Emily makes a move

The movie played. A forgettable rom-com about a woman who moves to a small town and falls for the local bakery owner. I wasn't watching it. I was staring at the screen, seeing nothing, my mind still caught in the loop of the video, the coffee shop, the whispered words.

Then Emily's hand moved.

It drifted from my stomach, slow and casual, like she was just shifting position. But her fingers found the waistband of my jeans, traced along the seam, and then settled squarely over my crotch. She began to rub, a gentle back-and-forth motion, her palm warm through the denim.

I stiffened, my breath catching. My mind, which had been spinning in circles, slammed to a halt, every nerve in my body suddenly focused on the pressure of her hand. She didn't look at me. Her eyes were still on the TV, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips.

The rubbing continued. Slow. Deliberate. I felt myself respond, the familiar heat building, my cock hardening against the constraint of my jeans. Her hand adjusted, pressing more firmly, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through me.

My breathing grew shallow. The movie became meaningless noise.

She increased the pressure, her grip tightening, her palm dragging up and down the length of me through the fabric. I shifted, spreading my legs slightly, giving her more room. She took it, her fingers finding the button of my jeans, working it open with practiced ease. The zipper slid down. Her hand slipped inside, past my boxers, and wrapped around my bare shaft.

I gasped.

She turned to look at me then, that same cheeky grin from earlier, her eyes glittering in the dim light of the TV. Without a word, she slid off the couch, lowering herself to her knees on the floor in front of me. Her hands hooked into my jeans and boxers, pulling them down just enough to free me completely.

Her eyes never left mine as she leaned forward, opened her mouth, and took the head of my cock between her lips.

Her tongue swirled around the tip, slow and deliberate, tracing circles that made my hips twitch. She pulled back, then licked a long, wet stripe down the shaft, from head to base, her eyes fluttering closed as if she were savoring the taste.

I watched her, my mind flickering with an unwanted image - the stripper, her head bobbing, her throat bulging. But the feeling was too good, and I pushed the thought away, letting myself sink into the heat of her mouth.

She worked her way down, taking my balls into her mouth one at a time, her cheeks hollowing with suction, her tongue lapping at them with the same reverent attention she'd given the stripper. Then back up, her mouth engulfing me again, her head beginning to bob in a steady rhythm.

I let my head fall back, my hands finding her hair, my hips rising to meet her.

And then she stopped.

The warmth vanished. I blinked, disoriented, looking down. She was rising and moving away, a satisfied smirk on her face. The TV had gone dark. The room was lit only by the dim glow of the kitchen light.

Her silhouette stood in the bedroom doorway. "Come on, you," she said, her voice low and playful. "Time to return the favor, I think."

She turned and disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom.

I scrambled off the couch, my jeans tangling around my ankles. I stumbled, caught myself on the doorframe, kicked the jeans off, and hurried into the bedroom.

She was already on the bed, naked, waiting. The lamp on the nightstand cast a warm golden glow across her skin. Her legs were slightly spread, her body open and inviting, her eyes watching me with an intensity I'd never seen before.

I climbed onto the bed, moving up her body, intending to kiss her. But her hand came up, pressing gently on my chest, then guided my head downward.

I didn't resist.

I lowered myself between her thighs, my breath warm against her skin. She was already wet, glistening, her scent filling my senses. I'd never done this before. Not with her. Not with anyone. I'd heard things, read things, but theory and practice aren’t the same thing.

I leaned in, my tongue finding her folds, tasting her. Sweet and salt and something uniquely her. I remembered something I'd heard once, a joke about writing your name with your tongue. It felt absurd, but I tried it, tracing clumsy letters against her flesh.

Her hips shifted beneath me. A soft moan escaped her.

I focused on the top, where I roughly assumed her clitoris was. I found the hood, flicking it with my tongue, and her moans grew louder, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Yes, there, fuck, Scott..."

I kept at it, my tongue dipping lower, tasting more of her, her juices coating my lips and chin. Her hips began to grind against my face, her grip on my hair tightening, pulling me harder into her. "Oh, oh fuck, Scott!"

I pulled back, gasping for air. But she was already moving, pulling me up her body, pushing me onto my back. She straddled me, her knees on either side of my hips, her hair falling around her face like a curtain.

She leaned down and kissed me, deep and passionate, her tongue thrusting into my mouth, tasting herself on my lips. Then she pulled back, sitting upright, and reached down to guide my cock to her entrance.

She lowered herself slowly, her eyes closing, a breathy sigh escaping her as I slid inside. The heat, the tightness, the way her body gripped me - it was like the first time all over again.

My hands found her breasts, kneading them with my fingers, spilling out between them. Her hard nipples pressing into my palms. She covered my hands with hers, pushing them harder into her chest. "Yes, fuck, harder," she breathed, beginning to grind back and forth on top of me.

"Mmm, yes. That’s it."

Her eyes stayed closed. She was lost in it, in the sensation, in the rhythm. She rocked against me, back and forth, her movements growing more urgent.

I began to thrust up into her, pressing myself into the bed to get leverage, meeting her movements with my own. Her moans grew louder, more ****. She leaned down and kissed me again, biting my lip, her tongue plunging into my mouth.

Then she pulled back, spun around on my cock, and reversed positions. She was facing away from me now, her ass presented to me, her hands braced on my thighs. She began to bounce, up and down, my cock sliding out until I thought it would slip free before she slammed back down.

"Yes, yes, right there! Oh fuck, right there!" she screamed.

Her hands came back to her ass cheeks, pulling them apart as she rode me. I could see her tight little asshole winking at me with each movement. Two years together, and I'd never seen it before. Now it was right there, inches from my eyes, pulling my attention with every bounce.

One of her hands moved to the front, presumably to her clit. The other hand drifted behind her, and I saw her finger press against that tight little opening.

I froze for a moment, my rhythm faltering. She pressed harder. Her finger slid inside, up to the first knuckle.

Her entire body seized. "Fuck! Yes, I'm cumming! I'm cumming! *Fuck!*"

The clamping of her muscles, the **** cry, the sight of her finger inside herself - it pushed me over the edge. I thrust up into her, burying myself deep, and came, my vision white, my groan lost in her screams.

She collapsed beside me a moment later, both of us breathing hard, slick with sweat. She laughed, a soft, breathless sound, and turned her head to look at me. "That was amazing. Why haven't we been doing that this whole time?"

I couldn't answer. I just pulled her close, her head finding its spot on my chest, her arm draping across my stomach.

Within minutes, her breathing slowed, then deepened, evening out into the gentle rhythm of sleep.

It wasn’t long at all before I joined her.