A Monday to Remember
For two long months, the thought of Alfredo had been a constant hum in the back of my mind. The anticipation had built up until I was more than ready to see him again. When I finally called him on Friday, his voice betrayed his eagerness; he had been waiting for me to reach out. We coordinated a meeting for Monday in San Ángel, eventually making our way to a quiet hotel in Mixcoac.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the tension snapped. Alfredo admitted he had feared this might never happen, but I reassured him, reminding him that while my responsibilities made it difficult to slip away, my desire for him had only grown. I began to undress slowly, watching his eyes darken with a hunger that had been there since the first time we were together.
He stepped behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist as he unzipped my dress. His hands found my breasts, kneading them with a familiarity that sent shivers down my spine. We collapsed onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate breaths, reclaiming the time we had lost. Every touch was a promise kept, every kiss a confession of how much we had missed one another. In the quiet of the room, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the heat of our skin and the rhythm of our hearts beating as one.