The Tryst List - Episode 7

She steps inside the penthouse and the air changes. Her dress clings to her body like a second skin—black silk pulled tight over her breasts, the hem barely covering the curve of her ass. He’s waiting by the window, shirt unbuttoned, drink untouched. He watches her walk in, slow and deliberate, each heel clicking against the marble floor like a promise. Her nipples stiffen the moment the silk slides down. He undresses her without a word, palms grazing her stomach, thumbs circling her hips. Naked now, she presses her back to the glass. The city sparkles behind her, cold and indifferent, while his mouth finds her breasts—hot, wet, sucking hard. She gasps as his teeth graze her. He drops to his knees. Spreads her open. Tongue flat against her cunt, slow at first, then relentless. She grabs his hair, grinds against his face, legs shaking. Her juices coat his chin. He doesn’t stop until she comes hard, thighs locked around his head. When he stands, his cock is thick and ready. She turns, palms flat on the window, and he enters her in one smooth thrust. Her breath fogs the glass with each thrust—harder, deeper. His hand wraps around her throat. Her moans echo off the high ceilings. He fucks her like he owns her, pounding until she breaks again, body shuddering, legs buckling. He pulls out. She drops to her knees without being told. Takes him in her mouth, tasting herself on him. He grips her hair and fucks her throat until he comes, hot and thick down her throat. She swallows every drop, lips slick, eyes locked on his. The glass still trembles behind her.