They met while traveling, she for work and he for, well, work too. One of those jobs where you travel and stay and eat for free. A critic maybe. There was a copy of Bon Apetit peaking out of his messenger bag, but she wasn’t entirely sure of much more than the smirk he gave her in the lobby as they bonded over unsuccessfully entering the free wifi code. Flirting on the leather sofa and whiskeys neat and the exchange of room numbers.


He felt her focus on his hardening cock. Her hands and mouth stroked it as he stood in front of her and she sat on the edge of the bed. Clothes were long before discarded, haphazard pile by the door. Her warm tongue and full mouth. If they didn’t pause now, he would surely explode. Pulling out, he laid her down and crawled onto the bed. He kneeled next to her exposed body and titled her head to meet his cock.

“Use my cock as a prop.” In a quick pause, her eyes darted to his with excitement and surprise. “Focus on you,” he instructed. While physically excited, she wasn’t focused on her own body and he somehow understood that. His invitation to orgasm made her clit throb and nipples harden. He took her hand and traipsed her fingers down her body to her smooth pussy. She began rubbing her clit in slow, small circles. Her other hand stroked his cock. He moaned in pleasure, either from feeling her suck him or watching her touch herself or both.

As she quickened her pace, he began teasing her pussy with his fingers, gradually working two inside her, a tad deeper with each thrust. He felt her moans vibrate on his cock. His other hand grabbed her breasts and pinched her erect nipples. She rocked her hips up into his hand pushing his fingers to feel her building wetness with each pinch he inflicted. Her body began to stiffen. 

A strained, shivering moan told him she was ready. He forcefully drew out and pressed his fingers deep one last time. Her pussy contracted in orgasm, knees pinned against the bed and hips pressed against his hand. Her back arched in pleasure, her mouth held his cock deep. Only once her body began to relax into the cool sheets and she let out a pleased sigh, he slowly pulled his fingers out from inside her and slid them into his mouth. “Mmm, you taste so good.”


Inside out boxers and room keys and tri-folded check-out bills under the doors. She didn’t learn his name; he never asked for hers. No names or phone numbers or “let’s do this again soon”. She boarded a plane. He sat down, notepad next to his gourmet burger and truffle fries. He took a bite and licked a bead of grease off his finger. He was pleased.

Ava Ryan writes and sleeps in New York City. She eats dumplings, sips Veuve, wears heels and is a self-proclaimed "lady in the street but a freak in the bed."


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