The Velvet Robe

The mountain air was thin and cold, but the chalet’s main room was a furnace of pine resin and woodsmoke. I watched her from behind the bar, a woman in a deep burgundy robe, the kind of plush silk that catches firelight. She wasn’t wearing anything else. I knew it by the way the fabric moved, clinging to the curve of her hip, sliding over a thigh when she crossed her legs. She caught me looking and didn’t look away. She just tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips, and took a slow sip of her wine.

Her name was Lena. She’d been here three days, always in that robe, always sitting at the far end of the counter, nursing a glass of pinot noir. I’d poured her drinks, told her about the ski conditions, laughed at her jokes about the tourists. But tonight, the fire was low and the last of the other guests had gone to bed, and the silence between us was thick enough to cut.

“You’re staring, Max,” she said, her voice a low hum.

“You’re making it hard not to.”

She laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “Maybe I want you to.”

I dried a glass, watching her. The robe had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a pale, smooth expanse of skin. I could see the shadow of her collarbone, the swell of her breast. My cock was already half-hard in my jeans.

“Lena,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “What are you doing?”

She stood up, and the robe fell open just a fraction as she walked toward me, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. She leaned over the bar, close enough that I could smell her—something warm and sweet, like vanilla and sweat.

“I’m tired of watching you,” she whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

I reached out, my hand finding the lapel of her robe. The silk was impossibly soft, and underneath, her skin was hot. I pulled her toward me, and she came around the bar, pressing her body against mine. The robe fell open completely, and I saw everything—her full breasts, the dark nipples already hard, the neat triangle of hair between her legs.

“Christ,” I breathed.

She grinned, feral and hungry. “That’s the idea.”

I didn’t waste time. I cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple until she gasped, and then I was on my knees, pulling the robe off her shoulders, burying my face between her legs. She tasted like salt and musk, and she moaned, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

“Fuck, Max,” she gasped. “Right there.”

I licked her clit in slow, deliberate circles, feeling her shudder. She was wet, soaking, and I could taste her, sweet and sharp. I slid two fingers inside her, and she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand.

“You like that?” I asked, my mouth still against her skin.

“Yes,” she hissed. “But I want more. I want your cock.”

I stood up, shoving my jeans down. My cock was aching, leaking. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around it, stroking me slowly, her eyes dark with lust.

“God, you’re big,” she murmured.

“You can take it.”

She turned around, bracing her hands on the bar, presenting her ass to me. The robe was pooled at her feet, and her skin was pale in the firelight. I grabbed her hips, and she looked back at me over her shoulder, her lips parted.

“Do it,” she said. “Fuck me.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I drove into her, and she screamed, a raw, animal sound. She was tight, so fucking tight, and I had to pause for a second, my forehead against her back, just to breathe.

“Fuck,” I groaned. “You feel incredible.”

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Please, don’t stop.”

I started moving, slow at first, letting her get used to the size of me. But she was greedy, pushing back against me, taking me deeper. I grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back, and she moaned, her back arching.

“Harder,” she begged. “Fucking harder.”

I slammed into her, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the quiet room. Her pussy was gripping me, milking me, and I could feel my orgasm building, a hot coil in my gut.

“I’m close,” I grunted.

“Cum inside me,” she gasped. “I want to feel it.”

That was all it took. I buried myself to the hilt and came, a torrent of heat flooding her. She cried out, her body convulsing around me, and I felt her come too, her walls clenching, pulling every last drop from me.

We collapsed against the bar, breathing hard. The fire had burned down to embers, casting long shadows across the room. I pulled out, and she turned around, her face flushed, her eyes soft.

“That was…” she started, and then laughed. “I don’t have words.”

I pulled her into my arms, the ruined robe tangled around our feet. “You don’t need words.”

She rested her head against my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. “You know,” she said, her voice sleepy. “I think I’m going to need another glass of wine.”

I laughed, kissing the top of her head. “I think I can manage that.”

And for a while, we just stood there, the silence warm and heavy, the mountain night pressing in against the windows, the robe a forgotten pile of silk on the floor.

CATEGORIES: [Robe, Just the Two of Us, Hotel, Passionate Sex, In the Dark]