La sesión de la vecina

The heat in the studio was suffocating, or maybe that was just me. I adjusted the softbox for the fifth time, trying not to stare at Claire as she slipped off her silk robe.

"I've never done this before," she said, her voice carrying that same low rasp I'd heard through the wall for three years. Through the thin drywall, when she laughed at something her husband said. When she argued with him at midnight. When she moaned.

"Just relax," I said, my throat dry. "We'll start simple."

She was thirty-eight, ten years older than me, with streaks of gray at her temples and skin that looked like cream in the tungsten light. Her husband was out of town. She'd booked me because I was cheap, because I was close, because she was bored.

Or maybe that last part was just my dick talking.

"So what do you want me to do?" She was down to black lace panties and a matching bra. Her body was incredible—full hips, soft stomach, breasts that looked heavy and real. She caught me looking and smiled.

"Whatever feels natural," I said, and we both knew how stupid that sounded.

She laughed. "Nothing about this feels natural, Mark. I've known you for three years and the most we've ever said is 'can you keep it down?'" She walked toward me, barefoot on the cold floor. "And now I'm half naked in your studio."

"You wanted artistic shots."

"I wanted something." She was close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral and sharp. "I've been so bored, Mark. So goddamn bored."

Her hand found my chest. Just rested there, palm flat against my shirt.

"Claire—"

"Don't." Her fingers curled into the fabric. "Don't talk me out of this. I've been thinking about it for months. Every time I saw you in the driveway. Every time I heard you through the wall."

"Your husband—"

"Is a good man who hasn't touched me in eight months." She said it flatly, like she was reading a shopping list. "And I'm tired of being good."

I should have stopped her. Should have said something professional, something about boundaries and ethics and the fact that I needed this studio to pay rent.

Instead, I kissed her.

Her mouth opened immediately, hungry and warm. She tasted like coffee and something sweet. Her hands were already at my belt, fumbling with the buckle.

"Wait," I gasped, pulling back. "Slow down."

"I don't want slow." She was already pushing my jeans down my hips. "I want you to fuck me. Hard. Like you've been thinking about doing every time I bent over in my garden."

I couldn't argue with that.

I picked her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carried her to the chaise lounge I used for boudoir shoots. She fell back onto the velvet, laughing, and pulled me down on top of her.

The bra came off in seconds. Her breasts spilled out, full and warm, and I buried my face between them. She arched her back, fingers tangled in my hair.

"God, yes. Suck them. Harder."

I took her nipple in my mouth, biting gently, then harder when she gasped. Her hips bucked against mine, and I could feel the heat of her through my boxers and her panties.

"Off," she said, tugging at my underwear. "Everything off. Now."

I stood up long enough to strip, and she watched me with dark, hungry eyes. When I was naked, she reached out and took my cock in her hand, stroking slowly.

"Fuck," she whispered. "You're big."

"No tienes idea."

She laughed, that throaty sound that had haunted me through the walls. "Show me."

I pulled her panties down, slowly this time, savoring every inch of skin as it appeared. She was already wet, glistening in the soft light, and I could smell her arousal.

"Come here," she said, pulling me between her legs.

I entered her in one slow motion, watching her face as I filled her. Her mouth fell open, eyes closing, a low moan escaping her throat.

"God, yes. Just like that."

I started moving, slow at first, letting her adjust to the size of me. Her hands gripped my ass, pulling me deeper.

"Harder," she said. "Fuck me harder."

I obliged, picking up the pace until the chaise was creaking beneath us. Her legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my back.

"Yes, yes, yes—"

Her hand found my mouth, and I sucked her fingers as I fucked her. She tasted like salt and something else, something electric.

"I'm close," she gasped. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

I didn't. I drove into her harder, faster, until she cried out, her whole body tensing beneath me. I felt her climax ripple around me, and I let go, spilling into her with a groan that came from somewhere deep.

For a long moment, there was nothing but our breathing, ragged and loud in the quiet studio.

She laughed first. A soft, surprised sound.

"Well," she said, tracing a finger down my chest. "That was not artistic."

I laughed too, rolling off her but keeping her close. "I can still take the photos."

"Maybe later." She nestled into my side, her head on my chest. "Your heart is pounding."

"El tuyo también."

We lay there in silence, listening to each other breathe, the heat of our bodies cooling in the still air.

"I'm going to need to do this again," she said eventually.

"I'm available."

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with a smile that was equal parts mischief and satisfaction. "Good. Because I have a lot of ideas."

I pulled her back down to me, and we stayed there, tangled together, until the light changed and the studio grew cold.