The doorbell rang at the worst possible moment, just as I was preparing the coffee beans with my pajama bottoms tangled around one ankle. Juggling the coffee grinder in one hand while hopping awkwardly to free my trapped foot, I nearly face planted into the kitchen island when the doorbell buzzed again, longer this time, insistent. "Coming!" I lied through gritted teeth, finally kicking the pajama pants into the laundry pile by the fridge. The door’s peephole revealed a guy shifting his weight between polished boots, his knuckle raised to ring a third time.
I yanked the door open mid-buzz. "Jesus, give a girl a..." My voice died when I got the full view: broad shoulders straining against a black tee, forearms corded with veins that made my bartender brain immediately calculate how many kegs this man could haul without breaking a sweat. His cologne hit me next, smoke and something expensive, twisting my stomach in a way that had nothing to do with last night’s tequila.
His knuckle hovered inches from my face. "Sorry," he rumbled, slow like bourbon poured over ice. "New building. Got turned around." His eyes dragged down my stolen college sweatshirt, no bra, I remembered too late, and the ridiculous fuzzy socks still clinging to one foot. I crossed my arms. The motion pulled the sweatshirt tight across my chest. His pupils dilated. "You're at 4B," I said. "This is 3F." The lie came out smoother than my morning coffee. Let him think I wasn't his neighbour. Let him walk away before I did something stupid, like lick the salt-and-pepper scruff along his jaw. His boot scuffed the welcome mat. "Guess I owe you an apology drink." That voice again, low, textured, the kind that lingered in your ribs like whiskey warmth. His thumb brushed my wrist when he reached past me to tap the doorframe. "Johnny," he said, as if we'd known each other years instead of seconds.
The hallway light caught his wedding band. I exhaled through my nose. Of course. His gaze tracked the movement, then dropped to my mouth. "Problem?" he asked, knowingly. I could taste the dare in it. My pulse thumped unevenly. Behind me, the coffee maker gurgled. "Only if you take sugar in your espresso," I said, stepping back. His grin flashed white against his stubble. "Black. Like my soul." The joke should've been corny. Instead, heat pooled low in my belly. He stepped inside. The door clicked shut.
His cologne, bergamot and something darker, mixed with the apartment's scent of burnt toast and lavender detergent. I watched his shoulders flex beneath the thin cotton as he shrugged off his jacket. Too broad for the cramped kitchenette. His fingers drummed the countertop while I poured. A musician's hands, but the nails were bitten raw. "So," I said, sliding the cup toward him, "what kind of man presses the buzzer so impatiently?"
Johnny caught my wrist before I could pull back. His thumb pressed into my pulse point. "The kind who saw you through the peephole last Tuesday," he murmured. "Red lace. Kneeling to pick up mail." My espresso sloshed as I jerked free. He sipped, unfazed. "Building's thin-walled. Heard you moaning through my shower pipes last week."
The admission should’ve sent me reaching for pepper spray. Instead, my thighs pressed together. Steam curled between us as I leaned against the fridge. "And your wife?" I nodded at his left hand. Johnny studied his wedding band, rotating it slowly. "Sleeping pills by 8pm." His knuckles brushed mine as he set the empty cup down. "Always says I snore." The silence thickened. Down the hall, Mrs. Paterson's terrier yapped at nothing.
His palm settled on my hip, warm, heavy, inevitable. When I didn’t move away, his fingers flexed. Testing. "You should leave," I whispered, even as my head tipped back against the fridge. His laugh gusted against my neck. "Yeah?" The hand slid higher, thumb tracing my ribs. "Door’s right there."
Mrs. Paterson’s terrier kept barking. The rhythmic sound matched my pulse. Johnny’s wedding band caught the light when he cupped my jaw. Cold metal against flushed skin. I wondered if Sue could smell me on him later, lavender and whiskey sweat.
His knee nudged between my thighs. "Still want me to leave?" The rasp in his voice scraped down my spine. My hips answered before my brain could, a shallow grind against his denim-clad thigh. The rough fabric burned. Johnny exhaled sharply through his nose, pupils swallowing irises. "Jesus, you’re..."
Mrs. Paterson’s front door slammed. We froze. The terrier’s nails clicked down hardwood, fading toward the elevators. Johnny’s thumb pressed against my lower lip. "Bedroom. Now." Not a question.
My legs moved without permission. He followed so close his breath stirred the hairs at my nape. At the threshold, his shoe caught the discarded pajama bottoms. Johnny kicked it aside with a quiet "Fuck."
The mattress dipped under our combined weight. His belt buckle scraped my thigh as he rolled on top me, cold metal against overheated skin. I gasped at the suddenness, the practiced way he pinned my wrists above my head with one hand while the other yanked my knickers down.
"Wait..."
His teeth grazed my collarbone as my protest died in my throat. The scent of his aftershave mixed with my lavender body wash where his stubble burned my skin. One thick finger slid inside me without preamble, too dry, too fast, but my hips arched anyway. Betrayed by my own body again.
"I said wait..."
"You want to stop?" His thumb circled my clit with deceptive gentleness. "Really?"
I whimpered, thighs squeezing around his wrist. The bastard smirked, he already knew my pulse was thundering where his forearm pressed against my inner thigh.
A zipper parted. Cool air hit my stomach as he pushed my sweatshirt up. His cock sprang free against my hip, hotter than I expected. Thicker too. "Jesus," I breathed, instinctively spreading wider.
Johnny exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on my wrists. "Look at you," he whispered, dragging the head of his cock through my wetness. "Soaked through and still pretending you don't want this."
The first thrust stole my breath. My back arched off the mattress as he buried himself to the hilt, the stretch bordering on painful. Johnny stilled, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot and ragged against my lips. "Christ, you're tight," he groaned.
I dug my nails into his shoulders, feeling the sweat-slicked muscles flex beneath my fingers. The scent of sex and his faded cologne filled my nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of my own arousal. Every shift of his hips sent shockwaves through my body, my thighs trembling where they gripped his waist.
Johnny pulled out slowly, watching the way my body clung to him, then snapped forward with brutal precision. "There it is," he growled as I cried out, my back bowing off the mattress. His fingers found my throat, not squeezing, just resting, a reminder of control. "That spot makes you see stars, doesn't it?"
I could only nod, my vision blurring at the edges as he angled his hips to hit it again and again. The bedframe slammed against the wall in time with his thrusts, the rhythmic banging drowning out my choked moans. He dragged his teeth along my collarbone, the sharp sting pulling another gasp from my lips.
"Louder," Johnny commanded, nipping at my earlobe. "Let me hear how much you're enjoying cheating with me." His hand slid between us, thumb circling my clit with rough precision. The dual stimulation tipped me over the edge, my orgasm ripped through me violently, my thighs clamping around his waist as I sobbed his name.
Johnny chuckled darkly, watching me unravel beneath him. "That's it, take it all," he said, his thrusts turning erratic. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise as he buried himself deep one final time, his groan muffled against my neck. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick.
We lay tangled in silence afterward, the only sound our ragged breathing and the faint hum of the ceiling fan. His wedding band glinted mockingly in the lamplight as he traced idle patterns down my sweat-slicked spine.
"You should go," I said finally, voice hoarse. My thighs still trembled where they pressed against his.
Johnny rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. The motion made his softening cock brush against my hip, still glistening with my juices. He caught my wrist before I could reach for my discarded pajamas. "Not yet," he murmured, guiding my hand downward. "Cleanup first."
I hesitated, glancing at the golden band still gleaming on his finger. He followed my gaze and smirked, twisting the ring off with deliberate slowness before setting it on the nightstand. "Better?" His fingers tangled in my hair, applying just enough pressure to make my scalp tingle.
I swallowed hard, letting him guide my head down. The scent of sex and sweat filled my nostrils as my lips met the damp heat of his semi-hard cock. It twitched against my tongue, already stirring back to life. Johnny exhaled sharply through his nose when I took him deep, one hand still gripping my hair while the other traced the curve of my bare shoulder.
"Look at me," he murmured, fingers tightening. I blinked up through tear-clumped lashes to find his gaze dark with something between amusement and hunger. "Wanna know what Sue never does?" His hips rocked upward, forcing another inch down my throat. "This." The word came out ragged as my gag reflex flared.
Saliva dripped down my chin when he pulled back just enough to let me breathe. His thumb swiped the mess roughly across my cheekbone. "She thinks blowjobs are degrading." A bitter laugh escaped him as he tapped his cockhead against my pursed lips. "Like marriage isn't."
My protest died in my throat when he grabbed my ponytial and yanked forward. My nose crushed against his pelvis, throat convulsing around his thickness. Tears blurred my vision as he set a brutal pace, hips pistoning without regard for my choked gags. The bedframe slammed against the wall in time with his thrusts.
Spit and pre-cum dripped onto my collarbone when he momentarily pulled out to let me gasp. "God, your fucking mouth," Johnny growled, dragging his cock across my swollen lips. "Like you were made for this." Then he shoved back in deep, the veined underside rubbing against my palate in a way that made my clench pulse with unwanted arousal.
The rhythm was merciless - three shallow thrusts to tease, then one brutal slam that made my nose press into his pubic bone. My fingers scrabbled against his thighs, unsure whether I was trying to push him away or pull him closer. The wet sounds of his hips meeting my face filled the apartment, mingling with my choked whimpers and his ragged breathing.
"You love this, don't you?" Johnny panted, tilting my head back at a painful angle to watch tears streak my face. His thumb dug into my jaw, forcing it wider as he fucked downward into the constricting heat of my throat. "Sue never let me do this." The words came out strained between thrusts, his balls slapping against my chin with each withdrawal.
I gagged violently when he suddenly shifted his grip to pin my nose shut mid-stroke. Black spots danced in my vision as he held himself deep, the thick vein along his shaft pulsing against my tongue. The deprivation lasted just long enough for panic to spike through me before he pulled back with a wet pop. "Breathe," he commanded mockingly, watching me cough and splutter before immediately driving back in.
His rhythm became erratic, three quick shallow thrusts followed by a lingering stretch where he'd grind his pubic bone against my nose, letting me taste his musky precum before withdrawing just enough to let my throat spasm around the glans. The alternating deprivation and suffocation sent jolts of something between terror and arousal straight to my core. My nails left crescent marks on his thighs as he chuckled darkly.
"Sue never lets me do this," he rasped, twisting my ponytail to yank my head back at an angle that made my spine creak. "Too worried about smudging her fucking lipstick." The bitterness in his voice matched the punishing pace, his hips snapping forward with enough force to send drool splattering across my collarbone. Every exhale through my nose carried the scent of his arousal, leathery cologne undercut with sweat and salt.
He watched the tears streaking my face with detached fascination, pausing once to smear a thumb across my wet cheek. "Better," he grunted, pressing the digit between my lips alongside his cock. The dual invasion stretched my jaw impossibly wider, the metallic taste of blood blooming where my teeth scraped skin. His groan vibrated through me when I instinctively swallowed around both.
The angle shifted, one hand fisting my ponytail like a leash while the other clamped over my windpipe, letting me feel each ridge of his shaft. My vision tunneled at the edges, saliva dripping in thick ropes down my chin as he used my face with single-minded intensity. "Fucking perfect" he hissed when my gag reflex finally triggered in earnest, convulsions milking him deeper.
"You love being my whore?" His voice dripped venomous praise, fingers tightening in warning. My choked whimper earned another punishing thrust. "Say it, slut." The words scraped my throat raw when I forced them out, half lie, half confession, between suffocating intervals of him using my throat like a fleshlight.
"Filthy little homewrecker." His hips stuttered as he punctuated each syllable with a brutal snap forward. The insult sent an unexpected pulse of wetness between my thighs, shame and arousal twisting together until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. "Worthless cock slut," he growled, slamming home hard enough to make my vision whiten at the edges.
Then he was dragging out of me with a wet pop, the sudden rush of air burning my abused throat. Before I could gasp for breath, hot ropes of cum splattered across my face, first my cheekbone, then my forehead, finally striping my eyelids shut with deliberate cruelty. The scent filled my nose, musky and pungent, as it dripped toward my still-parted lips. "Open," he commanded, tapping his softening cock against my lips.
I blinked through the sticky mess, lashes gummed together, tasting salt when some inevitably seeped into my mouth. His thumb returned, smearing it across my skin, chin to temple, marking me with possessive thoroughness. "Look at you," he murmured, tilting my face toward the bedside lamp's harsh glow. "My little cumdump." The words slithered under my skin, equal parts humiliation and perverse pride curling in my gut.
He stood with a satisfied groan, stretching like some predator after a kill while I remained frozen, thighs still spread indecently wide. The mattress shifted as he leaned down, lips brushing my ear, "See you soon, my little whore", before his footsteps retreated across creaking floorboards. The front door clicked shut with terrifying finality.
My fingers trembled against my own sticky thighs. What the fuck had just happened? One minute I was teasing a neighbor about his cologne, the next I was swallowing his wedding ring's imprint against my tongue. The scent of sex and sweat clung to everything, the sheets, my hair, the back of my throat where his cock had punched tears from my eyes. My pulse still hammered in places that should've felt violated but instead throbbed with traitorous heat.
I stumbled toward the bathroom on unsteady legs, my reflection in the mirror making me gasp. His cum streaked my face like some perverse war paint, dried white trails crusting my cheekbones, a thicker glob clinging to my eyelashes. My lips shone swollen and red, the corners smeared with saliva and pre-cum. The sight sent an electric jolt straight to my still-aching core. Before I could stop myself, my tongue darted out, licking a salty stripe from my upper lip. The taste exploded across my tongue, bitter, primal, unmistakably his. My knees nearly buckled.
I caught myself on the sink edge, breathing hard as I watched my trembling fingers rise toward my reflection. This wasn't me, the girl who licked cheating husbands off her skin like ice cream, who moaned into wedding ring bruises on her hips. Yet my index finger traced the mess on my chin with deliberate slowness, gathering pearly strands onto its tip. The scent hit me first, musky and thick, before my tongue curled around my own finger, sucking the evidence away with a moan I didn't recognize as mine.
The second taste hit differently, darker somehow, now that I could see what I was doing. My stomach twisted even as my thighs pressed together. His cum. Sue's husband's cum. I scraped more off my cheekbone with two fingers this time, dragging them through the smear near my hairline before pushing them deep into my mouth. The salt-bitter tang coated my throat, my gag reflex fluttering as I imagined how much deeper he'd been moments ago. My free hand slid between my legs before I could stop it, finding myself still wet, still stretched, still aching for more.