The Last Shot

The studio smelled of ozone and warm lamps, and I couldn't stop staring at the curve of her spine. Mira wasn't supposed to be here — she was my friend's wife, for fuck's sake — but she'd booked this session herself, and now she was peeling off that silk robe like it was nothing.

"You're making this hard for me," she said, catching my eye in the mirror.

"Hard is kind of my job." I adjusted the aperture, buying time. "You want the sheer fabric for the next set?"

She turned, completely bare now, her tits full and tipped with dark nipples that were already tight. "No. I want you to stop pretending you're not looking."

My cock pressed against my jeans. "Mira..."

"Don't. Don't do the whole guilt thing." She walked toward me, bare feet silent on the concrete floor, and stopped a breath away. "Mark's been asleep for months. I want to feel awake again."

She reached down and palmed my dick through the denim, squeezing until I let out a shaky breath.

"Jesus."

"Shh." Her fingers worked the button free. "Just let me."

She dropped to her knees and pulled my cock out — thick and already leaking. She licked the underside once, slow, then took the head in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the crown. I grabbed a fistful of her dark hair, not pulling, just holding.

"You taste good," she murmured, stroking me as she looked up. "I want you in my mouth. Then I want you inside me."

I hauled her up and bent her over the chaise lounge, her ass high and round, her pussy glistening between her thighs. I ran my thumb through her slit and she moaned, pushing back against me.

"Fuck, you're wet."

"That's what you do to me." She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark. "Stop teasing."

I slammed into her in one stroke — no warning, just pure heat and tightness. She cried out, her fingers clawing the velvet. I pulled out almost all the way and drove back in, harder, watching my cock disappear inside her.

"Yes. God, yes."

I fucked her fast, my balls slapping against her clit, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet studio. She was moaning, babbling — "right there, don't stop, oh fuck" — and I reached around to pinch her nipple, rolling it between my fingers.

"I'm gonna come," she gasped.

"Not yet. Not until I say."

I slowed, deep thrusts that made her whole body shudder. Then I pulled out, spun her around, and lifted her onto the edge of the table, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy was swollen, slick with both of us.

"Look at me," I said, and slid back inside.

She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. I buried my face in her neck, tasting sweat and perfume, and she bit my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

"Come with me," she whispered. "Please."

I moved faster, rougher, one hand on her clit, and she shattered — her whole body convulsing around me, a raw, guttural sound tearing from her throat. That did it. I came inside her in hot, pulsing waves, my forehead pressed to hers.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Her heart hammered against my chest; my breath ragged against her lips.

"Mira."

"Don't." She smiled, soft and tired. "Don't ruin it."

She slid off the table, found her robe, and started dressing. I watched her, still half-hard, the taste of her on my skin.

"Same time next week?" she asked at the door.

I didn't have an answer. She was already gone.

CATEGORIES: [Someone else's wife, Photographer, In the studio, Rough sex, Creampie]