The Chalet

The fire crackled, a low growl against the hiss of snow against the windowpane. I’d just poured two glasses of red when I heard her boots on the porch. Five years since graduation, and Lina still had that way of filling a room before she even walked in.

She shook snow from her dark hair, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Marek. You look… the same.” Her smile was a slow, teasing thing.

“You don’t.” I handed her the wine. “You look better.”

She laughed, that low sound I remembered from biology class whenever the teacher said the word “reproduction.” We talked—her job in the city, my mess of a carpentry business—but the air was thick with everything we hadn’t said back then. Her eyes kept finding mine, holding, then darting away.

“Your shoulders are a mess,” she said, nodding at my flannel. “All that wood-chopping. Come here.”

Before I could protest, she’d pushed me onto the sofa, her fingers digging into the knot between my neck and shoulder. I groaned, my head falling forward.

“That good?” Her voice was a whisper, close to my ear.

— Joder, sí.

Her hands worked lower, peeling the flannel off, her thumbs tracing the muscles along my spine. I could feel the heat of her body behind me, smell the woodsmoke and something floral in her hair. My cock was already stiff against my jeans.

“You’re so tense,” she murmured, her lips brushing my ear. “Let me fix it.”

She moved around to face me, kneeling between my legs. Her fingers worked on my belt, her eyes locked on mine. “Is this okay?”

“Lina…” My voice cracked.

She didn’t wait. She had my jeans open, her hand sliding inside, wrapping around my hard cock. I sucked in a breath. Her touch was warm, sure, a slow stroke that made my hips buck.

“I’ve thought about this,” she said, her thumb circling the head. “More than I should.”

I reached for her, pulling her up, my mouth crashing into hers. She tasted like wine and cold air. I fumbled with her sweater, pulling it over her head, and my hands found her breasts—full, heavy, her nipples already hard against my palms. She moaned into my mouth, grinding her hips against my thigh.

“I want you inside me,” she breathed, pulling back. Her eyes were dark, hungry.

She stripped off her jeans and panties in one fluid motion, then straddled me on the sofa. I guided my cock to her entrance, feeling her wet heat. She sank down slowly, inch by inch, and we both gasped. She was so tight, so hot, clinging to me.

“God, Marek,” she whispered, starting to rock her hips.

I grabbed her ass, guiding her pace, watching her head fall back. Her breasts bounced as she rode me, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. The firelight flickered across her skin, casting shadows that danced with her.

“Harder,” she begged. “Please.”

I flipped her over, laying her on the sheepskin rug, my body covering hers. I drove into her, deep and hard, and she cried out, her nails digging into my back. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room. I felt her start to tremble around me.

“I’m gonna come,” she gasped, her eyes wide.

“Let go.” I thrust harder, faster, chasing my own release.

She shattered, a raw, guttural moan tearing from her throat as her pussy clamped down on me. The feeling pushed me over the edge. I buried my face in her neck, pouring my cum deep inside her, a guttural groan ripping from my chest.

For a long moment, we just lay there, panting, tangled in each other. Then she started to giggle.

“What?” I asked, lifting my head.

“Your elbow is in the butter dish.”

I looked down. Sure enough, my elbow was planted squarely in the melting butter meant for the bread. We both burst out laughing, the tension broken. I pulled out of her, collapsing beside her, and she curled into my side, her head on my chest.

“So,” she said, tracing a line down my stomach. “You still know how to handle a knot.”

I laughed. “And you still know how to tie one.”

CATEGORIES: [Sensual massage, Chalet, Just the Two of Us, Passionate sex, Old flame]