The Chalet Reunion

The fire crackled and spat, throwing shadows across the wooden walls of the chalet. Outside, the Alps swallowed the last of the daylight, leaving only the snow and the stars. I hadn't seen Lena in three years, not since the breakup, and now she was here, leaning against the kitchen counter in a thick wool sweater that did nothing to hide the curve of her hips.

"You still bite your lip when you're nervous," she said, a half-smile playing on her mouth.

"I'm not nervous."

"Liar." She stepped closer, and the air between us went thick and electric. "You invited me here. To a cabin. In the mountains. In winter. What did you think was going to happen?"

I didn't answer. I just reached out and pulled her to me, my hand sliding under that sweater, finding the warm skin of her lower back. She gasped, then laughed, then kissed me hard, and the world narrowed to the taste of her, red wine and something sweeter.

We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothes like old habits. Her sweater came off, then her jeans, and I froze.

She was completely bare. Not a single hair. Smooth, like porcelain, the soft mound of her pussy gleaming in the firelight.

"You got waxed," I breathed.

"For you," she whispered, and my cock throbbed painfully at the admission. "I remembered how much you loved it. How you couldn't keep your hands off me."

I dropped to my knees, my mouth already watering. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft under my palms as I spread her thighs. She was already wet, her slickness glistening on the smooth, bare lips. I leaned in and dragged my tongue from her entrance up to her clit, and she shuddered, her fingers tangling in my hair.

"Fuck, yes," she moaned, grinding against my face. "God, I missed your tongue."

I licked her slowly, savoring the taste of her, the way her hips rocked and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. Her clit was swollen, a tight pearl that I circled with my tongue until she was trembling, her thighs shaking against my ears.

"Please," she begged, pulling at my hair. "I need you inside me."

I stood, my cock aching, and she pushed me onto the bed, climbing on top of me. She lowered herself slowly, and I watched her smooth, shaved pussy spread open as she took me in. The sight was obscene, beautiful, her bare lips stretched around my shaft, and I groaned as she began to ride me.

"Look at you," she whispered, her eyes locked on mine. "Look how easy I take you."

She was tight, wet, gripping me with every inch. I reached up and grabbed her hips, guiding her pace, and she threw her head back, her tits bouncing with each thrust.

"You feel so good," she gasped. "So fucking good."

I flipped her over, pinning her beneath me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I drove into her, deep and hard, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room. She cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders.

"Yes, right there, don't stop," she pleaded.

I buried my face in her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the heat of her. Her hand snaked down between us, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing herself in frantic circles.

"I'm close," she panted. "Don't you dare stop."

I fucked her harder, faster, losing myself in the wet heat of her. Her body tensed, her back arching, and she screamed as she came, her pussy clenching around me, milking me. I followed moments later, burying myself deep as I spilled inside her, a guttural groan tearing from my throat.

We lay there, tangled together, breathing heavy. She traced a lazy pattern on my chest with her finger.

"We're not done," she said, her voice husky.

"Oh?"

She smiled, a wicked glint in her eye. "I remembered something else you liked. The thing with the silk scarf. And the handcuffs." She sat up, looking at me. "You still have them?"

I grinned, reaching for the nightstand drawer.

"Where do you think I keep them?"