El Invitado de la Boda

The wedding was in full swing. The dance floor was a swirl of expensive perfume and spilled champagne, the bass thumping through my chest. And then I saw her. Elena, my neighbor, laughing with her husband, Mark. She caught my eye across the room, and for a second, the noise faded.

I’d always noticed her. The way she bit her lip when she read, the curve of her neck when she bent over her garden. Tonight, in a deep green dress that clung to every line, she was a different kind of beautiful. A dangerous one.

We found ourselves at the bar, reaching for the same bottle of wine.

“Sorry,” I said, my hand brushing hers.

“No, you take it,” she said, her voice low. Her eyes held mine a beat too long. “Mark’s off with the groomsmen. I’m on my own for a bit.”

“Lucky me,” I said, and she didn’t look away.

We drifted to a quieter corner, a table near the garden doors. The air was warm, smelling of jasmine and cut grass. We talked about nothing—her job, my new car—but the air between us was thick, electric. She was standing close, too close, and I could smell her perfume, something floral and clean.

“I’ve always wondered,” she said, a playful glint in her eye, “if you’re as uptight as you look.”

I laughed. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.” She leaned in, her voice a whisper. “I bet you’re not.”

Before I could think, I reached out and tickled her side, just under the ribcage. It was a stupid, bold move. But her gasp, the way her body jolted, was everything. She let out a stifled, breathy giggle, her eyes wide.

“Oh, you’re dead,” she whispered, a grin spreading across her face.

She grabbed my wrist, and I felt the heat of her skin. We were in a shadowy alcove, half-hidden by a large fern. She pushed my hand onto her hip, her own fingers digging into my side. I twitched, and she laughed, a real, open laugh that made my cock stir in my pants.

“Not so tough, are you?” she breathed, her face inches from mine.

“You have no idea,” I said, and I slid my hand from her hip to her waist, my fingers finding the soft spot just above her pelvis. I wiggled them gently. Her breath hitched, a tiny, choked sound escaping her lips. She squirmed against me, her body pressing into mine.

“Stop,” she gasped, but she was pulling me closer.

“Make me,” I whispered, my other hand finding her other side, both thumbs working in slow circles.

She was writhing now, a silent, desperate laughter shaking her shoulders. Her breasts were pushing against my chest, her thighs brushing against mine. I could feel the heat radiating from her cunt through the thin silk of her dress. This was torture, the sweetest kind.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice breaking, her eyes glistening.

I stopped, my hands splaying flat on her stomach. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. “That’s what I thought,” I said, my voice rough.

“You’re an asshole,” she whispered, but she was smiling. Her hand slid down, brushing against the hard bulge in my trousers. “And you’re not so uptight after all.”

She looked around, saw no one. Then she took my hand and pulled me out the garden door, into the dark. We didn’t go far. Behind a thick hedge, in the shadow of a large oak, she pushed me against the trunk.

Her mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. Her tongue swept in, tasting of champagne. My hands went to her ass, gripping the firm flesh through the silk. She moaned into my mouth, grinding her hips into mine.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said, pulling back, her voice a husky command. “Right here.”

She turned, bracing her hands on the rough bark of the tree. She looked back at me over her shoulder, her eyes dark. I didn’t need a second invitation. I bunched the hem of her dress up around her waist, revealing a tiny strip of black lace. Her ass was a perfect, pale curve in the moonlight.

I hooked my fingers around the lace, pulling it to the side. Her pussy was already wet, glistening in the dim light. I didn’t bother with the condom, just slid my cock, thick and painfully hard, through her slick folds.

—Joder, sí —susurró.

I pushed in. She was tight, a burning, perfect grip that made me see stars. I filled her completely, my balls slapping against her skin. She let out a guttural moan, her head dropping forward.

“Oh god, that’s deep,” she gasped.

I started to move, slow, deliberate strokes, savoring the feel of her. Her inner walls clenched around me, hot and wet. I grabbed her hips, pulling her back onto me with each thrust.

“Harder,” she demanded, her voice shaky. “Please, harder.”

I gave her what she wanted. I slammed into her, the sound of our bodies slapping together the only noise in the quiet night. She was moaning now, a litany of dirty words and pleas. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, swollen and slick. I rubbed it in tight circles as I pounded into her.

“Oh, fuck… don’t stop,” she cried.

Her body started to shake, a tremor that began in her core and spread outwards. Her pussy squeezed me like a fist.

“Cum for me,” I grunted, my own climax building, a hot pressure at the base of my spine.

She cried out, a sharp, high sound that she buried in her arm. Her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing around my cock. That was all it took. I buried myself as deep as I could go, and I came, a hot, thick rush of cum filling her.

We stayed like that for a long moment, panting, sweating, connected. She slowly pushed back, and my cock slipped out of her, wet and satisfied. She turned to face me, her makeup slightly smeared, her eyes shining. She pulled her dress down.

“That was…” she started, then just shook her head with a slow, wicked smile.

Back inside, Mark was waiting with two drinks. “Where did you two disappear to?” he asked, his tone light.

“Just getting some air,” Elena said, taking the glass, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second. “Lovely wedding.”

The next morning, I was getting coffee at the kitchen counter, still replaying the night. There was a soft knock at the door. I opened it. Elena stood there, in a simple sundress, holding a casserole dish.

“I made too much,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. She stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind her. We didn’t say a word about the wedding. We didn’t need to. The look said everything.