The smell of cold smoke on his leather jacket – and then, seventeen years later, I’m standing on the crowded terrace of the conference hotel, champagne glass in hand, and I see him among the office people. His name is Felix. He’s barely changed, just the temples are gray, the jaw more angular. His gaze meets mine, and I feel an old door inside me swing open – just a crack, but the wind that sweeps through smells of leather and summer rain, of forbidden kisses and hot nights that never happened.
Reunion on the Slippery Floor
The company is celebrating its twentieth anniversary. My husband Thomas, a board member, gives a speech – smooth words about success and team spirit. I applaud politely, smile at the crowd, but my eyes search for Felix, who’s standing somewhere at the edge, a drink in hand. Accounting, I heard. As Thomas hands the microphone over for the champagne reception, the crowd disperses. Felix walks toward me, through the gaps in the suits. “Hello, Lena,” he says, and his voice has that same rough edge as back then, when we used to smoke secretly in the schoolyard. “You look stunning.” I laugh nervously, maybe too loudly. “And you haven’t lost your charm.” We talk about trivial things – work, the weather – but beneath the surface, it crackles like a short circuit. I notice my hand trembling as I set down the glass. His fingers briefly touch my forearm, a gesture no one notices, but the spot burns for minutes afterward. My panties get wet at the thought of what those fingers could do to me later.
His closeness stirs up memories: the secret meetings after school, the first hesitant kisses behind the gymnasium, the feeling of being immortal. Now he’s standing here, in this sea of suits, and I’m seventeen again, full of longing and horny fear. “How long are you staying?” I ask, and my voice sounds hoarser than intended. “Just tonight,” he says, “I’m flying back to Hamburg tomorrow morning.” A wave of disappointment washes over me, but also relief. Just one night – that’s safer. Or more dangerous? I can’t tell. But my cunt tells me I want him, here and now.
The Smoking Area as a Retreat
“I’m going out for a smoke,” I say eventually, even though I haven’t smoked in years. Felix nods. “I’ll come with you.” We walk around the corner, to a small alcove, hidden behind a pillar, shielded from the party noise. It’s cool, the air smells of wet stone and asphalt. I shiver in my thin dress. He lights a cigarette, hands it to me. The smoke scratches my throat, bitter on my tongue, but familiar. “Remember how we used to smoke secretly in the schoolyard?” I ask, and the words come easier than I thought. He grins, the lines around his eyes deepening. “And how we kissed behind the gymnasium.” His gaze turns serious. “Lena, I’ve thought about you a lot. About your lips, your breasts, how you moaned back then when I touched you for the first time.” I’m silent. My heart hammers against my ribs, and between my legs it grows wet and hot. Then he takes my hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses my fingertips – a gesture so tender I could almost cry. “We should go back,” I whisper, but I don’t move. The cold of the night, the warmth of his hand – I’m trapped in the moment.
I lean against the wall, the rough masonry pressing through the thin fabric. He steps closer, his body warming me, even though a shiver runs down my spine. “Tell me about your life,” he says softly. “Is Thomas good to you? Does he fuck you the way you deserve?” I nod, but the words get stuck in my throat. Good – yes, Thomas is good. Reliable, successful, always there for me. But something is missing, that spark, that danger I feel now, here in this dark alcove with a man who reminds me of my youth. “It’s complicated,” I finally say. He smiles sadly. “It always was.” His hand moves to my thigh, stroking the thin fabric. I feel his fingers slowly gliding upward, and my breath catches.
The Forbidden Touch
He steps closer, his body warming me, even though a shiver runs down my spine. His mouth is near my ear, his breath damp and hot. “I want to kiss you, Lena. Now.” I nod, just millimeters. Then I feel his lips – soft, searching, like a question I already know the answer to. I open up, and his tongue meets mine. It tastes of tobacco and mint, of something forbidden that makes me dizzy. His hands slide into my neck, pulling me tighter against him. I bury my fingers in his hair, smell the expensive aftershave he’s wearing, and beneath it, a hint of skin. The world around us sinks away – only his breath, his heartbeat, the rushing in my ears. “We have to be careful,” I pant between kisses, “someone could see us here.” He whispers: “I know a room.” His thumb strokes my jaw, a touch that makes me tremble. I want to say no, but my body is already pressing against him. His hand slides lower, over my back, to the hem of my dress. He lifts the fabric, his fingers stroking the bare skin of my thigh. I bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud. “Felix, not here,” I plead, but it doesn’t sound like a protest. He grins, that cheeky grin from back then that always turned my head. “Then let’s go.” He takes my hand, and I let myself be led, through the back entrance, past waiters and cleaning staff, to the elevator. The cabin is too small, his body too close. I feel his erection through the fabric, and my lower abdomen tightens. The elevator stops, we get out, the hallway is empty. His room is at the end of the corridor, number 312. He unlocks the door, steps inside, and I follow him.
In the Hotel Room: The Boundary Falls
We sneak through the back entrance, take the elevator to the third floor. The cabin is too small, his body too close. I feel his erection through the fabric, and my lower abdomen tightens. His room is tidy, the laptop open, the bed neatly made. He closes the door, turns the key – a click that locks the world outside. “Lena,” he says, and his gaze burns. “I’ve waited so long for this moment.” He steps in front of me, his hands settling on my hips. I feel the warmth through the thin fabric of my dress. “Me too,” I whisper, and it’s the truth. I lift my face, and this time I kiss him first. Wild, demanding, without inhibitions. My tongue seeks his, I
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
