The Regular at the Lake House

The screen door slapped shut behind me, and I heard his boots on the wooden deck before I turned around. Marcus. Three months of him sitting in my section every Thursday, ordering the same burger, leaving the same too-generous tip, watching me with those dark eyes that said everything his mouth never did.

"You followed me here," I said, and my voice came out breathier than I meant.

"Rosa told me you'd be here." He stepped closer, close enough that I caught the soap on his skin and the lake wind in his hair. "Said you needed help fixing up the dock."

I laughed, but it died in my throat when his hand found my waist. "That's a weak excuse."

"It's the only one I've got." His thumb traced circles through my thin cotton dress. "Been thinking about you all week, Lena. Every night."

The sun was going down over the water, painting everything gold, and I could feel the heat of him through his shirt. I should have stepped back. Instead I pressed into him.

"Then stop thinking."

His mouth was on mine before I finished the sentence, hungry and rough, and I moaned into it, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt. He walked me backward until my ass hit the railing, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs, hitching me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt him hard against me through his jeans.

"Fuck, I've wanted this," he growled against my neck, biting at the skin there.

"Then take it."

He carried me inside, kicking the door shut behind us. The lake house was dark and cool, all wood and windows, and he laid me out on the big bed in the corner without ceremony. His hands were already at the hem of my dress, pulling it up over my hips, and he stopped when he saw I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Jesus, Lena." His voice cracked. "You came here like this?"

"I came here for you."

He dropped to his knees, spreading my legs wide, and I watched his face as he took in the sight of me — trim, bare except for a neat strip of hair above my wet slit. His fingers traced along my inner thigh, feather-light, making me shiver.

"You have no idea what this does to me," he said, and then he was on me, his tongue flat against my clit, slow and deliberate.

I cried out, arching my back, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He licked me like he was starving, lapping at my folds, dipping his tongue inside me, then back up to circle my clit until I was trembling.

"Please," I begged, not even sure what I was asking for.

He stood up, unbuckling his jeans with quick, impatient movements, and his cock sprang free — thick and hard, the head slick. He stroked himself once, twice, his eyes locked on mine.

"You want this?"

"God, yes. Fuck me, Marcus."

He drove into me in one smooth thrust, and I screamed — not from pain, but from the sudden fullness, the way he stretched me open. He paused, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard.

"Okay?" he whispered.

"Don't stop."

He didn't. He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in, setting a rhythm that had the old bed frame creaking beneath us. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper. His mouth found mine, sloppy and desperate, and I tasted myself on his lips.

"Faster," I gasped.

He grabbed my hips and flipped me over onto my stomach, yanking my ass up. I heard him spit, felt his thumb press against my other hole, and then he was inside me again from behind, deeper this time, and I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my moans.

"Look at you," he grunted, his hand coming down on my ass with a sharp slap that made me yelp. "Taking my cock so good."

"Yes, fuck, yes."

He fucked me hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, and I felt the pressure building low in my belly. I reached back and grabbed his thigh, nails digging in.

"I'm gonna come," I warned.

"Come on my cock, baby."

His thumb found my clit, rubbing in tight circles, and that was it — I came apart, my whole body clenching around him, a scream tearing out of my throat. He followed a second later, slamming into me one last time and spilling deep inside me with a guttural groan.

We collapsed onto the bed, tangled and sweaty, the lake dark through the window. He pulled me against his chest, his lips pressed to my shoulder.

"Stay," he said. "Just for tonight."

I could feel his heart pounding against my back. "Yeah," I whispered. "I'll stay."

Morning came slow and golden. I woke to the smell of coffee and found him on the deck, two mugs in his hands, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. He handed me one, and our fingers brushed.

"Rosa's gonna be insufferable about this," I said.

He grinned, that slow grin I'd been watching for months. "Let her talk. I've got plans for you every Thursday from now on."

I took a sip of my coffee, watching the sun climb over the water. "Is that so?"

"That's so." He leaned in, stealing a kiss, tasting of coffee and something sweeter. "And maybe a few Tuesdays, too."

CATEGORIES: [Trimmed pussy, Lake house, Waitress, Just the Two of Us, Morning sex]