I sat across from him on the low couch, legs tucked under me, the room lit only by the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. My voice came out softer than I meant it to, but once I started I couldn’t stop. “It happened last weekend,” I said. “I’d gone home with this guy I met at the bar. Tall, quiet hands. The second the door closed he pushed me against it and kissed me like he already knew what I tasted like.”
I watched his face while I spoke. His pupils widened a little. That encouraged me. “He didn’t waste time. He pulled my dress up, slid two fingers straight inside me. I was already wet. Embarrassingly wet. He curled them and I made this sound I didn’t recognize.” My own thighs pressed together on the couch now, remembering. “He kept me pinned there, fucking me with his hand until my knees started shaking, then he dropped down and put his mouth on me. No teasing. Just tongue and lips and these slow, filthy licks like he wanted to drink every drop.”
I paused to breathe. The memory was thick in my throat. “I came on his tongue so hard I had to grab his hair to stay upright. He didn’t stop. He just stood up, turned me around, and bent me over the arm of his couch. I heard his belt, then the sound of him rolling on a condom. He pushed in deep on the first thrust. No warning. I was so slick he slid all the way to the hilt and I moaned like a slut who’d been waiting for it all night.”
My voice had dropped lower. I could feel the heat between my legs now, the story turning me on as much as it was turning him on. “He fucked me like that for a long time. Slow, then hard, then slow again, one hand on my hip and the other in my hair. Every time I got close he’d ease off, make me beg. I heard myself saying please over and over. I never beg. But I did that night.”
I shifted on the couch, aware of how damp my panties had become. “When he finally let me come he reached around and rubbed my clit in these tight little circles. I came so hard my legs gave out. He held me up and kept thrusting through it, chasing his own orgasm. I felt him swell and pulse inside me. He groaned my name like it hurt.”
Silence stretched between us. I could hear both our breathing. I licked my lips. “Afterward he pulled out slow, turned me around, and kissed me again. Tasted like me. Then he carried me to his bed and we did it twice more before sunrise. Different positions. I rode him the second time, facing away so he could watch. The third time he took me on my side, one leg hooked over his arm, so deep I could barely breathe.”
I looked at him directly. “That’s the story.
That’s what I’ve been thinking about every night since.” My fingers had drifted to the hem of my skirt without me noticing. I let them rest there, waiting. “Your turn to talk,” I said, voice husky, “or you can just show me what you’re going to do about it.”
He didn’t speak. He crossed the space between us in two steps, pulled me up by the waist, and kissed me the way the man in the story had kissed me. I smiled against his mouth, already wetter, already telling the next chapter in my head.
