Seduced by the Sexy 45-Year-Old Customer

Emmett was twenty-two, and the late heat clung to the back of his neck as he carried the box up Camila's front steps. He had been delivering to her house for weeks, always the same tidy bungalow at the end of the cul-de-sac, always her waiting before he could knock twice. Forty-five, she had told him the first afternoon he stumbled over the name on the label, laughing that she liked the sound of it in a young man's mouth. Since then every stop had stretched. She wore less. She touched him more. She left him hard and distracted for the rest of the route.

Today she opened the door in a thin white tank top and denim shorts that sat high on her hips. The cotton pulled tight across her full breasts. The shorts framed the round curve of her ass when she shifted. Dark hair was twisted up, a few damp strands stuck to her throat. She looked him over slowly, boots to mouth, the way she had started doing without pretending otherwise.

"There he is," she said. "My favorite delivery."

He held out the package. Their fingers met, and she did not let go. Her thumb slid along his knuckle, warm and unhurried.

"You look wrung out," she said. "Long day?"

"Hot one." His voice came out rougher than he meant. Last week she had laid her palm on his chest and told him she liked a man who could carry weight. The week before she had leaned in the doorway until he saw the lace edge of her bra and asked if the uniform came off as easily as it went on. He had driven away aching both times, shifting in the seat at every light.

She set the box on the porch swing and stepped into his space. Her hand closed on his forearm and stayed. "You've been staring at my mouth again."

"I wasn't—"

"You were." She squeezed. "I don't mind. I've been looking at you too."

He could smell her, citrus and sun-warmed skin. His cock stirred against his pants. Her eyes dropped, and her smile sharpened.

"Careful," she murmured. "You'll be no good to the rest of the neighborhood if you keep showing up like that."

His pulse hammered. Weeks of tighter outfits, lingering touches, and comments that stuck in his head had wound into something he could not shake. He wanted her. She wanted him. They had not said it outright, and the tension on that porch had become almost unbearable.

Camila's hand was still on his arm. She glanced at the truck in her driveway, then back at his mouth, and the decision showed plain on her face.

"Come inside," she said. "Hot day. I'll get you a cold drink before you melt on my steps."

He followed her because he wanted to. The house was cool and quiet, blinds drawn against the glare. She led him to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and bent for a bottle in a way that put the full curve of her ass on display. When she straightened she did not pretend it had been an accident. She pressed the cold drink into his hand and let her fingers stay wrapped over his.

"Take the shirt off if you want," she said. "No one's here but me. You've been working in that heat all afternoon."

He pulled the damp uniform shirt over his head. Her eyes moved over his chest, his stomach, the line of muscle above his belt, open and hungry.

"God, look at you," she said. "Twenty-two and built like that. I've been watching those arms for weeks, Emmett. Watching the way your pants fit when you climb my steps. I kept telling myself to behave, and I am done behaving."

She stepped in until her full breasts brushed his bare chest, soft and heavy, the thin cotton doing nothing to hide how hard her nipples were. She did it again, slower, an accidental drag that was nothing of the kind. Heat jumped through him. His cock thickened hard against his pants, and she felt it when she shifted closer, thigh pressed to thigh.

"Feel that?" she murmured. "That's what you do to me when you stand on my porch trying to be polite."

"Camila."

"I've been fantasizing about seducing you." She said it plain, eyes locked on his. "Every time you leave I get myself off thinking about your mouth. About getting you out of that uniform. About fucking you on my couch until you forget the rest of your route. I want you. I've wanted you for weeks. Say you want it too."

His hands found her waist. The bottle sweated against his palm, forgotten. "I want it. I've been losing my mind over you."

"Good." She smiled, filthy and sure, and took the drink from his hand to set it aside. "Then stop standing in my kitchen like you're still on the clock and come let me have you."

She backed him against the counter before they even left the kitchen, palms sliding up his bare chest, nails dragging lightly. "Weeks," she said against his jaw. "Weeks of you handing me boxes and pretending you weren't hard. I noticed every time. I went to bed wet every time. And I am not letting you walk back to that truck until I've had you."

He groaned, hands spreading over her ass, pulling her in so she could feel exactly how gone he was. "Then take me. I'm not pretending anymore."

She took his hand and walked him into the living room. The couch was wide and low, afternoon light slipping through the blinds in pale stripes. Camila turned, hooked her fingers in his belt, and pushed him down until he sat. Then she dropped to her knees between his spread thighs like she had pictured it for weeks.

"Stay right there," she said, voice low and sure. "I've wanted this cock in my mouth since the second week you showed up sweaty on my porch."

She opened his pants and freed him. He was thick, already flushed dark, and the sight pulled a shaky sound of pure want out of her. She wrapped her hand around the base and stroked once, slow, watching his stomach jump. Then she leaned in and licked him from root to tip, flat and wet, before she took him into her mouth.

It was slow. She sank down inch by inch, lips stretched, tongue working the underside, until he felt the soft clutch of her throat. She held there, breathing through her nose, then drew back with a wet sound and took him deep again, slower, filthier. Saliva shone on his shaft. Her hand twisted at the base in time with her mouth. Emmett's head fell back against the cushion. His fingers slid into her hair, not forcing, just holding on while she swallowed him and hummed around the length of him.

"Fuck, Camila. Your mouth—"

She pulled off just long enough to speak, lips shiny, eyes dark. "Use it. I want you messy. I want to taste how bad you've wanted this."

She took him deep again, cheeks hollowing, pace steady and obscene. Her free hand cupped his balls and rolled them while she sucked. He watched her full breasts sway inside the tank, watched her ass shift as she knelt, and the sight nearly undid him. When his hips started to lift she pinned his thigh and kept the rhythm she wanted, slow and deep, spit slicking her chin. He groaned her name. She moaned around his cock like the sound fed her.

She came off him with a gasp, strings of spit connecting her mouth to his cock, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Not yet. I didn't wait weeks just to swallow you. I want you inside me."

She stood, peeled the tank over her head, and her breasts spilled free, heavy and soft, nipples dark and tight. The shorts and panties hit the floor together. She was bare, curves generous, skin flushed, the dark hair between her thighs already wet. She climbed onto the couch and straddled his lap, cowgirl, knees planted on either side of his hips. One hand braced on his shoulder. The other reached down, lined him up, and sank onto his cock.

The first inch made them both curse. She was hot and slick and tight enough that he had to grip the couch to keep from thrusting up too fast. Camila took him anyway, rolling her hips, working herself down until she was seated to the hilt and her breath broke against his mouth.

"Oh, fuck, yes. Fill me. That's it. That's what I wanted."

She started to ride. Slow at first, a deep grind that dragged her clit against him, then harder, lifting and dropping, breasts bouncing with every stroke. Emmett's hands locked on her hips. He held her there and met her, driving up as she came down, the wet slap of it loud in the quiet house. She grabbed his hair and pulled his face to her chest.

"Suck them. Don't just stare. Put your mouth on me."

He closed his lips around one tight nipple and sucked, tongue flicking, while his hands kept her hips moving. She cried out and rode harder, the couch creaking under them. He switched to the other breast, sucking deep, teeth grazing just enough to make her clench around his cock. Her nails bit his shoulders.

"Harder," she panted. "Grip my hips and fuck up into me. I can take it. I want it."

He sucked her nipple and thrust, hips snapping, her ass slapping his thighs. The angle had her gasping on every stroke. Her pussy fluttered around him, soaked and gripping. He felt her getting close, and he was close too, the weeks of tension burning off faster than he wanted.

"Turn around," he said, voice wrecked. "I want you on your knees."

She climbed off him with a needy sound, turned, and bent over the couch, ass up, back arched, looking at him over her shoulder. "Then fuck me. Doggy. Don't be gentle. I've been wet for you for weeks, and I want to feel every inch."

He knelt behind her, spread her with both hands, and pushed back in with one long thrust. She moaned, loud and encouraging, pushing back to meet him. He gripped her hips and fucked her in earnest, powerful strokes that rocked her forward and buried him deep. Skin slapped skin. Her breasts swayed. Her fingers knotted in the cushion.

"Yes. Just like that. Fuck me. Harder, Emmett. Give it to me. I can feel every inch. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

He drove into her, one hand cupping a swinging breast, the other locked on her hip so he could pull her back onto his cock. She was soaked. Every thrust made a wet sound that went straight to his spine. She reached under herself and rubbed her clit, moaning his name, telling him she was close, telling him to come with her and fill her up.

"I'm gonna come," she gasped. "Fuck, I'm gonna come on your cock. Stay deep. Fuck me through it."

He thrust harder, and she broke. Her pussy clamped down in tight pulsing waves, and she cried out, raw and shaking, pushing back to take every inch while she came. The grip of her dragged him over with her. He buried himself to the hilt and came hard, groaning, spilling deep inside her in thick pulses while she milked him, both of them shaking, her pussy still fluttering around his cock.

They stayed locked together a moment, his cock still buried in her, both of them breathing hard. Then Camila pushed up, turned, and kissed him deep, tongue filthy, tasting herself and the sweat on his mouth. She bit his lower lip and smiled, satisfied, when she pulled back.

"Thank you," she said, not soft about it. "For finally giving in. Weeks of flirting, and you still made me do all the work. Worth it. You fuck like you've been saving it for my couch."

She found her phone on the side table, typed her number into his, and pressed the device back into his hand. "Save it. Next delivery, you don't knock and leave. You come in. We're going to make these stops a lot more frequent, and a lot more filthy."

He got his pants up with her watching, still bare, still grinning. At the door she caught his belt, leaned in, and left him with one last order.

"Next time I want that load on my tits and your cock back in my throat before you even catch your breath."