The Warm Up - Episode 3

She walks into the studio at five to nine. The lights are already hot. His gaze slides over her, lazy, then settles. She lets her coat drop. Underneath she wears nothing but black lace and a thong so sheer you can see where her lips meet. He steps close enough that his breath touches her ear. "On your knees." She drops. Her fingers work his belt in one clean motion, pull him free. He’s already hard. She takes him in slow, lets the head slide over her tongue, then swallows until her nose presses his stomach. A low sound leaves his throat. He fists her hair, holds her there, fucks into her mouth with short, deliberate strokes. Saliva runs down her chin and drips onto her breasts. He pulls her up, spins her toward the couch, bends her over the arm. One yank and the thong is around her ankles. He pushes two fingers inside her; she’s soaked. The first thrust takes him to the hilt. He sets a rhythm—hard, measured, relentless. Her nails dig into the leather. Each slap of skin sounds louder than the last. When he feels her tighten he reaches under her, finds her clit, circles once, twice. She comes with a choked cry, pulsing around him. He stays deep, waits until the last tremor fades, then pulls out and paints her lower back in thick stripes. The clock reads nine-seventeen.