La Danza Oculta

I felt his gaze before I saw him. The wedding hall buzzed with chatter, glasses clinked, but a sudden heat bloomed between my shoulder blades. I turned—Igor stood by the pillar, gripping his glass, staring at me in a way that stole my breath. Two years had passed, and he was still undressing me with his eyes.

"Didn't expect to see you here," I whispered when he stepped too close. His fingers brushed my wrist, barely a touch.

"I knew you'd be here. Thought I could just watch," his voice dropped half an octave. "But no. Come with me."

I should have said no. Around us—friends, mutual acquaintances, the bride. But my legs carried me after him on their own, into an empty hallway that smelled of dusty curtains and his cologne. He slammed shut the door to some storage room, and we were plunged into semi-darkness, surrounded by boxes of dishes.

"You've lost your mind," I breathed, but I was already reaching for him.

"Remember how we used to text?" he traced his thumb along my lower lip. "Those nights when you'd write that you wanted me. I saved every single message."

I remembered. Those filthy words I'd sent him at two in the morning, lying in bed. "I want you to fuck me right on the table." "I dream about feeling your cock in my throat." He'd reply just as dirty, just as detailed, making me clench my thighs with need.

"And I thought you deleted them," I whispered, feeling his hand slide up under the hem of my dress.

"Never. Especially the one where you begged me to cum on your face," he pressed me against the shelving unit, and tin cans clattered. "I jerked off to your messages. Imagined fucking you while you moaned in my ear."

I bit my lip to keep from moaning out loud. His fingers had already found the lace of my panties, and I was soaked—wildly, shamefully soaked.

"And do you remember what I wrote you that last time?" I unbuckled his belt, the buckle clinking. "That I wanted you to fuck me in the ass."

He froze. In the darkness, his eyes gleamed.

"¿En serio?"

"I wasn't brave enough then. But now..." I ran my palm along his cock, already hard, swollen through the fabric of his pants. "Now I want us to do it. Right here. Like in those messages no one will ever see."

Igor growled and spun me around to face the shelving. Boxes tumbled to the floor as he pressed down on my lower back, forcing me to arch. I heard him spit on his fingers, and a second later they were sliding over my asshole—wet, insistent.

"God, you're so tight," he breathed, massaging in slow circles. "Relax for me."

I dug my nails into a cardboard box, feeling his finger slowly push inside. The pain faded almost immediately, replaced by a strange, forbidden pleasure. He worked his finger, stretching me, until I started pushing back against him.

"Enough," I gasped. "Just do it."

He withdrew his hand, and I felt the head of his cock press against me. A moment—and he entered. Slowly, inch by inch, splitting me open from the inside. I would have screamed if I hadn't clamped my hand over my mouth. It was tight, hot, almost unbearable.

"Fuck, that feels good," he rasped against the back of my neck. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this. Reading your messages, imagining sliding into your ass."

He started to move—slowly at first, then faster. The shelving rattled in rhythm with his thrusts, music played somewhere beyond the wall, and I bit my fingers to keep from moaning. Each thrust sent tremors through me, and I felt his cock sliding deeper, filling me completely.

"Harder," I begged, my voice hoarse. "Fuck me like you wrote in those messages."

He grabbed my hips and drove into me with such force that I nearly hung off the shelving. His breathing turned ragged, and he started cursing through his teeth, and I could feel he was on the edge.

"I'm gonna cum inside you," he gasped. "You want that?"

"Yes," I groaned, feeling a wave building inside me. "Yes, cum in my ass. Write me about it later."

He jerked, froze for a second, and I felt his hot cum flooding me from within. The wave crashed over me too—my orgasm hit suddenly, arching my spine, tearing a muffled moan from my throat.

We stood there, breathing hard, until he slowly pulled out. I felt his cum trickling down the inside of my thigh.

"Holy shit," he exhaled, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. "I missed this."

I laughed, straightening my dress.

"I missed your messages. Maybe we should start texting again?"

He kissed my neck, and I felt him hardening again.

"We've got the whole night ahead of us," he whispered.

Somewhere in the hall, a new song started playing, and we stood in the darkness, knowing this secret would stay between us.