The Blind Date

I pull my fingers out, sucking them clean and then kissing my way slowly up her body to capture her mouth again. “Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come for me,” I tell her, cradling her in my arms. “Always gorgeous, but that moment is mine. Ours.”

“My body wants more . . . but I’m sensitive, can’t take another stroke of your tongue,” Riley says as an aftershock shudders through her body, agreeing. “You’re so intense.”

“You inspire me,” I murmur.

“Got any more tricks up your sleeve? Metaphorically speaking,” she asks, running her hands over my bare chest.

I think, and my mind, that devious, delicious pile of jelly between my ears, gets an idea. Picking her up in my arms, I stand up and grab the mostly empty bottle of champagne.

Riley looks down the hallway toward my bedroom, but I head toward the double doors that lead out to my small balcony.

“What are you doing?” Riley asks, her eyes wide in horror. I grin, noting that public sex isn’t her thing. Luckily, it’s not mine, either. I don’t want to share her.

“Turn around,” I tell her, setting her down. She sees my treadmill, and her eyes narrow in confusion. I cup her chin, looking into those angelic blue eyes. “Trust me. Put your feet on those side ridges.”

“Then what?” she asks, already pressing her ass back to present herself to me. My sweet, good, and sometimes naughty girl.

I shove my champagne-stained pants and shoes the rest of the way off, and once nude, I mount the belt behind her. I take a drink of the champagne, offer her one, which she takes gratefully, and then set the bottle in the cup holder.

Taking her hips in hand, I slide my hard cock deep into her and start the belt nice and slow. With the side supports of the treadmill and her boots still on, she’s just the right height for me to fill her up without having to bend my knees too much.

“Now you control the speed.”

The whole city lays out before us through the windows of the double door. Even with the light pollution, we can see the stars and the city lights twinkling. It looks magical.

What’s more magical is the feeling of her body, of her pussy gripping me as my hips move naturally from walking. She finds a new pace, a bit faster, where I’m jogging slightly. With every bouncing step, an answering ripple rushes through our bodies. The seesawing motion of my own running takes care of the rest, my cock sliding in and out of Riley’s welcoming body as she holds onto the handles and pushes back against me as best she can.

“This is crazy,” she moans.

“You make me crazy,” I answer. Though I’m breathless from the exertion and how good she feels, I pant out, “I’m just glad I jog every morning. I’m going to think of you like this every time now.”

Riley moves, and I slip out of her, but it’s only so she can adjust. She swings each leg up and over the handrails so that she’s hanging in the air, the bars beneath her knees and her chest pressed to the screen in front of her. “Like this,” she tells me.

I slam back into her, now able to use my hands to bounce her down onto me as I thrust up with every step. We find a rhythm, her rocking and me running, fighting off the orgasm as long as we can still breathe because it feels so good.

Riley clenches around me and orders, “Faster, please . . . Noah, fast and hard.” She pushes the button beneath her, speeding up the treadmill, and I have to sprint, holding onto her and our bodies jolting hard with every step until I can’t take it anymore. With a last jump, I plant my feet on each side of the belt and thrust as hard as I can, grunting loudly as my orgasm takes over and I explode deep inside Riley.

Riley whimpers, unable to make words as she comes one more time at the feeling of me filling her up.

We hold still, the belt whirring beneath us, until with a trembling hand, Riley hits the Stop button on my treadmill. We try to step off, but both of us are too spent, and we collapse in an exhausted heap on the unmoving belt, our bodies tangled in one another.

Sometime later—maybe a minute, maybe ten—I feel like I can move again. “Come on,” I urge her. “I’ve got a warm shower and a bed with our names on them.”

Riley smiles dreamily and nods. “Sounds perfect.”

Together, we make our way to the bathroom where we stand under the warm spray, letting it do the trick to wash away the champagne residue. And then, dry and naked, we stumble to the bedroom where I pull back the comforter and blanket before curling up with Riley, who lays her head half on my shoulder, half on the pillow as she looks at me.