Chapter Text
The grating voice of the navigation scratches at your ears. You grip the steering wheel tightly as you drive through the luxurious neighbourhood. Lush foliage conceals what lies behind fences—large gates of rich wood and massive iron barricading the common folk out. You could almost hear the ridiculous aspects of what lies behind the remodelled homes. Indoor waterfalls. Italian marble. Thirty bathrooms. Right now, you focus on finding where you need to be.
Your windows rolled down as you rolled down the street. The air is muggy, if not balmy, from the heat. Squinting to find the name plaque and number given to you in a string of back-and-forth text messages. It had been a recommendation from a friend. A viable client, you could say. Working at a country club had its perks. Playing tennis had its benefits. Some mild flirtations, but nothing damning. Not like the other instructor, Nolan. Nolan is a special case, taking advantage of lonesome housewives seeking something new. (Someone who wasn’t their husbands.)
Nolan got on your nerves, besides giving you the creeps. The way he treated everyone was as if they were a piece of meat for slaughter. Conquests. Never shying away from sharing who of the upper echelons he had slept with and who he was looking forward to taking advantage of.
You were no saint. Wives. Mothers. Single women looking for fun. No strings attached. You were never fired, no; you were advised that it was best to end things where they were. Nothing permanent. God. Was it tiring to keep up the farce of not caring?
You strictly kept your relationships on a tethered line of flirtation. You had your slip-ups, and you had learned your lesson from them. So, you think you have.
Your hands tighten around your steering wheel as you pull up to what your navigation system was indicating to be your location. Large stone fences intricately carved with vine designs—a PIN pad to request and input the code for the gates to open.
You sit awkwardly, admiring stone and iron gates. You hadn’t a clue who you were teaching tennis to. A name given to you, as if you were supposed to know who she was. Alcina Dimitrescu. You slide one hand off the steering wheel, reach for your cellphone, and quickly unlock it to send a message about your arrival. You drop your phone back into the cup holder.
Reaching out your window to press the buzzer to notify as well. A sharp breath through the intercom and the sudden opening of the gates. Automatic and slow, made to impress and also cause one’s anxiety to be through the roof. You drive along the path, admiring the green pastures and the running sprinklers. A gardener is collecting their tools. The looming mansion that made you believe you had set foot into the French Provincial region, and the exterior that reminded you of a castle.
“Jesus.” You mutter as you park around the roundabout.
Your little, beat-up Toyota Camry beside a cathedral was comical at best. This was just a paid trial. A really handsomely well-paid trial that no one else wanted to do. Corina brought it to your attention—a friend of hers who felt rusty playing. You had asked around the country club, but everyone had either brushed it off or told you to look into it. You rest your head back against the headrest.
It’s only an hour session.
You’re drawn out of your thoughts at the sound of approaching steps. You look out the passenger door. Your breath hitches at the sight that beholds you. Your pulse throbs at your throat. A raven-haired beauty, arms folded beneath her chest. Her face was as though chiselled by the Gods to perfection. The endless curves that left little to imagine.
Chest straining beneath her cream-coloured sleeveless polo, the zipper was brought down to show a bit of cleavage. More than a bit. Your mouth waters at the sight of her pleated skirt short enough to take in her creamy thighs. Uncharted waters beneath the hem of her skirt, you wished to explore.
You unbuckle yourself a little too quickly, pushing your door open as you set a foot out, scrambling with your words. “Uh— Hi? Ms. Dimitrescu? I’m your instructor—”
A well-manicured hand is waved at you. “The instructor. Yes. Obviously. You’re early.”
There’s an edge to this woman’s voice, like this was the last thing she wanted to be doing. To spare her the introductions and to go straight to what they needed to be doing.
You bite your tongue, forcing a smile to appear on your face. “Mhm. Yes. Better to be early than late.”
The woman’s eyes trail over you, up and down, before she sniffs. “Don’t stand there like a dim wit. I have other things to attend to.”
You bite down a scoff, nodding. You open the back door of your car, collect your things, and slam the doors.
Right, like a woman of this calibre would bat an eye at you.
You jog to catch up to her and reach the heavy, carved wooden doors that lead inside her home. The doors are intricately detailed with floral patterns and polished to a smooth finish. Inside, the space is bright and warm, exuding a sense of calm. She guides you along a well-worn tiled pathway from the living room directly into the rustic kitchen. The kitchen features warm, honey-colored wooden cabinets paired with sleek stainless steel appliances, including a modern refrigerator, a gas stove with a vent hood, and a farmhouse sink. Nearby, a cozy nook with a small, round breakfast table made of dark-stained wood, surrounded by matching chairs with woven rush seats, invites relaxed mornings. Open French doors in the kitchen swing outward to reveal expansive acres of lush, green land stretching beyond, with a stone pathway around a swimming pool and the tennis court a further walk away. Rose bushes were beginning to bud, with varying colours. You’re always amazed at how different the inside of these luxurious homes is.
One thought surfaces in your mind: she is undoubtedly a woman who would dominate you completely, keeping you beneath her heel. She would press down firmly enough to restrict your breath, ensuring her control is unchallenged. The thought alone excites you. What if you manage to do the reverse?
You press your thighs together, staring at the back of her raven head, the bounce of curls at every step. You don’t know why you feel the need to babble nonsense to her. Maybe. You wanted to see if you could spark irritation.
“We don’t have to do a full sixty minutes, especially if you haven’t played in a while.”
She pauses along the path she was leading, turning on the heel of her feet. There’s a glacial quality behind her eyes as she examines you, picking you apart piece by piece. Some puzzle she was trying to dismantle and piece back together.
Your face heats up as you look away. Birds trilling peacefully out in the open air.
Her lips quirk into a smirk. “I’m paying you for the full hour. Make it worth my time. I didn’t opt out of wearing my Loubtin’s in favour of tennis shoes for nothing.”
Oh.
You close your eyes, drinking in that visual with her current outfit.
Fuck.
You press a hand to the back of your neck.
“No. You’re absolutely right.”
She would look great in them… with her legs hanging at your shoulders.
She cocks her head, her little smirk still plastered on her cerise lips, quickly turning back to lead you both to the tennis court.
You silently try to calculate when you last got laid. Nil. Celibate by choice. You had been the giver, but in this scenario. You were inclined to receive, but to be the giver with her. Oh. You were already feeling the heat between your legs. You were constantly licking your lips. Froth forming. You swear you were already panting like a dog in heat. You can blame the city's humidity, which was making you loopy, and a pending heatwave that your phone kindly reminded you of.
“Well then, Ms. Instructor. Instruct away.”
You blink, listening to the barely-there whisper of overhead leaves as sunlight hits half the court. Pristine painted lines on the court. Concrete with an acrylic layer. The air was scented heavily of grass and freshly watered plants.
“Okay. Let’s do some light little warmups, and you can tell me what you know. Ms. Dimitrescu.”
The corner of the other woman’s mouth twitches. She places her arms akimbo.
“Just… Call me Alcina. I’m afraid it’s. Mrs.”
You release an audible “Oh.”
Your earlier urges dampen, wilting like an overfed plant.
She has a sly grin on her mouth. “Though it’s mostly for show these days.”
You perk up again. How sick of you, but if you were hearing right, that was an open invitation.
Point. Match. Set.
***
You feel her eyes on your face rather than on your wrist movements. Immediately, your face splotches. The humidity and heat are no help. You catch the way she chews on her lip as she takes in the movement of sinews from your arms and wrist.
Sure. Your little tennis polo was tight. So were your shorts. Inevitable. You like to think you're fit enough. Approachable. A charmer. Sometimes.
Alcina watches you with great interest and an intensity that has you wanting to keel over.
You clear your throat. “We’ve done our warm-ups. How about a bit of rallying?”
She presses her tongue over her neat row of pearly teeth. “You sound so unsure? A close friend recommended you to me. I’m starting to think you aren’t worth my time.”
Shit.
You click your tongue, bringing a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. You can’t help but chuckle. Flushed from the sun.
“Alright.” You drawl out the word longer than you had intended, grinning. “Let’s have a quick match then? I’ll get a better idea of what to do with you and your time.” You throw in a playful wink, walking backwards to the sunlit side of the tennis court, twirling your racket in your hand.
You were certainly being cocky. You did catch the way her jaw tightened and the way the vein in her neck pulsed to life. You toss Alcina a tennis ball, which you had been gripping the entire time. She catches it effortlessly.
“You can serve first.”
She purses her lips, running her tongue over her teeth as she slowly sauntered over on the shaded side of the court. You can hear her dribble the ball as she makes her way to her serving spot. You hone in on the back of her thighs as her hips swayed with more vigour than you cared for. Pulse coming to life as though it had been dormant the whole time. You were starting to realize she was a woman of action. Things needed to flow correctly. She didn’t care for the drivel or excess. She needed the important bits then and there.
You’re so lost in thought that she's already served, and she has a point.
Fuck.
Alcina stares at you from the opposite end of the court. Her head tilted, and her racket tilted slightly to wave tauntingly. Her grin makes your stomach coil. You wipe at your sweaty brow, staring at the time on your watch.
This would be an interesting game.
***
Distractions aside. You managed to get your remaining point to win a staggering forty-thirty. You noticed several things that needed to be worked on, but for the most part. She played well. Her grunts and huffs churning your insides and causing you to be heavily distracted from picturing them in a different setting.
You were both catching your breath on the bench. You offered Alcina a spare towel to wipe away her sweat. You couldn’t help but ogle.
The way she lightly dabbed against her brows, neck, and part of her throat. Your eyes flicker to her cleavage and down to her crossed legs. You chew on your bottom lip—the thought of inhaling the towel once it’s returned to you. You caught a whiff of her perfume. Creamy and floral. You could almost taste the saltiness of skin. You swallow, stretching your neck.
She breaks your shared silence, “Well. Do I owe you extra for going over the sixty minutes?” She holds out the towel in her hand to you.
Your hands tighten around your towel around your neck, letting go to take hers quickly. “No. You don’t, it was a good game. A few minor things that need to be worked on, but I suppose I can save it for next time? If there is a next time.”
She presses her cheek against her shoulder, bouncing her tennis-shoe-clad foot. A smile breaks out on her lips. “I suppose so. However, try to be less distracted. Your dim little questions are amusing. Next time we’ll share a drink while you correct me.”
You nod, packing up your things. You can feel her eyes on you, observing—the same heated look as before when you were demonstrating movement and motions.
“Same time next week?” You ask fiddling with your watch.
She hums.
You nod again. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
You walk back alone, cutting around the house rather than going through. When you make it into your car, tossing your bag into the passenger seat, the dangling towel she had used taunts you. You reach out for it, deeply inhaling the towel you lent.
God. You were already addicted to something that wasn’t yours.
***
You’re prompt the next time you are over. The date couldn’t have come sooner. Your mind is filled with thoughts of Alcina. You had been so close to breaking your celibacy the last time you were here. The towel you had lent remained unwashed, her scent still heavily permeated the cloth, and you begrudgingly threw it in to wash. You try to remember the last time an actual lesson excited you, or perhaps it was tied to the person you were instructing?
You discuss movement, hitting better within the court, and her backhand stroke. Your nerves act up with how intensely she focuses on you. It was just the two of you today. No roaming employees around, and that unsettled and spiked your urges. You try your best not to think of the wicked things you could be doing. How her slender, deft fingers could be pumping into your cunt or how your mouth could be greedily devouring her cunt.
You push your ravenous thoughts to the side, playing your part of dutiful instructor even if your mind was sex addled and hazed with pure lust.
You do point out that her height is advantageous. Her smug little smile appearing on her lips does wonders to throw you off kilter. You do basic feeding of balls, watching a sea of optic yellow fill the empty side of the court. Her huffs and grunts that tickled your ears, sparking fine hairs on your skin to stand. Jesus.
You would still have a mini-game, and at the end, you would tell Alcina what to work on. You were catching your breath while she sat poised on the bench, like she hadn’t broken a sweat yet, but accepted your towel to dab herself.
“Your backhand is still a little weak.”
She looks up at you. “Is it?”
“Yeah. Barely discernible to someone who doesn’t play. I’m sure you’ve impressed several women at the country club.”
Alcina sheepishly fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “Actually. I don’t play at the country club. Hm.” She pauses to lick her lips. “Corina.” She tests.
Ah. You should thank Corina for the recommendation.
“Oh! Corina. Yes. I gave her lessons at the club.” You eagerly respond.
“Yes. She recommended you. She had heard that you did private lessons. You have raving reviews from the women you have taught.”
You rub your finger under your nose, raising your brows and smiling. “I guess so. Yeah. What about Corina?”
A few weren’t lessons, but bless Corina.
You hope Corina was unaware of the few instances in which you had tumbled into beds for fun.
“Corina has been adamant in wanting me to play at the county club for a charity event. I suppose I can entertain the idea. She also wanted a tennis partner.”
That would change things. You press your hands at your hips, letting the tip of your foot bump against the ground.
“Okay. I’ll have to include doubles in your lesson. Which isn’t a problem.”
“You're ever the eager one.”
You grin down at her. “This is only our second lesson. I’m just getting to know you.”
Alcina blinks, erecting herself slightly on the bench. Something sinister appears behind her eyes and vanishes from sight, waving you off with her hand.
Your third visit. Alcina is more chatty than usual, though immersed in the nonsense you were correcting her with. You were helping her pivot her hips a certain way. One hand on her hip, the other at her wrist, where she held her racket. You swear she pushed her ass closer to your crotch, and you had to bite down on an inappropriate groan. Her scent had cloyed in your nose, entering your system as your fingers gripped her hips tightly. The heat of her body radiates off on you. All you wanted to do was push yourself against her. Your grip tightens.
“Everything alright, Ms. Instructor?” She asks breathily as she peered over her shoulder.
“Fine.” You strained between your teeth. “The ball of your foot should get you to pivot a lot quickly when you stroke the ball this way over the net.”
“I see. Shall we practice again?”
Her voice was melting you into a quick puddle between your legs.
“Uh. Just a couple more practice swings.”
Her eyes merely flickered against you, agreeing to continue the motions with you. You made an excuse to leave as soon as your lesson was finished. You swear you caught her little mocking smirk. You try not to dwell on it.
By your fourth visit. You’re completely over it. Her flushed, sweat-slick skin is driving you crazy. She requested a time-out, saying she had a cramp in her leg. You jogged over to her side of the court. Her hand had pushed back her dark hair as she stared at the clear sky, her right leg stiff. You had slid your hand to her waist, slowly leading her to the bench. Her arm had draped your shoulder. The contact alone sparks a jolt through your body.
You gently guide her to sit, and her racket slides onto the free space on the bench. Her brows knit together. You fall to your knees, pressing your fingers against her right calf. She winces.
“Sorry. Is it the entire length of your leg?” You ask softly.
She draws in a breath, a strained yes leaving her mouth.
You slide your hands up to her thigh; it wasn’t necessary, but you try to keep her right leg outstretched. Her head lolls, a pleased hum escaping.
“Sorry.” You say again, “I should have a compress in my bag. Let me get you some water.”
You drag your hands slowly away, opening one of the fancier waters she had offered and placing it on the bench for later. You hand it to her, and she takes it, peering down at you while you rummage for the compress.
“Try pushing your toes up to your shin and gently bringing them back into place.” You advise.
“Easier said than done.” She mutters, resting the glass bottle of water on the bench.
You find the hot compress, snapping it to activate it. You rest it on her thigh, firmly keeping your hand on top.
“I can stimulate it for you.” You shift your weight to crouch, you rest in front of her foot, a hand at her ankle and the other at her toes.
“Stimulate away.” She keeps a firm hand against her thigh, adjusting the compress.
You carefully push her toes upward, watching the sinews of her legs. You continue the motion as though she were pedalling. Your eyes flicker to her face, a soft hue of red against her cheeks.
“We can also walk it out.” You suggest, your fingers at her ankle caress the skin there.
“No. It’s subsiding. Thank you.”
There’s a hungry quality behind the smokiness of her eyes. Her cerise lips are more inviting than usual. She keeps her gaze down, her fingers inching toward her racket.
“You know.” She begins with a sing-song quality to her voice.
You press a knee into the ground, you look up at her cocking your head.
“You’re showing an awful lot of restraint.”
You nervously swallow, laughing. “Over what?”
“Of bedding me.”
You freeze, a bead of sweat falling down the nape of your neck into your shirt. Your mouth decided to have a pool of saliva. You swallow.
“That’s…” you can feel the vein in your neck thumping.
She takes hold of her racket by the head of it. “I went after you the first day. To at least offer you a cold Pellegrino. I know what you did.” Her lips curl into a wolfish grin, tongue running over the top of her teeth.
You sit back on the ground, hands letting go of her foot. Heat rushing to your face. Your tennis skirt rises, and Alcina’s eyes fall between the opening of your legs. She carefully bends her right leg, spreading her legs just enough to place the racket between. The handle is resting on the ground.
Your brows twitch, and you are overly warm.
“We have five minutes to spare. And as much as you try to drone on about technique and practice. I’d rather like to pick apart what naughty little thoughts have been crawling in that hollow head of yours.”
You catch a glimpse of her cunt. Unclothed. Dark thatch of neat hair. You release a shaky breath. The wires in your brain are beginning to snap loose. You close your eyes, trying your best to regulate your breathing. You were on the verge of combusting. What could you do in five minutes?
Alcina bounces her racket. “You poor thing. You look starved.”
Alcina angles her racket and presses the handle between your legs. Your breath ragged. She brushed the handle against your clit. You sucked in a breath between your teeth.
“Look at that.” She drawls lazily, but she butts the handle again.
You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Moisture pools against the cotton of your underwear. Your thighs quiver. You wanted a little more.
“Be a good girl and ride it.”
“Tch.” You turn your head away.
Her free hand reaches out to grip your chin. You stare into dark eyes littered with the faintest ring of light.
“Ride it.”
All the lust you had been holding in for the last four weeks decides to flood through the dam. You press a hand behind you, planting your clothed wet cunt against the handle. You let out a surprised little gasp. Alcina’s hand moves to cup your cheek, a small light smack.
“That’s it.” She breathes, her thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek. “Think of it as my cunt against yours.”
You rock your hips excitedly against the shaft of the handle. Your clothed wet cunt glides. Your clit, brushing deliciously against the shaft. You were picturing her wet cunt, your eyes flickering downward between her spread legs.
“Don’t do that. Keep those eyes on me.”
You whimper, forcing yourself to look at the oozing pleasure on her elegant face. Beautiful and almost untouchable.
You find a set rhythm to rock your hips, clit hitting the handle at just the right spot, and you’re so close.
“Can I come?” You ask breath ragged.
The moment is lost when she pulls the racket away, letting it rattle on the ground, and clamping her legs closed. You’re left with an incessant ache and throb between your legs.
“How unfortunate. Our time is up.” She gives your chin a gentle shake. “Next time.”
She leaves you to grovel on your hands and knees. Your clit throbs deliciously, and your mind is numb at the idea of a next time.
***
Next time, rolls around. Your fifth week, you could call it. Your steps are measured and controlled as you follow behind her. Your eyes are glued to the curve of her ass. You don’t think you would be so lucky a second time for her not to be wearing something lacy and racy, but as luck would have it. It was a windy day, leaves dancing wildly overhead.
Her skirt flies up. You catch a bit of creamy skin. Blood rushing straight to your core. She smoothed it down, keeping her hand there.
“You dictate what happens today.” She announces, peering over her shoulder.
You blink rapidly, shifting slightly, and controlling your grin from escaping. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Deep down, you want to toss your lesson to the wayside and pick up where you had left off. Except this time, it would be her. Not you.
You go about your lesson, trying not to react to Alcina pressing herself against you on purpose. You would give her a firm squeeze at her hips and carefully whisper words.
“If you beat me in our little match, you can do whatever you want, but if I win…”
She lets out a throaty chuckle. “Bold of you, Ms. Instructor.”
You slowly grin. “I’m sure your friend told you that I was a wannabe has-been professional.”
She inhales, then exhales softly, “I’m aware.”
She takes hold of one of your wrists. “You have quite the reputation.” She pushes your hand away, turning to stare at you, her next set of words hot from her as she leans down to whisper into your ear. “Discreet and pleasure-filled.”
Your internal muscle twitches. She pulls away from you. You move your jaw from side to side.
“I see. You could have started with that day one.”
She grins. “Where is the fun in that?”
Alcina backs away from you, taking her usual spot on the court. She points to the other side with her pristine black-and-white racket. You lick your lips, sucking on your bottom lip.
A wannabe has been who fucked on the side. Sounds like a great first impression.
With a little more pep in your step, you waltz over to your designated spot, dribbling the optic yellow ball in your hand. The sound of it echoes against the trees and breeze. Your skin prickles from the sun and from Alcina. Your only thought is that you wanted to win—needed to win.
You pause your dribble, holding onto the ball, tossing it in the air, swinging your racket with a newfound force. Neither you nor Alcina know where the ball disappears to when it bounces on her side of the court as it rolls. You grinned at her.
You can’t help but shout across to the woman who didn’t belong to you just yet. “Don’t worry, I’ll take extra care of you.”
You can see her pushing her tongue against her cheek. She positions herself focused. You pull an extra ball out of your pocket and repeat your earlier actions.
If you were going to play with fire, you might as well scorch yourself to cinders.
***
Your short little match has you beating her forty-love. You’re both sweating and flushed. You meet her at the net, tucking your racket beneath your arm. Your eyes fall to her chest, the rapid rise and fall, and you flicker them up to her face.
“I have one thing to say.” You whisper.
Alcina turns her head towards you, tucking a dark strand behind her ear, and a dark lock falls against her forehead.
“Go ahead.” She responds in kind.
“I don’t want you to regret this.”
She raises her brows. Her grey eyes widen, and she looks away, sniffing.
“Oh. I certainly won’t. My marriage is a simple act of convenience and show.” She pushes her tongue against her cheek. “I just want to feel desired.”
Desired?
You knit your brows together, opening your mouth.
“What else?” You ask, cocking your head. Your fingers are playing with the net.
Her cheeks were a bright red. You can blame the heat and your game.
“Desired. Wanted. Worshipped.” She lists as she storms towards the bench, tossing her racket to the ground.
You click your tongue, turning your wrist to stare at the time. Half an hour before you needed to leave, and if she was permitting you. You wouldn’t deny her the things she was looking for. You would make her feel desired, wanted, and worshipped.
You give her space, letting her dab away at her heated skin. Your skin was sticky and cool from the breeze that swept through. You reach out for her wrist, forcing her to sit. She sits staring up at you.
“Forget I said—”
You bury your hands in her thick, dark tresses, tilting her head to look at you.
“Anything.” She finishes, her hands rest on your hips.
You kick her feet apart, sliding your leg between, feeling the heat she excretes to meet your knee. You drag a hand out of her hair, letting a finger trace her brow, cheeks, lips and nose.
“What a shame.” You breathe, tightening your other hand, letting the other hold the chain link fence while you inch your knee closer. “I was about to do all those things you listed and even more.”
Her eyes droop, and you lean down, your mouth close to hers, feeling the stutter of her breath.
“Does that sound good?”
Her lashes flutter, followed by her breathy answer.
“Yes.”
Your lips meet hers in a ghost of a chaste kiss. You yank her head back, surprising her.
“Good. Now show me that cunt you were teasing me with yesterday.”
Her eyes were closed, savouring the brief meeting of your lips. Her fingers grip your shirt tightly. She lowers one hand to inch her skirt higher, exposing her bare cunt to you.
“Fuck.” You groan. “I can’t wait to taste you. I want to be inside that beautiful cunt. I want you.”
Her head falls back, arching her back, and a quiet whimper leaves her the moment she presses herself against your knee. Her breaths are beginning to become ragged.
You lean down again, planting your lips against hers. Her mouth parting to grant you the pleasure of sliding your tongue against hers. She lets out the most lewd of sounds that have you reeling her closer. Your hand flies away from the chain link fence, cupping her breast to squeeze.
You suck on her tongue, getting her back to bow, and her increasingly wet core drenches your knee. You grin, letting go.
“Look at you.” You whisper, “So wet and ready for me.” You trail your lips against her jaw. You leave the side of her neck, and you taste the saltiness of her skin mixed with her perfume.
She fists your shirt with one hand, expelling an uneven breath. Cheeks rosy and flushed. “Yes—no. Not out here.”
You press your nose against her beating pulse, inhaling. “But you smell so good, and fucking you out in the open air is only right.” Feather-light was your kiss against her neck.
Your grip on her hair loosened as you began to lower yourself. You pull your knee away, sinking lower. Your lips press wet kisses down to her collarbone and cleavage. Her hands gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles pale, and mouth falling agape.
“It’s okay.” You whisper against her chest. “It’s just us.”
She briefly stiffens, her eyes scanning around. You move lower, letting your hands wander against the inside of her thighs, spreading her legs wider. You stroke her left thigh, tilting your head as you bite on your lower lip. Your eyes flicker to her face. The uneven pattern of her breaths, and she shakes her head, pressing her lips into a tight line
You were at paradise's doors as you lowered your hands to her calves, draping her legs over your shoulders. You scoot her closer to the edge of the bench. She took a shuddering breath.
Paradise, dripping in a river that gleamed between. Your mouth was completely parched at the sight. Rosy. Beautiful. Completely wet. Puffy. You soothe your hand against the smooth skin of her pillowy thigh, becoming taut. You dive in, trailing the flat of your tongue against her folds to her clit.
There was a sudden gasp of breath the moment your tongue met her. Her head fell back as she stared at the crisp, clear sky. You watched her elegant throat, the vein in her neck thumping. Salty and distinctly something uniquely hers lingers on your first swipe. You swipe again. She lifts herself an inch up from the bench, knuckles white. You dig your fingers into her thigh.
“Easy.” You murmur, planting kisses around her labia. “Just a little taste to intoxicate me. I’ll give you what you want.”
You press your nose against the crevice of her thigh. Your breath is hot. Inhale. Exhale. Your mind is hazed with pure lust. You move back to her centre, pressing the flat of your tongue against her clit, and slowly trailing the tip to flick. You do this a few times before you suck her clit into your mouth. Her hand flying into your head, fisting your hair tightly as she bucked against your mouth. You pull away, making a quiet pop sound.
The goddess above you moans. You repeat the same suction and pop. Her thighs quiver as she presses against your head. You hotly murmur against her swollen nerve, “I know. You’ll get to ride your high, love.”
You suck harder, sliding a hand between you, coating your fingers at her entrance.
“Oh!” The heel of her foot digs into your back, clamping her thighs harder around your head. “Ye—yes—yes.” Her hand flies away from the bench, looking for something to hold onto to pull at. The other keeps your head between her legs.
You hum around her clit, sliding your coated fingers into her heat, and her walls coil around your fingers. She certainly couldn’t contain herself, nails digging into your scalp. You pulled your wet mouth away, hissing. “Fuck. You’re so tight.”
She tilts her head down, lips swollen and smeared. Eyes brimming with unshed tears from her neck up, she was fully splotched, crimson. Her thighs loosen around your head.
She was about to say something, but you curled your fingers upward, pressing the pad of your thumb against her clit, and circling.
“Oh god.”
You grin, replacing your thumb with your mouth. From the way her insides clench your fingers and how wet she is. She was close to release. You notice your own arousal against the cotton of your underwear, sticking close to your skin. You hump the air, listening to the salacious sound of her cunt echoing against nature. You replace your thumb with your mouth.
“Mhm.” You swirl the tip of your tongue against her twitching nerve. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” You pump your fingers steadily.
“Mm. Mhm.” She strains, again her thighs quivering, her back bowing and lifting herself from the bench. Her head hits the back of the fence.
Your free hand slides beneath the hem of her shirt, running your palm against the skin of her stomach. You clamp your lips around her clit, and she lets go. One elongated moan, her hand clamping over her mouth as she rocked her hips to both your mouth and fingers. She clenched your fingers tightly as you slowed your pumps. The heel of her foot is digging into your back. Her eyes were shut, expelling a breath as she slipped away. Legs shaking. Her swollen lips were licked, cheeks stained from loose tears. She laughs against her hand, running it through her hair as she stares down at you.
You keep your cheek against her thigh. You keep your fingers inside of her, basking in her warmth and the fluttering around them. You sit up, tilting your head up to stare at her. Her darkened and sleepy eyes. She leans just enough to lick your wet lips and grins. You kiss her instead, and she melts.
You begin to pump your fingers again, and she lets go of your mouth, and her words are breathy against your lips.
“If you do that. I will come again.” She hisses.
“Good. I want you to.”
***
From then on, it’s a blur. You had made her come again on the bench, and a third time in the guest bedroom she had dragged you to. To your surprise, she had made a mess on that third orgasm.
Your chest was sticking to her back, while you pumped three digits into her greedily. Your other hand covers her mouth to quiet her, and you rut against her ass. You never look away from clear grey eyes. You spill words of praise to her, telling her just how delicious she is coming undone for you. How gorgeous she is.
“You’re beautiful.” You rasp against her shoulder.
Her eyes soften, and her voice is quiet. “Am I?”
She tightens around your pumping fingers. You plant a kiss against her shoulder.
The sun filtering through the slit of the curtains casts a golden glow in the guest bedroom. Alcina’s skin illuminates warmly beneath the light—lascivious noises from between her legs. You’re sweaty and sticky, and you wanted to keep her like this. You curse her spouse for not lavishing her in this way, but you also thank them for not doing so.
Gently, this time you say it again. “Yeah. You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes well up. “Hm. Don’t go all soft on me. That’s not what I need right now.”
You press your forehead against her shoulder. “Yeah. Alright.”
You picked up your pace with your fingers, harder and faster. Snaking your other hand down to circle her aching nerve.
“Don’t you dare!” She turns her head away, burying part of her face into the sheets.
You feel the familiar clench that she does around your fingers. “Oh? What if I stop? Then what? Maybe I want you to make a fucking mess, love. I know this greedy cunt that is squeezing around my fingers can do that for me, yeah?” You tease, slowing your fingers on purpose, and the other draws away from her clit.
She looks back at you. “Don’t…”
You grin wildly; you pull your fingers out. “Don’t what?”
“Oh, you cocky little—”
You shove your fingers back in, repeating this as she curses at you. Her toes curl into the sheets, and her back arches off the mattress.
“Fuck—oh! Fuck.”
You watched the mess she made as it gushed out while she convulsed around your fingers. Her hands fisting the sheets beneath. Legs slightly up in the air, panting. You slowed your fingers. She tried pushing you away.
“Enough—enough.” Her voice was shaky, eyes closed, but the little smirk on her lips told you enough.
Alcina had had her own fun with you in the privacy of the guest room. Your mind was in a haze as you drifted off into a deep sleep. Alcina’s fingers are drawing a lazy pattern against your skin—tangled limbs and sheets. You had buried your face into her chest. Skin sticking to hers. That is what you remember.
You wake up to a sliver of light hitting your face. Warm and parched. Hungry. The sound of running water. You bury your face into the sheets, groaning and an ache that settles across your body. The water fades into the rummaging clatter of containers and soft humming. You remain still, staring at your bare wrist. You're resting at the foot of the bed. Your chest swells, the endorphins fade, and panic settles in.
You remember. You shouldn’t be here. You were supposed to leave hours ago. The bed you’re in is like quicksand, slowly swallowing you whole. A door creaks open, and you shift to turn.
Alcina. Wet. Fresh. Clean. She was working face cream into her face. A silk robe tied tightly and accentuating her curves marvellously, with a deep V-neck opening where her breasts are visible. You press your thighs together.
“Good morning.” She greets.
You blink, offering a sheepish response. “Morning.”
You sit up. “Um.” You pause, knitting your brows.
She pauses her lathering, arches a brow and sighs. “It’s around six, and you don’t have to worry about running out the back door.” She drops her hands to her hips. “I imagine you're hungry. I left you a spare towel and toothbrush. I had your clothes from yesterday taken to be washed, and they’ll be here on the bed.”
Again, you blink.
“Your watch is on the nightstand.” She gestures.
“Okay.”
She wrings her fingers now. “Do you have plans today?”
“Oh. Uh. I have a lesson at ten today, and I have to be at the country club for a group lesson around two.”
She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth.
“I can come back here if you’d—I mean.”
She releases her bottom lip. “Yes. You can come back.” She answers your invitation to return. “Shower, please.”
“Right of course.” You scurry out of the tangled sheets, fumbling into the ensuite.
You catch the sound of her deep sigh, which turned into a soft laugh. The final scene you look at before closing the door is the soft smile on her bare lips, her fingers playing with the lapel of her robe, and you grin like an idiot.