The doors hissed open again, but this time she moved—slowly, deliberately—her hand slipping from his only long enough to brush her fingers along the inside of his wrist, a trailing promise. She stepped onto the platform without looking back, but the tilt of her head, the subtle sway of her hips beneath that charcoal skirt, was invitation enough.
He followed.
The station air was cooler, sharper, but it did nothing to dull the heat coiled tight in his groin. His cock strained against his trousers, slick with precome, every step a reminder of how close he'd been to grinding fully against her on that train. He caught up as she ascended the escalator, her heels clicking steady and unhurried. From behind, he could see the faint damp crease along the back of her skirt where her arousal had seeped through, the fabric clinging just enough to outline the curve of her ass. He wanted to press his mouth there, taste the salt of her skin through silk.
She glanced over her shoulder once, eyes dark, lips parted. No words. Just a look that said she knew exactly what he was imagining.
Outside, the city hummed—distant traffic, neon bleed on wet pavement—but they moved through it like ghosts, side by side, not touching. The tension stretched taut between them, electric. Her apartment was closer; she said it quietly, voice husky, as they walked the three blocks. He nodded, throat dry.
The elevator ride was agony.
Empty, mirrored walls reflecting them from every angle. She stood beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. He watched her reflection: the rise and fall of her chest beneath the silk blouse, nipples still peaked and visible, straining against the fabric. A faint flush stained her throat. She met his gaze in the mirror, held it, then let her eyes drop—slowly—to the obvious bulge at the front of his trousers. Her tongue touched her lower lip, wetting it, and he felt his cock jerk in response, another bead of precome soaking through.
The doors opened on her floor.
Her place was dim, city light filtering through half-closed blinds. She didn't turn on the lights. Just dropped her bag, toed off her heels with deliberate grace, and turned to face him.
He closed the door behind them.
Silence, thick and heavy.
She stepped closer—once, twice—until her breasts brushed his chest again, fuller now without the crowd's excuse. He could feel the hard points of her nipples dragging across his shirt, the heat of her body radiating through thin layers. Her scent enveloped him fully here: warm skin, cedar, and the sharp, unmistakable musk of her wetness, stronger now, intoxicating.
His hands found her waist without asking—fingers splaying over silk, thumbs tracing the ridge of her hipbones. She exhaled, soft, and arched into the touch. He slid his palms down, slow, cupping the swell of her ass, pulling her flush against him. The contact was immediate, devastating: his rigid cock nestling into the soft give of her lower belly, the damp heat between her thighs pressing back against his thigh as she parted her legs just enough to straddle it.
She rolled her hips once—slow, deliberate—dragging her soaked center along the muscle of his leg. He felt it all: the slick slide of her through soaked lace, the swollen heat of her lips parting around the seam of his trousers, the faint tremor in her thighs as she coated him with her arousal. A low sound escaped her—half sigh, half moan—vibrating against his throat where her mouth hovered.
He answered with a thrust of his own, grinding the length of his cock up against her belly, letting her feel every thick inch straining for her. Precome smeared between them through fabric, hot and sticky. His hands kneaded her ass harder, fingers digging into firm flesh, spreading her just enough to imagine how she'd feel clenching around him.
Her mouth found his jaw—open, wet kisses along stubble, teeth grazing, tongue tracing the line of his throat. She tasted him slowly, savoring, while her hands worked between them: unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate patience, nails scraping lightly down his chest, circling a nipple until it peaked under her thumb. Lower. Over the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband. She paused there, palm pressing flat against the head of his cock through his trousers, feeling it throb, feeling the wet spot she'd caused.
He groaned—rough, involuntary—and slid one hand up her skirt. Slowly. Inch by inch. Over the smooth stockinged thigh, the lace tops, the bare, damp skin above. His fingers brushed the edge of her knickers—soaked, clinging—and she gasped against his mouth. He traced the outline of her: the plump swell of her lips, the hard nub of her clit straining against saturated lace. He pressed there—once, firm—and felt her hips buck, her wetness pulsing against his fingertips.
She was dripping. Absolutely drenched. He could feel it coating his fingers even through the fabric, hot and slick and ready.
Her hand finally freed him: zipper down, cock springing heavy and aching into her palm. Skin on skin. The first direct touch was electric—she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, thumb sweeping over the slick head, spreading precome down the length of him in one slow, deliberate stroke. He thrust into her grip involuntarily, hips jerking as she squeezed, learning the weight of him, the thick vein along the underside, the way he leaked steadily for her.
They hadn't even kissed yet.
She rose on her toes, mouth brushing his—not taking, just sharing breath again—while her hand worked him in long, unhurried pulls. His fingers slipped beneath her knickers at last, parting slick folds, sliding through her heat until he found her entrance. He pressed one finger inside—slow, to the knuckle—and felt her clench, hot and velvet-wet, pulling him deeper.
Her moan finally broke against his lips, raw and needy.
They still hadn't kissed.
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes—dark, steady, commanding without a word. Her hand tightened around his cock, a slow, deliberate squeeze from base to tip that dragged a guttural sound from his throat. Precome welled steadily from the slit, coating her palm, making each stroke slick and obscene. She watched his face as she worked him: thumb circling the sensitive head, nails grazing lightly along the throbbing vein underneath, fingers twisting on the upstroke until his hips jerked forward, fucking into her grip.
His finger curled deeper inside her—slow, exploratory—feeling the hot, velvet clench of her walls, the gush of fresh wetness as she bore down on him. She was soaked, dripping down his hand, coating his knuckles in her slick heat. He added a second finger, stretching her gradually, scissoring just enough to make her thighs tremble. Her breath hitched, a soft, broken moan vibrating against his lips as he pressed against that spot inside her—firm, insistent circles that had her arousal pulsing around him, her clit swollen and throbbing under the pad of his thumb.
Still no kiss.
She guided him backward—unhurried steps—until the backs of his knees hit the edge of her low sofa. He sank down, and she followed, straddling his lap without breaking contact. Her skirt rode up fully now, bunched around her waist, soaked knickers pulled to the side by his own hand. The heat of her bare cunt hovered over his cock—close enough that he felt the wet kiss of her folds against his tip, the slick slide of her arousal smearing down his length as she rocked forward once, twice, coating him in her.
He groaned, hands gripping her ass harder, spreading her open. He could feel everything: the plump swell of her lips parting around the head of his cock, the frantic flutter of her entrance kissing his slit, the way her clit dragged along his shaft with every teasing roll of her hips. She was dripping onto him now—hot, copious wetness trickling down his balls, soaking into the fabric beneath.
Her blouse hung open, breasts heavy and bare beneath—nipples dark, peaked, begging. He leaned in, mouth watering, and took one into his mouth without warning: tongue laving the hard bud, teeth grazing just enough to make her arch. She gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as he sucked—slow, deep pulls that matched the rhythm of his fingers still buried inside her, curling, thrusting, stretching.
She rose up on her knees, hand guiding his cock to her entrance. The head nudged her slick opening—hot, swollen, ready. She sank down an inch—just the tip breaching her—and paused. They both stilled, breathing ragged, feeling the exquisite stretch, the pulse of him inside her tight heat. Her walls fluttered around him, greedy, pulling.
Slowly—agonizingly—she took more. Inch by thick inch, sinking down until he was buried to the hilt, her cunt stretched full around him, clenching in rhythmic waves. The sensation was overwhelming: wet heat gripping him like a fist, her arousal coating his balls where they pressed against her ass, the faint tremor in her thighs as she adjusted to his size.
She didn't move yet.
Just sat there, impaled, rolling her hips in tiny circles that ground her clit against his pubic bone. His hands roamed—up her back, down to grip her ass, spreading her wider so he could feel where they joined: the slick slide of her lips stretched around his base, the obscene wetness seeping out with every subtle shift.
Finally—finally—she leaned in.
Their mouths met.
Not gentle. Hungry. Open. Tongues sliding wet and deep, tasting each other fully for the first time—mint and heat and desperation. She moaned into his mouth as she started to ride him—slow, deliberate lifts and drops, taking him deep each time, her cunt sucking him back in on every withdrawal. The wet sounds of it filled the room: slick flesh meeting, her arousal squelching around him, the slap of her ass against his thighs growing louder as she picked up pace.
He thrust up to meet her—hard, controlled—hands bruising her hips, guiding her down harder, deeper. Her breasts bounced with each impact, nipples grazing his chest. Sweat bloomed between them, skin sliding slick. He could taste it on her throat as he dragged his mouth down, sucking marks into her skin while she rode him faster, chasing the building coil.
She was close—he felt it in the way her walls clamped down, fluttering wildly, her clit grinding frantically against him. Her hand slipped between them, fingers circling her swollen nub in tight, urgent strokes. He watched, transfixed, as she brought herself over: body tensing, breath catching, then shattering—cunt spasming around his cock in hard, milking pulses, fresh gush of wetness flooding him as she came with a low, broken cry against his mouth.
The feel of her coming undid him.
He thrust up once—twice—deep and punishing, burying himself fully as his orgasm hit: cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling hot inside her in thick ropes. He groaned into her neck, hips jerking erratically, filling her until it leaked out around him, mixing with her own release, dripping down his balls.
They stayed locked together—breathing hard, bodies trembling—her forehead pressed to his, mouths brushing in lazy, sated kisses.
The city lights flickered beyond the blinds.
Neither spoke.
There was nothing left to say.