She waited on the deck, nude and aglow, her legs parted ever so slightly as she leaned back, letting the night kiss her skin. The air smelled of pine and water. The night air wrapped around her like a lover. The soft hum of crickets was drowned out by the thrum of her pulse, every nerve alive with want. When he stepped out of the water, droplets tracing every hard line of his body, she let her eyes devour him. His cock stood proudly, and she smiled like the devil in disguise.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His eyes darkened as he sank to his knees between her thighs, spreading them apart. He kissed the inside of her thigh first, just to hear her sigh. Then higher. Then again, higher. When his tongue finally met her clit, she bucked. The contact felt both a relief and a torment. He feasted like a man starved, fingers inside her, tongue circling in rhythm, each stroke coaxing her higher, tighter, wetter. She arched against him, fingers tangled in his damp hair, her moans spilling into the night.
But she craved something more.
She pushed him back with a force that surprised them both, straddling him on the deck, rubbing her slick heat over the thick head of his cock, teasing them both.
“Love how this feels,” she whispered, grinding slowly, making him groan into her mouth.
“I need it,” he gasped with a sly smirk, hands gripping her hips like lifelines.
She sank onto him in one slide, and they both cried out. It was feral, raw. She rode him slow, deliberate, using her whole body: hips rolling, tits bouncing, head thrown back to the stars. He watched her, mouth parted, worshiping the way she fucked him like she owned every inch of him. And maybe she did.
Their pace built into something primal. They were sweat-slick and breathless. When she came, she clamped around him with a tremor that stole her voice, collapsing forward as he flipped her onto her back, drove into her deeper, harder.
He spilled into her moments later, buried to the hilt, every muscle shaking with the force of it. The pleasure was blinding and all-consuming. He held her close, pressed their foreheads together, and came like a man possessed.
They stayed like that—panting, skin slick with sweat and sex, the night holding them like a secret. His cum slowly dripped from between her thighs, warm and sticky. She curled into him, his arms wrapping around her like armor. One hand cupped her breast, the other pulled her close by the hip, his cock softening inside her but not leaving.
Not yet.
The first blush of morning cast a hush over the world, and he woke to her scent—earthy, musky, laced with the lingering ghost of sex. He didn’t open his eyes right away. He just breathed her in. The back of her head nestled under his chin, curls tickling his jaw. His thumb brushed absently across her nipple, slow and featherlight, marveling at how soft, how achingly perfect she felt beneath his palm.
She didn’t stir.
So he watched her sleep completely unguarded, mouth slightly parted, breath slow and deep. There was something sacred about it, the way she had melted into his arms, trusted his body enough to surrender fully. His lips found the back of her head—just a reverent, quiet kiss.
But then something shifted. A darker need unfurled in him, coiling low and urgent. His body responded first—his cock, thick and hard, pressed insistently against the curve of her ass. He rolled his hips once carefully, just enough for her to feel the weight of him.
His mouth trailed to her earlobe, and he kissed it—first tender, then with a pull that made his breath catch. She shifted slightly, still somewhere between sleep and waking. He grinned against her ear, his voice low and sinful.
“Still asleep, little one?”
Then he ground against her again, slower this time, the heat of his erection dragging along the soft flesh of her ass. She whimpered softly, her thighs instinctively pressing together, her body responding before her consciousness could. She moaned—a sleepy, needy sound—and tilted her hips back toward him in invitation. He didn’t rush. He didn’t speak. Just cradled her tighter, let his hand drift lower, over her belly, between her legs, already wet and warm for him.
The way she arched, the way her breath hitched, the way she whispered his name—still half-dreaming—ignited something wild in him.
The morning had only just begun.
She stirred fully now, eyelids fluttering open with a soft, sleep-heavy groan as his fingers coaxed her awake between her thighs. His hand circled unhurriedly over her swollen clit, his mouth pressed to the curve of her shoulder, breathing her in like he needed her to survive.
“Good morning,” he whispered into her skin, voice gravelly, laced with wicked promise. She moaned again, hips rolling into his palm.
“Mmm…morning.” She was still half-asleep and half-aroused.
His hand left her just long enough to guide himself to her entrance, already slick and ready. He pushed in slow, so achingly slow, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her, both of them sighing into the delicious stretch and fullness. She was still warm, still soaked from the night before, her body opened for him like it had been waiting.
He didn’t move right away. He stayed buried inside her, one arm snug under her neck, the other gripping her hip, pulling her flush against him as though they could become one body, one breath. His lips grazed her temple, and then her jaw, then back to her ear, murmuring words that made her thighs clench—some filthy, some tender.
All for her.
It was slow and indulgent when he began to move, like they had the whole day. Like the world outside their skin didn’t exist. Each thrust was measured, deep, rolling into her with care and hunger. Her breath caught with every stroke, her body arching into his rhythm as if it was a song only she knew how to dance to.
He rocked into her, hips grinding deliberately, sending pleasure blooming through her in waves. His hand slid over her belly, between her legs again, stroking in time with his thrusts. He was buried inside her from behind, slow, deep strokes that kissed her cervix, the morning air thick with the scent of sex and heat. He held her hips like they were sacred, driving into her with a rhythm that made her toes curl and her moans spill out unfiltered.
But suddenly, she shifted. Pulled away from him, slowly, teasingly—his cock slipping out with a wet sound that made them both groan.
He froze, confused, his breath ragged.
Then she turned and crawled down between his legs.
Before he could respond, her lips wrapped around his length, wet and hot and eager. He hissed, gripping the headboard for support as her tongue swirled around the head of his cock. Her eyes met his—wicked, hungry—as she took him deeper, inch by inch, until her nose touched his skin.
She devoured him like a woman starved. It was slow at first, letting her tongue tease the ridge of his tip, savoring the salt and musk still lingering from the night. Then deeper, taking him inch by inch into her mouth, letting her throat tighten around him as she moaned low and deliberate. The sound vibrated through his cock and straight into his spine, unraveling him.
He leaned back, propped on trembling elbows, eyes fixed on her—on the wet sheen of her lips, the greedy hunger in her gaze, the way her fingers curled possessively around his base. She was art and sin and everything in between, and he was utterly fucking hers.
She pulled back just enough to flick her tongue against the sensitive underside of his shaft, her spit glistening, then licked him from base to tip like she was claiming every drop of him.
“You like how I taste?” he asked, voice hoarse, already breathless.
She looked up at him, eyes dark and dangerous. “I want more.”
She gasped when he pulled her off his cock with a wet pop, her lips still swollen, her eyes wide and dazed. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her face up, thumb pressed to her chin.
“That mouth is too perfect.” His tone felt like gravel and sin. “But I need you where you belong.”
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