Page 4

I feel him position himself between my legs, the head of his cock teasing my entrance.

"Tell me you want this," he says, his voice strained with restraint.

"I want this," I say without hesitation. "I want you."

He pushes inside me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The feeling is exquisite—a delicious stretch that makes me moan.

"Jesus Christ, you feel good," he groans. "So tight. So perfect around me."

His words send another spike of arousal through me. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He starts to move, setting a rhythm that has me clinging to him, nails digging into his shoulders. I’m still blindfolded and it makes everything more intense.

"That's it," he murmurs against my ear. "Take all of this cock. It’s all yours."

His hand snakes between us, finding my clit. The dual stimulation is almost too much. I feel the tension building low in my belly.

"Are you close?" he asks, his voice rough with exertion.

"Yes," I manage to say between gasps.

"Good. I want to feel you come around my cock."

His dirty talk pushes me closer to the edge. I've never experienced this before—sex that engages not just my body but my mind, my imagination.

"Nate," I moan as I feel my orgasm building.

"That's it, baby. Let go for me."

The orgasm crashes over me with an intensity that leaves me shaking. I cry out his name, my body clenching around him.

He sinks his full weight onto me, kissing my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips. I feel my body relax, his body heavy on top of me, grounding me.

"I'm not done with you yet," Nate growls in my ear. He pulls out, leaving me feeling empty and desperate. "Turn over."

I comply, rolling onto my stomach. His T-shirt falls off my face and I can now see the rumpled sheets under me, my knuckles white as I grip the pillow.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me up onto my knees.

"Arch your back for me," he commands, and I do, pressing my face into the pillow.

He enters me again with one powerful thrust that makes me cry out. This angle is deeper, more intense. His fingers dig into my hips.

"You like it like this?" he asks, one hand sliding up my back to tangle in my hair.

"Yes," I gasp, barely able to form words. "God, yes."

He tugs gently on my hair, pulling my head back. "I can feel how much you like it. You're so wet for me."

"Touch yourself," he instructs, his voice strained. "I want you to come again."

I reach between my legs, finding my clit still sensitive from my first orgasm. The dual stimulation is almost too much, but I'm already climbing toward another peak.

"That's it," he encourages, his thrusts speeding up as his hand reaches around, finding my breast. His fingers roll my nipple, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain through my body.

"Oh god," I cry out, my fingers working faster against my clit.

"You like that?" His voice is ragged. "Tell me how it feels."

"So good," I manage between gasps. "Don't stop."

He doesn't. His cock drives into me while his fingers continue their exquisite torture on my nipples, tugging and rolling them between his fingers.

"I'm close," I pant, my body tensing. "I'm going to?—"

The orgasm hits me with even more intensity than the first. My inner walls clench around him, my body shuddering with release.

"Fuck," he growls, his rhythm faltering. His fingers dig into my hips as he slams into me one final time. "Elena—" His body goes rigid against mine, and I feel him pulsing inside me as he comes.

We collapse onto the mattress in a tangle of sweaty limbs, both of us breathing hard. His weight is heavy on my back, but it feels so good.

After a moment, he rolls onto his side, pulling me with him.

We lie together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and ragged breathing.

"That was..." I trail off, unable to find adequate words.

"Yeah," he agrees, keeping one arm draped across my waist. "It was."

We cuddle in comfortable silence for a few minutes, catching our breath. His fingers lightly graze my hip.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Why did you have women's underwear in your pocket?"

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "I told you—they were in my roommate's jacket pocket. I grabbed the wrong jacket."

"And your roommate just carries around women's underwear?" I turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow skeptically.

"My roommate is a bit of a player," he explains with a shrug.

I have a sinking suspicion that Nate is also a player but I push that thought aside. It doesn’t matter—this is a one time thing.

He pulls me closer. His lips brush against my neck in a gesture that feels surprisingly tender after the intensity of our sex.

I should probably feel some regret or uncertainty about what just happened, but all I feel is a pleasant exhaustion and lingering satisfaction. This was nothing like the carefully choreographed, polite sex I've had in the past. This was raw and exhilarating.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his fingers playing with a strand of my hair.

"Just that I didn't expect my night to end like this," I admit.

He chuckles. "Makes two of us. But I'm definitely not complaining."

Neither am I, I think as my eyes grow heavy. Neither am I.

Nate's breathing has already slowed beside me, his arm still draped across my waist. The digital clock on the nightstand glows 11:37 PM in harsh red numbers. Less than seven hours until my alarm will shatter this peaceful bubble.

I should say something. Ask if he wants to stay or go. Exchange numbers, maybe. But I don’t want to be the first one to bring it up. And I’m not actually going to see him again, right?

I feel Nate shift beside me, his breathing now deep and rhythmic. He's fallen asleep. Damn, that was quick. I envy his ability to simply turn off, to be present in this moment without worrying about the next.

Maybe I should wake him up, and send him back to his place. That would be the sensible thing to do. No awkward morning- after conversation. No scrambling to get ready while navigating around a stranger in my bathroom.

But his arm is heavy across my waist, and the thought of disturbing this peaceful moment seems wrong somehow. Besides, I'm too tired to navigate that conversation now. Let morning-Elena deal with it.

My mind drifts to the sex we just had. There was something about him, about us together, that broke through my carefully constructed walls. The way he looked at me, touched me, spoke to me—it awakened something I didn't know was sleeping.

I turn slightly, careful not to disturb Nate, and study his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Strong jaw, straight nose, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. In sleep, his confident smirk is gone, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable.

Who is he, really? Beyond the charm and the incredible skill in bed? I know nothing substantial about him—not his last name, not what he does for a living, not where he's from or where he's going.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe not everything needs to be analyzed and categorized. Maybe some experiences can just be what they are—beautiful moments outside the careful structure of my normal life.