Back at uni in England, the crisp autumn air hit me like a slap after the endless sun of the south of France. I'd been home for a couple of weeks now, my lectures on veterinary biology had started up again, all about animal anatomy and pathology, but my mind kept drifting back to Laurent. His deep laugh, those strong hands gripping my hips, the way his thick black cock had stretched me open and turned me into someone I barely recognised. I'd wake up sweaty and aching in the middle of the night, my fingers slipping between my thighs as I replayed every thrust, every moan, and I missed the feeling.

I rolled over in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs like they'd been in a fight, and groaned at the sunlight stabbing through the thin curtains. I dragged myself up, splashing water on my face in the tiny sink, trying to shake off the fuzzy edges of the morning.

A new year at university brought the usual procession of freshers' nights and terrible nightclub music. While my friends were all about finding their next great romance, I was on a different mission—a sort of half-hearted attempt to recreate a feeling. I figured if I could just get laid again, maybe the ache in my bones would finally subside. It was a stupid, naive thought, and it didn't take long for me to realise it.

First, there was Tom from the rugby team. His room was a chaotic mess of dirty laundry and protein powder tubs. He was all biceps and bravado, but as he fumbled with my jeans, I could already tell it was going to be a letdown. His touch was hesitant, his movements a clumsy caricature of what I craved. He wasn't commanding; he was just another boy trying to prove himself, and I felt nothing but a hollow disappointment. I left as soon as I could, the chill of the night air a sharp contrast to the awkward heat of his room.

Then there was Liam from the film society. He was skinny and shy, all nervous energy and big glasses, and I thought his quietness would be a better fit. Maybe he’d be more intimate, more tender. It wasn't. We stumbled back to my place after a few too many drinks. He was hesitant, almost apologetic in his movements, and I found myself getting frustrated. 

I wanted to feel something, anything, but all I felt was the familiar ache of absence. He was a nice guy, and the sex was fine, but it was just that—fine. It was a lukewarm cup of tea when I craved a shot of pure, unadulterated brandy. Each hurried thrust, each clumsy kiss, only served as a stark reminder of what I had left behind in France. The memory of Laurent’s strong hands and confident touch was a ghost that haunted my bed, making every other man seem pale and insubstantial.

Back at my place, I was getting ready for what was probably the first non-club-related thing I’d done with anyone from my course. I wore my usual daily attire, some ripped denim jeans and a cropped pink tank top underneath my cream oversized hoodie. 

A girl in my course, Rebecca and I had gotten closer over the past few weeks, bonding during labs. I’d confessed my struggles with the course material and my frustration with the lack of progress. That's when she'd offered to introduce me to her grandad, a retired vet. I had jumped at the chance, knowing he was the secret to her success. She was a couple of years older than me, and her confident energy was infectious. She was tall and statuesque, with skin the colour of rich mahogany and a crown of tightly coiled braids that framed a face I now knew well enough to recognise the subtle hints of a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her voice was smooth like honey, and her laugh could fill a room.

I was finishing up a last-minute check of my notes when I heard a firm knock on my front door. It was her. I grabbed my bag, and we headed out into the crisp autumn air. The walk to the bus stop was easy, filled with talk about class and the latest campus gossip. It felt good to be doing something that had nothing to do with recreating a feeling I’d only ever experienced once.

The bus rumbled and squeaked as it pulled away from the stop. We found a couple of seats near the back, the low hum of the engine and the soft chatter of other passengers filling the space. I looked out the window at the passing streets, feeling a small knot of nerves tighten in my stomach.

"You're quiet," Rebecca said, nudging me gently with her elbow.

I turned to face her. "I just feel like I'm so far behind everyone else, and I'm hoping your Grandad can give me some good pointers."

She shook her head. "He will, he's really helped me. He's just a big softie who loves to talk shop." She paused, her expression softening. "He's the one who got me into all of this, you know? My mum wanted me to be a lawyer, but I used to spend every summer at his practice."

I felt a genuine smile spread across my face. "That's incredible. My parents… they're not really into animals."

"It's a gift, having someone like him," she said, her voice full of affection. "He's seen it all. I swear, he knows more about animal pathology than half our professors combined. He's a bit old-school, but he's brilliant."

The bus slowed, and the driver announced the next stop. Rebecca stood up and pulled the bell cord. "This is us," she said. "Just a short walk from here."

As we stepped off the bus, the air felt different—cleaner, a little colder. We walked down a quiet, tree-lined street, the houses getting bigger and more spread out with each step. I felt a weird mix of excitement and unease. Who was this man who had a high influence on my friend? And what could he possibly teach me that I hadn't already read in a textbook?

The house was a surprise. It was a proper home, with a well-tended garden and a bright red door. I followed Rebecca up the path, my sneakers crunching on the gravel. The lawn was perfectly manicured, a vibrant green that seemed to defy the chilly autumn air. A rosebush, though past its prime, still clung to a few defiant red blooms beside the front door. The house itself was a two-story brick building with large, clean windows and a slate roof. It looked sturdy and lived-in, not new and sterile. It had a warm, welcoming feel to it, a sense of quiet history that immediately put me at ease. I followed Rebecca up the path, and she pushed the door open without even knocking, calling out, "Grandad? We're here!"

A deep voice boomed from somewhere inside. "In here, my girl!"

We stepped into a hallway lined with framed photos—old black-and-white pictures of a young Black man and a smiling woman in a wedding dress, with a series of professional portraits of dogs. The air smelled of old books and something else, something warm and herbal. Rebecca led me into a living room dominated by a huge armchair and fireplace. Sitting in the armchair, a book in his lap, was her grandfather.

He was a big man, with a solid, powerful build and a huge beer belly. He was bald, with a neatly rough grey beard and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. His face was a deep, rich brown that looked like it’d seen a lot of sun. He had kind eyes, but there was a sharpness to them, a look that seemed to take in everything at once. He was wearing a simple shirt and trousers, but his presence was commanding. 

He put his book down and rose to greet us, his smile wide and genuine. "Rebecca! And this must be the one who wants to learn my secrets." He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room. He took my hand in a firm, warm grip. "Pleasure to meet you, my dear. Call me Reggie."

He gestured to the sofa, and we sat down. Rebecca started talking about our recent lectures, her grandad listening intently and occasionally asking a probing question that made me realise just how little I really understood. I was quiet at first, feeling a bit out of my depth, but the longer he talked, the more I relaxed. His passion for the subject was infectious. He spoke about the animals he had treated with such reverence, such profound respect. It was a world away from the sterile diagrams in our textbooks.

"You're not just learning the names of bones," he said, looking directly at me. "You're learning how a creature is built to move. You're not just memorising the signs of disease. You're learning to read a story in a cat's posture, in a dog's eyes."

He walked out of the room and came back with a thick, worn textbook from a shelf and flipped through the pages. It was full of his own handwritten notes and diagrams. He pointed to a drawing of a horse's leg, explaining the muscle structure in a way that made perfect sense. It was like a lightbulb had been switched on. For the first time since coming back to England, I felt a spark of something new and different—a real intellectual excitement that had nothing to do with the carnal, physical ache I had been chasing.

We must have talked for at least half an hour. Reggie had this way of explaining things that made the complex parts of veterinary science seem simple and logical. I was completely engrossed, hanging on his every word, when Rebecca’s phone buzzed from her pocket. She pulled it out, her face going from relaxed to stressed in an instant.

"Oh, no," she mumbled, standing up. "I'm so sorry, Grandad. That was Dad. Mum's broken her ankle and she's at the hospital. I need to get back."

Reggie's kind face tightened with concern. "Broken her ankle? How? Which hospital?" he asked, his voice now serious.

Rebecca looked flustered, her gaze shifting away from him. "She just fell. And it's fine, Dad's with her. I need to go."

Reggie waved a hand dismissively. "Don't you worry about it, girl. Family comes first. Go on, get going."

Rebecca hesitated, glancing between her grandfather and me. "You can stay for a bit if you want?" she asked me.

"Yeah, of course," I said, a little startled by the sudden shift. "Go on, I'll be fine."

She gave her grandad a quick hug, a final "sorry again!" and then she was gone, the front door clicking shut behind her. The sudden silence was noticeable. I felt a pang of awkwardness, but he didn't seem to notice. He just smiled, settled back into his armchair, and picked up the textbook.

"Well then," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Where were we?"

Reggie leaned forward then, his elbows thumping the table like he was settling in for the long haul, and launched into this tale about his first solo call as a young vet, out in the sticks with nothing but a rusty truck and a bag of tricks. It was this ewe in labour gone wrong, the farmer pacing like a caged bull while the night closed in thick and cold, and Reggie described wrestling the lamb free with his bare arms, elbow-deep in muck, the ewe's bleats turning to this triumphant huff when it finally breathed on its own. 

Reggie watched me over the rim of his mug, his dark eyes sharp, as if he was weighing me up. "It's not all heroics and happy endings, mind," he said, his deep voice softening a little. "There are days you lose one. Days you go home smelling of death and have to wash it off before you can even think about your dinner. You got the stomach for that part, Tamara?"

The question was direct, cutting through the excitement of his wild tales. "I think so," I said, my own voice steadier than I expected it to be. "That's what they don't teach you, right? They give us the biology, the chemistry of it all, but not the feeling of it. The weight of it."

He nodded slowly, a genuine smile spreading across his face, not just the polite one he’d given me when I arrived. "You'll do alright," he said, and for some reason, that simple praise felt more important than any grade I'd ever received. He leaned back again, and the stories started up once more, smaller ones this time. 

After another cup of tea and 30 minutes of swapping stories, Reggie pushed himself up from the table, his knees cracking softly in the quiet kitchen. "Enough old man ramblings," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Come on, let me show you the real treasures." He led me down a narrow hallway to a small room. It was clearly his study, a cosy space lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the air thick with the sweet, dusty smell of old paper and leather.

He pulled down heavy, leather-bound textbooks, their pages yellowed with age, and let me run my fingers over the intricate anatomical drawings. He opened a wooden box on his desk, revealing rows of old steel veterinary instruments, cold and heavy in my palm. Each piece had a story, from the forceps that delivered a prize calf to the suture needles that patched up a dog after a fight. I was completely captivated, absorbing every detail.

"Used to keep all my memories in here," he said, tapping a large, worn shoebox on a lower shelf. He lifted it onto the desk and opened the lid, revealing a jumble of old photographs. We sorted through them together, me sitting on the edge of the desk while he stood beside me, our shoulders occasionally brushing. 

There were black and white pictures of a much younger Reggie in a crisp graduation gown, his smile bright and confident. He was undeniably handsome, with the same broad shoulders and powerful build he had now, just leaner, sharper. A jolt went through me as I realised how much he reminded me of Laurent, that same easy confidence, that strong, solid presence.

He was handing me a photo of him wrestling a massive sheep for shearing when another picture slipped out from underneath it, falling face up on the desk. It was an old photo, clearly from a different era, and the edges were slightly curled. It was a holiday snap. A much younger Reggie stood on a sunny beach, laughing at the camera, wearing nothing but a pair of small, tight swimming trunks. My breath caught in my throat. His body was incredible, all lean muscle and that same rich, dark skin glistening under the sun. But it was the noticeable, heavy bulge in his trunks that made my mouth go dry. It was thick and prominent, a clear outline of the impressive size he was packing.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Reggie grumbled, snatching the photo up quickly with a slight flush on his cheeks. "How did that get in there? The wife must have tucked it away for a laugh." He tried to slide it away, but my eyes were glued to it. That image, the sheer size of him, hit me like a physical blow. It was Laurent all over again. The kind, grandfatherly mentor vanished, replaced by the image of a powerful, virile man. My face burned, and I quickly looked down at the photo of the sheep in my hands, pretending I hadn't seen a thing, but the picture of him on that beach was now burned into my mind.

"Everything alright there, Tamara?" he asked. His deep voice was quiet, but it carried a new edge that sent a shiver down my spine. It was not just a question of concern; it was a question that felt like it saw far too much.

I stammered a reply, my mind a complete blank. "Yes, fine. Just... got a bit hot all of a sudden." It was a weak excuse, but it was all I had. To make it look real, I tugged at the zipper of my pink hoodie and pulled it off, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Underneath, I had on my cropped tank top, and the cooler air of the room felt good against my flushed skin. As I adjusted the hem of my top, I saw his eyes flick down for a split second, a quick, almost imperceptible glance at my chest before meeting my eyes again.

His expression was unreadable, but a spark in his dark eyes told me he knew exactly what was going on. The comfortable, academic atmosphere we'd shared only moments before was suddenly charged with a different kind of energy, one that felt both thrilling and terrifying. He didn't comment on my flimsy excuse or the hoodie I had just peeled off. He cleared his throat, placed the embarrassing photo back in the shoebox, and gently closed the lid before placing it down on the table in front of us.

He gave a slow nod, the intensity in his expression softening back into a gentle smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. "Well, if you're not in a rush to go shopping, I have some proper albums with better stories than that old box." I followed him out of the room, up the stairs and into a bedroom, and he gestured towards the large double bed that took up most of the room. "Come, sit somewhere more comfortable."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I walked over and perched on the edge of the floral bedspread. Reggie went to a large wooden wardrobe in the corner, the doors creaking as he opened them. He reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a heavy, cardboard box. He carried it over and sat down on the bed next to me, so close that our thighs pressed together, his warmth seeping through my jeans.

He lifted the lid from the box and pulled out a thick, heavy photo album, laying it across our laps. He opened it to the first page, showing me faded pictures of a beautiful black woman with a wild crown of dark, curly hair, who was smiling directly at the camera. Her eyes, even in the faded colour of the old photo, seemed to sparkle with an inner light that was almost infectious. She was wearing a simple, colourful dress, and her smile was genuine and full of life, as if she was laughing at some private joke. There was an easy confidence in her posture. She wasn't posing so much as simply being.

"This was my Eleanor," he said, his voice a low rumble. He traced her face in one of the photos with a large, gentle finger. He was quiet for a moment before he turned his head, his dark eyes looking directly into mine. "You know," he said softly, "you remind me of her. Not in looks, obviously. But you have that same fire in your eyes. That spark."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and warm. Being compared to the love of his life sent a dizzying rush through me. It made me feel seen in a way I hadn't before. I looked down at the smiling woman in the photograph. "She was beautiful, Reggie,” I whispered. I hesitated for a second before asking, "Did you... I mean, after she was gone, did you ever meet anyone else?"

He shook his head slowly, his eyes still on the picture of Eleanor. "No," he said, the word simple and final. "You don't replace a fire like that. You learn to live with the warmth of the memory." He let out a long, quiet sigh and finally looked away from the album, his eyes seeming distant, "It gets lonely, though. The house is too quiet."

His confession of loneliness wrapped around my heart, making him seem vulnerable and human. Before I could think of what to say, he gave a little shake of his head, as if to clear the sadness, and turned the focus on me. "But enough about this old man. What about you? Surely a bright, pretty girl like yourself has a young man in her life?" He paused, his dark eyes searching mine.

I felt my cheeks flush. "Oh, no," I said quickly, looking directly into his eyes. "To be honest, I'm not really interested in boys my age. They're just so... immature." I thought of two one-night stands I had and the other clumsy advances from boys at uni. Then, taking a deeper breath, I added, "And I just got out of something complicated this summer."

The air felt thick with everything I hadn't said. Reggie's thumb stroked my knee lightly, a tiny movement that set my nerves on fire. He let out a low chuckle, a deep rumble in his chest that I felt through the mattress.

"Can't get much older than a dusty old relic like me," he said, his eyes twinkling with a playful light.

His joke, so perfectly timed, broke the spell of seriousness that had fallen over us. A real laugh bubbled up out of me, loud and maybe a little shaky from the nerves humming under my skin. I playfully shoved his shoulder, my hand landing on solid, unyielding muscle that surprised me. It felt like pushing against an old oak tree. "A dusty old relic? I don't think so," I said, my voice coming out breathy and light. I leaned in a bit, feigning a look of innocent curiosity as I tried to keep the grin from taking over my entire face. "So, come on then. How old are we talking, exactly? You can't be that ancient."

Reggie’s laugh rumbled through his chest again, a sound that felt more like a vibration than a noise. He leaned in, a wide smile on his face, and his dark eyes sparkled with a playful light.

"Cheeky," he said, the word a warm rumble in his chest. "Ancient? That depends on your definition. I'm 65, if you must know."

The number landed in the quiet room with an almost physical weight. Sixty-five. My mind fumbled with the fact, trying to reconcile it with the powerful, virile man sitting so close to me. The knowledge should have been a cold splash of reality, a jarring reminder of what was appropriate, but instead, it only heightened the thrill. It made his confidence even more potent, his undeniable presence even more commanding.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage. He shifted, and his hand came to rest on my thigh, a simple, friendly gesture that was clearly meant to be nothing more than a playful touch. But his palm was rough and warm against the denim of my ripped jeans, and the contact was a jolt, an electric current that raced through my body. He didn't linger; his hand was back on his knee in a second, as if he hadn't even noticed what he had done.

But I had. The laughter that had bubbled up inside me died in my throat. I couldn't look away, and I couldn't form a coherent thought. His expression had lost all traces of its previous playfulness; the look in his eyes was now direct, intense, and utterly commanding. It was the same look I had seen in Laurent's eyes just before he took me for the first time.

As he chuckled again, a deep, rumbling sound, I reached down and placed my own hand on top of his, which was now back on his lap, covering his big, warm fingers with my smaller, cooler ones. The contact sent a fresh jolt through my system. The playful light in his eyes flickered and was replaced by the same intense, watchful expression. The air in the room grew thick and silent, all banter forgotten. We just sat there, frozen on the edge of the bed, the unspoken question of what we were doing hanging between us like a physical thing.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of my own frantic pulse drumming in my ears. My brain felt like it had short-circuited. I didn't understand why this man, this kind, quiet grandfather, was having such a profound effect on me. The voice in my head was screaming. What are you doing? He’s old enough to be your grandfather! This is totally wrong! But the voice was just a distant noise, and my body was on autopilot. All the logic I usually relied on had deserted me, leaving only a raw, jumbled mess of want and confusion. I couldn't think, so I just acted.

Letting out a shaky breath, I broke our intense eye contact and leaned forward. Without any conscious decision, I rested my head against his chest. It was a solid wall of warmth, and I could feel the steady, slow beat of his heart under my ear, a stark contrast to my own racing one. The clean, simple scent of soap and old books filled my senses, and for a moment, I just closed my eyes, letting the sheer solidness of him anchor me. His arm came around my shoulders, pulling me gently into his side. The embrace was firm and secure, the hold you’d get from family, but the context of the last few minutes charged it with a completely different energy. It felt possessive.

We stayed like that for a long moment, me tucked into his side with his heart beating a steady rhythm against my temple. Then, I felt his voice rumble through his chest before I heard the words, his breath warm against my hair.

"Tamara," he said, his voice low and serious, cutting through the comfortable silence. "Are you Ok?" The question echoed in the small, quiet bedroom, demanding an answer I wasn't even sure I knew how to put into words. I took a shallow breath, the words forming in the darkness where my face was pressed against his shirt. I didn't lift my head; I just confessed to the steady rhythm of his heart. "I, I don’t know," I lied. I knew exactly what I wanted: the thrill, the lack of control, the feeling of being completely owned by a man who knew what he was doing. It was the answer to everything, but was Reggie the answer?

For a long moment, he said nothing. The arm around my shoulder remained steady, but I felt the muscles in his chest tense beneath my cheek. The slow, calm heartbeat I’d been listening to picked up its pace, becoming a harder, more insistent thump. Then, his other hand moved. He gently placed a single finger under my chin, a rough callus on the tip of it grazing my skin. He was unhurried, his touch firm and commanding as he tilted my head up, forcing me to pull away from the comfort of his chest and meet his eyes.

"You're beautiful, Tamara," he said softly, the words so unexpected and genuine that they hit me harder than any of his commanding glances. "Inside and out."

The voice in my head was still screaming at me, but I ignored it. My eyes dropped from his to his lips, a small, involuntary movement, and in that instant, all the excuses and questions and doubts dissolved. It was the answer to everything I'd been chasing. Seeing that photo of him packing had got me wet, and I wanted him. I didn't care if he was old, I just wanted to recreate that feeling again, that fullness and that extreme pleasure.

My body moved on its own. I leaned forward, closing the small, respectful distance he had created between us. His expression didn’t change, but I felt a small gasp of air leave his lungs just before my lips met his.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle question from me, and his response was immediate. His lips were surprisingly warm, and I felt the slight scratch of his beard against my skin as he met my kiss with a profound, unhurried tenderness that was a world away from the frantic passion I'd known. One of his hands came up to the side of my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone softly, and he let out a long, quiet sigh. It was a sound of relief, of a long-held tension finally being released.

The kiss deepened, becoming slower and more deliberate, and the desire coursing through me was a physical thing. My mind was a complete blank, and all I knew was that I needed to be closer. Driven by an instinct I didn't understand, I broke the kiss and, in one fluid motion, shifted off the edge of the bed and climbed into his lap.

I landed, straddling his thighs, and let out a soft gasp. I was higher now, looking down at him, my hands instinctively coming to rest on his broad shoulders for balance. His eyes widened, a flicker of pure shock in them, his hands hovering in the air for a moment as if he didn't know where to put them. In that split second of his hesitation, a surge of boldness I didn't realise existed washed over me. I was in charge. I looked down at his parted lips, the grey stubble of his beard, the confusion in his eyes, slowly being consumed by a dawning desire.

I didn't give him time to process it, to say no or push me away. I leaned down and captured his mouth with mine. It wasn't a soft, questioning kiss this time. It was a statement. I pushed my tongue past his lips, demanding a response, my hands sliding from his broad shoulders to cup his face, holding him exactly where I wanted him. For a second, he was still, and then a deep groan rumbled in his chest, and he was kissing me back, his initial shock melting into a raw, matching fire.

His hands finally settled on my waist, but they felt like an anchor, not a cage. I moved my hips, a slow, deliberate circle against the front of his trousers, searching for the hardness I had seen in that photograph. When I felt it rise against me, thick and solid, a thrill of pure power shot through my core. I was making this happen. I was taking what I wanted, and he was letting me.

Breaking the kiss, I looked down, my fingers finding the top button of his shirt. He watched me, his chest rising and falling heavily as I worked my way down, undoing each button with trembling but determined hands. I pushed the fabric aside, my palms pressing flat against the solid warmth of his chest. His skin was smooth, with a light dusting of coarse, greying hair that tickled my fingertips. I ran my hands over his wide shoulders and down his strong arms, feeling the coiled power in his muscles. A shudder ran through him at my touch, a deep, guttural sound rumbling in his throat.

The sound fueled my boldness. I pulled back slightly and, in one swift motion, hooked my thumbs under the hem of my cropped tank top and pulled it up over my head, tossing it onto the floor beside my hoodie. The cool air of the bedroom hit my bare skin, my nipples hardening instantly under his intense stare. As I shifted my weight, the heavy photo album we’d forgotten about slid from our laps, hitting the carpeted floor with a dull, heavy thud.

We both flinched at the sound. In the sudden silence that followed, his dark eyes locked onto mine, wide with a mixture of disbelief and raw hunger. His voice was a strained, husky whisper when he finally spoke, the sound barely escaping his lips.

"What are you doing to me?"

A slow, confident smile spread across my face. I leaned in close, my lips almost touching his as I whispered the answer. "I need this."

His breath hitched. Before he could respond, I reached behind my back, my fingers finding the clasp of my bra. With a soft click, it came undone. I shrugged my shoulders, letting the straps slide down my arms and freeing my tits. They felt heavy and sensitive in the cool air. His eyes dropped immediately, his stare fixed on my bare chest, a look of pure, undisguised hunger on his face, and a hot thrill shot through me. I loved the way he looked at them, like they were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Closing the distance between us, I crashed my mouth onto his again. The kiss was harder this time, more desperate. My bare skin pressed against his, the soft curves of my breasts squashing against his solid, hairy chest and the slight cushion of his beer belly. It felt real, powerful. I pulled back just enough to breathe, my command a husky whisper against his lips as I grabbed his shirt. "Take your shirt off."

He looked at me, his eyes dazed, a lifetime of emotions swirling in their dark depths. "It's been so long," he breathed, the words full of a raw vulnerability that made my core clench.

His vulnerable confession hung in the air, making my chest ache. I reached up and hooked my fingers into the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt. Leaning into him, I worked the fabric off his broad shoulders, pulling it down his arms until it was bunched around his wrists. He shrugged out of it the rest of the way, tossing it onto the floor.

"I'll make it worth the wait," I promised, my voice a low murmur.

That seemed to break a dam inside him. With a low groan, he lowered his head, his gaze fixed on my breasts. His mouth, warm and wet, closed over one nipple. The scratch of his beard and the soft pull of his lips sent a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to my core. A sharp gasp escaped my lips. My hands went to the back of his smooth, bald head, my fingers digging in as I pulled him in hard against me, arching my back to give him more. He took the hint, sucking more firmly, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak until I was writhing on his lap.

A desperate whimper escaped my lips as he suckled. "Oh god, Reggie." My hands slid from his head, down his bare chest, and landed clumsily on his waist. I started fumbling with the heavy buckle of his belt, my fingers shaking with a mixture of nerves and raw need. He let out a low chuckle against my skin and reached down, his large hands covering mine. Together, we unfastened the buckle and the button of his trousers.

He lifted his hips slightly from the bed, and he pushed his trousers and his boxers down his powerful thighs, bunching them around his knees. I looked down. Even through the thin fabric of his boxers, I could see the massive tent he was pitching. I couldn't resist any longer. I had to see it, feel it. My hand reached out, sliding inside the waistband of his boxers. The moment my fingers brushed against the hot, velvety skin, a gasp escaped me. "Oh fuck."

I pulled it out, my eyes going wide. He was huge, just as big as Laurent, but different, thicker, maybe (if that was even possible), with a dark, heavy circumcised head. My tiny, white hand, with its pink nail varnish, looked impossibly small as I tried to wrap it around his shaft. My fingers wouldn't even touch. I began to stroke him slowly, my thumb tracing the thick vein that ran along the top. He threw his head back against the headboard, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "Ahh, yes. That feels so good," he rasped. A wicked sense of satisfaction flooded me. I loved being in control.

As I stroked his thick shaft, his other hand came up, fumbling impatiently for the button on my jeans. I smiled, and I caught his hand with mine. "You're eager," I murmured, my voice husky. I slid off his lap, my bare feet landing softly on the carpet. Standing before him, I held his gaze as I unbuttoned my ripped jeans and pushed them down my legs, kicking them aside. Then, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slid them off too, leaving them in a small heap by my feet.

I stood there, completely naked, and saw his eyes wander from my tits down to my stomach, and finally settle on my shaved slit, visible in the gap between my toned legs. He let out a low groan, and I loved it, loved the hungry way he was devouring me with his eyes. My heart hammered in my chest. I was about to be stuffed with a huge black cock again, and I couldn't wait.

He shifted, moving back on the bed, his massive erection pointing straight at the ceiling. The pose was a clear invitation. I climbed onto the bed, crawling over the floral bedspread towards him. But just as I was about to climb on top of him, he stopped me with a look. To my shock, his voice was quiet, almost polite. "Can I taste you?"

The question, so gentle in the middle of all this raw heat, threw me for a second. I bit my lip, a shiver of anticipation running through me. Without a word, I moved up the bed, turning my body and straddling his head, lowering my hips until I was hovering right over his face.

His large, warm hands came up to my thighs, and then his thumbs gently parted my folds, exposing me completely. I held my breath. His tongue darted out, swiping a hot, wet stripe right down the middle of me. "Oh god, yes," I gasped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. A low moan escaped me as his tongue found my clit, flicking and swirling with an expert rhythm that sent shivers through my whole body. His hands moved, gripping my arse cheeks firmly, holding me in place as he tasted me more deeply.

Driven by a desperate need to have him in my mouth, I leaned forward, my hands bracing on the bed on either side of his hips. I lowered my head and took the thick, dark head of his cock between my lips. He was so massive I could only get the very tip in at first, my mouth stretching around its sheer girth. A deep groan vibrated up from his chest as I swirled my tongue around the smooth head. It felt like we were preparing each other, our mouths learning the taste and feel of one another before the main event.

I tried to take more of him into my mouth, wanting to swallow him whole, but it was impossible. He was just too thick. So instead, I wrapped my free hand around the base of his shaft, stroking him in rhythm with his tongue on my clit. After a few minutes of this frantic, mutual pleasure, lubing each other up, I pulled away, breathless. I took a deep breath, my whole body humming with need, and repositioned myself, straddling his lap so I was facing him.

He looked up at me, his expression serious. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Fuck yeah," I breathed, lowering myself just enough to press my wet folds against the head of his shaft. I started grinding against him, a slow, torturous slide that had him groaning and arching his hips.

"Tamara, wait," he gasped, his hands gripping my waist. "I don't have any protection."

I looked him straight in the eye. "Don't worry about it," I said, my voice steady, even though a reckless thrill was shooting through me. I wasn't on the pill, but I didn't care. I wanted all of him, no barriers. I wanted to feel him fill me up. I reached down between us, my fingers closing around his huge, slick cock. I guided the tip to my tight, wet entrance and braced myself, ready for the inevitable stretch and burn.

I pushed down, and the huge, thick head of his cock forced its way inside me. A sharp scream ripped from my throat. "AHH, FUCK! IT'S SO BIG!" The searing, stretching pain was intense, and for a split second, a flashback of Laurent at the pool flooded my mind: the shock, the water, the feeling of being taken. But then the image faded. This was different. I was on top. I was in charge.

"Tamara? Are you okay?" Reggie's voice was low, laced with concern, his hands gripping my hips gently.

He didn't move an inch, letting me get used to him. He leaned his head forward, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, "God, you're so tight."

A low moan rumbled in my chest, a mix of pain and burgeoning pleasure. "I know, you're fucking huge," I whimpered. I leaned down, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was a way to anchor myself, to give my body a moment to accept him, to let my tight pussy adjust to being filled so completely before I dared to move.

I broke the kiss, my breath coming in short, shallow pants. The initial searing pain was already starting to fade, replaced by a deep, aching throb. It was time. Gritting my teeth, I pushed down, my hips sinking slowly, inch by agonising inch. The feeling of him sliding deeper, stretching my tight walls wider than I ever thought possible, was breathtaking. The pain was still there, a dull burn, but it was being eclipsed by an incredible feeling of fullness, of being completely taken.

A deep, guttural groan was torn from Reggie's throat as I took more and more of him inside me. His hands gripped my hips tighter. Finally, I sank all the way, impaling myself fully on his massive cock, his pubic bone pressing firmly against my clit. I threw my head back, a long, keening moan ripping from my soul. "Oh my god... you’re so fucking deep. Oh fuck!"

I brought my head forward, my body trembling with the sheer intensity of being so completely stuffed. I rocked my hips experimentally, a slow, deliberate lift and then an even slower slide back down his thick shaft. A strangled groan escaped his lips. "Ahh, Tamara... yes, just like that."

"It feels so good," I gasped, finding a rhythm. I rose and fell, each movement deliberate, my tight walls stroking every inch of him. The feeling was exquisite, a deep, stretching pleasure that made my toes curl. I leaned forward until my bare chest was pressed against his, capturing his mouth in another deep, consuming kiss. We moved together, a slow, primal dance of skin, heat and breath.

I broke the kiss, resting my forehead against his, our eyes locked. "This," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion as I slid down on him again. "This is what I've been craving."

A switch flipped inside me. The slow, sensual pace was no longer enough. I needed more. I placed my hands flat on his chest for leverage, pushing myself up. Planting my feet firmly on the mattress on either side of his hips, I crouched over him, my body coiled like a spring. Then I started to fuck him, hard.

I slammed my hips down, taking every single inch of his thick cock with a wet slap of my arse against his crotch. "Fuck, yes!" I screamed, rising and crashing down again. The feeling of him hitting deep inside me was electrifying.

"Oh god, Tamara, that feels so good!" he groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hips, which had been still, started to thrust up to meet mine, our bodies colliding in a frantic, pounding rhythm. The bed frame began to creak under the force of our movements, our gasps and moans filling the quiet bedroom.

The pace was too wild, too frantic. On a deep upward thrust from him, my feet slipped on the bedspread, and I lost my balance, collapsing forward onto his chest with a startled yelp. Before I could push myself back up, his powerful arms wrapped around me like steel bands, pinning me against him.

"My turn," he growled, his voice a deep, commanding rumble against my ear.

"Reggie, wait," I gasped, trying to wriggle in his grip, but he held me fast.

But he didn’t, and then he began to thrust, a hard, fast rhythm that was all him. He drove up into me relentlessly, his power undeniable. "Oh fuck yeah, fuck you’re so warm and wet. You feel so good."

I’m glad he didn't wait because with him being in control, he was about to send me over the edge. "Oh fuck, yes! Oh god, Reggie, please don't stop, yes, yes, yes, fuck," I screamed, my head thrown back as he pounded into me. I could feel his balls slapping against my arse with each brutal thrust, the sound wet and obscene. The feeling of being completely overpowered was sending me over the edge. My orgasm was building fast, a hot, coiling knot deep in my belly.

Just as I felt the orgasm about to crash over me, he stopped. His powerful thrusts ceased, leaving him buried deep inside me, my body still trembling on a knife's edge of release. He used his grip on my waist and expertly moved me onto my side. I gasped as he settled behind me, pulling me tight against his chest. We were spooning, his thick pushing back inside, filling me from behind, his front pressed flush against my back. His arm wrapped around me, his hand finding my breast, while his other hand slid down between my thighs. The change in position, the sudden shift from frantic pounding to deep, grinding intimacy, was dizzying.

He held me steady against him, and instead of stopping, he began to move, a slow, deep rhythm of thrusts from behind. The new angle was incredible. The head of his cock pressed against something deep inside me, a spot I didn't even know I had, sending a sharp, electric jolt through my entire body. A loud gasp escaped my lips.

I couldn't help it. I had to see. I twisted my head and looked down between my thighs. The sight was unbelievably hot. I watched, mesmerised, as his huge shaft slowly pulled out of my wet hole, glistening, before he thrust back in deep. With every push, I could see how my swollen pussy lips stretched and engulfed his thick shaft, swallowing him whole. I was so tight, and he was so big, and the sight of it, the reality of him filling me so completely, was intensely arousing.

A low moan escaped my lips. "God, Reggie, that looks so hot," I breathed, my voice shaky. I craned my neck back as far as it would go, and he leaned forward, capturing my mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. As our tongues tangled, his free hand, which had been resting on my waist, slid down between my thighs.

He broke the kiss as his thumb found my clit, and I gasped. "Don't stop," I pleaded, reaching my own hand back to clutch his head, holding him close. He began to grind his hips, not thrusting, just pressing the head of his cock hard against that special spot inside me while his fingers worked magic on the outside. The dual sensations were unbearably intense. "Oh god, please, Reggie, more," I begged, my body arching back into him.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He started thrusting again, faster this time, pounding into me with a desperate, frantic rhythm. I was right there, on the very brink of exploding, and I could feel the tension in his body, the way he grunted with each hard slam, telling me he was just as close.

With my orgasm about to crash over me, I instinctively clenched my inner muscles, squeezing him as tightly as I could.

That was all it took.

I felt him shudder behind me, a deep, primal groan ripping from his throat. "FUCK, TAMARA!" he roared. At the same moment, I felt the first hot pulse of his release deep inside me, a searing jet that shattered my own control. A wild, high-pitched scream tore from my lungs. "OH GOD, REGGIE, YES!" My body convulsed violently around him as he continued to empty himself inside me, our voices tangling together in a raw symphony of release.

"Oh fuck, Oh fuck me!! Shit, Yes!" I screamed as my orgasm ripped through me. In the chaotic haze of pleasure, I found his mouth and kissed him, a messy, desperate kiss full of sweat and frantic energy.

In the chaotic, blinding haze of my orgasm, my eyes fluttered open. I looked back down between my legs, my body still spasming around him. I could see the base of his thick cock where it was buried inside me, pulsing with every fresh wave of his release. He was so deep, and the feeling of his hot cum flooding me made me feel so incredibly warm inside, a heat that spread through my entire body.

Then, it was over. My body went completely limp, and I collapsed boneless in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder. He held me tight, both of us panting, our hearts hammering against each other. I could still feel his cock throbbing, the last pulses of his release echoing as he slowly started to get soft.

We lay there for a long time, tangled in the sheets, his arms still wrapped around me. His voice was a low whisper against my hair. "I've never felt anything like that before." A moment passed, and I felt his warm cum begin to leak from between my legs. "Are you okay?" he murmured. "That was... intense." He pulled back just enough to look at my face. "You're beautiful."

His words made my heart ache in a good way. I gave him a soft smile and carefully rolled away from him, my muscles sore and trembling. As I sat up on the edge of the bed, a thick, pearly stream of his cum dripped from my pussy onto the floral bedspread. My eyes went wide. "Shit, there's so much," I said, a little stunned.

He let out a low chuckle, a deep, rumbling sound. "Well," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "After six years, what do you expect?"

His comment, so casual and revealing, caught me off guard. Six years. I looked at him, and a real, genuine laugh bubbled up out of me. He started laughing too, the sound filling the quiet room and breaking all the tension. Shaking my head and still smiling, I stood up and started gathering my clothes from the floor.

As I pulled on my hoodie, his expression turned serious. "Tamara," he said, his voice quiet. "About Rebecca... she can't know. About any of this."

I stopped what I was doing and looked at him, nodding immediately. "Of course not, Reggie. This is just between us. I would never."

He gave me a grateful smile and read out his phone number, as I tapped it into my mobile, saving his name simply as 'R'. I finished getting dressed, pulling on my trainers and grabbing my bag. I was at the bedroom door, ready to leave, when I glanced back. He was still lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows, a stray sunbeam from the window illuminating his powerful body. His cock lay soft against his thigh, glistening with my juices.

The sight sent a jolt of pure lust through me. I walked back over to the bed, a new idea taking root. I leaned over him, my hair falling forward, and took him into my mouth, sucking him clean with a few deliberate licks.

He let out a long, shaky breath, his eyes closing. "Oh shit, you are full of surprises," he murmured, his voice thick.

I looked up at him, a small smile on my lips. "I can't resist," I whispered. "Your cock is so addictive."

I gave him one last smile and left, my body feeling sore and deliciously used. The walk to the bus stop felt unreal. My panties were soaked as his cum was seeping through, and I could still feel the ghost of him deep inside me. My mind was a chaotic replay of the last couple of hours. The roaring fire, the kiss, his huge cock, the way he came inside me.

I was sitting on the top deck of the bus, watching the familiar streets roll by in a daze, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. My stomach did a nervous flip when I saw Rebecca's name on the screen. I took a deep breath and answered.

"Hey! How'd it go?" she asked, her voice bright and cheerful. "Did Grandad help you out? Is he not a total lifesaver?"

I had to bite my lip to stop a grin from spreading across my face. "Oh, it was... helpful," I said, choosing my words carefully. "He has a very... hands-on approach to teaching. It was pretty intense, actually."

"See! I told you! He's a legend. You feel like you're on the right track now?"

I thought about his cock filling me up, his cum leaking down my leg. "Yeah," I said, my voice a little breathless. "I definitely feel like he... filled in the gaps in my knowledge. I understand a lot more now."

"Brilliant! Knew he'd sort you out. Anyway, gotta run, just wanted to check in. See you in class tomorrow!"

The line went dead. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, a wave of guilt washing over me, quickly followed by a hot, thrilling flush of excitement.

The rest of the bus journey passed in a blur. I walked back to my dorm room like a robot, my mind miles away, still tangled in the floral bedspread in Reggie’s quiet house. I stripped off my clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor, and stepped into the tiny shower cubicle, turning the water on as hot as I could stand it.

As the steam filled the small space, I scrubbed my skin, but I couldn't wash away the feeling of him. I could still feel his hands on my hips, his mouth on my breast, the incredible, stretching fullness of his cock deep inside me. As the water ran down my thighs, I thought of his hot seed still inside me. I closed my eyes and imagined it, his cum swimming deep within my body, and a forbidden, possessive thrill shot through me. I loved the thought of it, of being filled with him completely.

Then, a cold, hard dose of reality hit me. Oh, shit. Protection. We hadn't used any. A trip to the pharmacy tomorrow morning was now non-negotiable. It was another secret to keep.

I thought of Tom and Liam, the fumbling boys who felt like they belonged to a different lifetime. They weren't men, not like Laurent, and not like Reggie. Laurent had been an accident, a storm that swept me away. But with Reggie, I had taken control. And I loved knowing I was the first woman he had touched in 6 years.

I turned off the water and stood dripping, my reflection foggy in the steamed-up mirror. The girl staring back at me wasn't the same one who had left for a tutoring session. Her eyes were darker, her mouth looked softer. The naive vet student was gone, replaced by a woman who craved more big cocks and both just happened to be black. I didn't know what would happen next, but as I dried myself off and saw the 'R' in my phone's contacts, my mind was already planning a discreet trip to the pharmacy. I knew one thing for sure: I wanted more!