The Tryst List - Episode 8

They meet in the dark corner of a rooftop bar. One look passes between them and they leave. The elevator ride down is silent, heavy. His hand presses her lower back. The hotel suite door clicks shut behind them and she turns, already undoing her blouse. He strips her quickly, methodically. No wasted movement. Her bra lands on a chair, her skirt pools at her feet. She stands in only silk panties and heels. He steps back to look. She lets him. He pushes her onto the bed. Spreads her thighs with firm hands. His mouth finds her, hot and wet, tongue working her clit in slow circles. She arches, fingers tangled in his hair. Two fingers slide inside her, curling just right. She comes fast, sharp, a gasp torn from her throat. She pulls him up. Unbuckles his belt, frees his cock. He is hard, thick, ready. She wraps her hand around him, strokes once, twice. Then guides him to her entrance. He pushes in with one smooth thrust, filling her completely. She takes every inch. He fucks her with steady rhythm. Deep strokes. Her nails dig into his back. She meets him thrust for thrust. Sweat gathers between her breasts. He lowers his mouth to suck one nipple, biting softly. Her second orgasm builds slow, then crashes through her. She clenches around him, tight, pulsing. He doesn’t stop. Rolls her onto her stomach. Pulls her hips up. Slides back inside from behind. The angle is deeper, rougher. He grips her hair, tugs just enough. She moans into the sheets. He reaches around, rubs her clit with skilled fingers. She comes again, harder, her body shaking. He pulls out. Turns her to face him. Strokes himself above her. She watches, lips parted. He finishes across her stomach, hot streaks painting her skin. She drags two fingers through it, brings them to her mouth. Tastes him. They lie there afterward, breathing hard. No words. Just sweat cooling on skin and the distant city lights through the window.