"1 am Kitchen Confessions" - A Short-Story One-Shot Erotica
A short story based on my original erotic audio script and some notes on how my erotica writing has changed
Synopsis:
“He’s my best-friend’s dad… I’m 24. He’s 45. But… I can’t help but want him.
Need him.
He’s pure sin and everything I should run the hell away from… yet…I can’t turn away.”
Raw, forbidden, and soaked in sin. Whispered secrets over countertops lead to something so much more in this short story based on my original erotic audio script “1 am Kitchen Confessions.”
Disclaimer: All content created is by adults 18+, for adults 18+, and is intended to be fictional scenarios of consenting adults 18+.
© 2025, All Rights Reserved
Author’s note:
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve released some purely for-fun erotica. This short story is inspired by one of my original audio scripts, which I recently completed, and I'm thrilled with the reception it has received (as well as the amazing VAs who have filled it!)
Here’s a little glimpse into my writing process for you all when it comes to script writing. When I’m working on an erotic audio script, I simply CAN’T work from a single perspective. It’s the same with my erotica writing.
It’s hard to explain, but it feels like my brain operates on two wavelengths when I write—two entirely different POVs.
Which means when I write, I’m not just thinking about a single mindset. Still, I’m thinking about every person involved… the feelings, emotions, senses, perceptions, backgrounds, experiences, personalities. Honestly, my biggest hang-up with writing is that I struggle with maintaining a single POV.
With script writing, I’ve found I can work simultaneously on every person’s perspective… whether it’s the male, female, counter female, counter male, etc.
It’s why I think I’ve found such a well of inspiration lately because I unlocked that one *thing* for myself that was missing… permission to write in a different way than was taught to me in any graduate writing class or what “traditional writing” says is how you *should* write.
What also comes out of that is a way for me to distill those POV scripts into a cohesive story. Now, this wasn’t the goal going into it, but it is something fun to do creatively since all the pieces are already laid out for me.
Thus, the following short - story, one-shot was created… Likely, the first of many as I have around eight in the works … yes, EIGHT as I write this.
For subscribers, I do have an audio-narrated version for you coming shortly! For now, I hope you all enjoy my the written version.
- Tiffany
Enjoy, my heathens….
I couldn’t sleep.
I had spent an entire day driving up to see my best friend, only to find out at the last second that she had also invited her current boyfriend to stay over the same weekend we had made plans.
Typical.
That was Lacey, though. She would give you the shirt off her back, but couldn’t remember plans to save her life.
And me being the kindhearted best friend (ok.. doormat), I let it go… like I always do.
But fuck me if I was going to sit in that house and listen to her and him going at it like feral dogs in the bedroom.
Lacey’s parents had divorced years ago.
But, while her mom took off to travel the world, her dad took the house, which came with a perfect sized guest house around back.
Lacey moved in when she decided to stick around to go to college, while I went down South to study art.
It wasn’t so bad.
I always had a place to stay when I came up to visit, and frankly, I spent more time at Lacey’s growing up than I did at my own parents’ house.
Which is precisely why tonight, I decided rather than suffering through Lacey’s sexual escapades, I made my way around the connecting alley and up to the main house for some late-night nibbles.
Maybe by the time I had a bite to eat, they would be done, and I could go to sleep.
Lacey and her dad lived on a large lot in one of the nicest parts of town.
The lot was covered in mature trees and a large garden leading to a back patio with a keypad lock that I had been given my own code for since they installed years ago.
I reached the door, and the small automatic light above clicked on as I tapped the glowing numbers on the keypad.
I heard the audible “click” as it opened for me.
Stepping inside, the house was eerily quiet…I could hear the clock tick and the hush that only comes when the rest of the world is dreaming.
As I walked in, the lights in the kitchen kicked on.
The room dripped with modern style… his style.
Black stone counters and elegant hardwood cabinets meet stone floors.
I smiled as I took it in and shut the door behind me, catching the scent of expensive cologne and clean linen.
Him.
I clinched my thighs for a moment. I was almost ashamed they were already slick against each other under the borrowed Cal State sweatshirt I’d “accidentally” packed in my suitcase three years ago.
The sweatshirt belonged to him, too…Lacey’s Dad. Every breath smelled of him.
I knew that Lacey’s folks had her young… too young really. Barely out of high school.
Which meant her dad was really only 20 years older. While she and Lacey had both turned 24 over the summer, Lacey’s dad was only 44…
But every time I looked at him, I could swear he was just another guy on the college campus.
Fit, toned, with a smirk that looked like sin incarnate.
The number of times I’d thought about him, late at night, alone under the covers, was downright disturbing. He was my best friend’s dad, for fuck sake.
And yet, for the past few years, I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to be spread for him on that cold stone counter. To be feasted on like I was the only meal that could satisfy him.
I could feel that familiar pulse of need between my legs, imagining it all… lost in the fantasy before realizing the steel refrigerator door was open, and just on the other side, he stood pulling out a dark bottle of wine.
My breath hitched as he closed the door, standing there, broad back, gray T-shirt clinging to the ridges of his shoulders, chilled bottle of Cabernet in his grip.
I swallowed, pulse ticking between my legs.
“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” He didn’t turn, but his voice was low, amused. I could tell there was a hint of an almost arrogant smirk there.
“I was about to open a bottle of Cab. As soon as I saw what’s-his-face’s car pull up tonight, I had a feeling I’d see you in here at some point. Figured if my daughter’s gonna ghost her house-guest, the least I can do is pour her friend a glass. Come on in. Lock the door behind you. The damn raccoons have been getting bold.”
I took another breath as I did as he asked, a soft click as the latch clicked shut.
Before turning back, I knew I'd find the stash of chocolate granola bars in the cabinet above the sink. I could hear the glug-glug of wine into two stemless glasses.
Turning back with my snack bar, I smiled as I took a seat at the dining table.
He extended a glass to me with that cocky smirk that made my knees buckle.
“Here. This will be a lot better than a stale granola bar.”
I took it. The stem vibrated against my fingertips, echoing the throb growing in my core.
I took a long sip as he sank into the seat next to me. The wine tasted like dark cherries and sin.
“Thanks, Mr. B.”
“None of that Mr. B. shit. Gareth is fine. You aren’t 15 anymore.”
“Thanks… Gareth.” I said, more husky than I meant for it to sound.
He clearly noticed, as his eyes, which had been over his wine glass, flashed from casual to blazing hunger.
I thought it was my imagination and quickly looked down at my own glass, running my fingertips around the base absent-mindedly.
“So… “ He said, and my eyes lifted to see him settling back a bit in his chair, that fucking smile lingering, but his eyes holding a much more than casual conversation in them.
“How do you like the guest house? Or, I guess, Lacey's place now. I'm happy she decided to take up the offer and rent the space while she finishes college, but I didn't realize it meant having to deal with her flavors-of-the-week on rotation.”
He paused for a moment before finishing, “It's great getting to see you more, though.”
I blushed, feeling a smile grow as I took a sip of wine, relishing in the warmth it created down my throat, happy it was helping create a little boldness.
He quickly added, “What's college been like. How's adult life now that you're out and living it?”
“The guest house is great. Lacey really loves it. And college has been … a lot. Between my work at the gallery in the evenings and my classes during the day, I feel like I’m always on the go. This week's break is exactly what I needed…
I’ve missed this place.” I gestured to the space around us, but my eyes found Gareth’s, whose gaze was locked on my every word.
“Well, even with all that on you're plate, you certainly look amazing. I mean, every time I see you, not just tonight…”
He paused a beat before continuing.
“…but all that time in the sun and running around clearly agrees with you.” His voice seemed to be slightly lower as he spoke, his eyes skimming the length of me: calves, thighs.
I instantly felt my body reacting, betraying me in an instant, my nipples beginning to harden in an aching arousal, pressing through the stolen sweatshirt.
His sweatshirt.
There was a part of me that wanted him to see just how my body reacted to him. I should have tried to hide it, but let out a small giggle as I sipped my wine.
“Thanks. I think you’re just saying that, but I’ll take the compliment.”
Fuck, his gaze felt like fingers. Every time I met his eyes, I could almost feel him pulling me closer.
But it had to be my imagination. The want of a needy, desperate, achingly wet girl who has fantasized about this man for years.
My mind instantly snapped to that summer… the one that started this insatiable lust for him. I'm nineteen, he, rugged in his jeans and this same sweatshirt I was wearing now, looking more than fucking hot. The campfire embers painted gold across his forearms while my best friend brooded in the van after a fight we’d had earlier that night.
My cheeks flushed at the memory, and his voice snapped me back to the moment we were in now.
“Are... are you in my Cal State sweatshirt?”
“Oh… um… yeah.. I uh, guess I am. I hope that’s alright.” I said in mock embarrassment.
“No, no, it’s more than alright. You always had a habit of nabbing my sweatshirts whenever you were over. They look a lot better on you than they do on me.”
His eyes were clearly drifting further now, swallowing up the sight of me.
Maybe it was the wine, but I wanted to play with fire. I needed to know if this was all in my mind.
I shifted in my seat, just slightly, letting my leg fall open just a bit to give him the smallest glance from the side of the table up my thigh, between my legs.
I hadn’t expected anyone else up in the house, so I threw on the oversized sweatshirt and wore only a pair of black panties underneath.
His eyes glazed over, and a wicked, devilish curl appeared at the corner of his mouth as he shifted in his own seat, clearly adjusting himself.
He bit his bottom lip just slightly before a mild groan escaped his throat.
“You remember that big camping trip after you girls turned nineteen?
You and Lacey had that big argument over some guy, and she stormed off to sleep in the van?”
I felt my cheeks warm because I knew precisely the memory he was thinking of as I nodded and smiled coyly.
“If looks could kill, you two would have destroyed each other. I still remember that night by the fire, giving you that same sweatshirt to wear. You probably had no idea, but you looked so damn beautiful by that firelight.
You know… I think about that trip all the damn time.
It’s also the trip where I caught you… well.”
Gareth ran a hand over his face, trying to hide an embarrassed smile. Fuck, he was so damn sexy even when he was embarrassed.
“Shit. I don’t even know if I should say it.”
“Say what? You can say it.” I mused. I knew exactly what it was… I had hoped, but had never known for sure, and I wanted to hear it from him that he had seen me.
“Never mind. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t even bring it up.”
“Just tell me. It’s me you’re talking to. I want to know.”
“Okay. But if I tell you, you have to promise not to hate me.”
I rolled my eyes in exasperation as he took another sip of wine. Needing a little more liquid courage, perhaps?
“Just tell me. I could never hate you.”
His voice diped lower, as if saying whatever this is out loud was the deepest secret.
And maybe it was.
“I… might have... seen... or, well. watched you.”
My breath hitched. The wine glass trembled, sloshing burgundy across the inside of my wrist.
His pupils were huge.
Just that. …watched you… Those two syllables had made the world feel like it was suspended in time for a beat while my heart rate kicked into overdrive.
But, while I should have been horrified, I wasn’t. I was… turned the fuck on.
My pussy clenched so hard I had to squeeze my thighs together.
I should’ve slapped him.
Stormed out.
Texted Lacey, booked an Uber…
…anything.
Instead, my tongue darted out to lick the spilled wine from my skin. “I always wondered if someone heard.” My voice cracked, raw. “I hoped… it was you.”
A ragged exhale. He set his glass down. The quiet clink of crystal on stone sounded like a gunshot, almost like time itself was restarting from its momentary suspension.
I could feel the hem of the sweatshirt brush against the wet seam of my panties, sending a shiver through me.
God, I was already so wet the fabric clung, cool cotton turning warm where my folds parted.
Taking in a breath, a coy smile played at the corners of my lips in seductive amusement.
“What did you see?”
His eyes, fixed on my mouth, a light flush to his cheeks, making him appear almost innocent, which I knew he wasn’t.
“I was doing rounds, checking the fire, making sure everyone was zipped in. It was midnight.
Quiet. The quiet where you can hear your pulse.
I was passing your tent when I heard ... this little whimper, soft and breathy.
And then a rustle. Like fabric shifting.
I don’t know why I stopped. I shouldn’t have.
But… I shined the flashlight low, just a slit… and I saw you.On your back. Knees bent, legs parted under your sleeping bag.
Your arm was moving slow at first, your head tilted back, lips parted.
I should have left the moment I knew what you were doing. But... fuck, I couldn't look away.
And when you came...just a tiny gasp, like you didn’t even want to make a sound... I...”
His voice tightened.
“I got hard. Instantly. Like a fucking teenager.”
There was a long pause as Gareth rubbed his temple, clearly embarrassed but almost relieved that he had finally confessed this to me.
“Fuck. Saying it out loud makes it a thousand times worse.
I know. I'm more than 20 years older than you, and for fuck sakes, I'm your best friend’s dad. I should’ve turned around. Walked away. Pretended I saw nothing.
But I didn’t.
And I’ve thought about it… almost every night since.”
He glanced over at me, catching my eyes.
Hearing him say all this, confess it out loud, hearing that he was hard, that I made him hard…
I could feel the wetness grow between my legs as my core turned molten and my body began to buzz with need.
“Are you gonna run now? Slap me? Call me a creep?” He finally asked as I caught my breath.
“No.” I said low, hungrily.
“No?”
“No. I… I always wondered if someone heard me. And if they did… part of me hoped it was you.”
Gareth’s breath caught for a moment, seeming to be both stunned and relieved, and shifting to something much more.
“You’re fucking with me…. You always wondered if someone heard you and you... and… you had hoped it was… it was me?”
Now it was my turn to confess.
It was now or never. If there was any chance that this one man, whom I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for years, could possibly be mine, for even just one night, I was going to take it.
I stood, setting my glass on the counter across from the table, knowing full well the sweatshirt barely covered my ass. I could feel his eyes on me, like fingertips tracing the outline of my curve. I inhaled and turned, leaning back against the counter.
“I used to think about you, okay? When I touched myself.
Not at first…God, no. That’d be insane.
But… after that trip, when I turned nineteen? Twenty?
You’d show up in my dreams. Strong hands. Deep voice.
That way you’d look at me when I walked into a room…
Like you were seeing more than just your daughter’s best friend.
And I’d lie in my bed at night… or sit at my desk… in my car on a break… fuck, the thoughts of you would creep into my mind and… and I’d pretend it was you telling me I was being a good girl…”
Gareth sat there, in disbelief at first, but the more I spoke, the more I could see his eyes growing dark, and the clear arousal building in him. He was no longer shifting in his seat to hide his hardening cock.
And fuck, I wanted to feel every inch of it.
“Baby… are you serious?
After that trip, you've been thinking about me watching you while you touch yourself?
Trust me, I've thought of you as much more than just my daughter's best friend for the last few years... you are so much more than that.”
He ran a hand through his hair, “Fuck.. the thought of you touching yourself right now…
Wearing my sweatshirt...
I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be saying any of this, but fuck the thought of you has me fucking hard right now.”
His hand reached down to grip the massive length aching to be freed from behind its fabric prison.
The sight of it made my mouth water.
Lowering my gaze, drinking in every inch of his toned body beneath his clothes, I confessed, “I want you, Gareth. From the moment I walked in this kitchen, all I could think about was you bending me over that island right there, slipping my panties down my legs, taking that hard cock and slipping it inch by inch inside me.”
His eyes smoldered over the rim of his wine glass.
“So, you really have been fantasizing about me.” A low, wicked grin curled his mouth.
“You know… every night…Every fucking night I pictured you here, exactly like this.”
Gareth stood, setting his glass down.
His movements were smooth and animalistic, like a wolf stalking its prey as he made his way toward me, pinning me against the counter, one hand on each side of me, his mouth so close to mine I feel his heat.
I let out a small gasp as my breath hitched in my throat and my eyes looked up through my lashes at the tall, unnaturally sexy man standing before me.
“New rule,” he whispered, thumb stroking my lower lip.
“No more hiding. You want it filthy, you ask. Say it out loud. And every time you do,” His palm slid down to grip my ass, squeezing hard enough to make my pussy clench.
“…you call me, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice cracked.
The words shattered something inside me…shame, guilt, propriety…gone.
All that remained was slick heat pulsing between my thighs.
A guttural growl rolled out of him.
His pupils dilated, and that sinful grin turned wicked before he pulled me close and spun me against the island so fast the air kissed my cheek.
My palms slapped cool granite; his cock, thick, impossibly big, impossibly hot through the fabric, ground against my lower back.
I could feel him throbbing through the thin barrier of my soaked panties.
“Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.
Do you have any idea how many times I’ve fucked myself raw to the memory of that night?
Alone in my room, lights off, thinking about your fingers sliding in, your back arched like you were offering yourself to me?
I’d come so hard, whispering your name like a prayer.”
I felt his cock push against my back as he spoke, driving home just how intense his need was then, and how much more it was now.
My insides were on fire. Every part of my body aware of the smallest touch from him and the raw driving need to be filled.
Rough fingers bunched the sweatshirt up over my head. I wasn’t wearing a bra; the sudden air pebbled my nipples so tight they almost hurt.
I turned to face him, unashamed and needing him to see me, bare before him.
He stared…devouring me with his gaze first…then lowered his mouth to one stiff peak, sucking, swirling, biting until I cried out.
My pussy clenched around nothing, juices slicking the inside of my thighs.
One rough hand cupped my ass, pulling me closer, the other cupped my breast as I felt his tongue gliding up my neck until his mouth found my lips.
His kiss wasn’t gentle, like he knew exactly what I needed. His tongue lashed into my mouth, possessive and carnal.
Dear god, this man was going to make me cum before ever dipping his cock inside me.
Gareth pulled back and looked at me, holding my gaze, my lips quickly swelling from his possessive kiss.
“Tell me,” he growled,
“Tell me what you want. Make it dirty….”
I couldn’t think. I could only ache.
A liquid, relentless ache that soaked my cotton panties and slicked the inside seam. My clit was a drumbeat, swollen and desperate.
“I want you to eat me, Sir.” The confession fell out in a rush.
“I want your tongue on my clit while I call you Sir… and I want you to tell me I taste like honey, that I’m a good girl for you.”
“That’s
my
good
girl…”
My knees nearly buckled hearing him call me that. His good girl.
He groaned, deep, feral, then stepped back.
“I plan to drink all the honey you have to give me… but first… on your knees.”
I obeyed, thighs trembling as I folded to the cold tile, the marble floor biting into my kneecaps.
He shoved down his shorts; his cock sprang free, flushed, pulsing, a bead of precome already pearling at the slit. I inhaled the musky scent of him…heat and salt and raw, greedy need.
My mouth watered as a smile danced across my lips.
I wrapped both hands around the base, one, then the other, slow, savoring.
My fingers barely met. Every vein, every ridge, burned beneath my palms.
“Look at me,” he rasped.
I locked eyes with him…those storm-cloud irises hooded and feral.
I leaned forward, tongue out, lapping the underside of the crown in one slow swipe.
He tasted of salt and want; I licked the crown first, slow circles, tongue under that delicious ridge. His hips jerked; his hand fisted in my hair, gentle but firm.
“Just the tip. Tease me.” He growled through gritted teeth. I could hear the strain in him, of what I was doing to him. It made me all the more hungry… more fucking greedy desire I could pull from him.
I obeyed, my lips closed over the crown, sucking gently, tongue flicking under that perfect ridge.
A shaky curse tore from his throat. “Fuuuuck…”
As I eased lower, inch by inch, until the thick head brushed the back of my throat, stretching me wide, he filled me until my jaw ached deliciously.
Every thrust was shallow, controlled, his hands threading through my hair, guiding but never forcing.
I wanted to gag, to choke, to feel that ownership.
“Count,” he rasped.
I pulled off long enough to gasp, “One… .” Then sank back down.
The wet sounds of pleasure mixed with his delicious groans of satisfaction filled the kitchen.
Obscene and perfect.
“Two…” Each bob tightened that electric coil in my belly; every groan he fed me echoed straight to my clit.
By the time I reached ten, my thighs were drenched, thighs trembling with need. His hips stuttered; I felt him swell impossibly larger.
“I’m so fucking close,” he gritted. “But first…”
He pulled back, leaving my mouth empty, aching, lips swollen and shiny.
Strong hands hauled me to my feet and made swift removal of my panties.
What I didn’t expect was the deep inhale as he held them close to mouth, giving them a languid lick down the center as he did.
Gareth growled deep in his throat, “So fucking sweet…”
If my core wasn’t already on fire, the sight of him, feral, primal, and hungry, was enough to make me nearly melt like ice on coals.
Casting them aside, he lifted me until my bare ass met the marble island. Cold stone shocked my heated skin; my back arched instinctively while he settled between my legs.
“Now, I want dessert.” He knelt between my spread thighs, palms settled on the inside of my knees, pushing, opening me until I was wide, exposed.
My pussy lips parted on their own, glistening pink, soaked in my own arousal.
His breath ghosted over my clit, and I shivered in response.
“Look at that. So pretty. So ready.” A broad, flat tongue licked from opening to clit…one slow, deliberate drag. My entire body jerked; a broken sob tore from my throat.
He settled in, tongue firm and relentless…flicking, swirling, occasionally humming low in his throat so the vibrations rippled straight to my spine.
Two thick fingers slid inside, curling, stroking that secret spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
I whimpered…begged…hips bucking, but he pinned me with one forearm across my hips, the other hand spreading me wider.
“Hold still, baby girl. You don’t get to come until I say so.”
He kept me on the edge, licking, sucking, tasting, until my voice cracked and I was pleading in half sentences.
“Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me. But… FUCK… Please let me come all over your face. Please, Sir, I’ll be such a good girl—”
I was dripping, covering the island in my own waterfall of bliss and pleasure and sin… He lapped every drop, humming approval that vibrated through my pussy.
Those two fingers continued to curl, edging on that spot that made my knees buckle.
“Come for me on my tongue,” he growled against my folds. “But only when I say.”
He tortured me. Slow, deliberate circles, then fluttering flicks until I was babbling nonsense.
Until every nerve screamed.
Until that last suck of my clit and curl of his fingers, and he finally growled, “Come for me.”
I detonated…thighs shaking, cunt clenching around his fingers, juices coating his chin, his hand, and the damn counter.
Wave after wave of agonizing bliss, my body released and cascaded for him until I was nothing more than falling stardust.
He stood, face, chest, arms dripping in the juices he had just taken from my pleasure, smiling that arrogant, sexy, look he always makes when he’s won a victory.
“Thank you, Sir.” I said instinctively in a panting breath.
His answer was a low growl, “Good girl….”, his cock dripping, as he pressed the thick head to my entrance.
“Do you want this?” He asked, teasing my clit with his cock, coating it in my wetness.
It was rather astonishing how perfectly aligned he was as I lay there on the granite island, legs spread wide, like his personal offering.
“Yes, Sir. Fuck… Yes,.. “ There was no question in my mind that this was what I wanted.
“Good girl…”
The stretch was perfect agony. He took his time.
One inch, pause, another inch…
Until he filled me to the point I didn’t think my body could possibly take any more of him.
I clenched around him, thighs trembling, my breath ragged.
“Count every stroke,” he ordered, voice just as strained as mine.
I obeyed. Voice hoarse, body trembling, I counted until my world narrowed to the slap of skin, the slick slide of cock, and the wicked burn of being filled.
His hands stayed firmly on my thighs, keeping them spread wider as I counted, the utter ecstasy of being more filled than I ever have before the only thought in my mind.
He reached down, thumb circling my clit in time with his thrusts.
“Hold. Don’t you dare come yet.”
My pussy fluttered, desperate to milk him, but I bit my lip, and obeyed.
At sixteen I lost the ability to count. I could feel the orgasm peaking as I locked my eyes with his.
He was absolutely transfixed on me… my face, my body, my reaction to every movement, even the most minor shift.
I could see in his face the absolute dominance and lust-filled haze. In his tightening muscles, I could tell he was on the edge. He had been holding back, and I was done waiting for this.
I needed to feel it, to be so filled by him that our cum covered this counter, this floor, and he would never walk into this kitchen without his cock hardening at the thought again.
“I’m close.. fuck… you’re so beautiful… so fucking perfect… I can’t…”
“Then don’t… I want you to lose control… I need you.. Fuuuckk… cum with me! “
I felt his cock swell inside me, his thrust became hard and rough as he held my hips and pulled me in time with every thrust of cock. The sounds of our wet, slick hips crashing on bare skin echoed in the granite kitchen, my breasts bounced, nipples stiff, our chests heaving.
I expected his head to fall back, but his eyes stayed locked on me, never turning away as we both came, colliding in pure crashing pleasure.
My pussy clenching, legs shaking, gush after gush of my wetness coating his shaft.
He rode it out, hips rolling, thumb still rubbing my clit to wring every last spasm.
When we could breathe again, he pulled me up to sit at the edge of the counter, our pleasure still dripping down the granite to the floor as he kissed the sweat-damp nape of my neck.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear, “I want you in the pool house, bent over that old leather sofa. Same sweatshirt. No panties.”
I whimpered at the thought.
His hand slid between my legs again, catching the mix of his come and mine, rubbing it slowly over my still-pulsing clit.
“But tonight,” he whispered, “Beautiful girl,” he murmured, voice soft now, sated. “Let’s shower. I’ll wash every last drop off. Then… you can stay. In my bed tonight. Lacey will just have share you on this trip.”
My thighs were jelly; my heart was molten.
I brushed my lips across his jaw, tasting salt and come… and delicious sin.
“Yes, Sir.”
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