A night with us

[me****]

The house was quiet, that rare kind of stillness that feels like it’s holding its breath for you.
She was already in bed when I stepped into the doorway, the lamp light catching the curve of her thigh beneath the sheet. One slow sweep of my eyes told her exactly what I wanted.

She smiled — small, knowing — then bit her lip as I walked in. My hands were still rough from the day’s work, the faint scent of oil and soap clinging to my skin, and when I slid them along her calf she shivered like I’d just whispered something obscene in her ear.

I didn’t climb in beside her. I stayed standing, tugging the sheet down inch by inch, making her breathe in the anticipation. Her skin was warm and soft against the cooler air, goosebumps racing under my fingertips.

“You’re mine tonight,” I murmured. Not a request. Not a promise. A fact.

Her legs parted just slightly — enough for me to see the way she was already starting to ache for me — but I took my time. I bent low, brushing my lips over her knee, then higher, tracing a path with my mouth until I could smell her. That warm, intoxicating mix that has always undone me.

She reached for me, fingers curling into my shirt, but I caught her wrists and pressed them above her head into the pillow. The weight of my body followed, pinning her there while I kissed her like I hadn’t seen her in years — slow, deep, hungry. I could feel her hips shift beneath me, her thighs pressing together like she was trying to hold back the ache.

I broke the kiss just enough to watch her breathe — chest rising, lips parted, pupils wide. My hand slipped down between us, and when my fingers found her, she gasped. God, she was already soaked.

“You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?” I said. She tried to answer, but it came out as a soft moan. I pressed harder, drawing slow, deliberate circles until her hips lifted off the bed.

Then I moved lower, mouth replacing my hand. Her taste spread over my tongue, thick and sweet, and the sound she made — that breathless, desperate whimper — pushed me deeper into her. My hands gripped her thighs, holding her open while I devoured her, slow at first, then faster, until she was twisting against my grip.

Her orgasm hit sharp and sudden, her thighs clamping against my ears, hips rocking with wild rhythm. I didn’t stop. I let her ride it out, every pulse of her body feeding my hunger.

When I finally moved back up her body, her face was flushed, hair tangled, chest heaving. I kissed her hard, letting her taste herself on my lips, and then I slid inside her in one deep, claiming thrust.

The heat of her wrapped around me instantly, tight and perfect. I didn’t rush — I wanted her to feel every inch, every slow drag, every deliberate push deeper. Her nails raked my shoulders, her mouth finding my neck, biting just enough to make me growl.

We found a rhythm — hips meeting, breath syncing, her moans breaking into sharp gasps when I pushed just right. I pinned her wrists again, this time with one hand, my other gripping her hip to pull her down onto me harder. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the room, wet and raw, the kind of sound that tells you neither of you are going to last much longer.

She begged before the end — half words, half whimpers — and I gave her what she wanted. My pace turned rough, relentless, until her voice caught and her whole body arched under me. I felt her clench, heard her cry out, and it dragged me straight into my own release.

When it was over, I stayed inside her, our foreheads pressed together, both of us breathing hard. She smiled that slow, satisfied smile, the one that tells me I’ve ruined her for the rest of the night.

I kissed her once more, softer this time, and whispered, “Sleep if you can. I’m not done with you yet.”