“Well, maybe I would. I’m a good-looking guy, right? But not as much as I want to kiss you right now. God, I want to kiss you right now, until the breath runs out of your body.”
“Go on then,” she whispered.
As soon as his teeth alighted on her lower lip, nibbling and sucking it with slow skill, she felt her first misgiving.
She had promised herself fun, but could it ever be no-strings with Milan? Already, she was falling headlong into that tumult of emotion and sensation that had delighted her body and tormented her mind since the first day they had met.
His breath was warm and rich, still slightly sweet from the panna cotta he had eaten for dessert, but the scent of him underneath it was sublime, making her giddy and incapable of resistance. He was danger incarnate, but she could never quite run away in time.
She caught his lips in hers and made him kiss her properly. The rush of people around them and traffic on the bridge above them grew dim and distant while their lips and tongues worked. Part caress, part duel, the embrace grew wilder until their pelvises were grinding together.
Lydia pulled at Milan’s hair and he growled into her throat. He pressed his knee between her thighs and she lifted one bent leg up to his hip in response.
God, they were practically doing it in the street. Milan had plunged a hand in her cleavage and she couldn’t even begin to stop him.
He pushed her harder into the wall, trying to signal his dominance, but she gave as good as she got, jerking into him, grasping great handfuls of his arms and back. Their teeth clashed and they bit on each other’s lips.
Somebody shouted, “Get a room!” and Milan broke the kiss, laughing.
“Not such a bad idea,” he panted. “Come on.”
They ran hand-in-hand over Blackfriars Bridge, but it took longer than it should have done to walk to the Barbican, because they kept stopping to devour little pieces of each other in the still-warm night.
By the time they arrived in Milan’s apartment, Lydia was hot and damp with perspiration, her lipstick kissed off, one shoulder strap fallen, her impeccable hair mussed and unkempt. Not only that, but her nipples were hard and her knickers uncomfortably wet.
As soon as the door was shut, Milan held her against him, finished off the last traces of the lipstick and pushed both shoulder straps down her arms, exposing her bra to the attentions of his fingers.
“Missed you so much,” he gasped in between kisses. “Think about you every day. Every night. Especially at night.”
He buried his face between her breasts, kissing the slopes, licking along the lacy edge of the bra cups.
Lydia looked hazily down at his hair, the hair she had always loved, swinging over his brow and falling onto her skin, golden brown against her pallor. She watched the ends of it flick and twitch around her twin mounds then put back her head and fell into the feeling.
The dress was a simple affair, easily removed, and Milan made quick work of getting it around her ankles and out of the way.
Onto the thick pile carpet she fell, on her knees. She let Milan position her on all fours, then she cried out, half-surprised, half-ecstatic, when he roughly pulled aside her knickers, unbuttoned himself and shoved straight into her without warning.
She had expected a little more foreplay, though it was hardly necessary, given the furtive humidity of her pussy.
Milan had noticed this too, sighing deeply as he sank into the hilt before stopping to tell her how tight and wet she was.
“You need this as much as I do,” he whispered. “Maybe more. Hold tight, milácku, because you’re going to get it.”
Lydia let out a little yelp with each firm forward thrust. Milan kept the pressure high from the start, holding her by her breasts, rolling her nipples while he pumped into her.
“You haven’t been fucked like this in a while, hey?”
He was right, but how did he know? Lydia was a little too caught up in the moment to let the thought crystallise, though, and she carried on whimpering and feeling the carpet get rougher and rougher against her poor knees.
He moved one hand to her hip and held it with pinching fingers while he increased to a yet more brutal pace. Lydia felt the sting inside her, but she wanted it, wanted his length and thickness to make its presence felt. How had she gone without this for so long? Her cunt spread and stretched under the onslaught, as if eager to take as much as he could give and more.
“You know you can’t live without it,” he breathed. She no longer felt the hand on her hip, but now his fingers were at her clit, rubbing and stroking for dear life.
She moaned into the carpet, barely able to breathe, her fingers curled around the fibres. Milan’s thrusting made a slap-slap-slap noise against her upper thighs and the curve of her bottom. His cock felt huge inside her and she knew she would still be feeling the effects tomorrow. The thought of it, added to the stimulating effect of his fingers on her bud, tipped her into orgasm.
Yes, yes, yes, she was filled with his length again and she was his.
Milan slapped her thigh as she came then rode her into his own climax, high and straight-spined behind her. She peeked around and saw his eyes tight-closed and his face in pained ecstasy.