One Last Time, AgainAuthor(s): Dorla Moorehouse
(Available in epub, mobi, and pdf)
Publication Date: 13, 2012
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Genres: Contemporary, Drama, Erotica
Tags: f/m, het, infidelity, Short Story
“We haven’t seen each other in three years. I figured the occasion warrants a day off. And now that you’re done with your panel, we have a few hours to kill. I was thinking we could go back to your room, for old time’s sake.”
I start to say no, but then I change my mind, flash my key card, and beckon for him to follow me. By sheer luck, we’re alone in the elevator. I don’t waste any time pinning him to the wall and driving my tongue between his lips, my fingers clinging to his short blond hair. His cock rises with the elevator, and I grind him all the way up to my floor. My clit throbs, desperate for his touch, and it’s all I can do to walk down the hall to my room, rather than fucking him right there in the elevator.
“I still miss your pussy,” he whispers as I unlock the door. “And the way those green eyes of yours light up when I’m pleasuring you. There isn’t a day I don’t remember how amazing it was to eat you out, how beautiful you are when you come.”
I want to ask why, if he enjoyed me so much, he left in the first place, but I don’t want the answer, and I don’t want to kill the moment.
“Then what are you doing letting me stand here with my clothes on?”
Evan unbuttons my shirt carefully, and I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or he wants to savor the moment, but I have to admit that I like waiting. The longer he takes, the longer he’s with me. When my blouse is off, I unhook my bra and he catches my breasts in his waiting palms. Nobody else has these hands, nobody else plays with my nipples the way he does. He has all the finesse of someone hand-rolling a cigarette, and it sends shivers all the way down my body, into my cunt. I’ve explained his technique to my subsequent lovers, but none of them have ever been able to match it. With his thumb and finger pinching my nipple, I’m suddenly weak-kneed, my body contracting in an orgasmic prelude to what’s to come.