After Hours

I knew I was playing with fire the moment I agreed to meet him at the restaurant after closing. Marco had been sketching me for three weeks, and every session left me breathless in a way I couldn't explain. His fingers on the charcoal, those dark eyes tracing my curves like he was memorizing them. When he texted me at midnight, I should have said no.

The restaurant was dim, all the chairs stacked on tables except one corner booth where Marco sat with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He looked up as I walked in, and that smile — slow, knowing — made my thighs clench.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, pouring the wine.

"Couldn't stop thinking." I slid into the booth across from him. "About the painting."

"Just the painting?"

The air between us was thick. I could smell his cologne, something woodsy and warm, mixed with the lingering scent of garlic and olive oil from the kitchen. My hand found his across the table.

"Maybe not just the painting."

He didn't waste time. His hand cupped my jaw and pulled me into a kiss that was all heat and hunger, his tongue sliding against mine. I moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound.

"You have no idea," he breathed, breaking away just enough to speak, "how many nights I've imagined this. You, in that dress, spread out for me on one of these tables."

"Show me."

He stood, pulling me up with him. His hands went to the straps of my sundress, and I watched his pupils dilate as they slipped down my shoulders. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in just my lace panties. Marco let out a low whistle.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."

His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. I gasped, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He worked his way down, kissing along my collarbone, then lower, until his lips closed over my nipple through the lace of my bra. I arched into him, desperate for more.

"Please," I whispered.

He unhooked my bra with practiced ease, letting it fall. My breasts spilled free, and he took one in his mouth immediately, sucking hard while his hand kneaded the other. My head fell back, a whimper escaping me.

"Quiet," he murmured against my skin. "We're not supposed to be here."

The danger of it made everything sharper. I bit my lip as he dropped to his knees, peeling down my panties. His breath was hot on my thigh as he looked up at me.

"Spread your legs."

I did, leaning back against the booth. He buried his face between my thighs, and I nearly cried out. His tongue was relentless, lapping at my clit in broad strokes before flicking against it in quick, precise movements. My hand flew to my mouth, muffling the sounds I couldn't hold back.

"You taste like honey," he said, pulling away just long enough to speak, his chin glistening. Then he was back, sucking my clit into his mouth, and my knees buckled.

He caught me, spinning me around and bending me over the table. The wood was cool against my palms. I heard his belt buckle clink, his zipper slide down. Then his cock pressed against my slick entrance.

"Look at you," he growled, gripping my hips. "So fucking ready for me."

He slammed into me in one stroke, and I had to bite down on my own arm to keep from screaming. He was thick, stretching me in a way that made my eyes roll back. He pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in, setting a brutal pace.

"That's it," he grunted. "Take it, baby. Take all of it."

The table creaked beneath us. Wine glasses rattled. I could hear the wet sounds of him plunging into me, and it only made me wetter. He reached around and found my clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucked me from behind.

"I'm gonna come," I gasped.

"Not yet." He pulled out, and I whimpered at the loss. He flipped me onto my back, spreading my legs wide. "I want to see your face."

He entered me again, slower this time, bottoming out and holding still. The fullness was exquisite. He lowered himself, his weight pressing me into the table, his lips brushing my ear.

"You feel that? That's me, buried inside you. You're never going to forget this."

His thrusts became deep and measured, each one hitting spots I didn't know existed. My nails raked down his back. He groaned, his rhythm faltering.

"Come for me," he commanded. "Right now."

My orgasm crashed over me like a wave, pulling him with it. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick, as he came with a guttural moan that he muffled against my neck.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then he lifted his head, brushing my hair from my face.

"Same time tomorrow?"

I laughed, breathless. "I'll bring the wine."

CATEGORIES: [Restaurant, Hardcore, Artist, After Hours, Creampie]