Salt on His Skin

He stood at the window with his back to me, staring out at the ocean. The sunset light spilled across his shoulders, carving out every line of muscle beneath his tanned skin. The hotel room smelled like salt, heated wood, and something unmistakably male—his scent, which I remembered so clearly it felt like we’d parted yesterday, not ten years ago.

“You’re late,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I was twisting the hem of my sundress between my fingers, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

He turned around slowly. That familiar smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

“You haven’t changed, Lera. Still bossing everyone around.”

“Come here.” It came out sharper than I meant it to. But he obeyed. He walked up close. So close I could feel the heat coming off his body, hear his breathing.

“Well?” He tilted his head, studying me. “Going to show me what you’ve got? Or just stand there staring?”

I snorted, even though I was trembling inside.

“Get undressed. You’re a model, aren’t you?”

He laughed—short, rough—and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. I watched the muscles in his stomach move, watched the light play across his collarbones. Then his fingers went to his jeans button.

“This good enough?” he asked, standing there in just his boxers. His voice had dropped lower, more intimate.

“Turn around.”

He turned. I could see the tension in his back, the way he was waiting. I stepped toward him, ran my palm across his shoulder blade, felt his skin shiver under my touch.

“You’re even more... defined,” I breathed.

“And you’re even braver.” He spun around, caught my wrist. “I remember you used to get embarrassed just looking at me when I posed.”

“I was a kid.”

“And now?”

Instead of answering, I stepped forward and pressed my whole body against his. The dress was thin, almost weightless—and I could feel his cock pressing into my stomach, hard even through the cotton of his boxers.

“Now I want to draw you,” I whispered, my lips brushing his neck. “Differently.”

He groaned through clenched teeth.

“Draw me.”

I dropped to my knees. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I pulled his boxers down. His cock sprang free, heavy, the head already slick. I licked it—just the tip, barely touching. He jerked, let out a curse.

“Easy,” I said. “You’re the model. Your job is to stand still.”

He laughed, but it cut off when I took his cock in my mouth. Deep. All at once. Feeling him swell with heat, pulse against my tongue. I moved slowly, teasing, looking up at him. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing ragged.

“Lera...” he breathed. “Fuck...”

I let him go, licked my lips.

“Get on the bed.”

He lay back, never taking his eyes off me. I slipped the dress off—it fell to the floor in a light puddle. Left me in just my panties. I walked to the bed, straddled him, feeling his cock slide between my legs, wet from my spit.

“Miss me?” I asked, leaning down to his face.

“Stupid question.” He exhaled raggedly, ran his hands up my thighs, gripped my ass. “I spent every night imagining fucking you. In this room. In every position I could think of.”

I laughed softly, bit his lower lip.

“Show me.”

He flipped us in one move. I was on my back, and he was looming over me, breathing hard. His fingers hooked under the elastic of my panties, pulled them down. I lifted my hips to help.

“God, you’re...” He didn’t finish. He lowered his head, ran his tongue across my stomach, lower. I arched, digging my fingers into the sheets.

“Dima...”

“Shut up.” His voice was thick. “I’m in charge now.”

He pushed my legs apart with his knees. I felt his breath on my clit—and froze. He ran his tongue slowly, agonizingly slowly, along my folds. Bottom to top. Once. Twice. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

“Tastes good,” he breathed. “You’re already soaked. Dripping for me.”

“Shut up,” I moaned.

He smirked and pushed his tongue deeper. Inside. I arched off the bed, heat flooding through me. He licked me greedily, like he was tasting me for the first time, like he couldn’t get enough. I grabbed his hair, pulled him closer, and he groaned—the vibration hit my clit and I knew I was going to come.

“Don’t you dare.” He pulled away, looked up at me. His eyes were dark, heavy. “I’ll tell you when.”

“Dima...”

“Turn over.”

I flipped onto my stomach, got on my knees. Felt completely exposed, vulnerable. He ran his hand down my spine, squeezed my ass cheek, spread me open.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. “Remember when I drew you? In this pose. You blushed to the roots of your hair.”

“And now?” My voice was shaking.

“Now you want it.”

He pushed in hard. All at once, to the hilt. I cried out—he felt so full, so hot inside me. He paused for a second, letting me adjust, then started moving. Slow. Deep. Each thrust hitting somewhere sweet and aching in my belly.

“Yes...” I breathed.

He leaned forward, pressed his chest against my back, whispered in my ear:

“You know how many times I jerked off remembering the way you looked at me? The way you licked your lips? You think I didn’t notice?”

“I was... so stupid...” I moaned in time with his thrusts.

“You were a dirty little slut,” he said, speeding up, breathing harder. “Who wanted to get fucked right on the easel.”

I moaned louder, feeling the wave building inside me. He wrapped one arm around my chest, squeezed my nipple, and slid his other hand between my legs, finding my clit.

“Come,” he ordered. “Now.”

And I did. Hard, hot, with a scream, biting into the pillow. The wave crashed over me, arching my back, wiping out every thought. He kept moving, breathing hard, and after a few more thrusts he froze, spilling into me in hot pulses.

We lay there, breathing heavily. I could feel his cum slowly dripping down my thigh. He kissed my shoulder, ran his hand through my hair.

“So,” he breathed, “are you going to draw me now?”

I laughed, feeling the aftershocks ripple through my body.

“Only if I can work from life.”

He snorted, pulled me closer, buried his face in my hair. Outside, the ocean was roaring. We lay silent, listening to each other breathe.