占い師の熱情

I saw her the moment I walked into the steam room, and the heat wasn't the only thing that made my skin prickle. She was leaning against the cedar wall, a towel wrapped loose around her hips, her dark hair slicked back wet. Her name was Esmeralda, and she worked the lunch shift at the diner where I always ordered the same thing — black coffee and a slice of pie I never finished because I spent the whole time watching her move.

"You're the one who stares," she said, not opening her eyes.

"Guilty."

She smiled, slow, like she’d just won a bet. "I knew you'd show up here. Gypsy intuition."

I moved closer, the air thick and wet between us. "You read palms too?"

"I read everything." Her hand found my chest, fingers trailing down my sternum, stopping at my belt line. "And you, mister, are full of something you haven't let out yet."

"Maybe I need a professional to help."

She laughed, low and smoky, and then she pulled the towel from my waist before I could blink. My cock sprang free, already hard, already aching from the sight of her. She looked at it like she was sizing up a piece of fruit. "Nice. Now sit."

I dropped onto the wooden bench, the heat biting into my thighs. She straddled me, her own towel falling open, and I got my first full look at her body — olive skin, breasts heavy and perfect, dark nipples already tight. She didn't kiss me. She just reached down, wrapped her fingers around my shaft, and guided me to her entrance.

"Don't move," she whispered, and then she sank down.

God. The feel of her — hot and slick, gripping me inch by inch until I was buried to the hilt inside her. Her head fell back, a low moan escaping her lips. I grabbed her hips, desperate to thrust, but she held me still.

"You wanted this for months," she said, grinding slow, a full rotation that made my eyes roll. "Every time you stared, I felt it. Right here." She pressed her palm against her lower belly, right where I was deep inside her. "You felt it too."

"Yeah," I gasped. "God, yes."

She started to move, a slow, torturous rhythm, rising until just the tip remained, then sliding back down with a wet, obscene sound. Her inner walls clenched around me, milking, pulling. I was losing my mind.

"Faster," I begged.

"Say please."

"Please."

She smirked and then she fucked me. Hard. Her hips slammed down, her breasts bouncing in my face. I grabbed one, brought my mouth to it, sucked hard, and she cried out, her rhythm faltering. She buried her nails in my shoulders.

"That's it," she panted. "Don't you stop."

I stood up, lifting her, my cock still buried inside her. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I drove her against the cedar wall, the wood hot against her back. She gasped, and I fucked her standing, deep, brutal strokes that made her moan with every thrust.

"Yes, oh fuck, yes," she keened.

I could feel her tightening, her orgasm building. "Not yet," I grunted. "Not yet."

But she was already there. Her eyes rolled back, her body convulsing around me, and the feel of her coming undone sent me over the edge. I buried my face in her neck and came inside her, wave after wave, my cock pulsing as I emptied myself deep.

We stayed like that, tangled and trembling, the steam swirling around us. She rested her forehead against mine.

"You're not just a starrer," she said, breathless. "You've got talent."

"Gypsy intuition tell you that?"

"No." She kissed me then, soft and slow. "I just felt it. Right here."