I met him at the gallery opening, where the air smelled like cheap wine and expensive perfume. I could hear the low murmur of voices, the clink of glasses, the way his shoes scuffed the floor when he stopped in front of me. “You’re not looking at the paintings,” he said, voice rough like he’d smoked once and quit yesterday. I smiled, cane folded under my arm. “I don’t need to see them to feel them.” That was the line that pulled him in. Two hours later we were in his apartment, door locked, city noise bleeding through the walls.
He didn’t ask if I wanted the lights on. He just turned them off. The dark wrapped around us both, but it was already my world. I heard the rustle of his shirt coming off, the soft thud of his belt hitting the floor. “Tell me what you want,” he said. I reached out, fingers finding the heat of his chest, the line of hair that ran down his stomach.
“I want you to fuck me like I can see every inch of you,” I answered, voice steady even though my pulse was hammering. My hands slid lower, found him already hard, thick and hot in my palm. I stroked him slow, thumb circling the head, feeling the bead of pre-cum slick my skin.
He groaned, low and dirty. “Jesus.” I dropped to my knees on the rug, knees spread for balance, and took him into my mouth. No hesitation. I licked the underside first, tracing the vein with the tip of my tongue, then sucked the head deep, hollowing my cheeks. Saliva ran down my chin. I couldn’t see his face, but I heard the way his breathing changed, the little hitch when I took him deeper, nose brushing the base. His hand found my hair, not pushing, just holding, fingers tightening when I swallowed around him. “Fuck, your mouth,” he muttered. I pulled off with a wet sound, strings of spit connecting us. “I want you inside me. Now.”
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, carried me to the bed, laid me down. Clothes came off in a rush. His hands were big, rough from work, and they mapped every curve like he was memorizing me for later. He spread my thighs, breath hot against my pussy. “You’re already wet,” he said, almost surprised. “I’ve been wet since you spoke to me,” I told him. Then his tongue was on me, flat and broad, licking from entrance to clit in one long stroke. I arched, fingers twisting in the sheets. He sucked my clit, two fingers sliding inside me, curling just right, fucking me slow while he ate me. The sounds were filthy—wet sucking, my moans, his low grunts of approval. I came hard, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing around his fingers, crying out his name without even knowing if I’d asked it yet.
He didn’t give me time to come down. He flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and pushed inside in one thrust. Thick, stretching me open, balls-deep. I gasped, face pressed into the pillow. He fucked me hard, skin slapping, the bed creaking. One hand gripped my hip, the other reached around to rub my clit in tight circles. “You feel that?” he growled. “Every inch. You’re taking it so good.” I pushed back to meet him, blind but knowing exactly where he was, how deep he was buried. The angle hit my G-spot with every stroke. I came again, screaming into the mattress, cunt clenching so tight he cursed and slowed, fighting not to finish.
He pulled out, turned me onto my back, and slid back in, slower this time, chest to chest. His mouth found mine, tasting like me. We moved together, sweat-slick, his hips rolling deep. “Come again,” he ordered, voice strained. I wrapped my legs around him, heels digging into his ass, and let the third orgasm build. When it hit, I bit his shoulder, nails raking his back. He followed right after, pulsing inside me, groaning my name like a prayer and a curse at once.
We lay there afterward, breathing hard, his come leaking out of me onto the sheets. His fingers traced my face, gentle now. “You really don’t need to see, do you?” he asked. I smiled in the dark, hand finding his softening cock, already stroking him back to life. “No,” I said. “But I like feeling everything twice as much.” He laughed, low and rough, and pulled me on top of him. The night was still young, and my hands already knew exactly what they wanted next.
