I woke with the taste of Ryan's cock still coating my tongue, thick and unmistakable, salty and bitter like a secret that had seeped into every corner of my mouth. My throat ached in the best way, raw from how deep he had pushed, from the way I had opened for him while his wife slept one floor above. Lips felt puffy, chin crusted where his cum had dried overnight in thin streaks. I shifted beneath the blanket and my cock stirred immediately, already half hard, heavy with the frustration of being left untouched while I knelt and swallowed every pulse he gave me. The house carried that early-morning hush, only faint birdsong outside and the steady low hum of the refrigerator breaking it.
I sat up slowly, pulled my shirt back on, let the blanket slide to my waist. My boxers stood out in a shameless tent. I reached down and adjusted myself, tried to force the ache away through sheer will. It refused to listen.
The kitchen light glowed soft around the corner. Coffee filled the air, strong and fresh, pulling me toward it.
Mia stepped into the doorway dressed for her run, leggings hugging every curve, sports bra snug, ponytail swinging. She looked bright, rested, nothing like the woman who had been oblivious upstairs while her husband used my throat a few hours earlier.
“Morning, babe,” she said, her smile gentle and easy. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah. Couch was comfy.” The lie came out smooth even though I had barely closed my eyes. Every time I drifted off I saw his hand in my hair, felt the weight of him on my tongue, heard the low groan when he finally spilled.
Ryan appeared behind her. Loose gray sweats rode low on his hips, no shirt, and definitely no underwear beneath the fabric. His cock shifted visibly with each step, thick and heavy even soft, the outline swaying lazily from side to side. I dragged my gaze upward, met his eyes. He gave me the smallest nod, calm and casual, as though last night had been nothing more than a late-night conversation about sports.
Mia rose on her toes and kissed him quick on the mouth. “I’m heading out for my run. Back in forty-five, maybe an hour if I really push it.”
“Have a good one,” Ryan answered, voice even, perfectly normal.
She turned to me. “Make yourself at home. Coffee’s fresh. Help yourself. Ask Ryan if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Mia.”
She grabbed her earphones and slipped out the front door. It clicked shut behind her. Footsteps faded down the walk until silence swallowed them completely.
The house felt different now. Smaller. Quieter. Just the soft drip of the coffee maker, my own breathing, and his.
Ryan poured two mugs, black, no sugar. He handed me one. Our fingers brushed and he let the contact linger, a deliberate second longer than necessary, warm skin against warm skin.
“Morning,” he said, voice pitched low, eyes flicking down to the obvious ridge in my boxers before rising again to hold my gaze.
“Morning.”
We stood at the counter and sipped. Small talk came first, thin and careful. How the couch felt. The weather outside. Some bullshit about work deadlines. We talked like nothing had changed, like I hadn’t spent the small hours of the night on my knees between his spread thighs, lips stretched wide around his thick cock, throat working to take every inch until he flooded me.
But the air between us thickened with every passing second. Charged. Electric. Every time he shifted his weight that heavy bulge moved beneath the gray fabric, drawing my eyes again and again. He noticed. He always noticed. He didn’t cover up or turn away. He simply smirked into his mug, slow and knowing.
“Did you have fun last night?” he asked, the question quiet, direct, cutting straight through the pretense.
I swallowed. Coffee burned all the way down. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
He set his mug on the counter with a soft clink. Stepped closer until the heat of his body brushed mine. I could smell him again, that same scent of raw masculinity, the faint musk of his cock lingering beneath it all.
“You hard right now?” he murmured.
I nodded. Words had abandoned me.
He reached down and palmed himself through the sweats, slow deliberate strokes that made the fabric stretch taut over his thickening length. The outline grew obscene, head flaring against the cotton, a darker wet spot blooming where precum soaked through.
“Been thinking about your mouth since last night,” he said, voice rougher now, edged with hunger.
I set my own mug aside. My hands trembled faintly.
He closed the last inch of space. His bare chest nearly pressed to mine. Heat poured off him in waves.
“Spilled some coffee,” he said, nodding toward the tiny dark spot on my shirt. Barely noticeable. But his fingers were already hooking under the hem, lifting the fabric slowly, peeling it up and over my head. Cool air hit my skin. Nipples tightened instantly. Cock throbbed painfully inside my boxers.
He looked me over, eyes dark and ravenous, taking in every inch of exposed chest, the way my breathing had already turned shallow.
“Let’s clean that up properly.”
He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and led me down the hall, past the living room, straight into the small downstairs bathroom. The door shut behind us with a soft thud. The lock clicked into place, sealing the quiet house outside.
The space felt instantly smaller, the air thicker and warmer, already heavy with the scent of clean tile, faint soap, and the raw growing musk rolling off both our bodies.
He turned me to face the sink and tossed my shirt onto the floor. Then he stepped in close behind me, bare chest pressing to my back, his cock now rock-hard and grinding insistently against my ass through the thin layers of fabric. The heat of it burned right through.
His hands slid down my sides, slow and claiming, palms dragging over ribs and hips until his fingers hooked into the waistband of my boxers. He peeled them down deliberately, letting the fabric drag along my thighs before they pooled at my ankles. My cock sprang free, flushed dark pink, already leaking in steady beads that dripped toward the tile. The tip glistened, slick and needy.
He nudged my feet wider with his own. Bent me forward until my palms braced the cool edge of the counter. Ass pushed out, fully exposed, vulnerable in the bright bathroom light.
In the mirror our eyes locked again. His smirk had disappeared. Only pure, open hunger stared back at me.
He sank to his knees behind me without a word.
His tongue made first contact, flat and broad, dragging one long, deliberate stripe up the center of my crack. Slow. Wet. I gasped sharply, fingers curling tighter around the sink edge.
He spread me open with strong thumbs, pressing into soft flesh, holding me wide. Then he dove in fully. Tongue pointed now, pressing right against my hole, circling the tight ring before pushing inside with steady insistence. Wet filthy sounds filled the small room at once. Loud slurps. Filthy smacks. His nose buried deep, hot breath fanning over every sensitive inch.
I moaned low, tried to muffle it against my own arm even though the house stood empty around us.
“Shit. Ryan”
He ate me like he had been starving for days. Tongue fucked in and out in a steady, hungry rhythm, swirling deep, probing every fold, lips sucking gently then harder around the rim. One hand reached around my hip and wrapped loosely around my cock, stroking slow and teasing, coating the shaft with my own leaking precum. Never enough pressure to let me finish. Just enough to keep me dripping, throbbing, desperate.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered against my skin, voice muffled and rough. “Been thinking about burying my face here since last night.”
I whimpered, hips rocking back instinctively. “Ryan…”
“Yeah?” He pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing my hole. “Tell me you want more.”
“I want more,” I breathed. “Please. Don’t stop.”
He groaned low, pleased. “That’s it. Beg for it.”
Then fingers joined his tongue. One thick finger sliding in alongside, stretching me open with a slow burn. Then a second, pushing deep, crooking deliberately until they found that spot inside me that made my knees buckle and my cock jump.
I bucked forward, moaned louder, hole clenching greedily around the intrusion.
“God, you’re fucking tight,” he growled, fingers pumping now in time with his tongue. “So fucking hot. Alex ever make you shake like this?”
“No,” I gasped. “Never. He… he doesn’t…”
“Doesn’t what?” He curled harder, pressing right on that spot again. “Doesn’t eat you out? Doesn’t finger you open? Doesn’t make you leak like a faucet?”
I shook my head frantically. “No. Nothing like this.”
He pulled his fingers out slow, let them drag against every ridge inside me. Then pushed back in deeper. Three now. Stretching me wider. Wet squelch loud in the quiet room.
“Say it,” he ordered softly. “Tell me you want my cock in you.”
I swallowed hard. Voice cracked. “I want your cock, Ryan. Please. Fuck me. I need it.”
He stood up behind me, chest pressing to my back again. His sweats shoved down just enough for his cock to spring free, thick and veiny, head already dripping with precum. He rubbed the length along my crack, teasing the spit-dripping hole.
“You sure, you can handle my cock?” he asked, voice low and careful even through the heat.
“Yes, please” I said immediately. “Fuck. I’m sure. I want that thick cock in me.”
He kissed the back of my neck once, soft and possessive. “Good fucking boy.”
Then he lined up. Head pressed against my hole, slow pressure, no rush. I pushed back, eager, and he slid in the first inch with a low groan from both of us.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s it, take that cock.”
He sank deeper, until his hips met my ass. Full. Stretched. Perfect. I moaned brokenly, forehead dropping to rest against the cool mirror.
He started to move. Slow rolls at first, letting me feel every thick ridge dragging inside me. Then harder thrusts, building rhythm. Wet slaps echoed off the tile walls. Skin meeting skin. My cock bounced untouched against the counter edge, leaking steadily onto the porcelain.
“Look at yourself,” he murmured, hand coming up to grip my chin, tilting my face toward the mirror. “Look how pretty you look getting fucked.”
I stared. Face flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy. His thick arm wrapped around my waist, holding me steady while he pounded deeper.
“Gonna fill you up,” he promised, voice rough. “Gonna breed this hole while your boyfriend thinks you’re just crashing on the couch.”
“Yes,” I whimpered. “Please. Breed me.”
He sped up. Harder. Deeper. The angle hitting that spot on every thrust. My moans turned desperate, high and needy. Cock throbbing, untouched, right on the edge.
“Come for me,” he growled against my ear. “Show me how bad you needed this.”
The command tipped me over. I came hard, untouched, shooting thick ropes across the sink, body shaking, hole clenching rhythmically around him.
He groaned deep, thrusts turning erratic. Buried himself to the hilt and came. Hot pulses flooding inside me, thick and endless. He held me tight through it, hips grinding slow circles, milking every drop deep.
When he finally pulled out, slow and careful, cum leaked immediately, warm and thick down my thighs. He watched it drip in the mirror, satisfied.
He turned me around gently. Kissed me deep and claiming, tongue sliding in slow, tasting the salt and heat still on mine. His lips moved possessive, like he was marking every part of me he could reach. I melted into it, hands gripping his shoulders, body still trembling from the aftershocks.
Cum leaked slow and warm down the insides of my thighs. Thick. Sticky. A constant reminder of how full he had just left me.
He broke the kiss first. Looked down between us. Watched his load drip out of me in lazy trails. Then he reached down with two fingers, scooped the escaping cum from my inner thigh, and pushed it back inside my hole. Fingers curling, pressing deep, stirring the mess he had made.
I whimpered, oversensitive, hole fluttering around the intrusion.
"Mia could be back any minute," I whispered, voice shaky. "We gotta get back upstairs."
Ryan smirked, dark and satisfied. He kept his fingers buried, pumping once, twice, making sure every drop stayed where it belonged.
"Keep my cum inside you," he murmured, voice low and rough. "Remember what a real man fucks like when you crawl back to your boyfriend. Remember how full you were. How you begged for it. How you came untouched just from my cock. This is what sex is about"
I nodded frantically. Could barely breathe. The words sank into me deeper than his fingers ever could.
He finally pulled out. Wiped his hand on a towel from the rack. He pulled my boxers up slow, letting the fabric drag over my sensitive cock and the sticky skin. The cotton soaked up some of the mess immediately. He tucked me in carefully, then handed me my shirt from the floor.
I slipped it on. Hands still shaking.
We walked back to the kitchen together. Quiet. Normal. Like we had just been talking over coffee the whole time.
I sat at the counter. Tried to look casual. Ryan leaned against the sink, arms crossed, bulge still half-hard in his sweats.
The front door opened a few minutes later. Mia came in sweaty and flushed from her run. Leggings clinging. Sports bra dark with perspiration. She looked alive, glowing.
Ryan pushed off the counter immediately. Walked over. Pulled her into his arms. Kissed her deep right there in the doorway.
"Fuck, you look so hot, babe," he said against her mouth, voice warm and affectionate.
But his eyes flicked to me over her shoulder. Locked on mine. Held. The same dark hunger from earlier. His hands slid down her waist, fingers splaying possessively over her hips, thumb stroking slow circles. He never broke eye contact with me.
I felt the cum shift inside me. Warm. Thick. A secret pulse every time I moved.
Mia laughed softly, hit him playfully on the chest. "Ryan, don't make him uncomfortable."
I cleared my throat. Forced a smile. "No, no. It's fine. I really should get going anyways. Hope Alex has calmed down. I need to sort this out."
Ryan nodded, still holding her close. "Don't worry, man. You're always welcome here." His voice stayed perfectly even, friendly. But the way he said it carried weight. "Any time you need a place to crash. Couch is yours. Door's always open."
The subtle promise hung in the air. Not loud enough for Mia to catch. Just enough for me.
I grabbed my keys. Nodded to both of them.
"Thanks. For everything."
Mia hugged me quick. "Text me later. Hope you two work it out."
I stepped outside. Door closed behind me.
As I walked to my car, Ryan’s cum shifted inside me with every step, warm and thick, a filthy secret leaking slow between my thighs.
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