El Compartimento para Dormir

The train rattled through the dark, a lullaby of steel and speed that did nothing to quiet the blood in my ears. I was sketching Maya in the dim light of our compartment, charcoal smudging my fingers as I tried to capture the way the shadows pooled in the hollow of her throat. She was an actress, but right now she was just a woman, watching me with a stillness that felt like a dare.

"You're staring," she said, a smile in her voice.

"I'm working." I didn't look up from the paper. "You're the one who wanted to see the artist at work."

"I wanted to see you." She shifted, the silk of her robe whispering against the worn train seat. "You've been drawing me for two hours, and you haven't said a word. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

I finally met her eyes. The lust was a physical thing, a tightness in my chest. "I like you too much. That's the problem."

She laughed, a low, throaty sound. "Then stop drawing and show me."

The sketchbook clattered to the floor. I was on my knees in front of her before I could think, my hands on her thighs, sliding up under the robe. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft. She gasped, her legs parting for me.

"Fuck," she whispered, her fingers tangling in my hair. "I knew it. I knew you'd be like this."

I didn't answer. I just pushed the robe off her shoulders, revealing her breasts, pale and perfect in the flickering light. I took one in my mouth, licking and sucking until her breath came in ragged gasps. Her nipple hardened against my tongue, and she arched her back, pressing herself into me.

"More," she demanded. "Please."

I slid my hand down her stomach, between her legs. She was already wet, her pussy slick and hot against my fingers. I circled her clit with my thumb, feeling her shudder. She moaned, a long, drawn-out sound that vibrated through me. I pushed two fingers inside her, and she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand.

Dios, sí. No pares.

I wanted to taste her. I lowered my head, my tongue replacing my fingers. She tasted like salt and honey, intoxicating. I licked her clit, slow and deliberate, and she whimpered, her thighs clamping around my head. I fucked her with my tongue, deep and hungry, until her whole body was trembling.

"I'm going to come," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Don't stop, please, don't stop…"

I didn't. I licked her through it, feeling her clench and pulse against my mouth, her orgasm a hot wave that washed over her. She came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing, her fingers digging into the seat.

Before she could recover, I stood up, pulling my cock out of my jeans. It was aching, hard as steel. I lifted her, turning her around so she was on her hands and knees on the seat, her beautiful ass in the air. I positioned myself behind her, and she looked back at me, her eyes dark and full of hunger.

"Fuck me," she said, her voice a low command. "Fuck me hard."

I slammed into her. She was so wet, so tight, that I groaned at the sensation. I pulled out and slammed in again, deeper this time, and she cried out, a guttural sound of pure pleasure. I set a rhythm, hard and fast, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto my cock with every thrust. The train swayed, and we moved with it, a wild, desperate dance.

"Yes, yes, fuck!" she screamed, her voice raw. "Right there, don't you dare stop!"

Her pussy was gripping me, squeezing me, pulling me deeper. I could feel my own climax building, a fire in my balls. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit again, rubbing her in circles as I fucked her.

"I'm going to come again," she panted. "Oh god, I'm coming…"

She came with a shudder, her whole body clenching around my cock. The feeling was too much. I drove into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt, and came with a guttural roar, my cum flooding her hot, wet depths. I collapsed onto her back, breathing hard, my face buried in her hair.

The train rattled on. For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing.

Then she giggled. It was a light, breathless sound, completely at odds with the violence of what we'd just done. She twisted around, her face flushed, her hair a mess.

"Well," she said, a grin spreading across her face. "That's one way to break the ice."

I laughed, the tension finally breaking. "I think the ice is thoroughly shattered."

She wiggled her ass, making me groan. "I think you have more drawing to do. I have a new pose in mind."