It didn’t hit all at once.

One stroke. Then another. Then he hit his cock deep into her - and there was a button that he was pressing that made her cling to him, tight and trembling, her breath falling apart beneath his mouth.

John gripped her hips with a quiet ferocity, his control hanging by the thinnest thread. He felt every inch of her around him, soft wet heat drawing him deeper until he wasn’t sure where he ended and she began.

Her body was so perfect. Like she’d been carved to fit him. Like his cock belonged right there inside her pussy, and her scent belonged in his lungs.

He moved slowly, but the pressure inside him had begun to coil.

Tighter. Hotter. Meaner.

He moaned into her neck, the sound muffled but raw. She answered with a whimper that turned into a gasp, as he thrust his hips harder, and her nails slid down his back, knowing what he was about to do, carving her name into his skin .

And then she said it.

“Don’t stop baby”

And then she said it again. "Don't stop baby, cum for me. Cum for me"

It broke something in him.

He fucked her deeper, harder, every stroke a confession. His lips found her jaw, her throat, her shoulder.

She arched into him. Wrapped her legs around his waist. Pulled him in until he wasn’t just inside her body—he felt inside her whole soul.

And then he came, seized by a wave he couldn’t swim against. Her pussy pulsated an invitation so feral it was coded as primal. His body could not control the tidal wave of pressure bursting through his cock. She felt him push her buttons and locked her heels into the back of his thighs, begging him to bury his cock as deep as she could take him as he gushed.

And then he came, and came, and came and came.

He groaned her name, long and guttural, forehead pressed to hers as he gave her every drop. Everything.

They didn’t stop.

Even after the first wave left her shaking, legs trembling, eyes glassy with the aftermath—John kept going.

His mouth moved back up her body like a man tracing sacred ground, tasting her skin with the same reverence he’d give an answered prayer. He kissed her ribs, her sternum, the curve just under her breast—the places men forgot, only someone devoted would remember.

He slid two fingers inside her, slow and deep, his other hand holding her hip steady. But it wasn’t just the thrust—it was the curl. The way he coaxed her open with such practiced control it felt like spellwork. Like he was conjuring her pleasure straight from the core.

“John,” she gasped, hips bucking, her voice all honey and disbelief.

He groaned against her neck, hot and low. “That’s it. Let me feel that again.”

And she did.

She gave it to him.

Her body rolled beneath him, hips moving with instinct, the sound of wet heat echoing beneath the music. His fingers stroked her pussy with unrelenting rhythm, curling just right, the pads of his fingers dragging across the rough spot that made her knees fly up, her thighs clamp around his wrist.

“Right there,” she moaned. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

She was soaking his hand, soaking her sheets, slick wetness pouring out of her, and he loved it—he loved that he was the reason she was making a mess, the way her body responded, the pressure building like a storm behind her eyes.

He whispered in her ear while he worked her through it.

“You know what you do to me? You know how good this pussy is?”

Candy couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

She just broke.

With a shuddering cry, her whole body spasmed, hips lifting off the bed, walls clenching down on his fingers like she never wanted to let him go. And then—

The flood came.

A gush. Wet. Primal. Raw.

John swore under his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, still moving his hand as her body pulsed and shivered and seized around him. “You just squirted for me.”

She blinked through the haze, stunned, soaking the sheets beneath her, the red light casting her in shadows and shine.

He kissed her hard, fingers still inside, but slowing now.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, legs still spread, bare, marked, and claimed.

“You’re a fucking magician,” she whispered.

He smiled against her cheek.

“Nah,” he said, “You’re just magic.”

John, the gorgeous man that he is, didn’t stop whispering to her, praising her, telling her how good she was, how fucking perfect she felt beneath him.

And when she finally opened her eyes, she reached for him.

And flipped their positions.

Now she was on top.

And he was at her mercy.

She smirked, slow, knowing, and dangerous, as she dragged her hands down his stomach, her fingers brushing the trail of hair that led lower.

John exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his abs flexing as she teased her way down.

“Just lay back, babe ” she murmured, lips grazing his skin, sending shocks of heat straight through him.

He let out a low curse, his fingers gripping the sheets, because fuck, she knew exactly what she was doing.

She wanted to wreck him right back.

She took her time, watching his face, reading every reaction, teasing the little constellation of very sensitive points on the underside of his cock with slow flicks of her tongue, with soft bites, deep, slow pressure, until his entire body was tight and aching.

John’s hands moved into her hair, gripping, needing, but she stayed in control, keeping him right at the edge, right at her mercy, making him beg without words.

It was slow and unbearable and perfect.

By the time she finally pulled herself back up to kiss him, his breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in heavy, needy exhales.

He flipped her back onto the bed, settling between her legs.

And then—he kissed her, deep and slow and wrecked, because she had just ruined him completely.

He ran his hands down her sides, smoothing his palms over her soft skin, over the curve of her stomach, feeling every inch of that beautiful thin skin of her pussy.

Candy let out a breathless laugh, still panting, moaning, and floating.

John trailed his mouth down her neck between kisses, his lips against her skin, against her pulse.

She shivered.

The bedroom was bathed in red light, the smart bulbs casting a low, sultry glow over the white sheets. The air smelled like warmth and vanilla, like clean skin and anticipation.

And in the background, chill reggae played, a steady rhythm—sensual, slow, and unhurried.

John took his time.

Because tonight wasn’t rushed.

Tonight wasn’t about urgency or reckless hunger.

Tonight was about them.

Candy lay back on the sheets, her dark hair spilling like silk over the pillows, her body already melting under his touch.

John hovered over her, watching her, memorizing her, letting his hands roam her skin with intention. He used his fingers like a magician, coaxing sensation from her body with impossible precision, like he’d spent his life learning her.

She was soft and smooth, every inch of her so perfectly warm beneath his fingers.

He leaned in, brushing his lips against her shoulder, then lower, trailing down the curve of her collarbone, tracing his mouth over the delicate lines of her body.

Candy shivered, arching into him, her breath hitching as he took his time.

“You taste better than I remember,” he murmured against her skin, his hands gripping her waist, holding her still as he kissed his way lower.

Candy’s thighs tensed beneath his hands, but she didn’t stop him. She let him explore, let him devour her, let him take her apart piece by piece.

Her moans were quiet, then louder, then breathless, her fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, begging without words.

John held her hips down, keeping her in place, drawing it out, slow, deep, deliberate.

He wanted her to feel this everywhere.

He wanted to ruin her for any other man who might come after him.

When she finally came undone, her back arched, her fingers tightening in his hair, her breath breaking into pieces, he didn’t let go of her.

Didn’t stop touching her.

It's Wednesday night.

The kind of night that started quiet but thrummed with tension just beneath the surface.

John stood outside Candy’s door, hoodie zipped halfway, the chilled winter air biting at his fingertips as he rubbed them together. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet—not from nerves exactly, but from anticipation that had grown steadily, over the past few days.

He was early. Just a few minutes.

He’d been mentally walking this hallway since Monday, counting down until he could see her again. To be in her calm, to let all the anxieties of the week fall aside as they do when she was present.

There was her door.

When she opened it, the light from inside spilled out over his sneakers, casting a soft glow against the hallway tile. Candy was standing there in a loose sweater and shorts, her bare legs golden in the warm light, her eyes soft but steady.

“You came,” she said with a half-smile, stepping aside.

“I said I would,” John replied, brushing past her, catching the scent of her perfume—a vanilla musk, familiar now, and still dangerous.

They didn’t rush the drinks this time.

They knew the routine.

He pulled out the vodka she liked. And he brought out the copper mugs. There was a rhythm to it, something unspoken.

They drank, slow and quiet, and let the space fill in around them.

John looked at her, head tilted just slightly. “You know,” he said after a long pause, “it’s been a weird week.”

Candy looked over at him, her legs curled beneath her, drink resting against her thigh. “Weird how?”

He thought for a moment, rolling the mug between his palms. “I think about you at the oddest times. Like when I’m brushing my teeth. Or in between work tickets. Or just… when it’s quiet.”

Candy didn’t say anything right away.

John’s eyes followed her every motion like it had magnetic pull.

She finally said, “Is that weird?”

“No,” he said. “It’s…familiar. Like you’ve already made a home in places I didn’t realize had space for someone.”

Candy blinked slowly, but her heart was thudding with the weight of his words.

John reached for her, just the lightest touch to her thigh.

She climbed into his lap like she belonged there, like this was the only seat that made sense.

"Come here," he said.

Their lips met in the middle of a shared breath, a slow press of mouths that deepened. His hands found the back of her neck, cradling her like something precious. Her fingers slid under his hoodie, palms flat against his chest, fingernails starting to caress.

“I missed this,” she whispered.

He smiled against her mouth. “I missed you, too.”

She kissed her way back up to him, slow and soft, whispering his name like it was a promise.

John reached for her, kissing her again, deeper this time, hands gripping her waist as he rolled them back over. He was over her now, between her thighs, cradled in the warmth of her.

She reached down, gently guiding him.

And when he slid into her pussy,

Everything stopped.

His breath left him in a stutter. His whole body tightened.

He had never felt anything like this.

Every fold of her wrapped around him like silk and fire. Tight, perfect, heat, squeezing him in all the right places.

It was like she was made for him.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck and whispered a curse against her skin.

“Oh my God…”

Before he knew it his body was going and he knew he wasn't going to last.

This wasn’t just sex. This was an unveiling.

He moved slowly, inch by inch, just as slow as he could letting every nerve ending memorize her.

And Candy? She wrapped her legs around his thighs, ankles locking behind him, feet digging into the curve of his ass. Her nails scratched lightly down his back.

Her eyes stayed on his, deep and unwavering.

She didn’t say a word.

But there was a glint—something knowing, something bold.

He usually pulled out. Always had.

But now? Now, his body wasn’t even asking permission.

He thrust deeper, feeling every flex of her around him, and he swore the room blurred.

“Candy,” he groaned, breathless. “I… I can’t…”

He was too far gone.

And she -

She just held on tighter.

That glint never left her eyes.

When he finally came, it was like white-hot lightning ripping through him. His muscles locked, his breath caught, and he poured himself into her - spilling every last drop of cum, body trembling, mind emptied.

She held him close, feet pressing into his backside, milking every drop.

She didn’t say a word, just smiled softly, leaned back slowly, and released her legs.

John moaned, "ughhhh"

And hovered there, head bowed, panting.

Cum was dribbling down his cock.

His arms trembled as he caught himself on the mattress, unsure if he could walk.

She reached up, brushing her fingertips along his cheek, still watching him with that mysterious gaze.

And in that moment, John knew: something irreversible had just happened.

And there was no going back.

As he laid her down, Candy braced against him and rolled them gently so she was on top now. Her hair cascaded around them like a curtain as she leaned down to kiss him again, and her fingers drifted down to stroke him—slow, smooth, deliberate.

He was already hard again, aching.

She looked into his eyes, and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

And then she slid slowly down his body, her lips trailing heat across his skin.

She took him in her mouth slowly, deliberately sucking on the tip of his cock, moaning softly as she tasted his precum.

John groaned, one hand in her hair, the other fisted in the pillow.

She paused at the tip, letting her lips close gently around the tip of his cock, tongue flicking beneath. Then she slid down further, deeper, wrapping him in her mouth in the warmest, slickest embrace—mimicking the soft rhythm of her pussy and his cock being inside her.

She used her mouth like it was her pussy—tight and warm, soft at first, just the head, teasing him with little sucks and the velvet flick of her tongue.

Then she took him deeper, not all the way, just enough to make him feel like he wants to fuck—then slowly eased back, lips gliding smooth, and the suction perfect.

Her rhythm built gradually—like waves. More suction. Then a little more throat. Then the back of her tongue, brushing his tip in ways he didn’t know could feel so good.

John cursed under his breath. "Fuck… Candy…"

His hips arched just slightly, trying not to thrust, trying not to take control. His hands stayed gentle, barely resting on her head, as if scared to interrupt the divine rhythm of her giving.

She moaned around him and that vibration made him nearly come undone.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Jesus Christ… don’t stop…”

Candy didn’t stop. She didn't know how.

She hollowed her cheeks just a little more, played with pressure, and gliding and licking, and just then decided she was going to do long strokes and deeper, and deeper into her throat, deeper, she just needed to breathe a little bit.

He was completely lost.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, barely holding on.

She looked up, eyes glinting, her mouth still wrapped around him.

And he knew—he would never forget this.

And never want anyone else.

John was ravenous—slow, patient, but full of heat. He kissed her thighs with reverence, letting his tongue linger against the delicate skin. He watched the way Candy breathed beneath him, the subtle hitch in her breath every time his lips grazed higher.

He parted her lips with his thumbs and just stayed there for a moment, taking her in. Her scent, her warmth, the slick heat of her arousal—all of it pulled him deeper into his hunger for her.

When he finally tasted her, it was like something ancient unlocked in his chest. He moaned low against her, letting the vibration move through her as his tongue found its rhythm. It wasn’t just that he liked it—it was that he needed it to survive.

Candy’s legs trembled around his shoulders. Her hands clutched the sheets, then his hair, then the sheets again.

And John didn’t let up.

He explored every inch of her pussy with his mouth—slow, then fast, then slow again. He flicked his tongue along the edge where the tip met the shaft of her clit and groaned as she gasped. He did it again.

She cried out—half-moan, half-laughter—because the pleasure was so rich it turned playful. Intimate. Like her body was telling him secrets and he was reading them aloud.

And when she came? It was with a whimper that turned into a gasp that turned into his name.

“Oh my god, John…”

He licked her through it. Held her hips steady. Savored every drop.

Then, slowly, he made his way back up her body, kissing a path up her belly, between her breasts, to her collarbone, her neck.

She pulled him close, and kissed him deep.

And in that kiss, she tasted herself on his tongue, and they both moaned with kinky pleasure.

He picked her up with his slick fingers and face like a predator and moved her to her bedroom, where soft white sheets awaited them.