I had forgotten how overwhelmingly tall he was. That was the first thought that shot through my mind when I saw him standing on the platform. Not the blue eyes I knew from a thousand video calls, not the crooked grin that had haunted me through sleepless nights. No, his height. He towered over most of the travelers, stood slightly apart, hands in his jacket pockets, and scanned the crowd with that look that had already stripped me naked through screens. His gaze found me, and for a heartbeat, the world stood still—no, damn it, I didn’t want to think that cliché. Instead, I felt my stomach do a somersault, and a wide grin spread across my face. Three months. Three months we had only seen each other through screens, and now he stood there, so brazenly real it almost hurt. My pulse hammered in my throat.
“Hey you,” I said, standing in front of him. My heart pounded so loudly, I was sure he could hear it.
“Hey yourself,” he replied softly, and then he pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his chest, smelled the fresh laundry detergent mixed with the warm, masculine scent of his skin. His arms wrapped around me, tight and secure, and I just let myself fall. The world outside faded away. There was only us, only this roaring in my ears and the feeling of finally, finally having arrived.
The First Touch
We rode to my place in silence. In the taxi, he held my hand, his thumb circling over the back of it. I felt every millimeter, every small movement sparked a fire under my skin. It was as if every single nerve fiber had come alive. We didn’t talk about the obvious, not about the pictures we had sent each other, not about the hot promises we had whispered into each other’s ears during sleepless nights. Instead, we talked about the trip, the weather, the view from my balcony. It was absurd how normal we acted while my body could only feel him, while a damp heat was already pulsing between my legs.
Once inside my apartment, we stood facing each other. The evening sun fell through the window, bathing his face in warm gold. He looked different than on screen. More real. The small wrinkles around his eyes, the slight shadow on his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple danced when he swallowed. I stepped closer, placed my hand on his chest. His heart beat fast, a wild, impatient rhythm that matched my own.
“I missed you,” I whispered. The words felt so inadequate.
“I missed you too. So much, Jana.” His voice was rough, full of suppressed desire.
My hand slid higher, cupped his neck. I pulled him down to me, and then we kissed. It wasn’t a gentle, tentative first kiss, but an explosion of pent-up longing. His lips pressed onto mine, demanding and hungry. I opened my mouth, let his tongue in, tasted him for the first time—salty, sweet, a little like coffee, mixed with something primal that made me dizzy. My fingers tangled in his hair while his hands slid down my back and pressed me against him. I felt his hardness through the fabric, a hot, throbbing promise that triggered an electrifying pull deep inside me.
We broke apart, both breathless. His eyes were dark, pupils so dilated the blue had almost vanished.
“I want you,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”
I nodded, unable to speak. My hands trembled as I reached for his shirt. The buttons gave way, one by one, a soft click-clack in the silence. I pushed the fabric off his shoulders, let my hands glide over his bare chest. Warm, firm, with a fine dusting of hair that curled under my fingertips. I leaned forward and kissed his nipple, heard him moan softly. The sound hit me straight in the gut.
Foreplay of the Senses
He lifted me up, carried me to the bedroom. My legs wrapped around his hips as he laid me on the bed, leaned over me. His lips found my neck, nibbled gently at the sensitive spot below my ear. I arched up as a tremor shot through me—not a light shiver, but a deep, rich quake that started in my pelvis and spread in waves. It was as if my body had only been waiting for this moment.
He pulled off my shirt, slowly, letting his fingers glide over my skin as he pushed the fabric upward. My breasts were still covered, but the anticipation already made me tremble. He bent down and kissed the mounds over the fabric, breathed hot air through the thin lace. I clawed my fingers into the bedsheets and felt my nipples harden beneath the cloth, stiff and yearning.
“Ben,” I breathed. “Please.” It was a plea, a desire that came from the deepest gut.
He grinned, that crooked grin I loved so much, and then he unclasped my bra with a deft hand. Finally. His lips closed around my nipple, and I moaned loudly. His tongue circled it, sometimes gentle, sometimes demanding, while his hand massaged the other breast. I arched toward him, demanding more. He sucked harder, and a hot flash shot through my lower belly. I felt myself getting wet, the warmth swelling between my legs, my core ready for him.
His hand wandered downward, over my stomach, under the waistband of my jeans. I lifted my hips, helped him get rid of the garment. He pulled it down along with my panties in one fluid motion. Now I lay naked before him while he was still clothed. The inequality excited me—I felt vulnerable, exposed, but in a way that made me sharp and alive. His gaze traveled over my body, and I saw the pure, raw desire in his eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and then he bent down. His lips followed a trail of kisses over my belly, lower, ever lower. I held my breath as his mouth reached my wet center. The first contact of his tongue was like a revelation. He licked me with broad, slow strokes, gathered my moisture, dove deep into me. I moaned, grabbed his hair, pressed him harder against me. He didn’t let up, explored every fold, every sensitive spot, until I seemed to hover on the brink of climax. The tension built, became unbearable. Just before the peak, he tore himself away.
“Not yet,” he panted, and I could have—
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