The doorbell rips me from a daydream, and I curse softly at my jogging pants, which are stretching tight behind my knees. Who knocks unannounced on a Friday evening? I’m tempted not to answer, but something inside me—a hunch, a tingle in my neck—drives me to the door. As I open the crack, my breath catches.
Lukas is standing there. For three months, I’d only had his voice from the phone, his face on a screen that lay between us. Now he’s real. His jeans wrinkled, his backpack slung crookedly over one shoulder, and that lopsided grin I’ve seen in a thousand nights before my mind’s eye. He doesn’t say a word, only his gaze wanders over my face, lingers on my lips.
Unexpected
“Hey,” he forces out, his voice rough as sandpaper.
“Hey,” I answer, and my heart hammers against my ribs. I stand there, hands in my pockets, staring at him—his skin kissed by the sun, the stubble longer than usual, his eyes, that green-brown that has appeared to me in my sleep. Now they’re alive, fixed on me, piercing me.
“I couldn’t anymore,” he says and takes a step forward. “I’m sorry, I should have texted, but if I plan it, I don’t dare.”
A laugh escapes me, brittle and surprised. “You’re crazy.”
“Yes.” Now I smell him—train compartments, coffee, and underneath that warm, salty scent that belongs only to him. That tastes like home. “Can I come in?”
I step back. He brushes past me, his arm touching mine, and this fleeting touch shoots a jolt of electricity through my body. The door clicks shut. We stand in my narrow hallway, between shoes and jackets, and the silence is deafening. I hear my blood rushing, feel every heartbeat.
The First Touch
He turns to me. His gaze wanders over my face, lingers on my lips. “I missed you so much,” he says, and the words weigh heavily, filled with all those nights when we were only voices, only pixels on a screen.
“I missed you too,” I whisper. Then his hands are on my cheeks, rough and warm, and he kisses me. No gentle kiss. It’s hungry, demanding, all the pent-up longing of three months discharging in this single pressure of his lips. His tongue enters, I taste coffee and something sweet, returning the kiss with the same greed. My fingers bury themselves in his hair—short, soft, so familiar.
He presses me against the wall. His hips push against mine, and I feel his hardness through the fabric of his jeans. His hard cock presses against my cunt, and I can feel the length through the denim, how it pushes against me. A moan escapes me, and he laughs softly against my mouth. “I like hearing that,” he murmurs, moving his lips to my neck. I tilt my head back, close my eyes, focusing entirely on the tingling where his tongue meets my skin. His teeth nibble gently on my earlobe, and I flinch, an electric shock shooting through me. He laughs again, hot and deep.
“I want you,” I say, and the words come out rougher than intended.
He pulls back, looks at me, his pupils dilated. “Are you sure? I mean, I just got here, we could…”
“No.” I interrupt him. “No talking. No plans. Now.”
Undressing
We almost fight with our clothes, as if every button were an obstacle. He pulls my shirt over my head, and I’m glad I’m at least wearing a decent bra—black lace, the one I saved for just in case. His gaze darkens as he sees me like this. He strokes his thumb over the edge of the fabric, circles my nipple through the lace. It hardens under his touch, and I press my lips together to keep from moaning.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, kneeling to pull down my jogging pants. I step out, standing before him in only my panties and bra. He looks up at me, his hands on my hips. “This is how I imagined you,” he says. “In the nights when I couldn’t sleep. Your skin in the moonlight, your curves, how you stand there and look at me.” His hands glide over my hips, my waist, stroking the soft skin. I shiver.
I pull him up, unbutton his shirt, slip it from his shoulders. His skin is warm, the muscles under my fingertips tensing. I love his body—not perfect, but real, with a light fuzz on his chest that feels soft. I let my hands glide over his chest, feel his heartbeat under my fingertips, fast and strong. His belt jingles as I open it, his jeans fall to the floor. He steps out, only in boxers now, which barely conceal his arousal. The fabric stretches, and I can see the outline of his hardness. His hard cock presses against the thin cotton, and I lick my lips. I want to see him, want to feel him in my mouth.
“Come to bed with me,” I say, taking his hand. I lead him through the apartment, past the sofa where I’ve so often lain alone thinking of him. In the bedroom, it’s dim, the streetlight filtering through the blinds, painting stripes on the duvet. The air smells of lavender and us.
He lays me on the sheets, his weight over me, and I feel every point where he touches me: his chest on mine, his pelvis on mine, his thigh between my legs. He kisses me again, deeper now, slower, and I let my hands glide over his back, feel the muscles moving under the skin. His tongue dances with mine, explores, teases. I bite gently into his lower lip, and he moans.
Discovering
“I want to taste you,” he says, and his mouth wanders downward, over my collarbone, between my breasts, over my belly. He leaves a wet trail that cools on my skin as he goes lower. His tongue circles my navel, and I tremble under his touch. Then he reaches the edge of my panties, and I hold my breath. He looks up at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and pulls the fabric down over my hips with his teeth. I lift my pelvis, helping him, and then I’m naked before him, completely exposed.
His gaze is hungry as he looks at me. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and his hands glide over my thighs, gently spreading them apart. I feel the cool air on my wet pussy, and I know I’m already soaked, that my desire shows in the moisture glistening between my thighs. He leans forward, and his tongue finally touches my clit. A jolt goes through me, and I arch my back, pressing my cunt against his mouth. He groans against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through my body. His tongue circles my clit, flicks over it, presses against it, and I’m drowning in the sensation. He sucks gently, and I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He laughs against my wet slit, and the sound sends shivers through me. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my skin, then his tongue dives deeper, into my hole, fucking me with it while his thumb rubs my clit. I’m trembling, my hips bucking against his face, and I feel the orgasm building, a tight coil in my belly. “Don’t stop,” I gasp, and he doesn’t, licking and sucking until I come, my body shaking, a cry tearing from my throat. He laps at me through it, drawing out every wave, until I collapse, panting, onto the mattress.
He crawls up beside me, his face slick with my wetness, and kisses me. I taste myself on his lips, salty and sweet. “Your turn,” I whisper, pushing him onto his back. His boxers are tented, a dark spot of precum at the tip. I pull them down, and his cock springs free, hard and thick, the head glistening. I wrap my hand around it, feeling the heat, the pulse. He hisses through his teeth as I stroke him, slow and firm. I lean down, take the head in my mouth, and he groans, his hips twitching. I lick around the crown, tasting the salty precum, then take him deeper, my tongue sliding along the shaft. He’s big, filling my mouth, and I relax my throat, taking him in until my nose touches his pubic bone. He cries out, his hands in my hair, not pulling, just holding. I bob my head, sucking hard, my hand working the base, and I feel his whole body tense. “I’m close,” he gasps, but I don’t stop, wanting to taste his release. He comes with a shout, hot spurts hitting the back of my throat, and I swallow it all, licking him clean until he shudders.
He pulls me up, wraps his arms around me, and we lie there, sweaty and breathless. “That was…” he starts, but I kiss him quiet. “More,” I say, and he laughs, rolling on top of me again. “Whatever you want.”
Taking
He positions himself between my legs, his cock pressing against my wet entrance. I look into his eyes, and he holds my gaze as he pushes in, slow, inch by inch. I feel myself stretching around him, a fullness that makes me gasp. He stops when he’s fully inside, letting me adjust, his forehead against mine. “Fuck,” he whispers, “you feel incredible.” I clench around him, and he groans, starting to move. Slow at first, deep thrusts that hit a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he picks up the pace, fucking me hard now, the bed creaking with each thrust. His cock slides in and out of my wet pussy, the sound obscene, and I’m lost in it, in the smell of sex and sweat, in the feel of him filling me. I come again, my walls clamping down on him, and he follows, burying his face in my neck as he spills inside me, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
We lie tangled together, our breath slowing, the room quiet except for the distant hum of the city. He traces patterns on my skin, and I feel a peace I haven’t known in months. “I’m glad you came,” I say, and he smiles, that crooked grin. “Me too.”
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