Weekend Affair
The key turned with a satisfying click—the kind of sound that carried the weight of a dozen unspoken promises. The villa smelled of salt and jasmine, the ocean breeze whispering through half-open shutters. He stepped inside, his polished oxfords silent on the terrazzo, and there she was: draped across the linen sofa like a forgotten scarf, her phone glowing in her hands, legs bare save for the delicate chain around her ankle. She didn’t look up. Not yet.
"You’re late," she said, popping a grape into her mouth. The way she said it—like she’d been counting the minutes, like she didn’t care at all—sent a familiar thrill down his spine. He dropped his briefcase by the door, already loosening his tie. "Flight delay," he lied.
The lingerie was new—black lace, crotchless, the kind of thing she’d roll her eyes at if he bought it himself. But she’d chosen it. That was the difference. The delicate straps cut into the softness of her hips, framing the bare skin beneath. She shifted, finally lifting her gaze, and he could see the challenge there. Waiting.
From his jacket pocket, he pulled out the box—small, velvet, the kind that usually held jewelry. Her eyebrow arched, but she didn’t move. He opened it. Nestled inside was a dildo, sleek and ridged, the silicone embedded with tiny, glittering Swarovski crystals that caught the light like scattered stars. "You’re ridiculous," she said, but her fingers twitched.
She reached for it, turning it over in her hands, the weight unfamiliar. The jewels pressed against her palm, cool and hard. "It’s tacky," she lied, just to watch his jaw tighten. Then she hooked a finger under the lace at her hip, yanking it aside to expose the flushed, bare skin beneath. "Guess you’ll have to prove me wrong."
He didn’t hesitate—hands on her knees, forcing them wider, his breath hot against her. The first lick was slow, deliberate, his tongue flat against her, tasting salt and the faintest hint of coconut oil. She squirmed, but he held her down, his grip bruising. He could feel her heartbeat pulsing against his lips.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt. “Stop teasing,” she breathed, pushing his face deeper. He obeyed, working her open with his tongue, circling her clit until her thighs trembled. She tasted like summer, like the expensive tequila they’d wasted on each other last time, like something he’d never get enough of.
He pulled back, just far enough to reach for the ridiculous, sparkling toy still clutched in her hand. She let him take it, watching through half-lidded eyes as he pressed the tip against her, gliding it through her wetness without pushing in. “Fuck,” she hissed, arching off the sofa, but he held her down with a palm flat on her stomach. “Patience,” he murmured, twisting the dildo just so, letting the ridges catch against her sensitive flesh.
She hated how he could make her whimper like this—how he knew exactly when to pause, when to drag the silicone in torturous circles until her hips bucked shamelessly. The stretch burned when he finally pushed it inside,室温 the glittering ridges catching on her walls in a way that made her toes curl. "Christ,"ذب she gritted out, head thrown back, but he didn't relent, working it deeper with slow, twisting thrusts that left no room for her to catch her breath.
His free hand slid up her thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, and she could feel him smirking against her skin. "You're so fucking greedy," he murmured, pulling the dildo out just to watch her clench around nothing. "Always trying to take more than I give you." The insult sent a jolt between her legs—she knew what came next, knew he'd make her beg for it, but the anticipation was its own kind of torment.
He stood abruptly, the sudden shift in weight making the sofa creak, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might walk away just to spite her. But then his belt buckle clinked, the zipper hissed, and the thick, flushed length of him sprang free, already glistening at the tip. She didn't look—couldn't—but the sound of his palm stroking lazily over himself made her mouth water.
"Eyes up," he ordered, and when she obeyed, he was grinning down at her, his cock bobbing against her thigh like it had a mind of its own. He straddled her hips, his weight pinning her in place, and dragged the head through her slick folds without entering. "Still think it's tacky?" he murmured, rubbing himself against her swollen clit in slow, maddening circles.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging—but her body betrayed her, hips lifting greedily against him. He laughed, low and rough, and finally, finally notched himself at her entrance. "Say it," he breathed, pressing in just an inch before pulling back again. The stretch burned deliciously, and she could feel every throbbing vein as he teased her.
"Daddy," she gasped, the word dragged from her throat like a confession. It wasn't a game anymore—not when his thumb found her clit in tight, practiced circles, not when he sank into her with one smooth, brutal thrust that punched the air from her lungs. Her back arched off the sofa, her fingers clawing at his forearms as he set a relentless pace, each snap of his hips designed to steal her breath.
He could feel it—the way her body clamped down around him, the shuddering rhythm of her trying to take him deeper. The chain around her ankle jingled faintly with every movement, a ridiculous little detail that shouldn't have made his pulse spike the way it did. "Say it again," he growled, twisting his thumb just so, reveling in the way her thighs tensed.
She let out a broken moan, her nails digging into the sweat-slick skin of his shoulders. "Daddy," she gasped again, this time slurred around the syllables, like the word was dissolving on her tongue. He could taste himself on her lips when he kissed her—messy, uncoordinated—and the realization that she'd been licking at him without him noticing sent a bolt of possessive heat through him.
Her orgasm hit like a wave—hips jerking uncontrollably, thighs clamping around his waist as she arched off the sofa with a choked scream. He could feel the flutter of her walls around him, the sudden wetness spilling between them, and before he could think, his hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering. "Christ," he groaned, burying his face in her neck as his own climax tore through him, hot and pulsing deep inside her.
For a moment, there was only silence—just the ragged sound of their breathing and the distant crash of waves outside. Then he lifted his head, brushing damp hair from her forehead, his voice rough but amused. "You better still be on the pill," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Because that was just round one."
"You’re late," she said, popping a grape into her mouth. The way she said it—like she’d been counting the minutes, like she didn’t care at all—sent a familiar thrill down his spine. He dropped his briefcase by the door, already loosening his tie. "Flight delay," he lied.
The lingerie was new—black lace, crotchless, the kind of thing she’d roll her eyes at if he bought it himself. But she’d chosen it. That was the difference. The delicate straps cut into the softness of her hips, framing the bare skin beneath. She shifted, finally lifting her gaze, and he could see the challenge there. Waiting.
From his jacket pocket, he pulled out the box—small, velvet, the kind that usually held jewelry. Her eyebrow arched, but she didn’t move. He opened it. Nestled inside was a dildo, sleek and ridged, the silicone embedded with tiny, glittering Swarovski crystals that caught the light like scattered stars. "You’re ridiculous," she said, but her fingers twitched.
She reached for it, turning it over in her hands, the weight unfamiliar. The jewels pressed against her palm, cool and hard. "It’s tacky," she lied, just to watch his jaw tighten. Then she hooked a finger under the lace at her hip, yanking it aside to expose the flushed, bare skin beneath. "Guess you’ll have to prove me wrong."
He didn’t hesitate—hands on her knees, forcing them wider, his breath hot against her. The first lick was slow, deliberate, his tongue flat against her, tasting salt and the faintest hint of coconut oil. She squirmed, but he held her down, his grip bruising. He could feel her heartbeat pulsing against his lips.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt. “Stop teasing,” she breathed, pushing his face deeper. He obeyed, working her open with his tongue, circling her clit until her thighs trembled. She tasted like summer, like the expensive tequila they’d wasted on each other last time, like something he’d never get enough of.
He pulled back, just far enough to reach for the ridiculous, sparkling toy still clutched in her hand. She let him take it, watching through half-lidded eyes as he pressed the tip against her, gliding it through her wetness without pushing in. “Fuck,” she hissed, arching off the sofa, but he held her down with a palm flat on her stomach. “Patience,” he murmured, twisting the dildo just so, letting the ridges catch against her sensitive flesh.
She hated how he could make her whimper like this—how he knew exactly when to pause, when to drag the silicone in torturous circles until her hips bucked shamelessly. The stretch burned when he finally pushed it inside,室温 the glittering ridges catching on her walls in a way that made her toes curl. "Christ,"ذب she gritted out, head thrown back, but he didn't relent, working it deeper with slow, twisting thrusts that left no room for her to catch her breath.
His free hand slid up her thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, and she could feel him smirking against her skin. "You're so fucking greedy," he murmured, pulling the dildo out just to watch her clench around nothing. "Always trying to take more than I give you." The insult sent a jolt between her legs—she knew what came next, knew he'd make her beg for it, but the anticipation was its own kind of torment.
He stood abruptly, the sudden shift in weight making the sofa creak, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might walk away just to spite her. But then his belt buckle clinked, the zipper hissed, and the thick, flushed length of him sprang free, already glistening at the tip. She didn't look—couldn't—but the sound of his palm stroking lazily over himself made her mouth water.
"Eyes up," he ordered, and when she obeyed, he was grinning down at her, his cock bobbing against her thigh like it had a mind of its own. He straddled her hips, his weight pinning her in place, and dragged the head through her slick folds without entering. "Still think it's tacky?" he murmured, rubbing himself against her swollen clit in slow, maddening circles.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging—but her body betrayed her, hips lifting greedily against him. He laughed, low and rough, and finally, finally notched himself at her entrance. "Say it," he breathed, pressing in just an inch before pulling back again. The stretch burned deliciously, and she could feel every throbbing vein as he teased her.
"Daddy," she gasped, the word dragged from her throat like a confession. It wasn't a game anymore—not when his thumb found her clit in tight, practiced circles, not when he sank into her with one smooth, brutal thrust that punched the air from her lungs. Her back arched off the sofa, her fingers clawing at his forearms as he set a relentless pace, each snap of his hips designed to steal her breath.
He could feel it—the way her body clamped down around him, the shuddering rhythm of her trying to take him deeper. The chain around her ankle jingled faintly with every movement, a ridiculous little detail that shouldn't have made his pulse spike the way it did. "Say it again," he growled, twisting his thumb just so, reveling in the way her thighs tensed.
She let out a broken moan, her nails digging into the sweat-slick skin of his shoulders. "Daddy," she gasped again, this time slurred around the syllables, like the word was dissolving on her tongue. He could taste himself on her lips when he kissed her—messy, uncoordinated—and the realization that she'd been licking at him without him noticing sent a bolt of possessive heat through him.
Her orgasm hit like a wave—hips jerking uncontrollably, thighs clamping around his waist as she arched off the sofa with a choked scream. He could feel the flutter of her walls around him, the sudden wetness spilling between them, and before he could think, his hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering. "Christ," he groaned, burying his face in her neck as his own climax tore through him, hot and pulsing deep inside her.
For a moment, there was only silence—just the ragged sound of their breathing and the distant crash of waves outside. Then he lifted his head, brushing damp hair from her forehead, his voice rough but amused. "You better still be on the pill," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Because that was just round one."
1ヶ月前
