Possibly both.

There’s something very off about the way he’s sitting, and then it clicks—ah… there’s a tent in his pants. Or a baguette. No…

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I sigh, shaking my head. This is the third time this week his shit’s ended up in my inbox. The mail guy must have a hard-on for mixing up our suites, or maybe he’s just blind. Either way, it’s getting old. But hey, at least it gives me an excuse to knock on his door. Not that I need one.

His office is two doors down, the frosted glass panel etched with some generic corporate logo—Innovative Pharmaceutical Solutions or some equally boring name. The blinds are half-drawn, but the light’s still on, spilling a warm yellow rectangle across the hallway floor. I rap my knuckles against the doorframe, not bothering to wait for an answer before stepping inside.

The first thing I notice is the tension in the air—thick, almost electric. The second is him, slumped in his chair, tie loose around his neck, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His usually immaculate dark hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead that has nothing to do with the office’s shitty climate control. His desk is a mess: papers scattered, a half-empty coffee cup, and—oh, that’s new—a stress ball squeezed flat in his fist.

But it’s the way he’s sitting that really catches my eye. Or rather, the way he’s not sitting. He’s shifted forward, elbows on his knees, like he’s trying to hide something. Or someone. My gaze flicks down before I can stop it, and yeah, there it is—the unmistakable outline of a cock straining against his slacks, the fabric pulled taut enough that I can see the ridge of the head, the thick vein running along the underside. Jesus. He’s hard. Like, painfully hard. The kind of hard that doesn’t just happen from a stray thought or a lingering glance. The kind that’s been there for hours.

I clear my throat, and his head snaps up, dark eyes locking onto mine. They’re bloodshot, pupils blown wide, like he’s been staring at a screen too long—or like he’s one wrong move away from snapping. His jaw is tight, a muscle feathering along the side, and when he sees me, his breath hitches. Just a little. Just enough to tell me he’s aware of how obvious this is.

“You look like hell,” I say, stepping further into the room. The door swings shut behind me with a quiet click. I toss the mail onto his desk, the envelopes sliding across the surface before settling near his elbow. “Third time this week. You’d think they’d learn by now.”

He exhales through his nose, a rough, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Or maybe they’re just trying to give you an excuse to visit.”

His voice is lower than usual, gravelly, like he’s been talking all day—or like he’s been biting back groans. I tilt my head, letting my gaze drag over him again, slow and deliberate. The way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. The way his fingers twitch against his thighs, like he’s fighting the urge to adjust himself. The way his cock jerks under my stare, like it’s got a mind of its own.

“Mmm,” I hum, stepping closer. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

His breath catches. A flush creeps up his neck, darkening the skin above his collar. “Fuck, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” I purr, rounding the desk. I lean back against the edge, right beside him, close enough that my thigh brushes his arm. The heat radiating off him is insane—like he’s running a fever. “Don’t notice the way you’re about to burst out of your pants? Don’t ask why you’re sitting there like you’ve got a steel pipe between your legs?”

He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. His hands clench into fists, knuckles whitening. “It’s—fuck, it’s not what you think.”

“No?” I reach out, trailing a finger along the armrest of his chair, slow, teasing. “Then what is it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze darts to my finger, then back to my face, like he’s trying to decide if I’m serious or just messing with him. (Spoiler: I’m always serious.) Finally, he lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping just a fraction.

“I’m in a trial,” he admits, voice rough. “New erection drug. Supposed to be the next big thing—longer lasting, harder, all that shit.” He shifts in his seat, wincing. “Except the dosage is fucked.”

I blink. Then I laugh—a real, surprised sound that echoes in the quiet office. “You’re telling me you’ve got a permanent boner?”

“Not—fuck—not permanent,” he grits out, jaw clenching. “Just… persistent. It won’t go down. No matter what I do.”

“No matter what you do, huh?” I let my gaze drop to his lap again, biting my lower lip. The outline of his cock is obscene—thick, long, the head nearly purple with how engorged it is. I can see the wet spot darkening the fabric near the tip. Precum. A lot of it. “So you’ve been… taking care of it?”

His cheeks burn. “Nonstop. Since yesterday. Nothing works. I can’t—fuck, I can’t cum. It just… stays like this.” He lets out a strangled sound, half-laugh, half-groan. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

I hum, considering. Then, without warning, I reach out and palm him through his slacks. He jerks, a choked gasp tearing from his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily into my touch. The heat of him is insane—like touching a radiator. The thickness of him makes my fingers ache just from the pressure.

“Jesus,” I murmur, squeezing lightly. He’s rock hard, no give at all, the shaft like iron beneath the fabric. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Fuck—please—” His voice cracks. His hands fly to my wrist, but he doesn’t push me away. Just holds on, fingers digging in, like he’s afraid I’ll stop. “It hurts. It’s been like this for hours.”

I tilt my head, watching his face as I stroke him through his pants—slow, firm presses from base to tip. His breath comes in ragged bursts, his chest heaving, and when I graze my thumb over the wet spot at the crown, he whimpers. Actually whimpers. The sound goes straight between my legs, a hot pulse of arousal that makes my thighs clench.

“Poor baby,” I coo, leaning in closer. My lips brush the shell of his ear as I speak, my breath hot. “All stuffed up and no relief. How terrible for you.”

He shudders, his cock twitching violently under my hand. “You have no idea—”

“Oh, I think I do.” I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, my fingers still working him through the fabric. “You’re desperate, aren’t you? Aching. Throbbing. Every little touch makes it worse.” I tighten my grip, dragging my palm up his length again, and his hips jerk, a broken sound spilling from his lips. “You’d do anything to cum right now.”

His eyes are wild, dark with need. “Yes.”

“Anything?” I repeat, arching a brow.

“Anything.”

I smile. Slow. Predatory. “Good.”

Then I sink to my knees in front of him.

The carpet is rough under my stockings, the pressure of the fibers biting into my skin as I settle between his spread thighs. His breath stutters, his entire body going rigid as I reach for his belt, my fingers deft as I unbuckle it, then pop the button of his slacks. The zipper comes down with a quiet hiss, and then—oh, fuck—his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack.

I wasn’t prepared for how big he’d be like this. Not just long—though god, he’s long, at least eight inches, maybe more—but thick. Veiny. The head is swollen, dark red, the slit already weeping a steady stream of precum that drips down the shaft, glistening in the office light. The veins stand out, pulsed with blood, the skin so taut it looks like it might split. And the heat—it’s like kneeling in front of a furnace.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, wrapping my fingers around the base. They don’t even come close to meeting. His cock jerks in my grip, a fresh bead of precum welling at the tip. I lean in, inhaling deep. The scent of him is intoxicating—musky, salty, male—and beneath it, the faint metallic tang of desperation.

I look up at him, licking my lips. “No wonder you’re losing your mind.”

He’s staring down at me, chest heaving, fingers digging into the arms of his chair. “Fuck, please—”

“Please what?” I murmur, stroking him slowly, thumb swiping through the precum at his tip. It’s slick, sticky, and when I bring my thumb to my mouth, tasting him, his entire body shudders. “Use your words, baby.”

His voice is a rasp. “Suck it. Please. I need—fuck, I need relief.”

I hum, considering. Then I stick out my tongue, dragging the flat of it up the underside of his cock, from base to tip. His flavor explodes across my taste buds—bitter, salty, addictive—and the way he moans, deep and guttural, sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between my legs.

“Mmm,” I murmur against his skin, nuzzling the heavy weight of his balls. They’re drawn up tight, aching, just as desperate as the rest of him. “You taste like you need it.”

“God—” His hips twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to fuck up into my mouth. “I’ve been jerking off all day. Nothing works. It just—fuck—it just stays like this.”

I wrap my lips around the head of his cock, swirling my tongue over the slit, lapping up the precum leaking from him. He groans, his fingers tangling in my hair, not guiding, just holding on. I take him deeper, inch by inch, my lips stretching around his girth, my throat opening to accommodate him. The taste of him is intoxicating—thick, musky, male—and the way he pulses against my tongue, like he’s already on the edge, makes my pussy clench with need.

I pull back with a wet pop, letting him see the strings of saliva connecting my lips to his cock. “You’re dripping,” I murmur, stroking him with one hand while I cup his balls with the other, rolling them gently. “All this precum, and you still can’t cum. That must be torture.”

“It is,” he grits out, his hips lifting off the chair, chasing my touch. “Fuck, please—”

I take him back into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks as I bob my head, my hand working the base in time with my lips. His cock is iron against my tongue, the veins throbbing, and every time I swallow around the head, he whimpers, his fingers tightening in my hair.

“That’s it,” I murmur, pulling off to lick a slow stripe up his shaft. “Let me take care of you.”

“I can’t—fuck—I can’t cum—” His voice is strained, desperate. “I’ve tried. It won’t—”

“I know, baby,” I soothe, nuzzling his cock against my cheek. The heat of him brands my skin. “That’s why I’m gonna make you beg for it.”

His breath hitches. “What?”

I look up at him, my lips still wrapped around the head of his cock, and I smile. Then I pull off completely, sitting back on my heels. His cock bobs between us, thick and angry, the tip glistening with my saliva and his precum.

“You heard me.” I reach up, unbuttoning the top few buttons of my blouse, letting it gape just enough to give him a glimpse of my lace bra, the swell of my breasts. His gaze snaps to my chest, his cock jerking like it’s trying to reach for me. “You want relief? You’re gonna have to earn it.”

His eyes snap back to mine, dark with need. “How?”

I stand slowly, my skirt riding up my thighs as I move. His gaze follows, hungry, desperate. I turn, bending over his desk, ass out, and I hear the creak of his chair as he leans forward, like he’s about to reach for me. But I straighten before he can, smoothing my skirt back down.

“First,” I say, stepping back toward him, “you’re gonna tell me exactly how long it’s been since you’ve been inside a woman.”

His breath stutters. “I—fuck—”

“Don’t lie to me.” I trail a finger down his chest, over the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. “I’ll know.”

“Six months,” he admits, voice rough. “Maybe longer.”

I tsk, shaking my head. “No wonder you’re so backed up.” I drop to my knees again, this time pressing my lips to the inside of his thigh, my breath hot against his skin. “Second—you’re gonna let me play with you. And you’re not gonna cum until I say so.”

His entire body tenses. “Fuck—”

“Do we have a deal?” I murmur, nipping at the sensitive skin near his groin. He jerks, a broken sound spilling from his lips.

“Yes.”

I smile. Then I take him into my mouth again, and this time, I don’t hold back.

The sounds he makes are filthy—wet, broken gasps, choked-off moans, the occasional fuck or please torn from his throat like he can’t help it. His cock is a monster in my mouth, thick and unyielding, the head swelling every time I take him deep. I work him with my lips, my tongue, my hand, alternating between slow, teasing licks and deep, throaty bobs that have him trembling beneath me.

“You’re so fucking hard,” I murmur, pulling off to stroke him, my thumb swiping over the slick head. “I bet you’d do anything to cum right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

I chuckle, leaning in to press a kiss to the underside of his cock. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

I stand, my skirt riding up as I straddle his lap. His hands fly to my hips, his cock twitching between us, the head pressing against the damp heat of my panties. I can feel how wet I am—soaked through the fabric, my pussy aching with need. But I don’t let him in. Not yet.

“You like that?” I whisper, grinding against him, the friction making us both gasp. “Feeling how desperate I am for you?”

His fingers dig into my hips, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Fuck, please—”

“Please what?” I tease, rolling my hips again, the head of his cock slipping against my clit through the fabric. The sensation makes my toes curl. “Use that pretty mouth, baby.”

“I need—fuck—I need inside you,” he groans, his voice raw. “I need to cum. Please.”

I lean in, my lips brushing his ear. “Not yet.”

Then I slide off his lap, dropping back to my knees. His cock is dripping now, precum leaking in a steady stream, his balls drawn up tight. I wrap my fingers around the base, giving him a few slow, tight strokes before leaning in and—

—licking the precum from his tip.

The taste of him is addictive—salty, bitter, male—and the way he moans, deep and broken, makes my pussy clench. I take him into my mouth again, hollowing my cheeks, my hand working the base in time with my lips. His hips jerk, his fingers tangling in my hair, and when I swallow around the head, he whimpers, his cock pulsing against my tongue.

“Fuck, fuck—” His voice is a rasp. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna cum—”

I pull off with a wet pop, gripping the base of his cock hard enough to make him gasp. “No, you’re not.”

His eyes fly open, wild with need. “What—?”

“I said you’re not cumming until I say so.” I stroke him slowly, my thumb swiping over the slick head. “And you haven’t earned it yet.”

His chest heaves, his cock throbbing in my grip. “Fuck, please—”

“Beg,” I murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip. “Beg me to let you cum.”

His breath hitches. Then, in a voice so raw it makes my skin prickle—

“Please. Fuck, please let me cum. I need it. I ache. It hurts—”

I hum, considering. Then I stand, turning to bend over his desk again, hiking my skirt up to my waist. My panties are ruined—soaked through, the lace clinging to my pussy, the scent of my arousal thick in the air. I reach back, pulling the fabric aside, letting him see how wet I am for him.

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound almost pained.

“You want this?” I ask, reaching between my legs to slide two fingers through my folds, gathering my arousal. I bring them to my mouth, tasting myself before offering them to him. “You want to fuck me?”

His eyes are glued to my fingers, his cock jerking between his legs. “Yes.”

I turn, stepping toward him, my fingers trailing down my body, over my stomach, my thighs. Then I’m straddling him again, this time reaching between us to guide the head of his cock against my entrance. We both gasps at the contact—the heat of him, the size of him, the way my body aches to take him.

“You’re dripping,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips. “Fuck, you’re soaked—”

“I know,” I whisper, sinking down just the tip. The stretch is intense—burning, perfect—and we both moan, his cock pulsing inside me. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

Then I sink down further, taking him inch by inch, my pussy stretching around his girth, my walls clenching around him. He groans, his head falling back against the chair, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“Fuck, fuck—” His voice is a rasp. “You’re so tight—”

I bottom out, my ass pressing against his thighs, his cock buried inside me. We both stay still for a moment, breathing hard, adjusting to the fullness, the heat. Then I start to move.

The first roll of my hips makes us both gasp. The second has him groaning, his cock throbbing inside me. I ride him slow at first, savoring the drag of his cock against my walls, the way his breath hitches every time I sink down, the way his fingers tighten on my hips.

“You feel so good,” I murmur, leaning in to press my lips to his. “So big. So hard.”

His hands slide up my body, his thumbs brushing over my nipples through the fabric of my blouse. I moan into his mouth, my hips rolling faster, my pussy clenching around him.

“Fuck, fuck—” His voice is a growl. “I’m not gonna—fuck—I’m not gonna last—”

I pull back, gripping his jaw, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You’re not allowed to cum yet.”

His eyes widen. “What—?”

I roll my hips again, taking him deep, my pussy fluttering around him. “You heard me. You don’t cum until I do. And I’m not close yet.”

His breath comes in ragged bursts, his cock pulsing inside me. “Fuck—please—”

“No.” I lean in, my lips brushing his ear. “You’re gonna fuck me until I’m screaming. And then—” I pull back, meeting his gaze, my voice a whisper. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

His entire body tenses beneath me. Then, with a growl, he flips me.

One second I’m on top, the next I’m on my back on his desk, my skirt hiked up, my legs spread, his cock slamming back into me in one rough thrust. The impact drives the air from my lungs, a moan tearing from my throat as he pounds into me, his hips snapping against mine, his cock pistoning in and out of my soaked pussy.

“Fuck—fuck—” His voice is a growl, his fingers digging into my thighs as he fucks me—hard, deep, relentless. The desk creaks beneath us, papers sliding to the floor, his cock slamming into me over and over, the sound of skin on skin filthy in the quiet office.

“Yes—” I gasp, my nails raking down his back, my pussy clenching around him. “Just like that—”

His mouth crashes onto mine, his tongue plundering my mouth as his cock plows into my pussy. I can taste myself on his lips, the musky tang of my arousal, and it drives me wild. My legs wrap around his waist, my heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper, harder.

“You’re mine,” I growl against his lips, my fingers tangling in his hair. “This cock is mine until I say you can cum.”

He groans, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing inside me. “Fuck—I can’t—fuck—I can’t hold on—”

I pull back, gripping his jaw, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You will. Or I stop.”

His eyes are wild, dark with need. But he nods, a rough, jerky movement. Then he’s fucking me again, his cock pounding into my pussy, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

“I’m close—” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck—I’m so close—”

His fingers find my clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles, and—

—oh god—

My back arches off the desk, a scream tearing from my throat as my orgasm hits—wave after wave of pleasure, my pussy clenching violently around his cock, my body shuddering beneath him. He groans, his cock pulsing inside me, his hips stuttering as he fights the urge to cum.

“Fuck—fuck—” His voice is a rasp. “Can I—fuck—can I cum now?”

I’m still riding the high of my orgasm, my pussy fluttering around him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. But I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze.

“Cum for me, baby,” I whisper. “Cum inside me. I want it. All of it. Cum for me. NOW!”

And with a groan that sounds like it’s been torn from his soul, he does. A LOT. And it’s good. So, so good. He fills me up like I’ve never felt before. And can’t wait to feel again.

I slide away from him to catch my breath, my thighs still slick with his cum. I watch him melt deeper into the office chair. His tie hangs loose, shirt wrinkled and half-tugged from his waistband. The flattened stress ball rolls forgotten somewhere under the desk. His chest rises and falls in heavy, uneven pulls.

“Turn around,” he says. His voice is rough, scraped raw.

I tilt my head, letting my gaze drag down to where his slacks are still open, his softening cock glistening with both of us. “You’ve had your turn.”

“I know.” He swallows. His knuckles whiten on the armrests. “Let me — please. On the floor. I want my mouth on you while you take me again.” The words come out fractured, almost clumsy. “Sixty-nine. Right here. I want to taste it. Taste…us.”

The fluorescent light continues to hum above us. A paper drifts off the desk edge and settles near my heel as I feel my throat grow dry from excitement. A guy who wasn’t shy about tasting his own cum admittedly was a dark horse in my sexual experience. And by that I mean, I’ve yet to find a man who was into it. Quickly, I shed my heels and let my skirt fall, then peel my ruined underwear down my thighs.

“On your back,” I say.

He moves fast for a man still half-dressed, lowering himself onto the carpet with his head toward my feet. I straddle his face, knees bracketing his ears, and lean forward over his hips. His cock twitches against my palm as I wrap my fingers around it — half-hard, warm, still slippery.

Then his mouth finds my pussy, and my spine locks straight.

He starts with a long, flat stroke from my opening up to my clit, gathering the mess of cum and arousal on his tongue. A groan vibrates against my flesh. I grip the base of his cock and take him into my mouth, sucking the salt of both of us off his skin while he works me open with lips and teeth.

His tongue pushes inside. I feel it curl, lapping at the cum he left there, swallowing it down like he can’t get enough. My hips grind against his face without permission. He grabs my ass with both hands, pulling me harder against his mouth, and I moan around his cock — feeling it thicken, lengthen, filling my throat again.

“Fuck — you taste like both of us,” he says into me, breath hot and wet.

I pull off just long enough to gasp, “Then keep licking.” My hand pumps him while my tongue traces the ridge under his head. He’s fully hard again now, straining against my fist.

His mouth seals around my clit. Two fingers slide inside me, curling against the front wall, pressing where his tongue just was. The pressure builds fast — too fast — and I clench my jaw around a cry as my orgasm rips through me, thighs shaking against his ears.

Before I can recover, he flips me. My back hits the carpet, and he’s over me, pushing my knees apart. His cock slides in deep — cum-slick, aching, perfect. He fucks me with short, desperate thrusts, and I dig my nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“I’m going to fill you again,” he chokes out.

“Do it.”

He buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside me, hot and thick, groaning my name into the hollow of my throat. I clench around him, milking every last drop, my own body still trembling.

We lie tangled on the office floor, his weight half on me, the carpet scratchy against my back. His breath slows against my neck. I trace a lazy circle on his shoulder and smile at the ceiling.

“Tomorrow,” I murmur. “Same time.”

“PLEASE.”

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By the time I get home, I’ve already unbuttoned my blouse. The door of my flat clicks shut behind me and I’m urgently stripping everything off, leaving a trail of work clothes across the living room floor — blazer over the couch arm, skirt puddled on the rug, bra hanging off a dining chair. I fall onto my bed with my legs spread and my fingers already circling my clit. My pussy is soaked. It’s been soaked since that morning I woke up alone in your bed, the sheets still carrying the scent of us and the primal events that happened throughout that night.

I rub myself in slow circles, eyes closed, trying to recreate the feeling of you inside me. Two fingers slip in easily. I’m wet enough that the sound fills the room — that slick, obscene squelch. I fuck myself harder, curling my fingers toward my belly button, searching for the angle you found so effortlessly. My hips buck off the mattress. My large breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples hard against the cool air. I come but it doesn’t relieve anything. It’s quick and unsatisfying, like scratching an itch that only moves deeper.

I try again. And again. By the third orgasm, I’m lying in a mess of tangled sheets, thighs trembling, pussy still aching. My fingers tired. The release is there but, it fades in seconds, leaving behind something hungrier. Needier. Primal. I stare at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, and I know what I need. Not my fingers. Not my vibrator. I need YOU. You. Specifically, your cock — the weight of it on my tongue, the ridge of the head catching on my lips, the way it twitches when I take you deep in my throat.

I check my phone. 6:47 PM. You close the shop at eight.

I shower. I shave well… everything. I stand in front of my closet, naked and bare, water still beading on my skin, and pull out a light spring coat — the same blue as my eyes. It hits mid-thigh so I don’t bother wearing anything underneath. I button it to the collar, check myself in the mirror. From the outside, I look professional. Composed. The kind of woman who has her life together. My dark hair falls past my shoulders almost to my waist, still damp at the ends. My lips are bare — I want to taste you without interference.

The drive to your shop seems like it takes forever. Through it I am hyperaware of the leather seat against my bare ass, the seatbelt cutting between my breasts, the cool air from the vents drifting up under my coat. My nipples are so hard they ache. Between my legs, I can feel myself getting wet again — something I can’t control when I think about you. I press my thighs together and the pressure sends a strong pulse through my clit that makes me inhale sharply through my teeth.

I pull in across the street two minutes before closing. Through the shop’s front window, I watch you flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. You’re going through your end of the day habits, moving with that unhurried efficiency I remember from that night — the way you took off my clothes like you had all the time in the world, like you were unwrapping something you intended to savor. My hand drifts to my thigh, fingers pressing into the bare skin just above my knee. I stop. I force myself to wait. To watch you lock the register, straighten the chairs, pull down the security gate halfway.

I cross the street. My heels clicking on the pavement. The night air slides up under my coat and licks at my bare pussy, and I shiver — not from cold. From the anticipation. From the deliciously filthy thrill of what I’m about to do.

I push through the door before you can fully latch it. You turn, startled, and I see the recognition land — your eyes widen, then narrow, then drop to the gap in my coat where it’s fallen open just enough to show the inner curve of my breast.

“Peach.” My name in your mouth sounds like a warning.

I don’t answer. I let the coat drop. It pools around my ankles in a soft heap of blue, and I stand there in nothing but heels and a smile. The streetlight filters in through the window. My nipples are tight and erect, my breasts full, rising with each breath. I watch your gaze move down my body — over the flat plane of my stomach, the gentle swell of my hips, the slick shine forming between my thighs.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say as I step closer. The click of my heels on the tiled floor echo in the small office. “I called. You didn’t answer.”

“I was working.” Your voice is rougher than I remember. Your hands hang at your sides, fingers curling and uncurling.

“So was I.” I close the distance between us. My fingers find your belt buckle — the metal is cold against my knuckles. I look up at you. My full wet lips parting. Without another word, I drop to my knees, unbuckling your belt with shaking fingers. Your zipper comes down with a metallic hiss. I pull you free — loving that are half-hard already as I begin to gently stroke you as I look up at your face. The weight of you fills my palm. I wrap my fingers around the growing base and stroking upward, slowly, reveling in the feeling of you beginning to throb under my touch. The head darkens, flushes. A bead of precum forms at the tip, and I eagerly lean forward to lick it off. The luscious taste —pure salt and skin — floods my wanting mouth.

Slowly I begin to pull you in. My lips stretching around the head, my wet tongue swirling, softly tracing the ridge. You’re too thick to take all at once, so I work my way down inch by gorgeous inch, jaw aching, wetness pooling at the corners of my mouth. My hands grip your thighs for balance, nails digging into the denim and I begin to feel the sting of tears from your girth. I don’t care. All I want is you deep in my mouth, in my throat. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Above me, I hear your breath catch — a sharp inhale through clenched teeth. I pull back, gasping, a string of spit connecting my lower lip to your cock. Still looking up at you as your hand comes down to my jaw, thumb tracing my swelling lower lip.

“You missed me,” you say.

I answer by taking you back into my mouth, deeper this time, until I feel you hit the back of my throat. My eyes begin water more, but I don’t stop. I bob my head, setting a rhythm — slow pull back, tongue flat against the underside, then sink forward until my nose presses into you. My breasts jiggle with each movement, nipples brushing against the rough fabric of your jeans. I can feel my pussy now dripping onto the floor, the heat of it glazing my inner thighs.

Your hands tangle in my hair. Not pushing — just guiding and holding. Your hips start to move, shallow thrusts that match my rhythm. I moan around you, and the vibration makes you groan, low and deep. My eyes roll back as I reach down between my own legs, fingers fervently finding my clit. I’m going to come just from this — from the taste of you, the feel of you in my deep in my throat, the delectable sound of my own sucking and slurping to the background of your ragged breathing.

But that’s not what I came here for.

I take you as deep as I can and hold it briefly before pulling off, gasping before I move to stand on unsteady legs. I turn around to face the street window, placing my hands on the glass as I bend over, looking back at you over my shoulder. “Fuck me,” I say. “Please.”

You immediately step forward. (I love that I didn’t have to ask twice.) The thick head of your cock nudges my drenched entrance, and I push back hungrily, needing you inside me in a way I’ve never felt before. You slide in — one long, slow stroke that fills me completely and stretches me to the hilt. I cry out with a loud moan, as you grip my hips pulling me against you.

Neither of us cares who can see. This is all that exists for now. That moment when logic and desire can’t connect, in the most euphoric way. Your thighs slap against my ass with each thrust. My moans and whimpers are loud — I can’t help it. My breasts bounce with every thrust, nipples dragging against the cold glass. You reach around and cup each one, thumbs rolling my nipples as you continue to pound me, unrelenting. My pussy clenches around you so hard you hiss.

“Harder,” I beg. “Please — harder —”

You oblige me. The pace turns feral, as do my screams. I feel you bottom out with each thrust, that deep ache that borders on pain but quickly dissolves into pure pleasure. My orgasm quickly starts to build — I can feel it coiling and tightening, taking me to the brink.

“I’m close,” I gasp. “Don’t stop — don’t —”

My pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, and I scream out your name. You follow seconds later — I feel you throb inside me, then the hot rush of your cum filling me, spurt after spurt, until it spills out around your cock and down my trembling thighs.

We stay like that for a long moment. Your forehead rests between my shoulder blades. I can feel your ragged breath hot on my skin. Inside me, you soften slowly, and when you finally pull out, I feel your cum slide down my inner thighs — warm, thick.

I turn around to face you, my legs still shaking. I pull you in to kiss you — slow, deep, knowing you can taste yourself on my tongue. Your hands find my waist, steadying me.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I whisper against your lips.

You pull back. Your thumb traces my cheekbone. In the dim light of the closed shop, with my coat still pooled on the floor and your cum dripping down my legs, I realize I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if this was the end or the beginning. All I know is that the ache is gone — replaced by something blissful, complex and absolutely gorgeous.

I pull you in for one more lingering kiss, tongues softly delving in a slow, languorous manner. When we finally break apart, breathless and smiling I see something in your eyes that wasn’t there before—a genuine look of…caring? Maybe more like a connection. I’m not really sure but I know I like it.

You run your thumb along my jawline, your eyes searching mine. “So,” you ask, your voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, “when can I take you on a proper date?” I can’t help but smile. I don’t wonder what happens next. I know. I pick up my coat, buttoning it slowly, and walk out into the night air with your warmth still inside me, now knowing this is only the beginning.

Copyright © JP Productions 2015-2026

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The lock clicked. The door swung open.

There you were, broad-shouldered and rumpled from the day, your tie loosened, your shirt wrinkled just enough to make my fingers itch to undo every button. The second your eyes landed on me, something dark and hungry flickered in them, your exhaustion dissolving like sugar in hot coffee. I didn’t give you time to speak. I pushed off the doorframe and closed the distance between us in two steps, my bare feet silent against the hardwood. My hands found your chest, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as I pressed my body against yours, the heat of you seeping through the layers between us.

“Miss me?” I murmured, tilting my head up, my lips brushing yours before I claimed you in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and pent-up need. You groaned into my mouth, your hands dropping to my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise, and I melted against you, my body arching into the touch. The kiss deepened, slow and filthy, our tongues tangling—it made my desire for you heat up even more. My fingers worked at the buttons of your shirt, popping them free one by one, my nails grazing your skin beneath. You shivered, your breath hitching as I trailed my lips down your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Fuck,” you rasped, your voice rough, and I smiled against your skin, my teeth dragging over your pulse point before I pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Welcome home,” I whispered, my breath hot against your ear. My hand slid lower, palming the growing hardness between your legs through your slacks, and you hissed, your hips jerking involuntarily. I chuckled, low and dark, before stepping back and taking your hand in mine, my fingers threading through yours as I led you toward the bathroom.

The air grew thicker with every step, the scent of steam and vanilla body wash wrapping around us like a promise. The shower was already running, the water drumming against the tiles, the mirror fogged just enough to blur our reflections as we crossed the threshold. I turned to face you, my back pressing against the sink, the cool porcelain a stark contrast to the heat radiating off my skin. My fingers found the hem of your shirt, tugging it free from your waistband before I began to undo the remaining buttons, my movements slow, deliberate. Each inch of skin I revealed was met with a fresh wave of hunger—your abs tightening under my touch, your chest rising and falling faster as I pushed the fabric from your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor at your feet.

You stood before me, naked and breathing hard, your cock straining against your pants. I dropped to my knees and looked up at you as my fingers traced the waistband of your pants. The sound of the zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet room, the metal teeth parting with a slow, teasing hiss. I hooked my fingers into the fabric and tugged, dragging your pants and boxers down your thighs in one smooth motion. Your cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, and my mouth watered.

“You’re so gorgeous,” I murmured, my voice thick with want as I wrapped my hand around the base of your shaft, my thumb swiping over the slick head. You groaned, your fingers tangling in my hair, not guiding, just holding, like you needed something to ground you. I leaned in, my breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your cock before I pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the underside, my tongue flicking out to taste you. My need to tease you took over but only briefly-I wanted to feel more of you.

I took you into my mouth, my lips stretching around your girth as I hollowed my cheeks, my tongue swirling over the ridged head. Your breath hitched, your hips twitching forward, and I moaned around you, the vibration making your cock jerk. My free hand cupped your balls, rolling them gently in my palm, feeling the way they tightened as I took you deeper, my throat opening to swallow around the thickest part of you. My eyes watered, but I didn’t pull back, my gaze locked onto yours as I bobbed my head, my lips sealed tight around your shaft. The sounds filling the room were gorgeous—the wet, sloppy slick of my mouth, the ragged breaths falling from your lips, the way your fingers tightened in my hair with every downward stroke.

“Fuck, just like that—” Your voice was rough, strained, and I hummed in response, my mouth working you faster, my hand twisting at the base of your cock. I could feel you swelling, your pulse hammering against my tongue, and I pulled back just enough to breathe, my lips dragging along your length. “I’m close,” you warned, your voice a growl, but I didn’t stop. I took you back into my mouth, my throat fluttering around the head as I swallowed you down, my nose pressing against the trim hair at the base of your cock.

Your hips stuttered, your grip in my hair tightening as your cock began pulsing, as thick ropes of cum hit the back of my throat. I swallowed around you, my tongue working to milk every last drop, my eyes never leaving yours. You tasted like sin and salt and mine, and I savoured it, licking my lips as I pulled back, a smug, admittedly satisfied smirk curling my mouth.

You were still hard.

I stood slowly, my body pressing against yours as I rose, my fingers trailing up your chest. My lingerie was damp with sweat, the lace clinging to my skin, and I reached behind me to unclasp my bra, letting the straps slide down my arms before I tossed it aside. Your hands found my waist, your thumbs hooking into the waistband of my thong, and I stepped out of it, kicking the scrap of delicate lace away. The cool air hit my bare skin, making me shiver, my nipples pebbling as your gaze raked over me, dark and hungry.

“My turn,” I purred, stepping into the shower.

The water was perfect—the steam curling around us as I tilted my head back, letting the spray soak my hair. I turned to face you, my hands sliding over my own body, my fingers teasing my nipples before trailing lower, over the swell of my stomach, between my thighs. I was already wet, my pussy aching with need, and I let out a soft moan as my fingers circled my clit, my hips rolling into my touch.

“You’re dripping,” you growled, stepping in behind me, your hands finding my hips. The glass door clicked shut, the steam enveloping us, the world narrowing to the slick slide of skin on skin. Your cock pressed against my ass, thick and insistent, and I arched back into you, my fingers still working between my legs.

“Mmm, and it’s all for you,” I murmured, turning my head to capture your lips in another searing kiss. Your hands slid up my body, cupping my breasts, your thumbs rolling over my nipples as you pinched, just hard enough to make me gasp into your mouth. I broke the kiss, my breath coming in sharp as I turned to face the glass, bracing my hands against the cool surface.

You didn’t make me wait.

Your hands slid under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around your waist, my back pressing against the glass. I arched into you more, drenched with want, my nails digging into your shoulders as you positioned yourself at my entrance. The head of your cock teased my folds, slick and swollen, and I whimpered, my hips rolling in desperate little circles.

“Please—” The word was a breathless plea, and you didn’t need to be told twice.

You thrust into me in one smooth motion, filling me completely, stretching me around your thickness. I cried out, my head falling back against the glass as my body adjusted, my walls clenching around you. You groaned, your forehead pressing to mine as you held yourself deep inside me, your cock pulsing with the effort of staying still.

“You’re so tight,” you growled, your voice rough, and I moaned, my nails raking down your back.

“Fuck me,” I demanded, my voice a whimper. “Hard, baby. Please.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You pulled back and slammed into me, your hips snapping forward with enough force to make my breath catch. The glass rattled with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small space, mingling with the rush of the water and our ragged breaths. I clung to you, my legs locked around your waist, my body taking every inch of you as you fucked me like you were starving for it. The angle was perfect, your cock grazing over that sensitive spot inside me with every deep stroke, and I could feel my orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter with each snap of your hips.

“Yes—right there—” My voice was a broken gasp, my body trembling as my release crashed over me. My pussy clenched around you, my walls fluttering as I came, my nails digging crescents into your skin. You groaned, your thrusts becoming erratic, your cock swelling inside me as you chased your own release.

“Cum with me,” you commanded, your voice a dark growl, and I shattered again, my body convulsing as another wave of pleasure tore through me. You followed, your hips stuttering as you buried yourself deep, your cock pulsing as you filled me. I could feel you spilling inside me, hot and thick, mixing with my own arousal as it dripped down my thighs. Your forehead pressed to mine, our breaths ragged, the water cascading over us, washing away the sweat and the stickiness of sex.

For a long moment, we just stayed like that—suspended in the aftermath, our hearts pounding in sync, the steam curling around us like a living thing. Your hands supported my weight effortlessly, my toes barely brushing the shower floor as you held me against the glass, our bodies still connected. The water ran over us, cooling our overheated skin, but the heat between us was something deeper, something that wouldn’t fade so easily.

Finally, you lowered me to the ground, my legs wobbling as my feet touched the surface of the slick tiles. I turned in your arms, my hands sliding up your chest as I pressed my lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss. Your cock slipped free, a fresh wave of cum dripping from my pussy, and I reached down, my fingers gathering the mess before bringing them to my mouth. Your eyes filled with pleasure as I sucked them clean, my tongue swirling over my fingers as I savored the taste of us mixed together.

“Not done yet,” I whispered against your lips, my hand trailing lower, my fingers wrapping around your cock, already stirring back to life. I stepped out of the shower, the cool air hitting my damp skin, and turned to face you, my hips swaying as I led you toward the bedroom.

The hallway felt different now—charged with the memory of what had just happened, the air thick with the scent of sex and steam. My skin was still flushed, my body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, but the night was far from over.

And I couldn’t wait to show you just how far we could go.

Erotic Fiction by JuicyPeach Audio Erotica 2025 ©JP Productions

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*It starts off with inner monologue for the first 8 minute…

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