The Chalet Guest

The first time I saw Lyra in nothing but the morning light, I nearly dropped the firewood.

She was standing at the window of the neighboring chalet, stretching like a cat, her silver-blonde hair falling past her waist. She wasn't wearing a thing. Her ears — those long, elegant tips — caught the sunrise, and I watched her like a fucking creep for a full minute before she turned.

She caught me.

Her lips curved. She didn't cover herself.

"Morning, Marcus."

I just stood there, logs in my arms, my mouth dry.

---

Her name was Lyra. She and her husband, Thorin, had rented the place next to mine for the week. But by the third day, Thorin had to fly back to the city for work.

"You're stuck with me," she said that evening, leaning on my doorframe, a bottle of amber whiskey dangling from her fingers. "Got a corkscrew?"

She didn't need a corkscrew. The bottle was already open.

We drank on the porch. The air was cold and sharp, smelling of pine and snowmelt. She talked about the city, about her jewelry shop, about how Thorin was always working.

"He doesn't see me," she said, swirling her glass. "Not really."

I looked at her. The firelight caught her eyes, pale green like sea glass.

"I see you," I said.

She set her glass down. Reached over and touched my wrist. Her fingers were cool at first, then warm.

"Show me."

---

Inside, the fire was dying.

I pushed her against the door the second it clicked shut. She laughed — low, breathy — and hooked her leg around my hip.

"Easy," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

I kissed her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. She tasted like whiskey and salt. Her hands found the hem of my shirt and pulled.

"Off," she said. "Now."

I tore it over my head. She raked her nails down my chest, hard enough to sting.

"Fuck," I hissed.

"You like that."

It wasn't a question.

She dropped to her knees. Unbuttoned my jeans. Pulled them down, and my cock sprang free, already hard, already aching. She wrapped her fingers around the base and looked up at me, those green eyes half-lidded.

"Been thinking about this since you saw me at the window, haven't you?"

I couldn't lie. "Yes."

She smiled, slow and wicked. Then she opened her mouth and took me in.

Her tongue was hot, wet, curling around the head. I groaned and tangled my fingers in her hair. She hummed, the vibration running through my whole body. She took me deeper, her throat opening, no gag reflex, just heat and suction.

"Lyra..."

She pulled off, a string of spit connecting her lips to my cock. "Not yet."

She stood. Shed her dress in one fluid motion. Her body was pale, lean, her breasts small and perfect with pink nipples hard in the cold air. Between her legs, a neat triangle of silver-white.

She lay down on the rug in front of the hearth. Spread her legs.

"Come here."

I knelt between them. She was already wet, her pussy lips glistening. I ran a finger through her slit, and she shivered.

"Don't tease," she breathed.

I didn't.

I pushed into her in one slow, thick stroke. Her back arched. Her mouth opened in a silent O. She was tight, hot, gripping me like a fist.

"Oh, gods," she whispered. "Yes."

I started slow, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. She was biting her lower lip, her hands gripping the rug. I thrust deeper, harder, and she gasped.

"Faster," she said. "Please."

I gave her faster. I gave her harder. The firelight flickered across her skin, and her moans filled the room. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper.

"Don't stop," she begged. "Don't you fucking stop."

I grabbed her hips and slammed into her. Her breath came in ragged pants. She was close — I could feel her clenching around me.

"Come," I said. "Come on my cock."

She cried out. Her body shuddered, her pussy milking me, and that was it — I buried myself deep and came, hot and thick, pumping into her until I was empty.

We stayed there, tangled, breathing hard.

---

Later, we moved to the bed.

She rode me, her hair falling around us like a curtain. I watched her tits bounce, watched her throw her head back and moan. I came inside her again, and she collapsed on my chest, laughing.

"You're dangerous," she said.

"You're married."

"So?"

I didn't have an answer.

---

Morning came grey and quiet.

I woke to the smell of coffee. She was standing in the kitchen, wearing my shirt, nothing else. She handed me a mug and kissed my forehead.

"Thorin's coming back tonight."

I nodded.

She looked at me, a small smile on her lips.

"Then we'd better make the most of the day."