Sure thing, birdie wing

His mouth found my pussy, and my whole world dissolved into pure sensation. There was nothing but the warm, wet stroke of his tongue, expertly tracing my folds, circling the aching center of my pleasure. A loud moan escaped from my throat as my head fell back against the pillows.

This was no longer a fantasy; it was a reality more potent than any I had constructed. The feel of his stubble against my soft inner thighs, the sound of his soft, eager groans, the way his hands gripped my hips to hold me steady—it was utterly consuming.

I gave myself over to it, to him, my hips moving in a slow, primal rhythm against his mouth. The pressure built, a coiling, exquisite tension deep within me. I was close, so fucking close, teetering on the edge.

And then he pulled away.

A sound of protest died in my throat as I looked down at him. His lips were glistening, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire I’d never seen in them before.

“My turn,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he flipped us over. Now I was straddling his chest, looking down at him. The shift in power was dizzying, intoxicating. I guided myself onto his mouth, lowering myself onto that wickedly talented tongue.

This was different. This was me taking my pleasure from him, controlling the angle and the pace. I braced my hands on the headboard behind him, rolling my hips, grinding against his face, lost in the sensation. I looked down and saw him watching me, his eyes dark with awe and unrestrained lust, and it pushed me even higher. I came with a sharp, broken cry, my body shuddering, my vision whiting out at the edges as a sudden surge of ecstasy crashed over me.

I collapsed beside him. But he wasn’t finished. The hunger between us was a living thing, far from sated.

He kissed me, and I could taste myself on his lips, a dark, intimate flavor that sent a fresh jolt of desire through my spent body. He positioned himself between my legs, his erection, hard and hot, pressing against my entrance.

“Emerson,” he whispered, a question and a plea in my name.

“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Please, Matthew. Now.”

He pushed inside me in one long, slow, devastating stroke, filling me completely. We both cried out, a shared sound of relief and consummation. It was a perfect, aching fit. He began to move, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that stole the breath from my lungs. Each thrust was a punctuation mark to a sentence we’d left unfinished for ten years. This was not just fucking; it was a claiming, a healing, an answer.

I met every one of his thrusts, my nails digging into the muscles of his back, urging him on, deeper, harder. The room was filled with the rude sounds of our bodies joining and and our loud, desperate moans.

As the tension began to rumble inside of me again, a new, even more forbidden thought entered my mind. The ultimate surrender. The final barrier.

I leaned up, pressing my mouth to his ear. “I want all of you,” I whispered, my voice husky with need. “Every part. I want to feel you there.”

He stilled for a second, his eyes searching mine, seeing the serious want there. He nodded, a silent understanding passing between us.

He withdrew, and the sudden emptiness was a cold shock. He reached for the condom on the nightstand, his hands trembling slightly. He sheathed himself again, then poured more of the complimentary hotel lotion into his palm, warming it before his fingers found my other entrance.

He prepared me with a slow, careful patience that was its own form of torture, stretching and soothing until my body relaxed and opened for him. The dual sensation—the familiar fullness inside and the new, thrilling pressure at my ass—was overwhelming.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathed, his forehead pressed against mine.

“It’s perfect,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He pushed inside, and the feeling was exquisite, a sharp, full stretch that bordered on pain before melting into a deep, radiating pleasure. He moved slowly at first, each movement a careful, measured invasion. The angle was different, deeper, and with every thrust, he brushed against a spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

I was utterly possessed and completely taken. The last vestiges of the past—the student, the teacher—were burned away in the fire of this raw, physical act. We were finally equals, meeting each other in the most primal way possible.

His control finally shattered. ‘God, Emerson,’ he choked out against my neck, his voice ragged with a wonder that sounded almost like pain. “All this time…” The sentence remained unfinished, lost in a thrust that went deeper than the physical.

His rhythm became less controlled and I could feel his own climax building; his breaths coming in short bursts. I tightened around him, milking his length, and that was all it took. He called out my name again, a devastating sound, as his release pulsed deeply within me.

The feeling of him inside of me, the most intimate connection possible, tipped me over my own edge. My second orgasm was longer and deeper than the first, a series of rolling waves that left me trembling and weak.

He collapsed beside me, carefully withdrawing, and we lay there in a tangled, sweaty, breathless heap. The only sound in the room was the quiet hum from the air conditioner and our uneven breathing slowly returning to normal.

He turned his head on the pillow to look at me. He didn’t speak. He just brushed a damp strand of hair from my forehead, his touch impossibly gentle after the ferocity of what we’d just shared. In his eyes, I saw no regret, only a stunned, satisfied wonder.

The “what-ifs” were gone. They had been answered, one by one, in the most graphic, beautiful way possible. We had not just had sex; we had exorcised a ghost and, in its place, found something startlingly, powerfully new.

Chapter 9: The Morning After

Sunlight streamed through the curtains. I woke slowly, aware of a heavy warmth beside me. Matthew was still asleep, one arm across my waist, his face relaxed.

The energy of the night had burned away, leaving a quiet clarity. This hadn’t been a one-night stand. It had been a resolution.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. Confusion, then memory, then a softness that made my heart contract. No regret. Only wonder.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice husky from disuse.

“Good morning,” he replied, his thumb stroking my hip. The teacher and student were ghosts. We were just a man and a woman in a hotel room.

“So,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips. “What happens now?”

He looked at me, and I saw a man seeing a possibility he’d never allowed himself to consider.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his own smile appearing. “But I’d really like to find out.”

And for the first time in ten years, the question mark that had always hung over usHis mouth found my pussy, and my whole world dissolved into pure sensation. There was nothing but the warm, wet stroke of his tongue, expertly tracing my folds, circling the aching center of my pleasure. A loud moan escaped from my throat as my head fell back against the pillows.

This was no longer a fantasy; it was a reality more potent than any I had constructed. The feel of his stubble against my soft inner thighs, the sound of his soft, eager groans, the way his hands gripped my hips to hold me steady—it was utterly consuming.

I gave myself over to it, to him, my hips moving in a slow, primal rhythm against his mouth. The pressure built, a coiling, exquisite tension deep within me. I was close, so fucking close, teetering on the edge.

And then he pulled away.

A sound of protest died in my throat as I looked down at him. His lips were glistening, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire I’d never seen in them before.

“My turn,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he flipped us over. Now I was straddling his chest, looking down at him. The shift in power was dizzying, intoxicating. I guided myself onto his mouth, lowering myself onto that wickedly talented tongue.

This was different. This was me taking my pleasure from him, controlling the angle and the pace. I braced my hands on the headboard behind him, rolling my hips, grinding against his face, lost in the sensation. I looked down and saw him watching me, his eyes dark with awe and unrestrained lust, and it pushed me even higher. I came with a sharp, broken cry, my body shuddering, my vision whiting out at the edges as a sudden surge of ecstasy crashed over me.

I collapsed beside him. But he wasn’t finished. The hunger between us was a living thing, far from sated.

He kissed me, and I could taste myself on his lips, a dark, intimate flavor that sent a fresh jolt of desire through my spent body. He positioned himself between my legs, his erection, hard and hot, pressing against my entrance.

“Emerson,” he whispered, a question and a plea in my name.

“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Please, Matthew. Now.”

He pushed inside me in one long, slow, devastating stroke, filling me completely. We both cried out, a shared sound of relief and consummation. It was a perfect, aching fit. He began to move, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that stole the breath from my lungs. Each thrust was a punctuation mark to a sentence we’d left unfinished for ten years. This was not just fucking; it was a claiming, a healing, an answer.

I met every one of his thrusts, my nails digging into the muscles of his back, urging him on, deeper, harder. The room was filled with the rude sounds of our bodies joining and and our loud, desperate moans.

As the tension began to rumble inside of me again, a new, even more forbidden thought entered my mind. The ultimate surrender. The final barrier.

I leaned up, pressing my mouth to his ear. “I want all of you,” I whispered, my voice husky with need. “Every part. I want to feel you there.”

He stilled for a second, his eyes searching mine, seeing the serious want there. He nodded, a silent understanding passing between us.

He withdrew, and the sudden emptiness was a cold shock. He reached for the condom on the nightstand, his hands trembling slightly. He sheathed himself again, then poured more of the complimentary hotel lotion into his palm, warming it before his fingers found my other entrance.

He prepared me with a slow, careful patience that was its own form of torture, stretching and soothing until my body relaxed and opened for him. The dual sensation—the familiar fullness inside and the new, thrilling pressure at my ass—was overwhelming.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathed, his forehead pressed against mine.

“It’s perfect,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He pushed inside, and the feeling was exquisite, a sharp, full stretch that bordered on pain before melting into a deep, radiating pleasure. He moved slowly