The Tryst List - Episode 9

Marissa’s heels cracked against the tile. She found him half-dressed already, shirt open, belt gone. The suite smelled like rain through open doors. She walked straight to him, slid the tie off his neck with one finger, and pulled. He let her guide him to the edge of the bed. When she sank to her knees, she kept her eyes on his. The zipper gave way. Heat met her palm. She wrapped her fingers around him, slow at first, then firmer, twisting on the downstroke. His breath hitched. She took him into her mouth and felt his hand tighten in her hair, guiding her pace without forcing it. Spit slicked her knuckles. Each time she pulled back she let her tongue trace the underside, tasting salt and skin. He swore once, low. She answered by swallowing deeper, lips stretched, throat relaxed. The muscles in his thighs flexed under her free hand. He pulled her up without warning, spun her to face the mirrored closet, and shoved the silk hem of her dress past her hips. Her panties came down in a single yank. Two fingers slid between her legs, found her wet already, and pushed inside. She watched herself in the glass while he worked them in and out. Her forehead dropped to the cool surface. He replaced his fingers with his cock in one steady thrust that punched the air from her lungs. One hand stayed at her throat; the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. Every stroke slapped skin. The pace turned rough fast. Her nipples dragged against the dress fabric with each shove. She reached back, grabbed his wrist, urged him deeper. He gave it. Sweat ran between her shoulder blades. He leaned over her, teeth on the muscle where neck met shoulder, and drove harder. She came first, shaking, mouth open against the mirror. He followed two thrusts later, pulse after pulse, heat flooding her. When he slipped out, his spend slid down her thigh. Neither moved. The only sound was the sea through the open balcony doors.