El foco en nosotros

I never expected to feel my pulse hammer like this again at thirty-two, but the second I spotted Marcus across the hotel bar my thighs clenched on their own. He looked even better than he had in senior year—broader shoulders, sharper jaw, that same lazy smirk that used to make me wet in history class. Now he was a location scout for big-budget films and I was the actress who’d just wrapped a supporting role in the very movie he’d helped cast. Business trip to Chicago, same damn convention hotel. The air between us crackled before we even said hello.

“Elena Voss,” he said, voice low and rough as he slid onto the stool beside me. “Still stealing every scene you walk into?”

“Marcus Hale. Still pretending you don’t stare at my ass when I leave the room?” I shot back, lips curving. Heat flooded my cheeks. God, I sounded like the horny eighteen-year-old I used to be around him.

His laugh was dark, intimate. “Guilty. But now I get paid to look at beautiful women on set. Seeing you here feels… personal.”

We barely made it through two drinks. The tension was too thick, years of what-if hanging between us like a live wire. His hand brushed my knee under the bar and I sucked in a breath so sharp the bartender glanced over.

“Room 1427,” I whispered, already standing. “Give me three minutes. Then come fuck me like you’ve wanted to since prom.”

His eyes flared. “Make it two.”

I left the bar on shaky legs, heart slamming. Inside my suite I kicked off my heels, peeled the tight black dress down my body, and stood in nothing but lace panties when the knock came. The door clicked open. Marcus stepped in, already loosening his tie, gaze dragging over my bare tits like he was memorizing every curve for a future film.

“Jesus, Elena.” His voice cracked. “You’re even more perfect than I remembered.”

I didn’t wait. I crossed the room fast, grabbed his shirt, and yanked him down into a kiss that tasted like whiskey and ten years of missed chances. His hands were everywhere—cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they ached. I moaned into his mouth, grinding against the hard line of his cock through his slacks.

“Bed,” I gasped. “Now.”

He spun me, walking me backward until my thighs hit the mattress. In one rough motion he shoved my panties down my legs. I kicked them away and fell onto the sheets, spreading for him without shame. Marcus stripped fast—jacket, shirt, belt—revealing a thick, veined cock that made my mouth water and my pussy clench.

“Look at that pretty cunt,” he growled, crawling over me. “Already dripping. All for me?”

“All for you.” I reached down and wrapped my fingers around his hot length, stroking him root to tip. “Stop talking and fill me, Marcus. I need it deep.”

He didn’t tease. He hooked my leg over his hip and drove inside me in one long thrust. The stretch burned so good I cried out, nails digging into his back. Wet sounds filled the room as he started fucking me hard and fast, exactly the way I’d fantasized about him for years. Each slam of his hips sent my tits bouncing; the headboard banged the wall in rhythm.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he panted against my throat. “Squeezing my cock like you never want to let go.”

“I don’t.” I rolled my hips up to meet him, clit grinding against his pelvis on every stroke. Sweat slicked our skin. The smell of sex and his cologne made me dizzy. “Harder. Make me feel you tomorrow on set.”

He gave me what I wanted—pounding into me until my vision blurred. Then he slowed, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in so deep I felt him in my belly. The change of pace had me whimpering, fingers tangled in his hair.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered softly. Our gazes locked. I watched every flicker of pleasure cross his face while he rocked into me, deliberate and filthy. My orgasm built fast, a hot coil low in my stomach.

“I’m gonna—oh god, Marcus—”

“Come on my cock, Elena. Let me feel it.”

I shattered. My pussy pulsed around him in long, greedy waves, soaking his shaft. He groaned, hips stuttering, and kept fucking me through it until I was trembling and oversensitive. Only then did he pull out, flip me onto my stomach, and yank my hips up.

“Again,” he said, voice hoarse. “I want you just like this.”

He slid back into my dripping pussy from behind, one hand fisting my hair, the other gripping my waist. The new angle hit every perfect spot. I pushed back against him, ass rippling with each thrust, moaning into the pillow. His balls slapped my clit on every stroke. The wet, obscene sounds of us fucking filled the suite.

“You feel so fucking good,” I gasped. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop.”

“Not stopping until you come again.” His pace turned punishing. I reached between my legs and rubbed frantic circles over my swollen clit. The pressure built impossibly fast. Marcus leaned over me, teeth grazing my shoulder, breath hot on my ear.

“Come with me, baby.”

I broke first, crying out as a second, sharper orgasm ripped through me. My walls clamped down so hard he cursed and followed, burying himself to the hilt. I felt every hot spurt of his cum flooding my pussy, thick and endless. We stayed locked like that, panting, trembling, until he finally eased out and collapsed beside me.

For a long moment the only sound was our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Then I started laughing—soft, giddy, lighter than I’d felt in years. Marcus joined in, pulling me against his sweaty chest.

“Ten years,” he murmured, kissing my damp forehead. “And we finally get it right in a hotel room during a business trip.”

I traced a lazy circle around his nipple. “Better late than never. Think we can schedule a repeat tomorrow after my panel?”

His grin was pure sin. “Only if you wear that little red dress I saw in your Instagram stories. I’ve got ideas about what happens when the cameras stop rolling.”

I laughed again, already feeling fresh heat bloom between my thighs. The spotlight had never felt so deliciously private.