Aquarium After Hours: Her Holiday Fling's Last Taste

I never thought a Christmas Eve shift would end with my back against cold aquarium glass and another woman’s tongue in my mouth, but that’s exactly where I found myself. My name is Dr. Talia Voss. I’m twenty-eight, a marine biologist who spends more time with jellyfish than people, and that night I was locking up the public aquarium alone. The building was a ghost ship of blue light and low mechanical hums. Snow fell silently against the high glass ceiling while I walked the empty halls in my dark jeans and fitted navy sweater, the one that always clung a little too tightly to my breasts. I told myself I didn’t mind the solitude. Christmas was just another day when you worked with living collections that didn’t celebrate anything.

My mind, however, refused to behave. For the last six weeks it had been obsessed with one woman: Yara Kane, the thirty-two-year-old freelance underwater photographer who’d been embedded with us on assignment. Yara moved like she was still underwater even on dry land—slow, deliberate, every gesture economical and powerful. She had sun-bronzed skin, sharp cheekbones, and shoulder-length auburn hair she usually twisted up with a diving pencil. Her arms were corded from years of hauling camera rigs through currents, and her laugh was low, filthy, and far too knowing. Every single day she’d lingered at my side during her shoots, trading banter that grew steadily more charged.

“You always wear that lab coat like you’re daring someone to take it off you, Talia,” she’d said on the second day, eyes flicking to the way the white fabric hugged my ass. I’d shot back something about her wetsuit leaving nothing to the imagination, and the game had begun. Weeks of it. Heated glances over specimen tanks. Comments about tongues and tentacles that were technically about marine life but felt like foreplay. I’d gone home every night and fucked myself senseless to the memory of her voice, imagining her strong fingers sliding inside me while the jellyfish pulsed behind us like living stars. I was soaked just thinking about it now, alone in the dark corridor, keys heavy in my palm.

The knock on the service entrance made me jump. I checked the security feed and there she was—Yara, camera bag slung over one shoulder, black thermal shirt stretched across her chest, cargo pants hugging her long legs. My clit gave a sudden, hungry throb.

I opened the door. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of snow and her skin—salt, neoprene, and something warmer.

“You’re supposed to be on a plane,” I said, voice already husky.

Yara’s green eyes dragged over me, slow and appreciative. “Flight’s delayed until morning. Figured I’d get one last session with the moon jellies before the exhibit rotates. The light’s perfect at night. You going to kick me out, Dr. Voss?”

The way she said my title made my nipples tighten against my bra. I stepped aside. “Come in before you let all the heat out. I was just closing, but… for you I’ll stay open a little longer.”

Her smirk told me she heard every filthy double meaning. We walked side by side through the dimly lit halls. Only the emergency strips and the soft glow of the exhibits lit our path. The jellyfish gallery was at the far end, a circular room with a massive cylindrical tank in the center. Hundreds of moon jellies drifted inside like slow-motion ghosts, their translucent bells pulsing softly, long oral arms trailing behind them in delicate ribbons. The blue light painted everything in cool, erotic hues.

Yara set her bag down and began assembling her rig with practiced hands. I watched the flex of her forearms, the way her shirt rode up to reveal a strip of toned stomach. My mouth went dry.

“You’ve been avoiding being alone with me lately,” she said without looking up, adjusting a lens. “Every time I tried to catch you after hours, you suddenly had reports to file.”

“I was trying to be professional.” My voice echoed softly off the glass. “You’re here on assignment. I’m the lead biologist. Fucking the photographer would be… inappropriate.”

Yara straightened. The look she gave me was pure hunger. She took one step closer, then another, until I could smell the warmth of her skin. “You’ve been fantasizing about it though. Don’t lie to me, Talia. I see the way you watch my mouth when I talk about oral arms and feeding tentacles. You get wet thinking about me, don’t you?”

My breath hitched. The confession spilled out before I could stop it. “Since the first day. The moment you walked in wearing that wetsuit unzipped just enough to show the swell of your tits, I wanted you. I’ve rubbed my clit raw in my office after you left, imagining you pushing me down on the lab bench and licking me until I screamed your name. I’ve thought about your fingers inside me while these jellyfish drift around us like they’re watching.”

Yara’s pupils dilated. She set the camera down with deliberate care, as if she might break it if she moved too fast. “Good. Because I’ve been dying to taste that pretty cunt since week one. Every time you bent over a tank in those tight jeans I pictured dropping to my knees behind you, spreading you open, and burying my tongue so deep you’d forget your own name. I jerked off in my hotel shower every single night thinking about sucking on your clit until your legs shook.”

The air between us crackled. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, in my wrists, and especially between my legs where I was already slick and aching. Yara closed the last inch of distance and slid one hand into my hair, gripping just hard enough to tilt my head back. Her mouth hovered over mine.

“Tell me you want this,” she whispered. “Right here. Right now. No cameras. No excuses.”

“I want it,” I breathed. “I want you to fuck me senseless, Yara. I’ve wanted it for weeks.”

She groaned and kissed me like she was starving.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was months of restrained filth exploding at once. Her tongue pushed into my mouth, demanding, and I met it with equal hunger. I tasted coffee and mint and pure want. Her free hand slid under my sweater and cupped my breast through my bra, thumb circling my stiff nipple until I moaned into her mouth. I grabbed her ass—God, it was firm and round from all those dives—and pulled her harder against me. The heat of her body against mine made my pussy clench.

We stumbled backward until my shoulders hit the cool glass of the jellyfish tank. The creatures inside pulsed faster, as if echoing the frantic beat of my heart. Yara shoved my sweater up, exposing my lace bra, and latched her mouth onto my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. I gasped, fingers digging into her shoulders.

“These tits have been driving me crazy,” she growled against my skin. She yanked the bra cup down and sucked my nipple into her hot mouth, tongue flicking mercilessly. Pleasure shot straight to my core. I arched, whimpering, one leg hooking around her hip to grind my aching center against her thigh. The seam of my jeans pressed perfectly against my swollen clit and I rode her slowly, shamelessly.

Yara’s hand dropped between us, popping the button of my jeans with practiced ease. Her fingers slid inside my panties and found me drenched.

“Fuck, Talia. You’re soaked. Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” I panted. “All for you. Please—”

She stroked two fingers along my slit, spreading my wetness, then circled my clit with firm pressure. My head fell back against the glass. Behind me the jellyfish continued their dreamy dance, indifferent to the two women about to devour each other in their blue glow. Yara kissed me again, swallowing every moan as she worked my clit faster. My hips jerked against her hand. I was already close, embarrassingly close, after weeks of nothing but fantasy.

But just as the tension coiled tight enough to snap, Yara slowed her fingers to a torturous tease. She pulled back enough to look at me, lips shiny, eyes wild with lust.

“Not yet,” she said, voice rough. “I’ve waited too long to rush this. I want you naked. I want to spread you open right here on the floor and lick every inch of that dripping cunt until you’re begging. And then I want to fuck you until the only word you remember is my name.”

My inner walls fluttered around nothing, desperate for more. I reached for her zipper, needing to feel her too, but she caught my wrist, pinning it above my head with a wicked smile.

“Act 2 starts when I say so, baby. And right now I want to hear you beg just a little longer.”

The jellyfish kept pulsing around us, silent witnesses to the storm we were only beginning to unleash. My body burned, my confession hung in the air like smoke, and I knew Christmas Eve was nowhere near over.

I was trembling against the glass, my soaked panties clinging to my swollen folds, clit pulsing in time with the jellyfish that drifted behind me like voyeurs in the blue glow. Yara’s grip on my wrist kept me pinned, her green eyes locked on mine with that predatory patience that made my stomach flip. She hadn’t moved her fingers from where they’d been teasing my slit, now hovering just out of reach, slick with my arousal. The denial was exquisite torture.

“Beg,” she murmured, voice low and rough like gravel under waves. “Tell me exactly what that needy little cunt wants on our last night.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, but the shame only made me wetter. I was twenty-eight years old, a respected marine biologist who prided herself on control, yet here I was, hips twitching helplessly, chasing the ghost of her touch. “I want your mouth on me, Yara. I want you to rip these jeans off and lick me until I come all over your tongue. Please. I can’t think straight. I haven’t been able to think about anything but you for weeks.”

Her smile was slow, wicked. She released my wrist but didn’t step back. Instead she crooked a finger, beckoning me to follow as she began to circle the massive cylindrical tank. I pushed off the glass on shaky legs, my sweater still shoved up, one breast exposed to the cool air, nipple tight and aching. We moved in opposite directions at first, eyes never leaving each other, the jellyfish pulsing between us in their silent ballet. The blue light slid over her sun-bronzed skin, highlighting the strong line of her jaw, the way her cargo pants hugged her powerful thighs. My mouth watered.

As we passed the tank’s far curve, I reached out deliberately. My fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist, tracing the corded tendon there, feeling her pulse jump. The touch was electric. I didn’t pull away. Instead I let my fingers slide up her forearm, under the sleeve of her thermal shirt, stroking warm skin.

“I get so fucking wet watching you in a wetsuit,” I confessed, voice husky with six weeks of pent-up filth. “That first day you came out of the dive tank, neoprene clinging to every curve, unzipped just enough to show the inner swell of your breasts… I had to excuse myself to the staff bathroom. I locked the door, shoved my hand down my pants, and rubbed my clit so hard I saw stars. I came imagining peeling that suit off you with my teeth, sucking saltwater from your nipples while you told me what a desperate slut I was for you.”

Yara’s breath hitched. I saw the exact moment my words snapped her control. She closed the distance in two strides, spinning me gently but firmly until my back met the cool glass again. The tank vibrated faintly against my spine from the filtration system. Her body pressed into mine—thirty-two years of lean, dive-hardened muscle—and her hands framed my face as our mouths crashed together.

This kiss was deeper than the first, rawer. Her tongue swept into my mouth like she owned it, stroking mine with filthy intent. I moaned into her, tasting mint and raw hunger, my fingers fisting in her auburn hair. She tasted like every late-night fantasy I’d ever had. One of her hands slid down my neck, over my collarbone, then under my sweater again to palm my bare breast fully. She pinched my nipple just hard enough to send sparks shooting to my core. My other breast was still trapped in lace; she freed it with a rough tug that made me gasp.

“God, Talia,” she growled against my lips, nipping the lower one. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that? Every time I zipped into that wetsuit I pictured your eyes on me, your thighs squeezing together under that lab coat. I’d get myself off in the equipment room after dives, two fingers buried in my pussy, whispering your name like a prayer.”

Her free hand worked my jeans open again, shoving them down my hips with impatient strength. Cool air kissed my drenched panties. I kicked one leg free, not caring where the denim landed. Yara’s fingers immediately cupped me over the soaked fabric, rubbing the heel of her palm against my clit in slow, grinding circles that made my knees buckle.

“Yes,” I panted between kisses. “Right here. I want you to fuck me right here against this tank before you leave town for good. No more teasing. No more pretending we’re professional. I need your fingers inside me. I need your mouth sucking my clit until I scream and the night guards come running.”

Yara laughed darkly, the sound vibrating through our pressed bodies. She hooked her fingers in my panties and dragged them down my thighs. I stepped out of them, completely bare from the waist down now, my shaved pussy glistening under the aquarium lights. She kicked my clothes aside and pressed two thick fingers against my entrance, not pushing in yet—just resting there, letting me feel how open and ready I was.

“You’re dripping down your thighs, baby. Such a messy, beautiful cunt.” She kissed me again, slower this time, savoring. Our tongues tangled while her fingers finally sank into me—two at once, stretching my walls with perfect pressure. I cried out into her mouth, the sound echoing softly off the glass. My inner muscles clamped down greedily, fluttering around the invasion. She curled her fingers, stroking that sensitive spot inside me that made my vision spark.

I shoved my hands under her thermal shirt, desperate for skin. Her stomach was ridged with muscle, warm and smooth. I raked my nails up her back, then around to cup her full breasts through her sports bra. They were heavy, nipples diamond-hard. I pinched them the way she’d pinched mine and was rewarded with a throaty groan that went straight to my clit.

We rocked together against the tank, her fingers pumping steadily now, thumb circling my swollen clit on every stroke. The jellyfish swirled faster on the other side of the glass, their rhythmic pulsing matching the slick sounds of her hand working between my legs. I could smell my own arousal—sharp, sweet, unmistakably female—mingling with the clean salt scent of her skin.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve had every inch of you,” Yara whispered hotly against my ear, adding a third finger that made me whimper. The stretch burned so good. “I want to watch you come on my tongue, then I want you to sit on my face while I fuck myself with that glass specimen rod you’re always waving around in the lab. You’re going to ride me until you can’t walk straight tomorrow.”

My hips bucked wildly, chasing her hand. I was close again, the coil in my belly winding tighter with every thrust. But I didn’t want to come alone. I wanted her falling apart with me. My hand snaked between us, popping the button on her cargo pants and diving inside. She wasn’t wearing underwear. My fingers met bare, soaked folds—hot, silky, and swollen. I groaned at how wet she was.

“Fuck, Yara. You’re drenched.”

“All for you,” she hissed, grinding against my hand even as she kept finger-fucking me senseless. “Been like this since the plane landed early. I sat in the cab thinking about bending you over every tank in this place.”

We stroked each other in frantic rhythm, mouths fused, bodies pressed so tight the glass at my back was warming from our heat. Her thumb flicked my clit faster. I matched her pace on her own pulsing nub, feeling it throb under my fingertips. Our moans mixed, breath fogging the tank. The blue light painted our skin in erotic shadows—my pale curves against her bronzed strength.

I felt her walls start to flutter around my fingers just as mine began to clamp down on hers. We were right there, teetering on the edge together, but she suddenly slowed again, dragging us back from the brink with a filthy chuckle.

“Not yet,” she breathed, nipping my jaw. “I told you I want you begging longer. I want you naked and spread open on that observation bench so I can taste every drop before I let you come. Then I’m going to fuck you properly—hard, deep, until the only thing you remember is how my cunt feels riding yours.”

My body screamed in protest, clit aching, walls clenching emptily as she withdrew her fingers and brought them to her mouth. She licked my wetness off them with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving mine. I did the same with my own slick fingers, tasting her for the first time—briny, musky, perfect. The act felt obscene and sacred at the same time.

We stood there panting, half-dressed, circling the tank once more like sharks that hadn’t finished feeding. My pulse thundered between my legs. Christmas Eve stretched ahead of us, the building empty except for the hum of pumps and the growing heat between two women who had finally stopped pretending. Yara’s gaze promised hours of depravity, and I was ready to give her every filthy second before her plane carried her away forever. The jellyfish kept their vigil, pulsing faster now, as if they too knew we were only getting started.

Yara's gaze burned into me as we circled the tank again, the jellyfish casting their ethereal blue light across her sharp features. The air felt thicker now, charged with the scent of our arousal and the faint salt of the exhibit pumps. My sweater hung bunched around my neck, my breasts heaving with every breath, nipples still tight and sensitive from her earlier pinches. Below, I was completely exposed—jeans and panties long kicked aside, my shaved pussy slick and swollen, thighs glistening with the evidence of how badly I needed her. At twenty-eight, I'd spent years studying delicate ecosystems, but nothing had prepared me for the raw hunger in her thirty-two-year-old eyes, the way this freelance photographer looked at me like I was the only specimen worth capturing.

She stopped circling. Her hands reached for the hem of my sweater and yanked it over my head in one smooth motion, followed by my bra, leaving me utterly naked against the curved glass. The cool surface kissed my bare ass as she dropped to her knees in front of me, her cargo pants still half-open from our earlier frantic touching. "No more circling, Talia. No more begging. I'm going to devour that pretty cunt right here."

I barely had time to grip the metal observation railing that ringed the tank before Yara's strong hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider. She leaned in without hesitation, her hot breath ghosting over my folds. Then her tongue—God, that long, greedy tongue—dragged from my dripping entrance all the way up to my throbbing clit in one slow, deliberate lick. I cried out, the sound echoing through the empty gallery. She did it again, and again, lapping at me like she was starved, collecting every drop of my wetness with filthy, audible slurps that made my cheeks burn even as my hips jerked forward.

"Fuck, Yara... yes, just like that," I gasped, one hand tangling in her auburn hair. Her mouth was relentless. She sucked my clit between her lips, hollowing her cheeks as she pulled rhythmically, her tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves. My thighs began to tremble almost immediately, the weeks of teasing and fantasies crashing down on me. She hummed against my flesh, the vibration shooting straight to my core, and slid two fingers deep inside me without warning. The stretch was perfect, her digits curling to stroke that spongy spot while she nursed my clit with wet, greedy suction.

I looked down at her— this powerful woman on her knees for me, her sun-bronzed shoulders flexing as she worked me over. The jellyfish pulsed behind my back in frantic waves, their translucent bodies seeming to match the spasms building in my belly. "Your tongue feels so fucking good. I've dreamed about this... oh shit, suck it harder. Make me shake." Interiorly, I was unraveling. This wasn't some quick office fantasy anymore. This was Yara Kane devouring me in the heart of the aquarium on Christmas Eve, her low moans vibrating through my pussy as she ate me like a woman possessed. My thighs quivered violently now, muscles jumping under her palms as she held me open. She added a third finger, pumping them faster, her lips sealed tight around my clit in rhythmic pulls that sent me spiraling.

I came with a sharp cry, my walls clamping down on her fingers as pleasure ripped through me. But she didn't stop—her licks turned long and soothing, lapping up the fresh flood of my release while my thighs shook uncontrollably against her shoulders. Only when I was gasping, nearly boneless, did she pull back, lips shiny and swollen, eyes wild.

"Your turn to wreck me," she growled, rising fluidly. She spun toward the exhibit railing a few feet away, bracing her hands on the cold metal and arching her back. "Finger me hard, Talia. I want to feel you from behind while those jellyfish watch."

I moved before she finished speaking, my body still buzzing from my orgasm. Yanking her cargo pants and underwear down to her ankles in one rough tug, I exposed her bronzed ass and the soaked, puffy lips of her pussy. She was drenched, her arousal stringing down her inner thighs. At thirty-two, Yara had the toned, capable body of someone who'd spent years fighting ocean currents, and now she was bent over for me, offering it all. I pressed against her from behind, my bare breasts flattening against her thermal shirt as I reached around and between her legs. Two fingers sank into her easily, then three, stretching her tight heat. She moaned loudly, pushing back onto my hand.

"Harder," she demanded, voice hoarse. "Fuck me like you've wanted to for six weeks."

I gave it to her, thrusting my fingers deep and fast, the wet squelching sounds obscene in the quiet hall. My thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles as I pounded into her from behind. Her walls fluttered around me, silky and scorching, gripping every withdrawal like she never wanted me to leave. I leaned over her back, biting her shoulder through her shirt. "Your cunt is sucking my fingers so greedily, Yara. You love being bent over this railing like a dirty holiday slut, don't you? Moan louder for me—the whole aquarium's empty but I want to hear it."

She did, her cries growing guttural as I curled my fingers harder against her G-spot. Her powerful thighs flexed, ass jiggling slightly with each impact of my hand. I could feel her getting close, her inner muscles rippling, but I wanted us both beyond words. I slowed just enough to pull my hand free, ignoring her frustrated whine, and stripped her thermal shirt and sports bra off completely. Now we were both naked, skin flushed under the blue glow.

We crashed together against the massive tank, bodies slick with sweat and arousal. "I need your pussy on mine," I panted, hiking one of her legs up around my hip. She understood instantly, pressing her soaked cunt directly against my own. The first slide of our clits together was electric—hot, slippery flesh grinding in frantic rhythm. We tribbed desperately against the cool glass, our wetness mixing into a slick mess that eased every frantic roll of our hips. Her clit was swollen and hard against mine, rubbing in messy circles as we both chased release.

"Oh fuck, Talia—your cunt feels incredible," Yara moaned, loud and unrestrained, the sound bouncing off the high ceiling. I answered with my own cries, gripping her ass to pull her tighter, our pussies sliding and mashing together with wet, audible smacks. The pressure built again, sharper this time, our breasts bouncing against each other as we humped like animals in heat. The tank vibrated faintly behind us from the filtration, the jellyfish swirling in agitated clouds as if sensing the storm.

"I'm going to come on your cunt," I gasped, my clit pulsing wildly against hers. "Come with me, Yara. Let me feel you soak me."

We ground faster, harder, moans turning to near-screams that filled the empty building. Her thighs clamped around me as she shattered first, her pussy gushing hotly against mine in rhythmic spasms. The feel of her coming triggered my own climax—waves of intense pleasure crashing through me as I rode her through it, our cunts slipping and grinding through every aftershock. We both cried out loudly, bodies shaking, wetness coating our thighs and the glass behind us.

Even as the orgasms faded, leaving us panting and trembling against the tank, the hunger didn't die. My pulse still thundered between my legs, her green eyes still dark with need as she kissed me messily, our combined taste lingering on our tongues. The night stretched on, her flight hours away, and I could already feel the ache building again—this couldn't be the end of what we'd started. Not when there were still unexplored corners of the aquarium, and so many ways left to ruin each other before dawn.

Still trembling from the force of our shared orgasm, my bare back sticky against the warmed glass of the jellyfish tank, I dropped to my knees on the smooth tile floor. The blue glow painted Yara’s thirty-two-year-old body in shifting cerulean shadows—every hard-earned line of muscle from years of fighting currents now glistened with sweat and our mingled juices. Her flight was still hours away, but the clock in my head ticked louder with every pulse of the filtration system. This was our last taste, and I intended to make it filthy enough to haunt us both until the next holiday season.

I hooked my hands behind her thighs and yanked her forward, spreading her stance until her soaked cunt hovered inches from my face. The scent of her was overwhelming—thick, musky, sweet with the evidence of how many times she’d already come for me tonight. “One more,” I whispered, voice hoarse from screaming her name. “Let me drink you, Yara. I want your cum all over my tongue before you leave.”

Her green eyes flared with fresh hunger. At thirty-two she was no blushing novice; she gripped the observation railing above us with both hands, arched her back, and pushed her hips forward in open invitation. “Then eat it, Talia. Bury that pretty twenty-eight-year-old face in my cunt and don’t stop until I’m shaking.”

I didn’t tease. I licked her like a woman starved, dragging my tongue broad and flat from her dripping entrance all the way up to her swollen clit. Her taste exploded across my tongue—sharp, salty-sweet, unmistakably hers. I moaned into her folds, the vibration pulling a guttural sound from her throat that echoed through the empty gallery. The jellyfish swirled faster behind me, their rhythmic contractions mirroring the way her inner walls fluttered when I stiffened my tongue and drove it inside her.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” she growled, one hand leaving the railing to fist in my dark hair. She rode my face with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips, smearing her wetness across my lips, my chin, the tip of my nose. I sucked her outer lips into my mouth, then released them with obscene, wet pops before sealing my lips around her clit and sucking hard. My fingers joined the feast—two thick digits sliding into her clenching heat without resistance. She was molten inside, silky walls gripping me greedily as I curled upward to stroke that spongy ridge that always made her legs buckle.

Interiorly I was on fire. Six weeks of stolen glances and filthy banter had built to this: Dr. Talia Voss, respectable marine biologist, on her knees devouring a freelance underwater photographer in the middle of an aquarium on Christmas Eve. My own cunt throbbed untouched between my spread thighs, fresh slick sliding down to puddle on the floor. Every time Yara’s hips jerked and flooded my mouth with more of her cream, my clit pulsed in jealous sympathy.

I added a third finger, stretching her wider, fucking her with deep, steady strokes while my tongue lashed her clit in tight, relentless circles. Her thighs began to quake against my ears. The corded muscles in her arms stood out as she gripped the railing harder, bronze skin gleaming under the blue light. “Talia—shit—I’m close already. You suck my cunt so fucking well. Don’t you dare stop. Swallow every drop like the desperate little holiday slut you are for me.”

Her dirty praise made my nipples tighten to aching points. I hummed approval against her flesh and doubled down, sucking her clit with rhythmic pulls while my fingers plunged faster, curling, scissoring, coaxing her higher. The wet, filthy sounds of my mouth and hand working her echoed off the high glass ceiling—obscene, wet, perfect. Her breathing fractured into sharp gasps, then a low, rolling growl that built and built until her entire body locked up.

Yara came with a hoarse shout that bounced through the deserted halls. Her cunt clamped down on my fingers like a vice, rhythmic spasms milking me as a fresh gush of hot cream flooded my tongue. I kept sucking, kept fucking her through every wave, drinking her down until my chin and neck were glazed with her release. Her thighs shook violently around my head; I had to brace her hips to keep her upright while she rode out the aftershocks against my face.

Only when her tremors began to ease did I pull my fingers free and sit back on my heels, panting. My face was soaked. Strands of her cum stretched from my lips to her still-twitching pussy. I looked up at her—thirty-two years of sun-bronzed power, chest heaving, auburn hair wild around her sharp cheekbones—and felt a possessive surge that surprised me. This woman had ruined me for anyone else.

Still trembling, Yara hauled me to my feet by my hair and crashed her mouth against mine. She licked her own juices off my chin in long, deliberate strokes—filthy, claiming, tasting herself on my skin like she was marking territory. The kiss turned savage, tongues sliding together, sharing the taste of her orgasm in messy, open-mouthed hunger. Her hands roamed my naked body, squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples, sliding down to cup my dripping cunt possessively.

When she finally broke the kiss, her green eyes were dark with satisfaction and something softer underneath. She reached for her discarded cargo pants, fished a crisp business card from the back pocket, and held it between two fingers. With a wicked little smile she dragged the edge of the card down my sweat-slicked stomach, over my mound, and slipped it between my slick thighs. The thick paper nestled right against my swollen, hypersensitive folds, the corner teasing my clit as she pressed it there with her palm.

“I’ll be back next holiday season,” she whispered hot against my ear, voice still rough from coming. “Round two, Talia. Same tank, same rules. I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly you’ll need a week to recover. Keep that card against your cunt until morning. Remember how wet I made you.”

She kissed me once more—slow, possessive, final—then gathered her clothes with efficient movements. I stood there naked, card tucked obscenely between my thighs, her taste still coating my tongue and chin, watching the strong lines of her back as she dressed. She slung her camera bag over one shoulder, gave me one last heated look that promised everything we hadn’t had time for, and disappeared down the dark corridor toward the service exit. The heavy door clicked shut behind her. Snow swirled against the high glass ceiling, and the building felt suddenly, achingly empty.

I stayed leaning against the tank, jellyfish pulsing their indifferent ballet above me, a slow smile spreading across my flushed face. My cunt clenched around nothing, the edge of her business card still pressed to my slick folds like a filthy secret. I was already aching for her holiday fling’s next taste—counting the days until the next Christmas Eve when Yara Kane would walk back through that door and ruin me all over again.