The Chalet View

“God, I love watching you walk away.”

I was still in the doorway, snow melting off my boots, and Jake was already staring at my ass. The mountain air had turned my cheeks numb, but inside the chalet the fire was cracking and he had that look. That hungry, focused look that made my knees weak.

“You’re freezing,” he said, pulling me inside. “Come here.”

He didn’t even let me take my coat off. His hands slid down my back, over the curve of my hips, and stopped at the swell of my ass. He squeezed, hard, pulled me into him. I could feel his cock already thick against my thigh through his jeans.

“You have no idea what that view does to me,” he whispered, his mouth at my ear.

“Show me.”

He didn’t need a second invitation. He spun me around, bent me over the arm of the couch, and yanked my leggings down past my hips. The cold air hit my skin and I shivered, but his hands were hot. He spread my cheeks with his thumbs, exposing my pussy from behind.

“Jesus, you’re wet already,” he said, his voice rough.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

He knelt behind me and drove his tongue into my cunt. No teasing, no warm-up. Just that flat, hard muscle pressing deep, curling inside me. I moaned into the leather cushion, my fingers gripping the armrest. He ate me like he was starving, his nose buried in my ass, his tongue fucking me in long, slow strokes.

“Fuck, Jake.”

He pulled back just long enough to spit on his fingers and rub my clit in tight circles. My hips bucked against his face. He bit my ass cheek, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make me gasp.

“You like it when I own this ass, don’t you?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

He stood up, unzipped his jeans. His cock sprung out, flushed and leaking. He lined it up with my pussy from behind, but he didn’t push in. He just let the head rest at my entrance, teasing me.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want your cock inside me. Deep.”

He slid in, slow at first, then all the way to the hilt. His balls slapped against my clit with every thrust. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the quiet room. He grabbed my hips and fucked me hard, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“Look at you. Taking every inch.”

I was dripping. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy were obscene. I could feel my orgasm building, a tight coil in my belly.

“I’m close,” I breathed.

“Not yet.”

He pulled out, flipped me onto my back on the rug, and spread my legs wide. He knelt between them, his cock slick with my juices, and pushed in again. This time he watched my face, my tits bouncing with every thrust. He leaned down and sucked one nipple into his mouth, biting gently.

“Come for me.”

I did. My body arched, my nails dug into his shoulders, and I cried out as the orgasm ripped through me. He kept fucking me through it, his rhythm never breaking.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he grunted.

He pulled out at the last second and shot his cum across my stomach, hot and thick. Then he collapsed beside me, breathing hard.

We lay there in the firelight, tangled and sweaty. He traced a line through his own cum on my belly, drawing lazy circles.

“We should do this more often,” I said.

“Every weekend if I can have that ass.”

The embers popped. Snow hissed against the window. I could still feel the ghost of his cock inside me, and I knew I’d be thinking about it all night.