cross that line, things inside Lumina will change forever.

• I know, and I want them to change.

Hugo gently pulled from her. The encounter of her lips was slow, deliberate, as if they wanted to taste every second of the fall. Sofia felt the friction of the budding beard against her skin and the taste of coffee that Hugo always drank without sugar. His hands found the curve of his waist below the American one and narrowed it with a contained urgency.

“To,” Hugo whispered against his mouth. “I want it to be your decision, here and now, without you being able to blame the blackout.

Sofia unbuttoned the first button on Hugo's shirt.

• My decision is to stay. My decision is you.

Hugo let escape a trembling sigh. His fingers ran the zipper of the dress to the middle of his back. The fabric opened like a second skin and the fresh air of the cabin kissed Sofia’s spine. He continued along the way with his lips, putting slow kisses between shoulder blades and shoulder blades.

"Tell me to stop if you want," he muttered against his skin.

"Don't stop," she replied, sinking her fingers into Hugo's hair, drawing him up.

They kissed again, this time with more haste. Hugo lifted Sofia up until he sat her on the metal railing that was running through the cabin. Her legs surrounded her hips. The rubbing of the fabric of her skirt against Hugo’s pants produced a soft, almost musical sound. He introduced a hand between the two bodies and removed the fine silk from her underwear. Sofia was wet, hot; the contact of Hugo’s fingers caused her to bow against him.

"I want to feel you inside," she asked, a voice cut short.

Hugo pulled a holster out of the inner pocket of his jacket. Before tearing the wrapper, he looked again for Sofia’s eyes.

“This is not an impulse. It is a promise. If we do, tomorrow you will remain the project manager and I will remain the advisor. No one needs to know, but we will remember that we choose.

Sofia nodded.

• Promise accepted.

Hugo freed himself from just the necessary clothing. Erection, tense and heavy, grazed Sofia's inner thigh before he was placed at the precise angle. The penetration was gradual, controlled, allowing her body to adapt inch to inch. When it was completely inside, both released a choked groan that resonated in the reduced space.

The rhythm began slowly, almost reverently. Each attack caused the rail to vibrate slightly and the elevator, suspended in the darkness, seemed to rock to their beat. Hugo’s hands held Sofia’s hips, leading her forward and backward, synchronizing the swinging of their bodies. She, for her part, slipped her fingers through Hugo’s neck, gently pulling the dark strands whenever the pleasure became more intense.

"Deeper," said Sofia.

Hugo obeyed, increasing the depth without losing control. The wet sound of the union was mixed with his breaths. The smell of sex and expensive perfume filled the cubicle. Sofia felt the orgasm approaching as a distant wave that grows to break. When she arrived, she contracted around Hugo with a sob drowned against her shoulder. He followed her instantly afterwards, pushing her to the bottom and staying there, trembling, as his release ran through him in waves.

Sofía's heart was beating against Hugo's ribs as if he wanted to cross both skins.

"When the light is turned on," she said, "we will remain discreet, but we will no longer pretend that this does not exist.

Hugo kissed his forehead.

• Agreed.

Twenty minutes later, the lights flashed and the elevator resumed its march. Upon reaching the 22nd floor, the doors opened in front of a deserted corridor. Hugo went out first, fitting his tie. Sofia followed him, with his dress again closed and his hair picked up in a low bow.

The next morning, at the nine o'clock meeting, no one noticed anything different. However, when Hugo asked Varela to show him the details of the new commission, his fingers were rubbed on the plane and both smiled, accomplices, at the secret that was beating under the professional surface.

The End