Tempted by His Touch

Elena Voss stood at her kitchen window, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds and painting golden stripes across her bare thighs. At forty-two, recently divorced after twenty years of lukewarm marriage, she still wasn’t used to the silence of the empty house. No more footsteps upstairs, no more half-hearted kisses goodbye. Just her, the ticking clock, and the ache between her legs that had grown sharper every day since the papers were signed. She wore a thin white tank top with no bra and tiny denim shorts that rode up the generous curves of her Latina ass, the kind of outfit she never would have dared when Carlos still lived here. Her full breasts strained against the cotton, dark nipples already stiff from the breeze drifting through the open window. Thick black hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, and her olive skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat from the summer heat.

Outside, the steady roar of a lawnmower cut through the quiet. Elena’s gaze locked onto the source like a magnet. Marcus Hayes, her twenty-four-year-old neighbor, pushed the mower across his front yard in nothing but low-slung basketball shorts and sneakers. His dark chocolate skin gleamed with sweat, every ridged muscle of his torso on full display—broad shoulders, carved abs that flexed with each push, powerful arms corded with veins. The shorts clung to his thick thighs and the heavy bulge between them, bouncing slightly with his stride. He was built like a goddamn athlete, tall and confident, the kind of young Black man who knew exactly the effect he had. Elena’s mouth went dry. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the damp heat already gathering in her pussy as she watched a bead of sweat trail down the deep V of his hips and disappear into his waistband.

She’d noticed him the day she moved in two years ago, but back then she’d been married, dutiful, telling herself the flutter in her stomach was nothing. Since the divorce three months ago, their daily chats over the low wooden fence had turned electric. What used to be polite waves had become lingering looks, teasing comments that left her panties soaked and her mind racing with filthy possibilities. Marcus never hid his interest. He looked at her like he wanted to bend her over that fence and ruin her.

Elena poured herself a glass of iced tea, the condensation slick against her fingers, and stepped out onto the back porch. The heat hit her immediately, thick and humid, wrapping around her body like a lover’s hands. She walked to the fence line where the properties met, hips swaying deliberately, knowing the shorts cupped her plump ass like a second skin. Marcus killed the mower engine as soon as he spotted her. The sudden quiet rang in her ears. He grabbed a towel from the handle, wiping sweat from his face and chest, but his eyes never left her.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Voss,” he called, voice deep and smooth as dark rum, that cocky half-smile already playing on his full lips. He sauntered over, closing the distance until only the waist-high fence separated them. Up close, the scent of his clean sweat and cut grass filled her lungs. His skin looked even richer, almost polished under the sun, droplets sliding between his pecs. “Looking real comfortable over there. Divorce treating you right?”

Elena leaned her forearms on the warm wood, pushing her cleavage forward so the tank top dipped low. Her heavy tits nearly spilled free. She let her gaze drag slowly down his body, lingering on the outline of his cock against the thin fabric of his shorts. It was unmistakable—thick, long, heavy even soft. Heat flooded her core. “It’s Elena now, Marcus. And yeah… the house is quiet. Too quiet sometimes.” She took a slow sip of tea, tongue flicking out to catch a drop on her lower lip. “You keep staring like that and I’m gonna start charging admission.”

Marcus laughed, low and rough, the sound vibrating straight to her clit. He braced his hands on the fence, close enough that she could see the individual beads of sweat on his collarbone, the way his dark nipples were tight from the air. “Can’t help it. You come out here looking like that—shorts riding up, no bra, nipples hard as hell—and expect a man not to look? Shit, Elena. You’re a walking wet dream for a guy like me.” His eyes dropped openly to her chest, then lower, tracing the soft curve of her stomach and the apex of her thighs. “Been wondering how you’re handling all that pent-up energy. A woman like you… all those curves going to waste in an empty bed. Bet that pussy’s aching for something real.”

The words hit her like a spark on dry tinder. Elena’s breath caught. She shifted her weight, feeling her swollen folds slide slick against each other. Interior heat coiled tight in her belly. She imagined those big hands gripping her hips, that dark cock splitting her open, the slap of his body against her thick ass. Her voice came out huskier than she intended. “Maybe it is. Carlos never knew what to do with me. Too busy with his midlife crisis to fuck me proper. Left me high and dry more nights than I can count.” She reached out without thinking, trailing one manicured finger along the top of the fence until it brushed his knuckles. The contact sparked. His skin was hot, smooth. “You offering to fix that, neighbor? Or just talking shit like usual?”

Marcus’s smile widened, flashing white teeth. He turned his hand over and captured her finger, stroking the pad of his thumb across her soft skin in slow circles. The touch was simple, almost innocent, but it shot straight between her legs. Her nipples tightened painfully against the thin tank. “I don’t talk shit. I deliver.” His voice dropped lower, intimate, meant only for her. “You need a real man to take care of those cravings. Someone who’ll eat that pretty Latina pussy until you’re screaming, then stretch you out with every inch. I’m right next door, Elena. All you gotta do is ask. Or better yet…” He tugged gently on her finger, pulling her a fraction closer over the fence. His other hand rose, hovering near her waist, not quite touching. “Come over tonight. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”

Elena’s pulse thundered in her ears. She could smell him stronger now—musk and soap and pure male heat. Her free hand gripped the fence hard enough that the wood bit into her palm. She pictured walking into his house, letting him peel these shorts down, bending over his couch while he railed her from behind, those strong dark hands spanning her pale waist. The fantasy made her cunt clench visibly; she knew he saw the way her thighs pressed together. “You’re twenty-four,” she whispered, more to herself than him, even as her body leaned in. “I’m old enough to be your—”

“Don’t finish that,” Marcus cut in, eyes blazing with heat. “You’re a grown woman who knows what she wants. And I want to give it to you. Hard. Deep. Until you forget that empty house and that useless ex.” His hovering hand finally made contact, resting lightly on the bare skin just above her shorts, fingers splaying across the soft give of her hip. The heat of his palm seared her. He squeezed once, possessive, thumb brushing the sensitive crease where thigh met torso. Elena’s knees nearly buckled. A soft, needy sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.

Marcus’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Damn, look at you. Already dripping for it, aren’t you? I can smell how wet you are from here.” He leaned in until his lips were inches from her ear, breath hot against her neck. “Tell me to stop and I will. But if you don’t… I’m gonna keep touching. And then I’m gonna invite you inside and fuck every last drop of that divorce loneliness out of you.”

Elena’s mind spun. The neighborhood was quiet, no one watching, just the two of them and the thick summer air. Her best friend Lena’s voice echoed in her head from their last wine-soaked phone call—Girl, if that fine young thing next door offered, I’d ride him till sunrise. Curiosity and raw need warred with the last shreds of caution. She didn’t pull away. Instead she turned her face toward his, their mouths almost brushing, and whispered, “What if the neighbors see?”

Marcus’s hand slid higher under the hem of her tank, fingertips grazing the underside of her heavy breast. Her nipple hardened against his knuckles. “Then let them watch the hot MILF finally getting what she needs.” He pinched lightly, rolling the stiff peak between thumb and finger. Elena gasped, hips jerking forward against the fence. Pleasure spiked sharp and sweet. Her free hand shot out to grip his bare shoulder, feeling the solid muscle jump under her palm. Sweat-slick skin. Power. Youth. Everything her body had been starving for.

He released her breast only to cup the full weight of it through the thin cotton, kneading slowly while his other hand stayed locked on her hip. “Tonight,” he murmured against her cheek. “My place. Eight o’clock. Wear something easy to rip off. Or wear nothing at all. I’m gonna bury my face between those thick thighs first, get you nice and messy, then bend you over and pound this sweet ass until you can’t walk straight.” His cock was visibly hardening now, the thick shaft tenting his shorts, the head pushing against the fabric near her wrist. Elena’s fingers twitched with the urge to wrap around it right here in the open.

She was panting, breasts rising and falling under his palm, pussy throbbing so hard she felt dizzy. The empty house suddenly felt like a cage she couldn’t wait to escape. Marcus released her slowly, stepping back just enough to let cool air rush between them, but the promise in his eyes stayed burning. “Don’t make me wait, Elena. I’ve been patient long enough watching you parade around this yard. Tonight I take what’s been teasing me for months.”

Elena straightened on unsteady legs, tank top askew, one nipple still faintly visible through the damp fabric where he’d touched her. She could still feel the ghost of his hands everywhere. Her voice cracked when she tried to answer. “Marcus—”

A car door slammed somewhere down the street. Reality flickered at the edges. Marcus picked up his towel again, that devastating smile returning as he backed toward his mower like nothing had happened—except the massive erection straining his shorts and the dark hunger still locked on her. “Eight o’clock,” he repeated. “Don’t be late. Or I might have to come over there and drag you out myself.”

He fired up the mower again, the roar drowning out anything else she might have said. Elena stood frozen at the fence, iced tea forgotten and dripping down her wrist, body on fire, mind reeling with the filthy images he’d planted. Her pussy clenched around nothing, soaked through the crotch of her shorts. She turned toward her silent house, every step making her aware of how empty it was—and how full she suddenly needed to be. The clock on the wall inside already seemed to tick louder, counting down the hours until nightfall.

Elena closed the back door behind her, the iced tea glass slipping from her nerveless fingers into the sink with a clatter. Her body still thrummed where Marcus’s hands had been—hip, breast, the ghost of his breath on her neck. The house felt even emptier now, every tick of the clock a taunt. She stripped out of the tank and shorts on the way to the shower, fingers sliding between her thighs just long enough to feel how slick she already was, then forced herself under the cool spray before she could finish what he’d started.

By seven-thirty the sun had dropped low, turning the sky the color of bruised peaches. Heat still clung to everything. Elena stood in front of her closet in nothing but a towel, heart hammering. She almost chose the nothing-at-all option he’d suggested. Instead she pulled a thin white sundress from its hanger—the one that barely reached mid-thigh, the fabric so fine it turned translucent under light. No bra. No panties. The soft cotton whispered over her heavy breasts, nipples immediately pebbling against it, dark circles faintly visible. The skirt flirted with the lower curves of her ass every time she moved. She left her hair loose and damp, olive skin still dewy from the shower, and walked barefoot into the kitchen for more wine to steady her nerves.

That was when she heard it: the steady drip-drip-drip that had been annoying her for days suddenly became a thin spray from the base of the faucet. Water pooled on the counter, splashed onto the floor. She twisted the handles harder; the spray worsened. “Fuck,” she muttered, already imagining the plumber’s bill and the lonely night ahead if she cancelled on Marcus. Her phone was in her hand before she could second-guess. One text: Faucet’s exploding. Any chance you can fix it before I flood the place? Bring tools. Or just yourself.

His reply came in under a minute. On my way.

She left the front door unlocked and poured the wine with shaking hands. When the knock came she didn’t bother with hello—just called, “In the kitchen,” and leaned against the counter so the dress clung to every curve, back arched just enough that the thin straps threatened to slip.

Marcus stepped inside like he owned the air. He’d showered too; the scent of soap and warm skin rolled off him. Basketball shorts again, dark gray this time, and a white tank that strained across his chest before he peeled it off without asking, tossing it on a chair. Sweat already beaded along his collarbones in the thick evening heat. His eyes dragged over her slowly, openly, lingering where the dress outlined the hard points of her nipples and the soft give of her uncontained tits. “Damn, Elena. You call a man over looking like that, you’d better mean it.”

“I mean it,” she said, voice husky. She gestured at the hissing faucet, but her gaze stayed locked on the heavy swing of his cock inside the shorts. “It’s leaking. Everywhere.”

He chuckled low and moved in close, crowding her against the counter without quite touching. The heat of his bare torso radiated through the thin cotton of her dress. He braced one hand on either side of her, caging her in, and reached past to twist the shut-off valve under the sink. The spray died. Silence rushed in, broken only by their breathing and the distant hum of cicadas. When he straightened he stayed right there, chest nearly brushing hers. One droplet of water from the faucet still clung to his forearm; she watched it trail down dark muscle.

“Easy fix,” he murmured. “Washer’s shot. I can replace it in five minutes… or I can take my time.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, then lower. “You wore this on purpose. No bra. Nipples screaming at me through that little scrap of nothing. Skirt so short I could flip it up and see if that pussy’s still as wet as it smelled this afternoon.”

Elena’s thighs pressed together. The dress suddenly felt like it weighed nothing. She lifted her chin, letting him see the flush climbing her chest. “Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve been walking around this empty house all day with your hands still on me, wondering what they’d feel like without a fence in the way.” The confession tumbled out hotter than she’d planned. “I want them, Marcus. Your strong Black hands on my body. All over this pale skin. Gripping, spreading, holding me down while you do every filthy thing you promised.” She swallowed, pulse fluttering in her throat. “I’ve never wanted anything so bad it hurts. Not like this.”

Something dark and hungry flared in his eyes. He didn’t ask twice. One big hand slid around her waist and yanked her flush against him; the other cupped the back of her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive hinge of her jaw. His mouth hovered a breath from hers. “Say it again. Tell me you want this. That you’re choosing it.”

“I want it,” she breathed, hands already roaming the hot, ridged plane of his stomach, fingers dipping under the waistband of his shorts just far enough to feel the thick root of him. “I want you to cross every line with me. Right now. I consent. Hungry as hell for it.”

Marcus groaned like the words physically hurt him and crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss was instantly deep, filthy, all tongue and teeth and shared breath. He tasted like mint and heat. Elena moaned into it, rising on her toes, plastering her soft curves to his hard frame. His cock thickened fast against her belly, a heavy ridge of pure promise. One hand dropped to fist the hem of her sundress and drag it up over her bare ass; rough palms spread the cheeks, fingers dipping into the slick heat already coating her inner thighs.

“Fuck, bare under here,” he growled against her lips. “Dripping down your legs for me. This what you needed, baby? A young Black dick to ruin this lonely married pussy?”

“Divorced,” she gasped as two thick fingers pushed between her folds and sank deep without warning. “And yes—god, yes—” Her walls clenched around the intrusion. He curled them, finding the spot that made her see stars, and worked her open right there against the counter while his thumb circled her clit. The wet sounds filled the kitchen. Elena’s head fell back; he mouthed down the column of her throat, teeth scraping, then lower, sucking one stiff nipple through the thin dress until the fabric turned transparent and dark.

She shoved at his shorts with both hands. His cock sprang free, heavy and dark, the fat head already gleaming. Her fingers barely met around the girth. She stroked him once, twice, feeling the pulse jump under the velvet skin, smearing the bead of precum with her thumb. Marcus cursed and spun her, bending her forward over the counter so her tits flattened against the cool marble, ass presented. The sundress rode up around her waist. He kicked her feet apart and rubbed that thick cock up and down her slit, coating himself, tapping the head against her swollen clit.

“Last chance to stop,” he rasped, even as his hips notched forward, the blunt pressure kissing her entrance. “Once I sink into this tight Latina cunt I’m not pulling out until you’re ruined for anyone else.”

Elena pushed back, taking the first inch inside herself with a broken cry. “Don’t you dare stop. Fuck me. Make me feel it for days.”

He slammed home in one powerful thrust.

He slammed home in one powerful thrust, burying every thick inch of his dark cock deep inside Elena’s gripping heat until his heavy balls slapped against her swollen clit. She cried out, the sound raw and broken, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the cool marble as her olive-skinned ass jiggled from the force. Marcus held still for a breathless second, letting her fluttering walls stretch and adjust around the massive girth that split her open farther than anything her ex had ever managed. “Fuck… so tight,” he groaned, voice rough with lust. “This lonely MILF pussy is strangling my dick already.”

Elena pushed back greedily, chasing the fullness, her mind spinning with the filthy reality of it—her young Black neighbor balls-deep in her from behind right here in her own kitchen, the white sundress rucked up around her waist like a dirty flag of surrender. Every ridge of him dragged against her sensitive walls when he finally withdrew almost all the way, then drove forward again in a powerful stroke that punched a moan from her throat. “Marcus—oh god, yes—harder!”

He gave her exactly that, hands clamping down on the soft flares of her hips, dark fingers digging into pale flesh as he pounded her with deep, punishing thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mixing with her shameless cries and the creak of the counter under their combined weight. Sweat already sheened both their bodies; a droplet rolled down the deep valley of her spine and he leaned in to lick it away, tasting salt and her perfume while he fucked her harder. Interior heat coiled tighter with every brutal bottoming-out. She could feel herself dripping down her thighs, coating his shaft, the lewd squelch proving how desperately she’d needed this.

Just when her legs started to tremble on the edge of climax he pulled free with a slick pop that left her empty and aching. Elena whimpered in protest until strong hands spun her around and lifted her like she weighed nothing. Marcus set her bare ass on the counter edge, the marble cold against her heated skin, then dropped to his knees between her spread thighs. “Need to taste this first,” he growled, eyes locked on her soaked, pink folds framed by neatly trimmed dark hair. “Been dreaming about eating this Latina cunt.”

He dove in without another word. Long, deep licks dragged from her dripping entrance all the way up to her throbbing clit, flat tongue scooping up her juices like he was starving. Elena’s head fell back against the upper cabinets with a thud, one hand flying to grip his short-cropped hair while the other clutched the edge of the counter for dear life. “Marcus—fuck—your tongue—” He sealed his full lips around her clit and sucked hard, then speared deep inside her fluttering hole, fucking her with it the same way his cock had moments before. The contrast of his dark face buried between her pale thighs drove her wild; she watched every filthy second, hips rolling to grind against his mouth. He growled approval into her pussy, the vibration shooting straight to her core, and added two thick fingers, curling them against that spongy spot while he licked her into a shaking mess.

Her orgasm crashed over her hard and sudden. Elena’s thighs clamped around his head, fingers yanking his hair as she came with a broken scream of his name, juices flooding his tongue. Marcus lapped it all up greedily, not stopping until she was twitching and oversensitive, begging breathlessly. Only then did he rise, lips and chin glistening, and yank her off the counter.

He spun her again, bending her roughly over the marble once more so her heavy tits mashed flat and her ass thrust high. No warning—he slammed back inside her still-clenching cunt in one brutal stroke that forced another cry from her. “Take it,” he snarled, setting a punishing rhythm right away, powerful hips snapping forward so hard the counter shook. Every thrust drove the air from her lungs; she moaned his name like a prayer, “Marcus, Marcus, fuck me, yes—” watching over her shoulder as his dark, glistening cock disappeared between her pale cheeks again and again. Sweat flew from his brow onto her back. The visual of their contrasting skin—rich chocolate against warm olive—made her clench harder around him. He reached under to pinch and roll her swinging nipples, never slowing the deep, wrecking strokes that rearranged her insides.

When her second climax started building he pulled out once more, dropping onto one of the kitchen chairs and dragging her with him. “Ride it,” he ordered, voice thick. “Reverse. I want you watching that fat Black dick stretch you open.” Elena obeyed on shaking legs, straddling him backward, facing away so she could stare down between her own spread thighs. She reached back, gripping his thick shaft, and sank down slowly, both of them groaning as inch after dark, veiny inch vanished inside her creamy pussy. From this angle she could see everything—the way her pink lips stretched obscenely around his girth, the shiny trail of her juices coating him, the heavy hang of his balls beneath. “Oh my god, look at it,” she whispered, hypnotized, bouncing experimentally. “You’re splitting me in half…”

Marcus’s big hands clamped on her waist, guiding her into a hard, rolling rhythm. She rode him reverse-cowgirl with increasing desperation, lifting almost all the way off so she could watch the fat head nearly pop free before slamming back down to the root. The wet sounds were pornographic. Her tits bounced heavily; sweat slicked the valley between them and trickled down her soft stomach. He thrust up to meet her every descent, the dual motion making her see stars. “That’s it, baby—use that cock. Watch how deep you take me. This pussy was made for Black dick.” Elena could only moan agreement, fingers spreading her own folds so she had an even clearer view of him disappearing inside her over and over, the sight alone pushing her toward another shattering peak.

Just before she tipped over he stood in one fluid motion, still buried to the hilt, and walked them both to the nearest wall. Elena’s back hit the cool plaster with a soft thud; he hooked her knees over his elbows, pinning her there in a standing fuck that left her completely open and helpless. Their faces were inches apart now, breath mingling, sweat-slick chests sliding together—his dark pecs against her full, olive tits, nipples dragging. Marcus drove upward in deep, grinding strokes, the new angle hitting places that made her vision white out. “Look at us,” he rasped against her mouth. “Look how pretty that pale skin looks taking all this dark cock.” She did look—down to where they joined, watching his thick shaft piston in and out of her stretched hole, juices frothing at the base, their contrasting colors glistening under the kitchen lights with every drop of sweat.

Elena wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and clung on, meeting every powerful thrust, the wet slap of their bodies echoing off the walls. “Don’t stop—please don’t ever stop—” Pleasure coiled vicious and bright at the base of her spine. She was going to come again, harder than before, walls already fluttering wildly around him. Marcus buried his face in her neck, teeth scraping, hips never faltering as he fucked her through the rising wave.

Somewhere in the haze of it her phone buzzed on the counter—once, twice—an insistent vibration that neither of them acknowledged. Then a second phone, his, lit up in the pocket of the shorts still tangled around one ankle. The screens glowed forgotten while he pinned her harder to the wall and drove deeper still, both of them racing toward the edge of something that felt too big to contain.

Marcus drove upward in deep, grinding strokes, the new angle hitting places that made Elena’s vision white out. Sweat slicked their joined bodies, his dark chocolate skin sliding against her olive curves, nipples dragging with every powerful snap of his hips. She clung to his broad shoulders, nails digging crescents into the hard muscle, legs hooked over his elbows so she was split wide and helpless against the cool kitchen wall. Every thick inch of his cock pistoned in and out of her stretched cunt, juices frothing white at the base where their contrasting colors met—pale lips stretched obscenely around his dark, veiny shaft.

“Look at us,” he rasped against her mouth, breath hot and ragged. “Look how pretty that pale skin looks taking all this dark cock.”

Elena forced her eyes down, hypnotized by the sight. His heavy balls slapped wetly against her ass with each upward thrust. The wet sounds echoed obscenely off the cabinets. Interior heat coiled vicious and bright at the base of her spine, her walls already fluttering wildly around him. She was going to come again, harder than the first time his tongue had wrecked her on the counter. The empty house, the divorce, the years of lukewarm fucks—all of it burned away under the raw reality of her young Black neighbor pinning her to the wall and rearranging her insides.

“Don’t stop—please don’t ever stop—” she moaned, voice cracking. Pleasure spiked sharper with every grind of his pelvis against her swollen clit. Marcus buried his face in her neck, teeth scraping the sensitive tendon, hips never faltering as he fucked her through the rising wave. One big hand shifted to cup her heavy breast, thumb flicking the stiff nipple while he pounded deeper still.

“Come on this dick, Elena,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “Squeeze that lonely MILF pussy around me. I wanna feel you break.”

The coil snapped. Elena’s second orgasm crashed over her like a storm, walls clamping down hard around his buried cock, milking him in rhythmic pulses. She shuddered violently, a broken scream tearing from her throat as juices gushed around his shaft, soaking his balls and dripping down her trembling thighs. Her vision blurred white; every nerve fired pure ecstasy while she convulsed in his arms, clinging tighter, riding the waves that kept rolling through her core. Marcus stayed buried to the hilt, rock-hard and throbbing inside her fluttering heat, refusing to pull out even as she clenched and shook and moaned his name like a prayer.

Just as the deepest shudder wracked her body—Marcus still buried deep, unmoving now, letting her cunt milk him while she came undone—the front door suddenly swung open with a familiar creak.

“Hello? Elena? Girl, I brought wine and I need details on that fine neighbor—!” Lena’s bright, curious voice rang out from the entryway, heels clicking on the hardwood as she stepped inside uninvited, the way she always did.

Elena’s eyes flew wide, still shuddering through the aftershocks, her pussy spasming helplessly around Marcus’s thick cock. He froze completely, every powerful muscle locked, still rock-hard and buried to the root inside her. They stared at each other in pure shock and raw, unfinished need—his dark eyes blazing inches from hers, sweat dripping from his brow onto her flushed chest, her legs still splayed open over his arms, the white sundress rucked up around her waist like a confession. Her juices coated him shiny; she could feel every pulse of his cock twitching against her fluttering walls, desperate not to stop.

Neither moved. Neither spoke. The wet heat of their joining throbbed between them, undeniable. Lena’s footsteps grew closer down the hall, her cheerful rambling continuing—“I texted but you didn’t answer, so I used the spare key, hope that’s cool, I need wine and gossip about—”

Marcus stayed buried deep, unmoving, his big hands still gripping Elena’s thighs, holding her open against the wall. Elena’s orgasm still rippled faintly through her, making her clench involuntarily around him. They locked eyes, chests heaving, knowing they couldn’t stop now—not with how hard he still was inside her, not with the way her body screamed for more, not with Lena’s voice right around the corner and the front door standing wide open.