My Hor fucking client! A night to remember
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The booking looked ordinary on paper.
Then I opened the door and six foot of European trouble filled the frame. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Shoulders that made the hallway look smaller. Arms that had clearly spent years in a gym and weren’t shy about it.
I kept the smile professional. Client’s a client.
My body did not get the memo.
He walked in like he already knew the place. No performance. Just heat and that quiet confidence that sits in your stomach and stays there.
We talked for about two minutes. Neither of us cared.
He stepped in. I had to look up. That doesn’t happen often. His hands found my waist and pulled me straight into him and I felt how hard he already was through his jeans.
First kiss killed the small talk.
Second kiss was hungry. Teeth. Tongue. His hand in my hair, tilting my head so he could take more.
I had his shirt open before we made it to the couch. My mouth on his chest. His hands under my dress, gripping my arse, lifting me like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around him and ground down on that thick cock, slow, just to hear the sound he made.
Clothes hit the floor. Dress. Bra. His jeans. My knickers were already soaked and he dragged them down my thighs like they offended him.
He put me on the bed and didn’t ask.
Mouth on my tits. Fingers between my legs, two of them, curling, finding how wet I already was and using it. I was panting into his neck when he finally lined himself up and pushed in.
Fuck.
He filled me in one slow, mean stroke and held it there so I could feel every inch. Then he started moving. Deep. Heavy. The kind of fucking that makes the headboard knock and your thoughts fall out.
I came on him the first time with my nails in his back and my mouth open against his shoulder.
He didn’t stop.
He flipped me. Hands on my hips. Fucked me from behind until I was grabbing the sheets and swearing. Then on my back again, legs over his shoulders, that big body driving into me like he had all night and no intention of being polite about it.
Sweat. Wet sounds. My hair wrecked. His mouth on mine when I came the second time, swallowing the noise.
We barely paused. Grin. Breath. Then he was hard again and I was climbing on top, sinking down onto him, riding him until my thighs shook and he was gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks.
He came like that. Deep. Holding me down on him. I felt it. I stayed there and rolled my hips through it until he groaned into my chest.
We collapsed into the mess. Sheets ruined. Clothes everywhere. Both of us slick, breathless, stupidly pleased with ourselves.
I looked at him lying there, wrecked and gorgeous, and thought the same thing I always think on the rare nights like this.
I actually got paid for this.
Some bookings are work.
That one was a filthy, sweaty, unforgettable fuck.
And I slept like I’d earned every dollar.
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