While you wait - Part VI

It all started with small gestures. Minimal things.

A notification sound when they were watching a series. A slight, almost hidden smile from Ana looking at her mobile. A "nothing important" when Juan asked who the message was from.

Then came the calls.

"Raúl?" Juan asked one night, hearing her speaking softly from the hallway.

Ana just nodded, with a calm smile, before gently closing the door and continuing the call alone.

That was new.

Until then, everything had been shared, confessed. Even the painful things. Even the dark ones. But now... there were things Juan didn't hear. That he didn't know. That he couldn't see.

The first time Ana didn't want to tell him what they talked about, she did it with a caress.

"It was just a light chat," she said, straddling him. "Not everything has to go through you, right?"

And she kissed him. And Juan felt her more desirable than ever. And more distant too.

With time, the messages became more frequent. Sometimes Ana would laugh while writing. Or she would read something quietly and then hide her mobile under the pillow.

Juan tried not to say anything. He tried to trust. But the jealousy was already inside. Like a drop falling non-stop, opening cracks within him.

One afternoon, Ana was putting on makeup in front of the mirror.

"Are you going out?" Juan asked.

"No, no. I just felt like getting ready," she said without looking at him, applying lipstick. "Sometimes I like to feel pretty... even if no one sees me."

But her mobile vibrated on the bedside table.

Raúl.

Juan said nothing. But the knot in his stomach tightened.

Another night, while Ana was sleeping, Juan couldn't take it anymore. He silently took her mobile. He just wanted to look. Just... confirm that there was nothing more.

He found several recent messages. Shameless flirting. Photos. Phrases he didn't remember hearing before.

"Are you alone?"

"Are you wearing what you like or what he likes?"

"I've been thinking about how you looked at me last time."

Juan felt dirty. Not because he was spying, but because he had confirmed his fears.

The next day, Ana noticed he was acting strange. She hugged him from behind in the kitchen.

"What are you thinking about?"

Juan took a while to answer.

"You and Raúl... talk a lot lately?"

Ana didn't lie. But she didn't reassure him either.

"Sometimes. Does it bother you?"

Juan hesitated.

"I don't know if it bothers me..."

Ana hugged him tighter.

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

But Juan was no longer sure. Because, for the first time, he didn't know if he was still in the game... or if he was being left out.

Juan had been staring at his mobile screen for five minutes, doing nothing. He had cold coffee in his hands and a constant buzzing in his head. Ana was in the next room, laughing softly. She was on the phone.

He didn't need to ask who with.

Raúl.

Juan looked at the clock. It was 10:07 PM. "Just a light chat," he had told himself more than once. But now it didn't sound light. It sounded intimate. Complicit. It sounded like they had once sounded.

He got up. He went to the bedroom door, which Ana had left ajar. He could see her lying on the bed, face down, barefoot, with her feet crossed and her mobile propped on the pillow. She was moving her fingers on the sheet while laughing, like a teenage girl in love.

Juan didn't go in. He just watched her for a second... and went back to the kitchen.

He sat in the darkness, his mobile still in his hand. He thought about writing something to her. Or to him. Or to no one.

His head was burning with thoughts he couldn't stop.

What are they saying? Is she telling him something she wouldn't tell me? Is she touching herself while talking to him? Are they going somewhere where I no longer fit?

The bedroom door closed softly. Ana no longer wanted him to listen. He was no longer part of the game. Or not entirely.

And Juan, for the first time, felt fear. Not the fear of seeing her with someone else. He knew that well. It was another fear. Deeper. More bitter. The fear of becoming invisible.

Hours later, while she slept soundly beside him, Juan lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

He reviewed every moment. Every phrase.

"Trust me."

"I know what I'm doing."

But it wasn't so easy to trust when not everything was said. When some things were hidden behind a smile or buried in a complicit laugh shared with another.

Juan closed his eyes. For the first time since this game began, he didn't feel aroused. He felt alone.

It was Saturday morning. The sun was streaming through the living room window, warm, bright... ironically luminous for the storm Juan carried inside.

Ana was making breakfast, dancing slowly to a low song coming from the speaker. She was in beige underwear, barefoot, relaxed. She seemed happy. But Juan no longer knew if that happiness included him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, noticing he was staring at her, not touching his coffee.

Juan hesitated. He thought about saying "nothing." About smiling. About pretending.

But he couldn't anymore.

"Yes. Something is wrong."

Ana put the knife down on the cutting board, turned slowly, and came closer. She sat in front of him, crossing her legs, with an attentive expression.

"Tell me."

Juan took a deep breath. He felt stupid, fragile, exposed.

"I think... this has gone too far." He looked her directly in the eyes. "It's not a game anymore. At least not for me. I don't control it anymore, I don't understand it. It's hard for me. It burns. I feel invisible, Ana."

She didn't say anything at first. She let him talk. She let him empty himself.

"Before... I knew you were with me even when you were with him. I knew everything went through me. That I was a part of it. But now... I don't know what you know and what you don't tell me. I don't know when something excites you and when it makes you fall a little bit in love. And that breaks me. It doesn't excite me. It hurts."

Ana lowered her gaze. She bit her lip. Then she looked at him with deep tenderness.

"Juan... thank you for saying that."

"I know you like this," he continued, his voice a thread. "And sometimes I've enjoyed it too. But if this pulls you away from me, if I have to compete with Raúl... I can't. I don't want to."

Ana reached out and placed her hand on his.

"I understand you. And I hear you." She squeezed his fingers tightly. "And no, you're not taking anything away from me. You're showing me how brave you are."

"And Raúl?"

She smiled, softly. Melancholy.

"Raúl was... is... a part of this story. But he's not the story. You are. You are my root, Juan. My home. And if you need to stop now, then we stop."

He looked at her, a mix of relief and brokenness.

"Really?"

"Really." She leaned in and rested her forehead against his. "Because I don't want to lose you over a fire that can burn me too."

Juan closed his eyes. And for the first time in days, he breathed deeply.

Three months had passed since that conversation in the kitchen. Since Ana told him they would stop. That there would be no more encounters with Raúl. No calls. No games.

And, outwardly, everything was fine.

The laughter had returned. The complicit glances. The dinners together without Juan feeling small. The peaceful awakenings, wrapped in each other's arms, without jolts. The weight that had pressed on his chest had slowly dissolved.

Ana was serene, radiant. She kissed him tenderly at every moment, took his hand when they walked, looked at him with those eyes of deep love that only a secure woman can hold.

And Juan... Juan loved her.

But there was something he didn't know how to say.

Because since they stopped... something was missing. Something he couldn't name. The sex, though tender, was lukewarm. The nights were soft, but without shivers. The caresses were sweet... but they didn't ignite him inside.

And it wasn't because of her. It was because of him.

One night, after making love, he lay staring at the ceiling while Ana slept curled up against his chest. Everything had been perfect. Slow. Comfortable. Kind.

Too kind.

He ran a hand over his face and thought: What's wrong with me? Why doesn't it burn? Why do I feel like something was left behind... with everything we decided to leave?

He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to return to the knot in his stomach. To the anxiety. To the sleepless nights. But he also couldn't ignore that that darkness had a flame... and that flame made him feel more alive.

Is that what I need? Pain to feel desire? Shame to feel passion?

He slowly turned to look at her. Ana was sleeping soundly, her mouth slightly open, her naked body wrapped in the sheets. She was beautiful. His. Loyal.

And yet, a dull ache pierced his chest.

It wasn't a lack of love. It was a lack of vertigo.

He didn't know if what he desired was dangerous or if he simply didn't know how to live without the edge beneath his feet.

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply.

"I'm calm. And yet... I don't know if I'm happy."

It was Sunday. Outside, it was raining with an almost poetic calm. Ana was in the living room, reading, wrapped in a blanket, with a cup of tea in her hands. Juan watched her from the hallway without her noticing. A knot formed in his stomach. Not of pain, nor of love. Of emptiness.

He went back to the living room, sat down, and put on a soft playlist. But he wasn't listening. He wasn't thinking about the music. He was thinking about something else.

About her.

About them.

The first image came to him unbidden, Ana coming out of the bathroom, still damp, hair messy, her neck marked by Raúl.

She walked around the house as if nothing had happened. But Juan knew she was different. And that... it turned him on.

He closed his eyes.

He saw himself in the car, waiting for her, while she went up to Raúl's apartment. He remembered how his hands trembled on the steering wheel, how he imagined her undressing with another man. How he had wished she wouldn't text him that night, so he could imagine everything.

And now that nothing was happening... that Ana was only with him... he felt nothing similar.

Another image. Ana in front of the mirror, putting on a tight red dress. She turned to him and said, bluntly: "Do you think he'll like it more if I take it off myself or if he tears it?"

Juan remembered how his mouth had gone dry. How he had felt small... and giant at the same time.

They were blurry and sharp memories at the same time. Like scars that still burn in the rain.

And the worst part... was that he didn't remember them with resentment. He remembered them with desire.

He wanted to see her like that again. Bright. Shameless. Unattainable. He wanted to feel uncomfortable again. He wanted to hate Raúl's laugh as he took her. And then... love her more than ever.

But there was none of that anymore. Only calm. Only shared coffee. Only tame sex and soft glances.

Is that what he wanted? Is this what he had asked for?

He rested his head on the backrest and let the silence take over everything.

"I miss seeing you with someone else."

The thought hit him mercilessly. And instead of rejecting it, he caressed it. He let it in. He let it play with his shame.

Because now he knew that his desire wasn't just in touching her.

It was in losing her a little. In seeing her in flames, knowing that the fire wouldn't kill him... but it would mark him.

And without saying anything to Ana, without moving from the sofa, he stayed there. Thinking. Mentally tracing all the times he had shared her... and felt her more his than ever.

And wondering how much longer he could keep it silent.

The afternoon was quiet. Too quiet.

Ana and Juan were on the sofa, each with their book. They weren't talking, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was ordinary. Almost beautiful.

Until Ana's phone vibrated on the table.

A notification.

She looked at it, and something changed in her face. Barely a gesture, a minimal flicker of doubt in her brow, an exhale that wasn't there before. Juan noticed it immediately.

Ana didn't touch the phone. She turned to him with a delicate, vulnerable, and yet determined expression. She offered him the mobile in the palm of her hand, the screen lit up.

"It's Raúl."

Juan looked at her. Inside, one part of him tensed... and another sighed. Not because of the name. Because of the gesture.

"Do you want to read it first?" Ana asked. "I don't want there to be secrets. I don't want you to imagine things. Just... you decide whether this is opened or not."

Juan didn't take the phone immediately. He kept looking at her, trying to read between the lines. But there was no lie in her eyes. Only that mix he knew well, contained desire... and unconditional loyalty.

"What do you think he wants?" he asked.

Ana lowered her gaze for a second. Her cheeks flushed slightly.

"I don't know. We haven't talked in a long time. But I guess... it's not to wish me a good Sunday."

Juan let out a short laugh, bitter and honest at the same time.

He took the phone.

It was a short message, direct, without embellishments.

"I dreamt of you. I woke up thinking about your moans. If you want, I'd love to see you again. No pressure. Only if you still feel like it."

Juan read the sentence twice. Then he lowered the phone and handed it back to Ana, expressionless.

"How do you feel reading it?" she asked him, with a calmness that was more respect than coldness.

Juan took a deep breath.

"Envy," he finally admitted. "Not because he desires you. But because that message... made you smile inside. And I haven't made you smile like that in weeks."

Ana swallowed.

"It's not that you can't. It's that now we walk on smooth ground. Without curves. Without vertigo."

"And you need curves," he murmured.

She slowly shook her head.

"I need you. But I don't want to lie to you and say that reading that didn't touch something in me. Not because of him. But because of what it awakens in me. In us."

Juan looked down. He didn't know what to do with that honesty.

"What will you do?"

Ana took his hand. She squeezed it.

"I don't want to decide alone. Not anymore. This isn't just mine. If you tell me no, I won't reply. But if you... feel something similar to what you felt before, something that still stirs you inside... then we can talk about it. Slowly. Without repeating mistakes."

Juan closed his eyes.

And he saw it, Ana laughing with Raúl, her skin burning, her eyes shining like they hadn't lately.

And himself... hard, confused, impotent... but alive.

Very alive.

"Don't reply yet," he told her. "Let me think. But thank you... for showing me. For giving me the option."

Ana kissed him on the cheek. Slow. Sincere.

And that night, Juan didn't sleep.

For the first time in a long time... he was afraid of wanting to open the door again.

The afternoon was falling with a thick calm. Outside, the sky was tinged with a soft grey, and the city seemed to be holding its breath. Juan and Ana were in bed, lying side by side, not touching. They were just looking at the ceiling, sharing a silence that was no longer comfortable... but wasn't uncomfortable either.

It was necessary.

Juan was the first to break it.

"I've been thinking."

Ana turned her face towards him. She didn't say anything. She waited.

"I've had this thing in my chest for days. This... knot," he continued. "Since Raúl's message. Even before that. And not because I desire you less. Not because being with you isn't enough for me. It's something else. Dirtier. Harder to explain."

Ana sat up a little, propped on one elbow. Her face was all attention and affection.

Juan took a deep breath, as if he were about to jump from a very high place.

"I don't know what I want, Ana. Really. I'm not clear. Because since we stopped, everything has been easier, calmer. I have you close. I feel loved. Safe."

"And that's not enough?" she asked, without judgment.

"I tried. I thought it was. But... there's something missing. Not in you. In me. Something I don't know how to handle. Because even though you made me feel horrible things... shame, jealousy, fear... when I saw you with him, or when I knew what you were doing, or when you told me..." He paused for a second, trembling. "...it was what turned me on the most. What has excited me the most in my whole life. And that... also breaks me inside."

Ana lowered her gaze. Then she moved closer and took his hand.

"Tell me everything. No filters."

Juan swallowed.

"Being cheated on... has been the hardest thing that's happened to me. Humiliating. I've felt small. Replaced. Almost ridiculous. But at the same time... I've never felt so alive. So... awake. It's like that touches something inside me that nothing else can touch."

"Does it excite you more than anything else?"

"Yes," he admitted, with a lump in his throat. "But it also scares me. It makes me feel weak. Broken. Sick, even."

Ana shook her head, not letting go of his hand.

"You're not sick. You're being honest about your desire. And that... is no small thing."

Juan looked at her. Her eyes were shining, but not with excitement. With love. With complicity.

"Then you tell me, Ana... what do we do with this?" he said, broken but firm. "I don't want us to go back to how things were if it means losing you. But I also don't want to continue like this, pretending everything is fine when there's a part of me that needs you with someone else. That needs to look at you again from the most fucked-up low place... and the most deeply connected I've ever known."

Ana leaned in. She gently caressed his face. And she whispered:

"We do it together. Slowly. Without losing what we've rebuilt. We'll do it... if you give me your hand."

Juan closed his eyes.

The days following the conversation were different.

Ana didn't say anything else about Raúl. She didn't bring up the subject. But she didn't completely ignore it either. There was something in the way she looked at Juan... a finer, more conscious attention. She observed him. She read his silences. She gauged his reactions. Not like a woman hiding something, but like a woman plotting something.

And Juan noticed it.

One night, they were having dinner in front of the television. Ana was more dressed up than usual. She was barefoot, but she was wearing a loose dress, no bra. She didn't say it, but you could tell. Every movement of her body had a little something extra. More confident. More suggestive.

In the middle of an ordinary scene in the movie, Ana spoke like someone throwing a stone into water without looking at the size of the ripples.

"I've been thinking about something," she said, without turning to him. "About a way to reconnect with what moved us... but without letting it get out of hand."

Juan felt his pulse quicken. He didn't reply. He just waited.

Ana lowered the volume and turned to him, crossing her legs elegantly.

"I don't want to text him yet. Or meet him. Just... play with you. Explore what's going on in your head. Provoke you. Get back what made us vibrate. But without anyone else, for now."

Juan swallowed. He nodded.

"How?"

She smiled. She leaned in and whispered in his ear:

"Let me guide you. But don't ask about everything. Just... feel. And tell me when you're burning, when it hurts, and when you need to stop."

Juan closed his eyes. Heat rose from his chest to the back of his neck.

"Do you trust me?" Ana asked.

"Yes." Pause. "Even though everything in me is trembling."

"Perfect," she whispered.

That night there was no sex. But Juan felt that a fuse had just been lit.

Ana was fire again. And Juan was back on the shore, waiting to be burned... at her pace.

It was Sunday afternoon. Juan was reading in the living room, with a half-finished cup of coffee. Ana came out of the shower with a towel on her hair, one of his long t-shirts, and her face clean, relaxed.

She sat beside him. There was no music. Only the sound of the soft rain hitting the windowpanes. She stroked his thigh with her fingertips. Calm. Present.

"I've been thinking about us," she said, without beating around the bush. "About what we were, what we are... and what we could be again."

Juan looked at her, putting his book aside.

"About Raúl?"

Ana nodded.

"Yes. And no. More about what he represented. Because I think it was important. It was real. Intense. He was the first one." She paused. "But I also think he no longer has a place between us. What we have... no longer needs his voice. His presence."

Juan took a deep breath. He felt relief. And something else he didn't want to name.

"So?" he asked.

Ana sat up a little. She gently caressed his face.

"I've been thinking that maybe, if you still feel it inside, if the desire still burns you, we could experience it again. In a different way. More adapted to us."

Juan looked at her, attentive. His pulse quickened, but he didn't speak.

"I could meet someone new," Ana continued. "A man who knows nothing about you, except that I'm married. Who understands it. Who doesn't ask questions. Who doesn't spread it around. Who is discreet. Just him and me... as if you didn't exist. But you do exist, Juan. You would be in everything."

"How?" he whispered.

"Because afterwards, I would come back to you. I would tell you everything. In detail. Without hiding anything. I would narrate it to you like an intimate confession... or like a story that belongs to you, because you gave me permission to live it. We would do it our way. From desire. From love. With time. Without chaos."

Juan swallowed. He didn't answer instantly. He felt overwhelmed... and alive.

Ana caressed his hand.

"You don't have to decide now. I just want you to know that, if what you desire still burns within you... there are ways to go back without breaking ourselves. And if not, if you don't want it anymore, I accept that too. Because this only makes sense if we both burn."

Juan looked at her, his eyes glassy.

"Thank you," he murmured. "For thinking of me. For thinking of us. And for not rejecting what we are."

Ana kissed him. Not urgently. With depth. Like someone planting something that will grow later.

Ana had begun the search.

She hadn't mentioned names. She only told Juan that she was sounding things out, carefully, without rushing. That she was talking to some profiles, sensing them, measuring them. Juan nodded, listened, even showed interest.

But inside... something deeper was beginning to take shape.

One night, while Ana was showering, Juan lay in bed and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine the scene. Her with a stranger. Him at home, waiting. Like before.

But this time was different.

This time, the image that made him tremble wasn't Ana moaning with pleasure, not even being possessed. It was another.

It was her... ignoring him.

Her coming home without telling him about the encounter. Her walking past him without looking at him. Her saying "you are only here to listen, not to give opinions."

It was her cold expression. Distant. Powerful. As if he didn't matter.

And it was at that moment, right there... that Juan felt his pulse in his groin, violent, uncontrollable.

That was the truth. That was the shame.

What excited him most wasn't seeing Ana happy with someone else. It was being reduced by her. Being invisible. Being disregarded. Being humiliated with affection, yes... but humiliated.

He knew it with an internal tremor.

And he also knew he couldn't tell her yet.

He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply. He felt dirty, sick, ashamed... and at the same time, alive. He was burning inside.

When Ana came out of the bathroom, dressed in a loose t-shirt and with wet hair, she smiled at him.

"What are you thinking about?"

Juan smiled back. He forced calmness.

"Nothing... about us."

Ana came closer, kissed him on the forehead, and lay down beside him. She talked about her day, about a conversation she had had with someone who "might fit," without giving details yet.

Juan listened to her.

But he could only think of something else.

About how he wished she would look at him and say: "you are not a part of this... you are just here to bear it."

And that made him burn.

It was Thursday night. They were in the kitchen, Ana preparing something light, Juan pouring two glasses of wine. The atmosphere was calm, warm. They talked as usual, about small, everyday things. But Ana was observing him more than usual.

She noticed something different in him.

A strange glint in his eyes when she mentioned her conversations with candidates. A brief tension when she spoke quietly on her mobile. A tiny tremor at the corner of his mouth when she said something with a certain coldness.

And that glint... wasn't fear. It was desire.

It was something more twisted. More repressed.

As they ate, Ana wiped her lips with her napkin and looked at him directly. Straight on. With that gaze of hers that pierced through shields.

"Juan."

He looked up.

"Yes?"

"I notice you're different."

"In a bad way?"

"No. Inwardly."

Juan lowered his gaze.

"Do you want to tell me what you're really feeling?"

He hesitated. He swirled his glass between his fingers. He didn't know where to start.

"I've been... thinking. Remembering. And yes, the idea of you being with someone again excites me. Knowing it. Imagining it."

Ana waited. She knew that wasn't all.

"And what else?"

Juan closed his eyes for an instant. The words burned in his throat.

"It excites me... that you leave me out."

Ana didn't move. Her face didn't change. She just blinked, slowly.

"Out how?"

Juan swallowed.

"That you don't tell me. That you don't ask me. That you make decisions on your own. That you don't consult me. That you rub it in, if you want. That you talk to me... as if I didn't matter in that moment."

Ana was silent for a few seconds. Then she smiled sweetly, without mockery.

"And that scares you?"

"Yes. It makes me feel small. It makes me feel like I'm not enough. Like you're using me. And right there... that's when I get harder than ever."

Ana slowly got up. She walked over to him, wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting them on his shoulders, with tenderness, with firmness.

"You're not sick, Juan. You're not less of a man for wanting that. What excites you isn't just sex. It's the place you put yourself in. It's the fire... and the cold. And all of that, is okay."

He let his head fall back, resting it on her chest.

"I'm scared to tell you. That you'll think you're hurting me."

"I'll know how to tell the difference," Ana whispered. "But if that's what makes you burn... then I'll help you burn without breaking. And if one day you need me to be soft, I'll know how to be that too."

She stroked his hair.

"Thank you for saying it. Now... I can take you further. But with our eyes open."

Juan nodded, unable to speak.

For the first time... he felt he wasn't alone in his shame.

It was Saturday morning. Outside, it was raining softly. Ana and Juan had had breakfast in silence, sharing glances and soft touches, more connected than ever since that conversation days ago.

But Ana had something on her mind. She had been mulling it over.

When they finished, she took her cup to the sofa, settled into a corner, and motioned for Juan to sit in front of her.

He noticed it instantly. That way she called him without saying anything, with her body, with her eyes. He knew something important was coming.

"I want to talk about what you told me," she said, without beating around the bush. "About what excites you. About what you need."

Juan nodded, his gaze lowered.

" I don't want to dismiss it as a whim. It's not. I know what you told me is difficult for you. That there's shame. And fear. And also... desire."

Ana leaned towards him, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes fixed on his.

"But if we're going to play with that..." she paused. "...it has to be with clear rules. Because what excites you can hurt you if it's not handled with care. And what gives me power... can end up pushing me away from you if I use it badly."

Juan swallowed. He still didn't dare to speak.

Ana took a breath.

"So, listen. This is what I propose:"

"First..." she began, counting each point on her fingers—

"...we will only play with that dynamic if you are emotionally strong." If I notice that you are exhausted, down, vulnerable, I won't do it. Even if you say yes. Because I will be the one to measure your resilience.

"Second: every time we finish, we will talk." It doesn't matter if it has been intense, if I have seemed cruel, cold, or distant. When the game ends, I want you back in my arms. I don't want you to confuse the role with reality.

"Third: you can stop at any moment." But you also allow me to stop if I feel that the game is pushing us away. This belongs to both of us.

And fourth... and most important: this is not who you are. It is just a corner of you. A facet. You will never be just the cuckold, the humiliated, the inferior. You will always be Juan. My man. My home. The one who allows me everything because he loves me like no one else.

Juan felt a lump in his throat. His eyes welled up.

Ana moved closer. She took his face in both hands.

"Do you accept these rules? Do you feel safe with them?"

Juan nodded. And then, with a trembling voice, he whispered:

"Thank you... for loving me even when I hate myself a little."

Ana kissed him on the forehead.

"I love you even more for that. Because you dare to be all that you are... without hiding."

And as they hugged on that sofa, they knew they had just crossed a threshold.

There was no going back.

And they didn't want to return either.