La Cláusula Lluviosa

The rain hammered the café windows like a thousand impatient fingers, and all I could think about was the way Maya’s tongue had traced the rim of her coffee cup. We’d been married six years, and I knew every curve of her body, every gasp she made. But tonight, she was wearing that gray dress with the tiny buttons, and she was looking at me like I was a stranger she wanted to fuck.

“So,” she said, setting down her mug. Her voice was low, almost a purr. “You read my little proposal.”

I shifted in my seat. Under the table, my cock was already straining against my jeans. “The one where you want me to pretend I don’t know you? That’s… new.”

“New is good.” She leaned forward, and the neckline of her dress gaped just enough for me to see the lace edge of her bra. “I’m your client, Mr. Cole. You’re the lawyer I hired to handle my… divorce. And I’m very, very unhappy with my husband.”

I swallowed. The waitress was a ghost at the edge of my vision. Maya’s foot slid up my calf, her heel digging in just above my ankle. “And what does the unhappy client need?”

“Counseling.” Her lips curved. “Intensive. One-on-one. I need you to convince me I’m still desirable. That my body still works.”

The rain was a curtain, hiding us from the world. I reached across the table and took her hand, my thumb rubbing circles on her palm. “Mrs. Hartley, I think we should start with the evidence.”

She laughed, a low, dirty sound. “Then examine it, counselor.”

I stood, threw a couple of bills on the table, and pulled her up by the hand. The café’s back hallway smelled of bleach and burnt sugar. The door to the storage room was unlocked. I pushed her against the shelves, boxes of napkins rattling around us.

“You want me to be thorough?” I whispered, my mouth against her ear.

Her answer was to grab my belt, yank me closer. “I want you to be relentless.”

I spun her around, pressed her chest against the metal shelf. The gray dress had a row of tiny buttons from collar to hem. I started at the top, popping them one by one, slow, deliberate. Her skin was warm, flushed. I kissed the back of her neck, then the knobs of her spine as each button gave way.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “That’s… good.”

“Quiet, client.” I slid the dress off her shoulders. It pooled at her waist. Her back was bare, a thin line of her thong disappearing into the cleft of her ass. I traced it with a finger, then slipped it under the fabric, finding her wet, already slick. “Evidence of arousal, Mrs. Hartley.”

“Objection,” she gasped. “You’re biased.”

I laughed, and pushed the thong aside. I knelt, spreading her cheeks, and buried my face between them. I licked her from her asshole to her clit, slow and flat-tongued. She moaned, bucking against my mouth. I lapped at her pussy, tasting her, savoring the way her hips twisted.

“God, yes,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I ate her out standing, one hand gripping her hip, the other teasing her clit with a thumb. She came with a choked cry, her knees buckling, and I caught her, pressing her against the shelf.

“Now,” she said, breathless. “The main argument.”

I stood, unzipped my jeans. My cock sprang free, hard and aching. I turned her to face me, lifted her onto the lower shelf. Her legs wrapped around my waist. I guided the head to her entrance, and she was so wet that I slid in with a single, smooth thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned.

“Don’t say that,” I grunted, pulling out almost all the way, then slamming back in. “You’ll corrupt the record.”

She laughed, then gasped as I hit deep. “Then make me… shut up… counselor.”

I fucked her hard, the shelf rattling against the wall. Her tits bounced free of the unbuttoned dress, and I leaned down to suck one nipple, then the other. She clawed at my back, her nails digging crescents into my skin. The rhythm was fast, frantic, the sound of our bodies slapping echoing in the small room.

“I’m close,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare pull out.”

I buried my face in her neck, smelling rain and perfume and sweat. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I drove into her, harder, faster, until she shattered around me, her inner walls clenching. The feeling tipped me over the edge, and I came with a deep, guttural groan, flooding her, holding her tight as the tremors ran through both of us.

For a long moment, we just breathed. The rain had quieted to a soft patter. Her fingers traced lazy circles on my back.

“So,” I said, my voice rough. “Did I win the case?”

She kissed the corner of my mouth, soft. “You definitely made a compelling argument.”

I helped her down, buttoned her dress back up, one button at a time. She fixed my jeans, smoothed my hair. We walked back into the café, hand in hand, as the waitress brought us fresh coffee.

“So, Mr. Cole,” Maya said, her eyes sparkling over the rim of her mug. “Same time next week?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” I said, grinning. “But I think I can fit you in.”