The Midnight Garden

The Midnight Garden

The terrace lamp lit late. Isabel crossed the barefoot lawn, barefoot by choice, because she wanted to feel the fresh grass between her fingers and the slight rubbing of the silk of the nightgown against her thighs. It was one of those July nights when the heat did not go down even when the sun went down; the air was still dense, impregnated with the smell of the honeysuckle and the wet soil of irrigation.

She had arrived at the house just a week ago. The owner, the lady of Vargas, had hired her to supervise the restoration of the library. Everything in the place was old: the dark furniture, the velvet curtains, the shelves that reached the ceiling. Only the garden, at the bottom of the estate, seemed to resist the passage of time; a wild garden, almost neglected, where no one entered anymore except Isabel at night, when the work gave her pause.

I wasn't alone that night.

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, with a cup in her hand, a woman watched the water falling into thin threads. She wore a sand linen dress that stuck to her body with the sweat of heat. Her hair, black and long, rubbed her bare back. Isabel stopped a few steps away. The stranger looked up and smiled like one who recognized someone she had never seen.

"Excuse me," said Elizabeth. "I didn't know there was anyone else.

"There is no one," answered the woman. "Just you and me.

He smiled again, and that smooth and unhurried gesture invited Elizabeth to sit down. He didn’t ask the name. He didn’t offer it either. There was a comfortable silence, broken only by the water and by the crickets’ singing.

"It's hot," observed the stranger.

• Yeah.

• Come.

She stretched out her hand. Elizabeth took it. The fingers of the other were fresh; her fingers were warm. They stood up together. The woman led her to the stone bench under the vine. They sat side by side, one in front of the other, knees almost rubbing.

"I have seen you through the windows of the library," said the woman. "You seem to work very concentrated.

"I try to keep my attention," answered Elizabeth. "Although I am distracted some nights.

The woman smiled again, and the movement of her lips caused Elizabeth to look down to her neck, where a drop of sweat slowly descended. She followed her path until she lost her path between the folds of the dress. When she looked again, the stranger watched her with a calm attention, as if measuring the distance between the two.

"I can leave," Elizabeth offered, but she did not move.

• I don't want you to go.

Isabel’s pulse accelerated at the base of her throat. The woman raised her hand and touched her back of her wrist with two fingers. The contact was mild, but it was enough for a different, deeper heat to spread through Isabel’s chest. She breathed more slowly, aware of the nightgown’s rubbing against her nipples, already tense by the humidity of the air.

"What's your name?" he asked, though the name didn't matter.

• Call me what you want tonight.

Elizabeth bowed her head. “The woman waited. When her lips met, the kiss was long, without haste, as if they had all the time in the world. The tongue of the stranger walked through Isabel’s tongue softly, exploring, savoring. Isabel felt that the heat coming down her belly was concentrated between her legs, a slow and increasingly insistent heartbeat.

The woman slid her hand down Isabel’s side until she stopped at the chest curve. The thumb drew a circle over the nipple through the silk. Isabel arched her back, looking for more pressure. The woman understood the gesture and gently squeezed, then loosened, playing with tension. Isabel let a sigh escape against the mouth of the other.

"Do you like it like that?" the woman asked quietly.

• Yeah.

• More?

Isabel nodded. Her hand went down through her belly, above the nightgown, until it reached the gap between her thighs. There she stopped, without pressing yet, only feeling the heat that was spreading. Isabel opened her legs slightly, allowing. The woman slipped her fingers through the silk, tracing the form of sex without touching the clitoris. Isabel felt that her pulse was accelerating in the back of her neck.

"Breath," said the woman. "I want to hear you."

Isabel exhaled trembling. Her hand withdrew, climbed up the nightgown and pushed it up. Her fingers went down again, now on the bare skin, rubbing the lips of sex, already wet by desire. One finger slipped between them, separating them, and found the clitoris swollen. She caressed him slowly circularly, without rushing. Isabel dropped her head back. The pleasure was sweet, growing, and each movement of her fingers made it more intense.

The woman bowed and kissed Isabel’s neck, then the collarbone, then the edge of the nightgown. With the other hand she lowered the shoulder strap and released a chest. Her mouth closed on the nipple, sucking softly, her tongue around it. Isabel groaned softly. Her legs trembled. Her hand between her thighs accelerated the rhythm a little, and the pleasure concentrated on a point that seemed to expand.

"I want to feel you inside," Elizabeth whispered.

The woman introduced two fingers carefully, curving them forward. Isabel squeezed around them, feeling the exact pressure where she needed it most. The other hand did not stop touching the clitoris. The movement inside and outside, combined with the circular friction, made the orgasm approach slowly, like a wave that rises without breaking yet.

Isabel looked for the woman’s mouth and kissed her more urgently. The nightgown had gone up to her waist. The woman touched her with a precision that seemed to know her forever. Isabel felt the pleasure growing, spread through her belly, through her breasts, through her legs. When she reached the edge, she held her breath for a second, and then fell.

The orgasm was long, silent at first, then with a groaning content that vibrated him in the chest. The woman’s fingers kept moving as she trembled, accompanying her until the pleasure softened and became warm, extended.

Isabel opened her eyes. The woman looked at her with a quiet smile. She slowly pulled her hand and took her to the mouth, licking her fingers. Isabel felt that the desire returned, softer this time, like a breeze after the storm.

"Your turn," he said.

The woman joined her. Isabel took off her dress by the head. The body that appeared was thin, with soft curves, the skin golden by the sun. Isabel laid it on the bench and bowed on it. She kissed the breasts, the small, hard nipples, the belly that strained with each caress. When she arrived between her legs, the woman was already wet. Isabel separated her lips with her fingers and licked the clitoris slowly, savoring the salty and sweet taste. The woman sighed and opened her legs more, inviting her.

Isabel introduced her tongue into it, then returned to the clitoris, alternating rhythms. The woman took her hand to the back of the neck, not to push, but to feel the movement. Isabel sucked softly, then licked with the flat tongue. The woman’s breath became dimmed. Isabel introduced two fingers and curved them, looking for the point that made her tremble. When she found it, the woman arched her back and groaned higher.

The orgasm came with a gentle, almost silent shaking, and then with a long sigh. Isabel continued to touch it until the muscles relaxed. Then she went up and curled up against her hot body.

They were like this for a while, listening to the water from the fountain, the woman caressed Isabel's hair with slow fingers.

"Will you be back tomorrow?" he asked.

• Maybe.

• Maybe I'll stay and read in the library.

Isabel smiled at his neck.

• Maybe I'll look for you.

The woman laughed softly. “The sound was mixed with the song of the crickets and with the water that kept falling. The night was still long, and the garden, for once, had two shadows instead of one.