My fingers dig into the cardboard as I heave the box onto the kitchen counter—the last crate, heavy with memories and dusty books. Lena stands by the open window, arms wrapped around her bare upper body. She took off her T-shirt long ago because the heating isn’t working and the cool night air streams in. The black bra stretches over her breasts as she takes a deep breath, the fabric clinging to her skin, tracing every curve. I can’t help but savor the sight—the way her hair dances in the draft, the slight goosebumps on her arms.
The Unexpected Break
“Done,” I force out, dropping onto the overturned milk crate, the only seat. Exhaustion throbs in my legs. “You could’ve told me earlier that your new apartment is on the fifth floor with no elevator.” She turns around, laughs, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the ceiling lamp. “You’ve got nothing else to do anyway. And I knew you wouldn’t say no.” She steps closer, hands me the half-empty bottle of red wine. I drink straight from it—the wine is tart and rough, but good. She sits down next to me on the floor, legs pulled up, back against the wall. Her skin glows softly, and I notice my gaze lingering on her waist, where the waistband of her sweatpants sits low on her hips, a narrow strip of bare skin that draws me like a magnet. The room smells of dust and empty wood, but her scent mixes in—sweet, feminine.
I take another sip of wine, feeling the warmth flow down my throat and spread in my stomach. The box on the counter suddenly seems unimportant. All that matters is her—the way she stands, the curve of her hip, the play of muscles under her skin. She toys with the wineglass in her hand, swirling it, watching the ruby-red liquid. “You know,” she says after a while, her voice soft, “I imagined today a lot what it would be like if we were alone here. Without the others, without all the fuss.” I sit up, staring at her. “And how is it?” She smiles, a shy smile I’ve never seen on her before. “Better than I thought.”
A Look That Lasts Too Long
She notices. Her smile softens, her voice deeper, rougher. “You look different today, Max. Somehow… more attentive.” My heart hammers against my ribs, the wine igniting a cozy warmth in my belly. “Maybe because I’m seeing you properly for the first time today. Not just as the buddy who steals my beer.” She’s silent, but her hand moves to my knee. The touch is featherlight, barely a brush, but it electrifies me. My skin tingles as if a thousand needles are tickling it. I place my hand on hers, feeling her slender fingers relax under my palm. The wine makes us bold, erasing years of restraint.
“I’ve often wondered,” she says quietly, “if you see me that way too. Not just as a friend.” I lean in, my mouth only inches from hers. I smell the wine, her perfume, the dust of the empty apartment. “I see you now. And I want you.” My hand slides from her palm up her arm, over the soft skin, until I reach her neck. I pull her gently toward me, and she comes without hesitation. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and I see the longing in them. “Are you sure?” she whispers, but her question is just a formality. “Yes,” I say, and then I kiss her.
The First Touch
Our first kiss isn’t hesitant. Her lips are soft, they part immediately, and her tongue finds mine. The wine tastes sweet. I bury my hand in her hair as she clings to my T-shirt, as if afraid I’ll disappear. I pull her onto my lap; she feels my arousal instantly, presses against it, a soft moan escaping her. “Slowly,” I whisper into her neck as I graze her earlobes with my teeth. She trembles. “We have all night.” She laughs hoarsely. “I want you now. Here. On this shitty milk crate, if it has to be.” I lift her up, she wraps her legs around my hips, and I carry her into the empty bedroom. The mattress lies on the floor, bare, without a fitted sheet. I lay her down on it; she’s soft beneath me, and her hands work on my belt while I unfasten her bra. The clasps give way, and her breasts fall free—heavy, warm, the nipples already hard before I touch them.
I bend over her, my mouth finding her breast. I kiss the soft skin, suck on the nipple, while my hand massages the other breast. She moans softly, her head sinking back into the mattress. “Yes… right there,” she whispers, and her hands stroke my back, digging into my shoulders. I switch sides, attending to the other breast, while my hand wanders over her belly, under the waistband of her sweatpants. Her skin is warm and smooth, and I feel her shiver at my touch. I push her panties aside and find her wet, ready. “You’re already soaked,” I murmur against her skin. She nods, biting her lip. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Max. For weeks, months…” Her words drive me on. I glide my fingers through her slit, circle her clit, feeling her twitch at my touch. “Tell me what you want,” I whisper. “I want you to take me. Now.”
I straighten up, my cock straining against my pants. She helps me open them, freeing me. Her fingers wrap around me, cool and firm, and I have to close my eyes to keep from coming. “Not so fast,” I warn her with a hoarse voice. She grins, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and lets me go. I position myself over her, the tip at her entrance. She looks at me, her eyes dark with desire. “Come,” she says, and I thrust in—slowly, inch by inch, until I’m fully inside her. She’s tight, hot, and her moan turns into a cry she smothers with her hand. I begin to move, slowly at first, but she pushes her hips against me, demanding more. I speed up, each thrust deeper, harder, and her legs lock around my waist. Her heels dig into my back as she pulls me deeper. “Fuck me… fuck me right,” she pants, and I obey. The rhythm quickens, her sounds grow more uncontrolled, and I feel her inner muscles clench around me. She comes with a deep, drawn-out moan, her body spasming, and the feeling of her contractions sweeps me along. I thrust once
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