Rain lashes the city as Bernard and I huddle in our hotel lounge, whiskey warming our palms. But my mind drifts to February 1986. Thursday the 13th. Her penthouse summons me. Last floor. Door ajar. I knock softly. ‘Enter, Olivier.’ Her voice silk.
Marble floors gleam under crystal lights. Air scented with jasmine. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the glittering skyline. Leather sofas, butter-soft, invite sin. Table: chrome and glass, sharp edges. Bouquet in hand, chocolates tucked under arm. She emerges in white silk robe, loosely tied. No bra. Curves hinted. Breath catches.
The Privilege
‘You’re early.’ Smile plays on raspberry lips. Quick kisses—cheeks, then corner of mouth. Framboise lingers. She takes flowers, vase on table. Bends. Décolleté plunges. Full breast sways free. Nipple peaks, hidden barely. Heart races. She settles opposite, legs cross. Robe parts. Pale thigh glows against black leather.
Chocolats—her favorites. She unwraps, crouches. View panoramic: nipple’s curve, navel, shadowed promise below. ‘Try one.’ Voice innocent. I kneel. Hands part robe. Breast exposed. Perfect. I devour. Lips seal on nipple. Suck hard. Tongue flicks. She gasps. ‘Olivier!’ But yields. Hand cradles my head.
Lips meet. Tongues dance. Raspberry explodes. Robe falls. Her skin velvet. I kiss trails: neck, breasts, belly. Fingers trace hips. She arches. Pubis trimmed, sun-kissed tan lines whisper beaches, strings. Kneel lower. Taste her. Wetness floods. Tongue delves folds. Clit swells. She moans. Hips buck.
The Excess
Fingers grip hair. ‘Vicious little thing.’ I lap harder. Cyprine sweet. She shudders. Cries peak. Orgasm crashes. Body quakes. I soften laps. She pulls me up. Kisses deep—tastes herself. ‘Best yet.’ Undresses me. Fingers tease cock. Hard as steel. Palm strokes. Tongue swirls glans. Edges me.
Blue jar: condoms. Safety first. Sheathe. Position. Kiss mound. Slide in slow. Tight heat grips. Nirvana. Thrust deep. She claws back. ‘Fuck me.’ Legs wrap. Pace builds. Sweat slicks leather. Windows fog. City watches blind.
She flips. Doggy. Ass high. Grip hips. Slam home. She grinds back. ‘Harder, slut.’ Words shock from her lips. Piston relentless. Multiple peaks for her. I hold. Finally, withdraw. Spill on back. White ropes mark pale skin. She sighs bliss.
More. Re-harden. Plunge again. Exhaustion claims. Collapse entwined. Leather sticks skin. View clears: dusk paints skyline gold. Secret sealed in glass walls. Dress hurried. Restaurant awaits. Lips brush. ‘Till next.’ Drive home spent. Wife sleeps. Lie told. Fire rekindled there too. Penthouse echo lingers. Privilege mine.
