The Bite

Not in a casual way. Not like a man scanning the room. He watched her like something starving. Like everything about her—the slope of her collarbone, the red curve of her lip, the soft hum she gave when tasting the chocolate mousse on her plate—was designed specifically to undo him.

She hadn’t looked at him once.

Not since they sat down.

She just dipped her finger—delicate, slow—into the delicate chocolate mousse, circled it lazily, and brought it to her mouth. She sucked it between her lips, slow and obscene, like the restaurant didn’t exist. Like he didn’t exist.

But he did.

And his breath was getting shorter by the minute.

He was talking—about something unimportant. Business. Wine. Whatever it was, his voice cracked on the edges, the words trailing off every time she shifted. He laughed too often. Too loud. Nervous.

She leaned back, finally, crossing her legs with a whisper of silk. The slit in her skirt fell open just enough to show the inside of her thigh—bare, golden, smooth as sin. She dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin and tilted her head.

“Do you always talk this much when you’re dying to be touched?” she asked, her voice velvet-wrapped steel.

He stopped. Mid-sentence. Mid-breath.

Her lips curled.

Not in a smile. In a promise.

---

They didn’t finish dinner.

By the time they reached the hotel, his hands were shaking on the elevator keycard.

She walked ahead of him down the hallway—heels clicking, hips swaying, like she didn’t even need him to follow. She already knew he would. She paused at the room door, one hand on her hip, the other unlocking it with a soft beep.

She stepped in.

He closed the door behind them, the sound muffled in the dim luxury of the suite.

Then he reached for her.

Pushed her against the wall.

Rougher than he meant to.

But she didn’t gasp.

She laughed—a low, wicked sound that slid down his spine and wrapped around his cock.

She grabbed his tie, yanked him close, and brushed her lips against his ear.

“Take your time,” she whispered. “I want to see if you can make me finish the way I made you stop breathing back there.”

He kissed her like a man on fire. His mouth urgent, messy. Her lips were soft but unyielding. She let him devour her for a moment—let him press her against the wall, let him slip a hand up her thigh and discover, with a choked sound, that she hadn’t worn any panties.

Her skin was hot. Wet.

Dripping.

She moaned into his mouth, tilting her hips into his hand. “I didn’t come here to be teased,” she murmured. “I came to be fucked.”

He dropped to his knees.

Lifted her leg over his shoulder.

And buried his mouth between her thighs.

She tasted like chocolate and sin.

Sweet and thick and endless.

He licked her like a man dying of thirst. Long, slow strokes that dragged a whimper from her throat. His tongue flicked her clit, circled it, teased it—then flattened against her in waves. Her hand tangled in his hair. Her hips rocked. Her thighs trembled.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Just like that.”

She came with a cry that echoed off the suite walls.

But he didn’t stop.

She bucked against his mouth. Gasped. Came again—harder.

When he finally stood, his mouth was wet with her, his eyes glassy.

She grabbed his belt. Undid his pants. Pulled him out.

“Now,” she said, guiding him toward the bed, “it’s my turn.”

She pushed him onto the mattress.

Straddled him. Lowered herself slowly—inch by inch—onto his cock until he was buried to the hilt, his hands clenched in the sheets, his eyes wild.

She was soaked.

So hot it was almost cruel.

And tight enough to make him groan through gritted teeth.

She didn’t move.

Not at first.

She just looked down at him, smiling that same wicked smile from the restaurant.

“You like being inside me, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “God—yes.”

“Good,” she purred, rolling her hips. “Because I’m not letting you go until I cum again.”

She rode him slow.

Grinding.

Letting him feel every inch. Every wet slide.

She leaned forward, letting her breasts brush his chest, her lips trailing down his neck, her breath hot against his ear.

Then faster.

Harder.

Her nails dug into his chest as she bounced on him, moaning, her head thrown back, hair wild, her pussy clenching around him like she was milking his cock.

He grabbed her hips. Thrust up into her.

She screamed.

Her orgasm hit like a wave—her body tightening, locking down, her moan long and broken and beautiful.

And that’s when he lost it.

He came inside her with a groan so deep it sounded like prayer, his body jerking, spilling into her in long, desperate pulses.

She collapsed onto his chest.

Breathless. Glowing.

They lay there in silence, sweat cooling, her skin still twitching with aftershocks.

Then she lifted her head.

Bit his bottom lip.

Slow. Intentional. Just enough to make him hiss.

And whispered:

“Next time, I want dessert on you.”

She didn’t come for mousse. She came to make him melt.

Click the link below to book a time with Aleksandra and see how many bites you can take ;-)

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