Southern Comfort

The office was dead quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the soft click of the lock. I’d told myself it was just a late session, a favor for a client who’d been struggling with her squat form. But when Layla turned around in her leggings and that loose tank top, I knew I was lying.

She was from Alabama, all honey drawl and sharp wit, and she’d been flirting with me for weeks. Tonight, she’d stayed behind after everyone left, asking for “extra help.”

“So, Marcus,” she said, leaning against my desk. “You gonna show me that stretch you mentioned, or are we just gonna stare at each other?”

I stepped closer. Her perfume was sweet, like magnolias and sweat. “You know this isn’t about stretching.”

She bit her lip. “Took you long enough.”

I kissed her before she could say another word. Her mouth was hot, eager, her tongue sliding against mine. My hands went to her waist, pulling her against me. She moaned into my mouth and grabbed my shirt, tugging me toward the leather couch in the corner.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a month,” she whispered, breaking the kiss. Her fingers worked the buttons of my jeans. “Every time you corrected my form, I imagined you bending me over that bench.”

“Fuck, Layla.”

I pushed her down onto the couch. She laughed, a breathless sound, and spread her legs. I pulled her leggings down, her panties already damp. The sight of her, dark curls and slick folds, made my cock throb.

“You’re so wet,” I said, running a finger through her slit.

“That’s your fault.” She arched her back. “Now stop teasing.”

I knelt between her thighs and pushed into her in one slow, deep thrust. She gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders.

“God, yes,” she breathed. “You feel so good.”

I started moving, a steady rhythm that made the couch creak. Her moans were low, kept in check by the thin walls. I leaned down, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her tits through the tank top.

“Harder,” she whimpered. “Please, Marcus.”

I grabbed her hips and fucked her harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper. She was so tight, so hot, and I could feel her clenching around me.

“I’m close,” she gasped.

“Not yet.” I slowed down, drawing it out. She whined in protest.

“You’re mean.”

“You like it.”

I pulled out and flipped her over onto her stomach. She pushed up onto her elbows, looking back at me with dark, hungry eyes.

“Fuck me like that,” she said. “From behind.”

I slid into her again, deeper this time. She cried out, a sharp sound that she muffled with her fist. I grabbed a handful of her hair, gently but firm, and drove into her. Her ass bounced against my hips, and I watched myself disappear into her, slick and glistening.

“You feel that?” I grunted.

“Yes… yes, don’t stop…”

Her moans turned into broken words, a string of “oh fuck” and “right there.” I reached around and pressed my thumb against her clit, circling it as I fucked her. She shuddered, her whole body tensing.

“I’m gonna cum,” she gasped. “Marcus, I’m gonna…”

“Come for me.”

She did, with a choked cry, her pussy milking my cock. The feeling pushed me over the edge. I buried myself deep and came, hot and thick, pulsing inside her. I stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, my forehead against her shoulder blade.

She laughed softly. “Well. That was worth the wait.”

I kissed her spine. “We’re not done yet.”

She turned her head, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Good. Because I’ve got another move I want to show you.”