I was working nights for a private ambulance company when Amber first caught my eye. Chestnut hair that always seemed to fall in her face, dark eyes that carried more fire than she let on, and a body that had half the guys in the company tripping over themselves just to grab a shift with her. Me?

I noticed her, sure how could I not? But I’ve never been one to chase what everyone else is after. She was married, for one thing, and besides, that kind of attention usually ends messy. So I kept my distance, admired from the corner of my eye, and let the other guys circle like moths around a flame.

A few weeks rolled by. Calls blurred into one another vent runs, dialysis shuttles, the usual grind. Then dispatch handed me an assignment that made my stomach sink: a long-distance transport, twelve hours each way, an overnight hotel stay built into the run. The kicker? My partner would be Amber.

The drive started easy enough, the two of us trading stories between the static of the radio and the thrum of the tires. But once we hit the hills of West Virginia, the storm rolled in.

The heater in the cab roared, fighting a losing battle against the West Virginia blizzard howling outside. White-out conditions. Zero visibility. Our ambulance, a bulky beast that usually ate up highways, was reduced to a crawl, trapped behind the flashing lights of a state trooper’s cruiser leading us through the frozen hell.
“I think I’ve clenched muscles I didn’t know I had,” Amber said, her voice a welcome warmth in the tense silence. She stretched, and even in the bulky winter coat, the shift of her body was a distraction.

I kept my eyes on the taillights ahead. “Just another day in paradise.”
“Paradise? This is more like that snow level in a video game where everything wants to kill you.” She laughed, a sound that seemed to melt the ice on the windows.

I risked a glance. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, strands falling loose to frame her face. And those eyes dark, deep pools that seemed to see everything. Everything. I quickly looked back at the road. We finally dropped our patient at the remote clinic hours behind schedule. The storm had stranded us.

Two rooms at the only nearby hotel. The silence was deafening after the hours of wind and engine noise. I entered my room
stood at the window, watching the snow pile up, my mind not on the weather.
Just go knock. See what happens.
The thought was a drumbeat in my head. I pictured her opening the door, maybe in those tight jeans and a simple t-shirt, her dark eyes wide with surprise. But the other, louder thought drowned it out: She’s married. And every guy at the station’s already tried. I wasn’t going to be another name on that list.

I went to bed alone, frustration a hard knot in my stomach. The drive back was clearer, the mood lighter. We talked about everything stupid calls, crazy partners, dreams we’d abandoned. The connection was instant, electric. It felt like we were the only two people on the road. Maybe… just maybe…

Then, a few days later, Alex my old partner clapped me on the shoulder in the bay. “Got a date with Amber tonight. Wish me luck, man.”
The knot was back, tighter than ever. “No kidding? That’s… great. Good luck.” I tried to sound genuine. He was a good guy.
An hour later, my phone buzzed. Amber.
‘Hey! Alex and I are going to that little pub on Elm. You should come!’
I found Alex at his locker. “Dude, she just invited me to tag along on your date. I don’t wanna crash it.”
He waved a hand, but his smile was weak. “Nah, it’s cool. More the merrier. Probably less awkward anyway.”

The pub was dim and loud. We found a booth, ordered a pitcher, and fell into easy complaining about work.

The same rhythm we’d found in the ambulance. Alex excused himself to the bathroom, and suddenly the booth felt vast and incredibly intimate.

Silence settled between us. It was heavy, charged. She played with the condensation on her glass, a coy smile playing on her lips. My heart hammered against my ribs. The words were out before I could stop them, a raw, unfiltered truth I never meant to voice.
“I really wanted to go to your hotel room and fuck you.”

Her dark eyes snapped up to mine, wide for a fraction of a second before they softened. The coy smile widened into something genuine, hungry. “Why didn’t you? I was hoping you would.”

The world narrowed to the space between us. The air crackled. Then Alex was back, sliding into the booth, oblivious to the seismic shift that had just occurred. We finished our beers, the pretense of normalcy agonizing. I suggested my place for a nightcap. Just to keep this going. Just to see.

Alex, true to form, was out cold after three beers, snoring softly in my bed.
The living room was quiet. Amber stood by the window, her silhouette outlined by the city lights.

The memory of her words in the bar was a live wire between us.
“What you said earlier,” I started, my voice low. “At the hotel… what would have happened? If I’d knocked?”

She turned, her expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then she smiled, a slow, wicked thing. “I would have licked your lollipop.”
That was all it took. I closed the distance between us in two strides, my hand coming up to cradle her jaw, my thumb brushing her cheek. I tilted her face up and crushed my mouth to hers.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was weeks of pent-up want, of stolen glances, of imagined scenarios. It was pure, unadulterated hunger. Her lips parted instantly, her tongue meeting mine with equal fervor.

A small, desperate sound escaped her throat as her hands fumbled with my belt, then the button of my jeans. The zipper came down with a harsh rasp.
Her cool fingers slid into my boxers, wrapping around my cock. I was already painfully hard. She broke the kiss, her breath hot against my neck. “See what you made me think about?” she whispered, her voice husky. She stroked me, once, twice, a slow, firm pull that made my knees weak. Then she sank to hers. She looked up at me, those dark eyes holding mine as she took me into her mouth. Oh, god.

The heat was unbelievable. Wet, silken heat that surrounded me completely. Her tongue swirled around the head, licking and tasting before she took me deeper. Her mouth was a revelation a perfect, tight suction that pulled a ragged groan from deep in my chest. One of her hands cupped my balls, gently rolling them, while the other kept a steady rhythm on the base of my shaft.
She didn’t just bob her head. She worshipped.

She explored every inch with her tongue, finding the sensitive spot just beneath the head that made my vision blur. She’d take me deep, until I felt the back of her throat, and hold it there for a breathtaking second before pulling back to lavish attention on the tip. The sounds were obscene, wet and sloppy and perfect. I tangled my hands in her chestnut hair, not guiding, just feeling, as my hips began to move with a mind of their own, fucking her mouth in shallow thrusts.

I could feel the pressure building, a coil tightening at the base of my spine. “Amber… I’m gonna…”

She didn’t pull away. She hummed, the vibration traveling straight up my spine, and took me even deeper. That was all it took. My orgasm ripped through me, blinding and absolute. I cried out as I pulsed into her hot mouth, my body shuddering. She swallowed every drop, her throat working around me until I was spent, sensitive, and utterly drained.
She released me with a soft, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up, a triumphant, devilish gleam in her eyes.

I pulled her up, my body still thrumming. “Wow. Now it’s your turn. Let me return the favor.”
She shook her head, that coy smile back. “No. That was for you.” She kissed me softly, and I could taste myself on her lips. “I should get Alex home.”
And just like that, she gathered her things and left, leaving me standing there, bewildered and addicted.
That was how it started. A long, feverish affair conducted in the grey hours between my night shifts and her day shifts. She’d show up at my door as I was getting home, still in her uniform, and we wouldn’t make it past the entryway.

I took her on every surface of my apartment, learning her body like a map. She loved being on her hands and knees, loved the rough grip on her hips as I pounded into her from behind, loved it when I’d circle her sensitive little clit ring with my tongue until she screamed into my pillows.

But the most reckless time was in the one place we shouldn’t have.
We were assigned to a special event together, a county fair. We’d gotten our briefing and had an hour to kill before we had to be on standby. The late summer sun was warm. We were leaning against the side of the rig, joking, the flirting more palpable than ever, a current that had only grown stronger.

“We should probably check the O2 tank levels,” she said, her tone suggesting anything but. Her dark eyes sparkled.
“Probably,” I agreed.

We climbed into the back, the door swinging shut with a heavy thud, muting the sounds of the fair. The confined space was intimate, smelling of antiseptic and clean linen. We were on the bench seat, our knees touching. She laughed at some stupid joke I made, her head thrown back, the column of her throat exposed. Her smile, her eyes, the way she bit her lip… it was all too much.
I leaned down, cupping her cheek, and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. It was different from the first time less surprised, more desperate. I guided her back onto the raised stretcher, my body following hers. My free hand found the lever and pushed, the hydraulic hiss the only sound as the cot lowered, laying her out for me.

I kissed her harder, my hands everywhere tugging her shirt free, palming her breasts through her bra. Her nipples were hard pebbles against my palms. I mouthed her neck, biting down gently on the tender skin there, and she gasped, her back arching off the stretcher.

My fingers found the buckle of her tactical belt. I loosened it, then worked the button of her pants. The zipper came down. I slid my hand past the waistband of her panties and she was drenched. Soaked and hot and ready.

“God, you’re wet,” I breathed against her neck.

I found her clit, a hard little pearl, and circled it slowly. She moaned, a low, throaty sound that went straight to my cock. I slipped one finger inside her, then a second. She was so tight, so incredibly hot. I curled my fingers, fucking her slowly at first, then faster, finding a rhythm that made her writhe beneath me. Her hips rose to meet my thrusts, her breath coming in sharp hitches.
“Yes… right there…” she pleaded.
Her hand suddenly clamped down on my wrist, stopping me. Her eyes were glazed with lust. “Pants. Off. Now.”

It was a scramble of fabric and desperate hands. We kicked off our boots, shoved our pants and underwear down our legs. I lay back on the stretcher, my cock standing straight up, rigid and aching. She straddled me, one hand braced on my chest, the other guiding me to her entrance.

She didn’t tease. She sank down onto me in one smooth, devastating motion, taking me all the way to the hilt.

A guttural groan was torn from both of us. The warmth, the wet, tight clasp of her was absolute perfection. She found a rhythm instantly, riding me hard, her inner muscles clenching around me with every rise and fall. She reached up, grabbing the overhead grab bar, using it for leverage as she arched her back, her breasts straining against her shirt.

The sight was unbelievable. I reached between us, my thumb finding her clit again, rubbing tight, frantic circles.

“Oh, fuck!” she cried out, her pace becoming frantic, slamming down on me with abandon. I could feel her tightening, her inner flutters becoming more erratic. Her warmth grew impossibly hotter, her wetness slicking my entire groin. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth fell open, and she let out a long, breathy, deep moan that seemed to come from her very soul as her orgasm crashed over her.

The convulsive clenching of her around my cock was my undoing. I thrust up into her once, twice, and then I was coming, my own release a blinding wave of pleasure, pumping into her depths. She collapsed forward onto my chest, her body trembling, my cock still nestled deep inside her. I could feel our combined juices, warm and slick, dripping down onto my balls.

We lay there for a single, stolen moment, panting, hearts hammering against each other. The sound of the fair outside was a distant buzz.

Then, a sharp, official-sounding knock rattled the back doors. “Unit 42? You guys in there? We’ve got a downed stagehand, need you on site.”

Amber’s eyes flew open, panic flashing across her face. For a heartbeat we froze, breathless, her body still hot and trembling beneath mine.

A moment ago we were lost in each other reckless, hungry, shameless. Now reality was pounding at the door, demanding we pull ourselves together.

We scrambled, pulling clothes on in frantic silence, fingers fumbling with zippers and straps. I snatched up my gear, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the call. When we pushed open the rig doors, I caught our supervisor’s eye. Maybe it was my imagination, maybe not, but I swear there was the faintest trace of a knowing smile tugging at his mouth.

On scene, we moved like nothing had happened calm, professional, focused. But underneath, the truth burned. Every time I bent to check vitals, every time Amber brushed past me, I pictured the secret slick between her thighs, the memory of being inside her minutes ago. It was dangerous, exhilarating, and it made me sharper, more alive, than I’d felt in months.

When the call wrapped, the adrenaline finally ebbed. We slid back into the rig, both of us laughing softly, the kind of laughter that comes from almost being caught. The rest of the afternoon we kept close, tangled in each other’s arms, no more daring risks. Just warmth, skin, and the sweet comfort of knowing that for a little while, the world outside couldn’t touch us.

Our affair continued quietly in the weeks that followed, each stolen moment pulling us closer, blurring the line between reckless passion and something more intimate. What started as adrenaline-fueled secrecy began to feel like gravity, impossible to resist. Then one night, everything shifted…
The rain was a frantic drumbeat against my window, a chaotic rhythm that mirrored the sudden pounding on my door. I opened it to a vision of shattered composure. Amber stood there, soaked through, her short pajama shorts and crop top plastered to her skin, outlining every curve. Her chestnut hair was dark and stringy with rain, and her usually captivating dark eyes were pools of shimmering misery, red-rimmed and overflowing.

Before I could form a word, she stumbled into me, her body trembling against mine. The chill of her wet skin seeped through my shirt. A broken sob escaped her lips. “He hit me.”

The words were a cold fist in my gut. I cupped her face, my thumbs brushing away tears mixed with rainwater. “I am so sorry, Amber.” Her skin was ice-cold. Her dark eyes, usually so full of fiery confidence, were soft, broken, and pleading.

She looked utterly lost.
Then, something in her gaze shifted. A desperate, primal need eclipsed the sadness. She surged forward, her mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that was less about passion and more about pure, unadulterated need. It was a claiming. A silent scream.

Her tongue plunged into my mouth, and I met its frantic dance with my own, kissing her back with a ferocity that surprised me. It was a language of its own, a conversation of shared anger and desperate comfort. Our hands were everywhere, pulling at wet fabric, sliding over slick skin as we stumbled away from the door toward my couch.

Her crop top came off in one fluid motion, and her perfect breasts were in my face. I took a hard, peaked nipple into my mouth, sucking deeply, laving it with my tongue, wanting to erase the memory of any other touch on her skin. She cried out, a sharp, gasping sound, her fingers tangling in my hair, holding me to her. Her other hand raked down my back, her nails leaving faint, delicious trails of heat.

She kissed and bit my neck, a possessive, almost feral act. Then her hands were at the waistband of my boxers, pulling them down in one frantic motion.

My cock sprang free, already achingly hard and throbbing with a need that matched her own. She didn’t hesitate. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her tiny shorts, shoved them down, and revealed she wore nothing underneath.

In one fluid, desperate motion, she straddled me on the couch, guiding my length into her. She was already soaked, but not from the rain. Her warmth enveloped me, a slick, tight heaven that made us both gasp in unison. I could feel the wet curls of her pubic hair against my lower stomach, a stark, erotic contrast to the chill still on her skin.

She began to move, riding me with a raw, untamed rhythm that was all pent-up emotion. This wasn’t the playful, skilled rider from the ambulance. This was something deeper, more visceral. She was chasing something, trying to fuck the pain right out of her soul.

I held her waist tight, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, meeting her frantic grind with deep, upward thrusts. The sound of our bodies meeting was obscenely loud in the quiet apartment, a wet, rhythmic slapping punctuated by her ragged moans. I reached up and fisted a hand of her long, wet chestnut hair, pulling her head back gently. She arched her back, a beautiful curve, her eyes squeezing shut as her lips parted in a silent cry.

I moved my hands to her ass, squeezing the firm cheeks, spreading them slightly, feeling the powerful muscles working as she rode me. I leaned forward and took a breast back into my mouth, sucking hard, loving the way she cried out and ground herself down onto me even harder.

Her pussy was an absolute mess of sensation dripping wet, impossibly warm, and clenching around me like a fist. It was getting too intense, too out of control. I needed to be deeper, to feel all of her.
With a grunt, I gripped her hips and lifted her off me. A whimper of protest died on her lips as I laid her down on the couch cushions, her legs immediately wrapping around my waist. I hovered over her, looking down into those deep, dark eyes. I saw the pain, but now I also saw a flicker of pure, unadulterated lust.

I pushed back in, slowly this time, watching her face. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as I filled her completely. A soft, breathy squeak of surprise escaped her, followed by a deep, guttural moan that seemed to come from the very core of her being.

I kissed her neck, then bit her full lower lip, maintaining that intense eye contact as I began to move. In. Out. Slow. Deep.
I slid a hand through her hair, my fingers tracing the line of her jaw, before I kissed her again, this time with a devastating tenderness that felt more intimate than anything we’d ever done. She kissed me back, her hands coming up to frame my face, holding me there.

But the tenderness couldn’t last. The beast we’d awakened was too hungry. My thrusts became faster, harder. The wet, squelching sounds of her pussy taking my cock echoed around us. Her moans grew louder, less controlled, turning into sharp, pleading cries.

“Yes… right there… god, don’t stop…”
I could feel the coil of my own release tightening, a burning pressure in my balls. Her inner muscles began to flutter and spasm around me, her heat intensifying to a scorching degree. Her pussy became a slick, perfect slide. I drove into her, one last, brutal, perfect thrust, and held myself deep as I erupted. A hot, pulsing flood filled her, and I groaned her name into the crook of her neck, my body shuddering with the force of it.

I collapsed onto my back on the couch, pulling her with me. She nestled her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. Our mixed juices were a warm, sticky mess on my skin. She looked up at me, her dark eyes now soft and sated, the tears finally gone. I kissed her forehead and gently played with a strand of her drying chestnut hair.

We stayed like that for a long time, listening to the rain slow to a gentle patter. The storm outside was passing. The one inside us had found its calm. Eventually, without a word, I gathered her into my arms, carried her into my bedroom, and laid her gently on the sheets.

She looked up at me, a new, different hunger in her eyes. “Round two?” she whispered, a coy, familiar smile finally touching her lips.
The coy smile on her lips was all the answer I needed. I climbed onto the bed, my body covering hers, and captured her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. This time, there was no frantic desperation, no storm-driven fury. This was slower, more deliberate, a rediscovery of the terrain we had just so fiercely conquered.

My hands slid down her sides, tracing the gentle curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. Her skin was still cool from the rain in some places, wonderfully warm in others. I kissed a path from her lips to her jaw, down the column of her throat, feeling the steady, strong pulse there. She’s alive. She’s here. With me.

I took my time, my mouth exploring the soft slopes of her breasts, my tongue circling one nipple until it peaked into a hard, desperate bud. She arched her back, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “Yes… just like that.” Her fingers tangled in my hair, not guiding, just holding on.

I continued my journey south, kissing across her stomach, my tongue dipping into her navel. She squirmed beneath me, a breathy laugh mixing with a moan. The scent of her, our mixed arousal and her faint, clean perfume, was an intoxicating drug. I hooked my hands under her knees, gently spreading her legs apart, opening her to me.

She was still glistening, swollen and beautiful from our first round. I lowered my head and breathed her in. “That’s my doing.” I said to myself. That thought sent a possessive thrill straight to my already hardening cock.

I didn’t dive in. I teased. I used the very tip of my tongue to trace her outer lips, slowly, agonizingly slowly. She whimpered, her hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea. I held her down, my hands firm on her thighs. “I’m not done looking,” I murmured against her heated skin.

I finally gave her what she wanted, flattening my tongue and dragging a long, slow, wet stripe from her entrance all the way up to that perfect, throbbing clit. Her entire body jolted. A ragged, “Fuck!” tore from her throat. I did it again. And again. Each pass was a little faster, a little more focused, until I was circling that tight bundle of nerves with relentless precision.

Her moans became a continuous, pleading melody. Her hands fisted the sheets. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them, finding that rough spot deep within her that made her see stars. I fucked her with my fingers while my tongue worked her clit, the rhythm building, building, building.

“I’m gonna… oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop…” Her words were a broken mantra. I could feel her inner walls beginning to clench around my fingers, the telltale flutter that signaled her impending crash. I redoubled my efforts, sucking her clit gently into my mouth as my fingers pressed relentlessly against her G-spot.
Her climax hit her like a silent wave. Her body went rigid for a heart-stopping second, a silent scream on her lips, before she shattered.

A gush of warm release coated my fingers as her hips bucked against my face, her back bowing off the bed. I rode out every last shudder and spasm with her, gentling my tongue until she collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless and breathless.
I moved up her body, kissing my way back to her mouth. She tasted herself on my lips and deepened the kiss hungrily. Her hand slid between us, wrapping around my cock, stroking me with a firm, knowing grip. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice husky with satisfaction.

In a swift, surprising move, she rolled us over, straddling my hips. Her chestnut hair fell around her face like a curtain as she looked down at me, her dark eyes smoldering with a new kind of power.
She positioned herself above me, guiding me to her entrance. She sank down onto me in one excruciatingly slow, perfect motion, taking every inch of me until I was buried to the hilt inside her warmth.

She leaned forward, her hands braced on my chest, and began to move. It was a slow, rolling grind of her hips, a deep, internal massage that had me seeing stars. “You feel so good inside me,” she moaned, her head falling back. I reached up and cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples, watching the pleasure play across her face.

I remembered the ambulance, the stretcher, the way she’d arched her back and taken control. “Remember the fair?” I growled, my hands moving to her hips. I began to thrust up into her, meeting her downward grind with powerful upward drives. “When you rode me like this? When we almost got caught?”

The memory seemed to electrify her. Her eyes flew open, wide with a fresh wave of illicit excitement. “Yes…” she hissed. “I think about that all the time.”

Her rhythm became frantic, her movements losing their lazy roll and becoming desperate, driving plunges. She was chasing another peak, and I was right there with her. The slap of our skin filled the room, a lewd, perfect soundtrack. I sat up, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight against me as I pistoned into her from below. My mouth found hers in a messy, breathless kiss.

I could feel the familiar, incredible tightness coiling in my gut. “Amber… I’m close…”
“Me too,” she panted against my neck. “Don’t stop. Come with me.”

Her inner muscles clamped down on me, milking me, pulling the orgasm from me. With a guttural roar, I erupted inside her, my release hot and endless. Her own cry echoed mine as she climaxed around my pulsing cock, her body convulsing in my arms. We held each other through the storm, trembling, until the last aftershock subsided.

We fell back onto the bed, a tangled, sweaty mess of limbs. She nuzzled into my neck, her breathing slowly returning to normal. The room was silent except for our shared pants. I traced idle patterns on her back.
After a long while, she propped herself up on an elbow, her expression suddenly serious, though a playful glint remained in her dark eyes. She bit her lip, a nervous habit I’d come to adore. “You know,” she started, her voice a low, intimate “That night at the hotel… I wasn’t just hoping you’d come to my room.”

She paused, letting the anticipation build. “I’d already taken my wedding off” The confession wasn’t just a statement; it was a key, unlocking a door to a parallel universe where I’d been brave enough to walk down that hotel hallway. A universe where we’d had months more of this.

A slow, incredulous smile spread across my face. I shook my head, my fingers still tracing the delicate line of her spine. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not even a little,” she whispered, her dark eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and vulnerability. “It was in my pocket the whole time. I was so ready for you.”

The thought was a physical ache, a deep, throbbing regret mixed with white-hot lust. “God, Amber… all that time I spent staring at the ceiling, convincing myself it was a bad idea… that you’d shut me down…”

“I would have welcomed you,” she said, her voice dropping to that husky register that went straight to my cock.

She shifted, her thigh brushing against my hardening length. “I would have opened that door, pulled you inside, and…”“And what?” I prompted, my own voice rough with want. I needed to hear her say it. I needed the detailed fantasy to replace the memory of my own inaction.

She leaned down, her chestnut hair forming a curtain around our faces, her lips a breath away from mine. “I would have pushed you against the door the second it closed,” she breathed. “I would have kissed you until we were both dizzy. I would have dropped to my knees right there in the entryway and taken all of you into my mouth, tasting the cold night air on your skin.”

A low groan escaped me. My hands found her hips, gripping them, pulling her flush against me. The image was so vivid, so perfectly her, it was torture.

“I was such an idiot,” I murmured, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that tasted of us, of sweat and satisfaction and missed opportunities. It was a kiss of apology and promise all at once.

She kissed me back with a ferocity that stole my breath, her tongue tangling with mine, her hands fisting in my hair. The playful glint was gone, replaced by a raw, hungry need. We were no longer languid and spent; a new energy, born of her confession, crackled between us.

I rolled us over, pinning her beneath me on the rumpled sheets. The first hints of dawn painted the room in soft, grey light, outlining the perfect curve of her cheek, the swell of her breast. I kissed a trail down her neck, over her collarbone, lower.

I took a pebbled nipple into my mouth, sucking deeply, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed.

“This time,” I vowed against her heated skin, my voice a low rumble. “This time, I’m not holding back. Not a single damn thing.”
My mouth continued its descent, over the quivering plane of her stomach, through the soft, dark patch of hair. I hooked my arms under her thighs, lifting her to me. She was already glistening, her scent musky and sweet filling my senses. I didn’t tease. I didn’t play. I buried my face in her, my tongue finding her core in one long, flat stroke. She gasped, a sharp, broken sound. “Oh, god, yes…”

I worshipped her with my mouth, making up for every lost second of that hotel night. I licked and suckled, devouring her, my tongue circling her clit with a relentless rhythm I knew drove her wild. Her hips began to move against my face, a desperate, rocking motion. Her moans grew louder, less coherent. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them, finding that spot that made her see stars.

“Right there… don’t stop… please, don’t stop…” she begged, her words dissolving into a choked cry.

I felt her body begin to tighten, the muscles in her thighs trembling against my ears. I redoubled my efforts, sucking her clit, fucking her with my fingers, pushing her relentlessly toward the edge. Her climax hit her suddenly, a violent, shaking wave. She screamed my name, her body bowing off the bed as she convulsed around my fingers, her release flooding my mouth.

I didn’t let up until the last tremor subsided, until she was a boneless, panting mess beneath me. I kissed my way back up her body, my own need a painful, urgent throb.
Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and sated. She reached between us, her hand wrapping around my shaft, guiding me to her entrance. “Now,” she breathed, her voice wrecked. “I need to feel you. All of you.”
I plunged into her in one smooth, deep thrust.

She was so wet, so impossibly hot and tight around me. We both cried out at the sensation, a perfect, shared shock of pleasure. I buried my face in her neck, staying still for a long moment, just feeling the connection, the rightness of being inside her. Then I began to move.

This wasn’t the frantic, risky coupling in the ambulance or the angry, cathartic release on the couch. This was something else entirely. It was slow, deep, and devastatingly intimate. Each thrust was a deliberate, measured possession. Each roll of my hips was a promise I knew I probably couldn’t keep. I held her gaze, watching the play of emotions in her dark eyes pleasure, sadness, a fierce kind of joy.

She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, meeting every one of my thrusts with a lift of her hips. The room was filled with the sound of our ragged breathing, the slick, rhythmic slide of our bodies joining, the soft creak of the bed.
“Look at me,” I commanded softly, and her eyes, which had drifted shut, snapped open to meet mine. “I want to see you.”
I felt her walls begin to flutter around me again, a second, surprising climax building quickly on the heels of the first. Her breath hitched.

“I’m… I’m close again…”
“Come for me, Amber,” I growled, increasing my pace slightly, driving into her with focused intensity. “Let me feel you.”

Her orgasm washed over her, quieter than the first but no less powerful. A series of soft, helpless whimpers escaped her lips as her body clenched around me, milking me, pulling my own release from the very depths of my soul. With a final, deep thrust, I came, my own groan muffled against her skin as I spilled into her, my body shuddering with the force of it.

We collapsed together, spent and breathless. I stayed inside her, unwilling to break the connection just yet. The sun was properly rising now, casting long, golden beams across the bed, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. I brushed the damp hair from her forehead.

Amber turned over with the sun in her eyes, squinting at the light cutting through the blinds.
“What time is it?” she asked, voice rough, half-asleep.
“Six-thirty,” I said.
“Shit. I’ve got a shift at eight.”

We didn’t waste time. We hit the shower,
I twisted the knob and water erupted from the showerhead, instantly scalding, instantly creating a world of steam and searing heat that swallowed us whole. A tiny, private inferno.

Her back met the cool tile wall with a soft thud and she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as the near-scalding water sluiced over her shoulders, plastering her dark hair to her skin. I crowded her against it, my body pinning hers, my mouth finding hers again in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and shared, ragged breath. This wasn’t about tenderness. It was about claiming. About memorizing a topography I was about to lose.

My hands were everywhere. Sliding over her slick, hot skin, mapping the dip of her waist, the incredible swell of her hips. I palmed her breast, my thumb circling a taut, pebbled nipple until she cried out, the sound swallowed by the roar of the water and my mouth. “Look at me,” I demanded, my voice a ragged command.

Her eyes opened, glassy with desire and steam. They held mine, a silent challenge, as my hand slid between her legs.
She was already wet. Soaking. Hotter than the water raining down on us. A low groan tore from my throat as my fingers found her core, parting her, stroking the swollen, sensitive flesh. Her head fell back against the tile, a moan ripped from her throat.
“Yes. Right there. God, don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I drove her mercilessly, my fingers working a rapid, intimate rhythm against her clit, feeling her body tighten, coil, sizzle under my touch. Her hips bucked against my hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, more everything.

“I need you inside me,” she panted, her nails digging into my forearms. “Now.”
It was all the invitation I needed. I lifted her, and her legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, her ankles locking at the small of my back. I didn’t pause. I didn’t tease. I guided myself to her entrance, pressing against her wet heat, and with one powerful, driving thrust, I was buried to the hilt inside her.

A sharp, mutual cry echoed in the tiny room. Her inner muscles clenched around me, a tight, velvet fist, and for a second, I couldn’t move. I could only feel. The overwhelming sensation of being inside her. The way her body stretched to accommodate me. The sheer, raw perfection of it. Then the hunger took over.

The pace was brutal, almost frantic. A fierce, driving rhythm fueled by the ticking clock and months of aching absence. My hips pistoned, driving into her again and again, the sound of our bodies meeting, slick and urgent, mixing with the spray of the shower. Her back slid against the wet tile with every thrust, but she didn’t seem to care. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips parted on silent please.

I shifted my angle, and her eyes flew open, a shock of pure, unadulterated pleasure widening them.
“There,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Oh God, right there!”

I hammered that spot, every thrust a calculated assault on her senses. I could feel her climax building, a trembling tension that started deep within where we were joined and radiated outwards. Her breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Her fingers gripped my shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Come for me,” I grunted into her ear, my own release coiling tight in my gut. “Let go. I want to feel you come.”

It was all it took. Her body went rigid against mine. A shattered cry was torn from her throat, raw and real, as her orgasm crashed over her. Her inner walls convulsed around my cock, a series of intense, rhythmic pulses that milked me, pulling me right over the edge with her.
My own climax ripped through me, a blinding, white-hot torrent. I drove into her one last, final time, burying myself as deep as I could go as I spilled into her, my roar lost in the steam and the sound of the water and the feel of her contracting around me.

For a long moment, we just stayed like that, pressed against the wall, panting, shuddering, the hot water slowly cooling on our skin. The frantic energy was gone, spent, leaving behind a heavy, satiated exhaustion.

We didn’t speak. We just breathed.
All too soon, reality seeped back in. The sixty minutes were almost up.
She moved first, untangling her limbs from mine, her body sliding down mine until her feet found the wet tile. She avoided my eyes, a practiced, painful dance we knew all too well. She stepped out of the shower, a dripping, beautiful phantom, and grabbed my white uniform shirt off the chair, pulling it on. It hung low on her, the fabric clinging transparently to her damp skin, outlining her curves, the dark shadow of her nipples, the patch of hair between her legs. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. I just watched, memorizing the picture, trying to sear it into my brain.

She laughed then, a soft, breathy sound, as she found a crumpled pair of her own black pants she must’ve left weeks before, hidden under the chair. She was always leaving pieces of herself behind. She pulled them on, the intimate act of dressing somehow more vulnerable than being naked.
Then she was in front of me, still damp, smelling of my soap and her shampoo and us. She grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me. It was hard. It was fast. It tasted like goodbye.Then she was out the door.

That was one of the last nights. She moved to the beach soon after, running from her husband and all the bruises he’d left on her life. At first we still saw each other weekly, then monthly. Then not at all. She slipped away, like people do when life pulls them in different directions.

I don’t know where Amber is now. Maybe she found better, maybe worse. But I know this: she left her mark. Her memory is carved into me, not soft, not pretty, but burned deep like a scar you stop trying to hide.