I push open the door to my hotel room and let the bag drop beside the bed. The key sticks to my finger as if I’m afraid to let it go—as if everything depends on not losing this one time. The seminar was tedious, endless lectures on compliance and risk management, but now it’s over. Outside, dusk is already falling, and through the open window drifts the smell of freshly cut grass and something salty—the nearby sea. Inhale. Exhale. My skin tingles even before anything has happened.
A knock. I open hesitantly. He stands there, a glass of wine in his hand, his smile crooked and his tie loosened—his shirt straining across his chest. “I thought we could wind down the evening,” he says. His voice has that rough undertone that’s been running through my head all day like a promise I wasn’t allowed to fulfill.
I step aside. He comes in, sets the glass on the dresser, and turns to face me. For a moment we stand opposite each other, the air between us heavy with unspoken things—so dense I can almost taste it. Then he lifts his hand and touches my hair, a light gesture that makes me shiver as if he’s hit a nerve that leads straight to my belly.
“Do you know how many times today I thought about kissing you?” he whispers. I swallow, my throat dry. “Don’t tell me.” But I want to hear it, want to feel every word burn inside me. His mouth comes closer, and I close my eyes—a surrender I can barely explain.
His lips are warm and demanding. He tastes of red wine and mint, and I bury my fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer as if I could lose myself in him. The kiss deepens, grows hungrier, as if we’ve both only been waiting to let go, to give up control. His tongue plays with mine, and I let out a soft moan—a sound that’s foreign to me yet feels so right.
He pulls back briefly and looks at me, his eyes dark with desire, almost black. “Are you sure?” I nod, too aroused for words, my heart hammering against my ribs. He takes my hand and leads me to the bed, step by step, as if every moment were precious. Then he kisses my neck, nibbles gently at the spot where my pulse beats—I feel every throb against his lips. I tilt my head back and savor the feeling as his lips travel further, over my collarbone, down to my blouse, leaving a trail of heat.
Slowly he unbuttons it, one after the other, as if unwrapping a gift, and breathes kisses onto the exposed skin—so tender, yet so demanding. I tremble under his touch, feeling every small gesture more intensely than usual, every fiber of my body awake. When he opens the last button, he pushes the blouse off my shoulders and lets it glide to the floor, a soft rustle that arouses me even more. His gaze travels over my bra, and he smiles. “You’re so beautiful.” That smile melts me.
I return the smile and begin to loosen his tie—it slides through my fingers like liquid silk, then I unbutton his shirt and strip it off. His chest is firm, with a light hairiness that feels soft under my fingertips. I press my palm against his heart, feeling its rapid beat that tells me he’s just as aroused as I am.
He leans forward and kisses me again, while his hands undo my bra—the clasp gives way with a click, and the garment falls. His hand cups my breast, his thumb stroking over the nipple until it hardens under his touch. A soft moan escapes me as I press against him. He lowers his head and takes it in his mouth, sucking gently, and I arch my back, pushing into him, wanting more, wanting everything.
“More,” I whisper hoarsely, my voice barely recognizable. He grins and lets his hand wander over my belly, under my skirt, up my thighs—every millimeter a torment. I feel his fingers on the wet fabric of my panties, and I hold my breath, the anticipation almost unbearable. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs, almost reverently, and the word burns inside me.
He pushes the fabric aside and glides a finger over my slit. The shock of the touch makes me moan—I bite my lip to keep from crying out. He circles slowly, feeling me open, then he enters. I bite my lip harder as he stretches me, first one finger, then two—I feel so full, so alive. I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of him filling me, slowly riding me, a rhythm that drives me crazy.
“Look at me,” he demands, his voice a command. I obey, and his fingers move faster, deeper—I feel the wave building, a flood threatening to overwhelm me, but he stops abruptly, pulling his hand back. I gasp in protest, but he shakes his head. “Not so fast.” The words are both a promise and a torment.
He stands and pulls me up. My legs are soft, almost numb, as he unbuttons my skirt and lets it fall—the fabric slides down me. Then he kneels before me, pulls my panties down my legs, a gesture that arouses me even more. His hands grip my hips, his tongue finds me, and I almost scream as the first touch jolts through me. He licks me, circles my clit, sucks gently—I grab his hair and hold him tight as my pelvis presses against his face, I can’t help it. The pleasure builds, a spiral of heat and pressure, and I’m on the verge of losing control when he stops.
“Don’t,” I plead, my voice a hoarse croak. He stands up, catches my mouth with a kiss that tastes of me—salty, intense. “I want to feel you.”
He pushes me onto the bed. I watch as he opens his pants, pulls them and his boxers down—his cock stands stiff, the tip glistening, a sight that makes me even wetter. He rolls on a condom, the motion routine yet exciting, and leans over me, supporting himself on his elbows. His eyes seek mine, and I nod, my heart racing.
He positions himself, the tip pressing against my opening, and then he slides slowly inside—I feel every single inch, how he fills me, stretches me, makes me complete. A long, trembling sigh escapes me as I lose myself in him. He lies still for a moment, adjusting to me, then begins to move.
His thrusts are slow at first, deep, each one a shock of closeness—I can
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
