It was one of those ordinary workdays that secretly carried the promise of something more. I was out with him again—two back-to-back appointments—and from the moment I woke up, I’d been hyper-aware of every little thing: the way my skirt settled against my thighs when I sat down, the quick glances he stole when he thought I wasn’t looking.

That morning I’d chosen something special from my closet. My favourite dark-blue lace lingerie set, a fitted white camisole, a crisp white blouse that hugged my curves just right, and a soft black pencil skirt that clung to my hips and ass in all the ways I knew he noticed.

Between meetings, we suddenly had a generous gap in the schedule.

“What do we do with all this time, Lotte?” he asked, pulling the car over so he could check his agenda.

I shrugged, but the smile tugging at my lips must have given me away.

“We could grab lunch somewhere,” I said casually. “We’ve gotta eat.”

We scrolled through options on his phone, searching for something decent nearby.

“Restaurant?” he suggested. Then, after a short pause, he added, “Or… my place is literally five minutes from here.”

My breath caught for a second. I tried to keep my voice steady.

“Sounds cozy,” I replied, hoping he’d pick up on the hint. “Let’s do that.”

The drive felt endless even though it was only ten minutes. My heart hammered against my ribs the entire way.

When we arrived, I unlocked the door and let him in. The apartment suddenly felt different—like it knew this wasn’t just lunch. I hung his coat, walked ahead a little, and started chatting nervously about random things: the living room layout, my tiny home office corner, the view from the window. He listened closely, staying near me. Every now and then his hand brushed my hip, sending a warm current straight through me.

“You’re probably in the kitchen the most, right?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. “Yeah. This is my happy place.”

I reached up for two glasses. He stepped closer. When his fingers grazed my waist again, I turned around. Our eyes locked.

“This isn’t very smart,” I whispered.

“You’ve been saying that for weeks, Lot,” he murmured back, his mouth inches from mine.

Before I could overthink it, we were kissing—right there in the middle of my kitchen. I leaned back against the counter; he pressed his warm body against mine. His hands found my hips and lifted me effortlessly onto the countertop. My legs instinctively parted, wrapping around his waist, pulling him in tight. I’d wanted this for so long it almost hurt.

Our tongues met, hungry and urgent. While we kissed, his fingers worked the buttons of my blouse open. He paused just long enough to tug my camisole over my head.

“You dressed for this,” he said with a crooked smile, eyes roaming over my lace bra.

My ass pressed against the cool granite; my skirt had ridden all the way up to my hips. He took a step back and just looked at me—slowly, appreciatively.

“You’re gorgeous.”

I felt beautiful too. Early thirties, fit and toned from regular workouts, nice B-cup breasts, blonde hair, blue eyes, and an ass I knew he couldn’t stop staring at. I reached up, pulled the elastic from my ponytail, and shook my hair loose. Then, with deliberate slowness, I unclasped my bra and let it fall. A little wiggle of my hips and the skirt slid off, pooling on the floor. Now I was sitting there in nothing but my dark-blue thong.

I could feel how soaked I already was.

His turn. He dropped his pants; the thick outline in his boxers was unmistakable, a dark wet spot spreading at the tip. He shoved the boxers down and his cock sprang free—hard, thick, already glistening. He stepped closer.

I spread my legs wider. His fingers hooked the fabric of my thong aside, exposing my slick folds. I shifted forward on the edge, legs still hooked around him, and felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against my entrance.

“Can I?” he whispered against my ear, teeth grazing my lobe.

“Please,” I breathed.

He slid in slowly, filling me inch by inch. I moaned at the stretch, at how perfectly he fit. He started moving—long, deep strokes at first, letting me adjust. My legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper. I bit softly into the side of his neck—the spot I knew drove him crazy—and felt him throb inside me.

“That was fast,” he panted, cheeks flushed.

“Then you really liked it,” I teased.

I slid off the counter and dropped to my knees in front of him. My mouth closed around him immediately. He hardened again almost instantly. While I sucked him deep, I slipped my thong off and slid two fingers inside myself. I could still feel his cum slowly leaking out, mixing with my own wetness.

Suddenly his hands gripped my head. With a firm thrust he pushed deep into my throat and came again—hot, thick spurts coating my tongue. I kept sucking gently, swirling around the sensitive head until he shuddered and softened.

When the last drop was gone, I stood up. He pulled me close, hands on my hips, and lifted me back onto the counter. My legs came up, knees bent and spread wide. He dropped to his knees, buried his face between my thighs, and started licking—slow, deliberate strokes along my folds, then circling my clit. His fingers found their way inside, curling just right.

I couldn’t hold back.

“Don’t stop,” I moaned.

And then I came—hard, squirting over his tongue and chin, waves of pleasure crashing through me stronger than anything I’d felt before.

“Thank you,” I gasped, cheeks burning.

“Thank you, Lot,” he murmured, kissing me deeply.

I suggested we shower and actually eat something afterward.

We walked upstairs naked. Under the warm spray, his hands slid over my back, soothing, possessive. We kissed again—slow and deep this time. I felt him hardening against my stomach.

“You’re insatiable,” I laughed.

“With you? Always.”

I wrapped my hand around him, stroking lazily. Then I turned, bent forward, hands braced on the tile. He understood instantly. One hand spread my cheeks; the other guided himself back inside. He took me again under the falling water—steady, deep thrusts, hands gripping my hips. The sound of wet skin meeting wet skin mixed with our moans.

A few minutes later we came together again—shuddering, breathless, completely spent.

“Now I’m really empty,” he chuckled.

We dried off, dressed, and headed back downstairs. I twisted my damp hair into a knot, smoothed my skirt, and caught his eye in the mirror.

“Lunch was a success,” I said with a small, satisfied smile.

“Definitely, Lot.”

On the drive to the next appointment, our hands brushed once. I looked out the window, still feeling everything.

Deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.