Emily was fifty when the divorce finally went through. Eighteen months later, she still caught herself wondering, “What the hell do I even have left?” Her ex kept the house in West Lake Hills, the Labrador named Ozzy, and—naturally—the twenty-nine-year-old Pilates instructor who loved showing off her brand-new tits on Instagram. Plenty of people told her she had nothing to complain about; after all, she’d walked away with the two-bedroom condo on South Congress. To Emily, it still felt like too little when most nights ended with her either furious or just plain bored.

That Friday in July was brutally hot. The skimpy clothes she’d stopped being afraid to wear clung to her skin. Karen—the only single friend she’d somehow managed to hold onto through the marriage—refused to take no for an answer about a party some EDM guy with 300k followers was throwing at a rented house in West Austin.

“You need to get laid, babe,” Karen had said, dead serious. “Or at the very least drink something that isn’t a sixty-dollar Pinot you’re only buying to get wasted.”

The words stung, but Emily decided to treat them like a dare.

She slipped into a tight black dress she hadn’t worn since before the wedding, added high heels and red lipstick. When she checked herself in the mirror, she actually liked what she saw for the first time in eighteen months. Her small breasts were still firm—she’d never had kids—her waist still defined, and her long legs looked even better in the lace-trimmed thigh-highs.

“Fuck it,” she told her reflection. “Tonight I’m picking someone up.”

***

The house was already slammed when they rolled up. Even with all the neon strobing like some psychedelic fever dream, Emily clocked immediately how young the crowd was. It made her shrink back into herself.

“Let’s get a drink,” Karen said the second she felt Emily’s confidence deflate.

They pushed through to the makeshift bar in the kitchen. Karen leaned over the counter like she owned the place.

“Two top-shelf tequilas.”

The bartender didn’t blink—just nodded and reached up.

“Tequila?” Emily hissed. “You trying to murder me? That shit’s brutal.”

“Exactly,” Karen shot back. “You need something strong enough to shut up that voice telling you you’re too old to make these boys hard. Huge difference.”

Emily didn’t argue. She just doubled down on the promise she’d made to her mirror.

Two shots in ten minutes, and she was laughing too loud, moving on the dance floor with Karen still orbiting nearby. Then Karen started drifting—distracted by some guy Emily never even saw appear. Emily let her go. Way better than playing chaperone. The bass swallowed her whole; her body moved without permission, and for the first time in forever, her head was blissfully empty.

The high felt so damn good, she wanted another hit. She fought her way back to the bar.

“On more tequila, please.”

Down the hatch. She lingered there, swaying, letting the music do whatever it wanted with her. Then she saw him.

Couldn’t be a day over twenty-five. Messy brown hair, a full sleeve of tattoos that didn’t match, and green eyes already locked on her like the night’s ending was a done deal. He walked straight over, Lone Star dangling from his fingers, lazy grin dialed to ten.

“Well, damn,” he drawled once he was close enough. “Finally found somebody who can actually keep up.”

Emily just smiled—half coy, half caught.

“Want another?” he asked, wicked tilt to the word.

She glanced around, suddenly understanding the room.

“Yeah, I do.”

He flicked two fingers at the bartender. Two fresh shots appeared. Before he could grab his, Emily threw hers back like water.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You trying to erase the whole damn planet tonight?”

“No,” she said, locking eyes. “Just trying to remember what being alive feels like.

He grinned, dropped his gaze straight to her cleavage, then let it drag down the rest of her—slow, deliberate, lingering on her legs brushing together under the lace. When his eyes climbed back up, he said:

“I can definitely help with that.”

She gave a low, throaty laugh.

“Hmm. Awfully sure of yourself for someone whose name I don’t even know.”

“Bryan,” he said. “And you are…?”

“Emily. Pleasure, Bryan.”

Half an hour later, they were making out in the dark corner of the backyard. Alcohol, barbecue, and weed hung thick in the air, bass now a dull heartbeat through the wall.

Bryan’s mouth was pure anesthetic. She melted into him, didn’t care how tight his hands clamped her waist or how hard he yanked her against him.

“How old are you?” she murmured between kisses, that old unease flickering again among all the twenty-something girls.

“Old enough to know exactly what I want,” he said against her neck, teeth grazing her earlobe, “and young enough to want it twice.”

Heat flooded her. Her panties soaked through in seconds. Her legs shook; a soft moan slipped out before she could stop it. She gave herself over completely—until his hand slid under the hem of her dress.

“Wait—” She caught his wrist, steadied herself. “Not here. Somewhere nobody’s gonna stumble in.”

“Got a room upstairs nobody’s using. Organizers only.”

“And how exactly are we getting in?”

Bryan tugged a lanyard and badge from under his shirt. She smirked.

“Lead the way, kid.”

***

They stumbled up the stairs laughing, Bryan steering her toward the bedroom at the far end of the hall. Once inside, they flicked on the overhead light and fell into another kiss, but they quickly killed it again, switching on the two low, reddish lamps that flanked the king-size bed instead.

They tumbled onto the mattress. Bryan climbed over her, sliding a hand inside her dress and locking eyes with her, hungry and unapologetic.

“God damn, you’re fucking hot,” he whispered against her ear. His fingers were already slick as they traced her skin in ways she’d almost forgotten were possible.

She felt him brush the edge of her panties. A small, involuntary sound escaped her throat.

“Jesus, you’re soaked,” he breathed.

He tugged the lace aside and pushed two fingers deep inside her without hesitation. Emily moaned—loud, shameless—as her body opened for him like it had been waiting years.

“This is all your fault, you little shit,” she rasped, already fumbling with his zipper. He sprang free, heavy and hard, and for a second she genuinely wondered if she could take him. “Christ, is that thing even real?”

“Doubt it all you,” he grinned, wicked and boyish, “but get that dress off before I rip it off you.”

She did. In seconds, she was down to nothing but bra, panties, and sheer lace pantyhose. Bryan peeled off his shirt, revealing tight abs and a dark tribal tattoo curling over his left shoulder. Then he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed.

“Spread your legs for me, Emily.”

She did. He yanked the soaked lace to the side and buried his mouth against her. No teasing, no warning—just wet, perfect heat. Emily arched hard, grinding herself against his tongue, fingers twisting in his hair.

“Fuck—don’t stop. God, your tongue is fucking unreal!”

He devoured her like he’d been starving for it, then added those clever fingers again. The combination short-circuited her brain.

“Holy shit…” She was shaking already. “Kid, you’re way more man than I bargained for.”

She couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore—just the slick, relentless rhythm of his fingers and tongue, her own wetness coating everything. She felt filthy and perfect at the same time.

“I can’t—fuck—I’m gonna come, don’t you dare stop—”

One hand clawed the duvet, the other shoved his face deeper. She came hard, a sharp cry ripping out of her as she squirted against his mouth. She screamed his name; if the whole damn house heard, she didn’t care.

Bryan didn’t give her time to recover. He surged up and kissed her, slow and deep, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She clutched his head, greedy for more.

“Now let’s see if this pussy’s as grown-up as the rest of you,” he growled, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

She was still reeling from the aftershocks when he notched that thick head at her entrance and started pushing in, using nothing but her slick to ease the way. Emily’s eyes flew wide.

“Slow—fuck—slow down, you’re huge—”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough with restraint, sinking deeper. “I know you can take it. Fuck… so damn tight! You sure you’re not a virgin?”

“Shut up,” she half-laughed, half-gasped, “you’re just obscenely big—now quit talking and fuck me.”

She wrapped her arms around him, nails ranking down his back. Bryan started moving—slow at first, then harder, faster, the bed frame groaning in protest. She could feel every inch of him, his balls slapping against her every thrust, and the thought that she was actually taking him made her dizzy with lust.

“You liking that, cougar?” he taunted, breathless. “Like getting fucked like this?”

“Harder,” she demanded, sweat sliding between her breasts. “Fuck me harder, Bryan—break me!”

She locked her lace-stockinged legs around his waist and rolled her hips to meet him, the pantyhose dragging over his sweat-slick skin. They were a mess of heat and friction and raw need.

Then, without warning, he pulled out, flipped her onto her stomach, and yanked her hips up. A sharp slap landed on her ass, and he slammed back inside in one brutal stroke.

Emily moaned into the mattress, hoarse and wrecked.

“You're gonna come again, aren’t you?” he said, fisting her hair and pulling her back. “I wanna feel that pussy milk my cock the way you just soaked my face.”

She buried her face in the duvet and bit down, but the sound still tore out of her. She reached back, spreading herself wider for him.

“Fuck—FUCK—I'm coming again!”

He laughed, low and filthy, and didn’t let up for a second.

“Stop—” she finally gasped, “stop, please!”

He slowed, then stilled, still buried deep.

“What's wrong, cougar?”

“I'm too sensitive,” she panted, pulling off him and cupping herself protectively. “You're gonna ruin me. I can’t take any more.”

Bryan stretched out over her, kissing her slow and lazy, letting her catch her breath. She melted into it, the tenderness somehow dirtier after everything they’d just done.

A few minutes later, he slid back inside her, easy this time.

“I still haven’t cum, baby,” he murmured against her ear. “But I’m close, I swear.”

He picked up speed fast, and she could feel him swelling, throbbing.

“Not inside!” she warned, glancing back with a wicked little smile. “Pull out! I wanna taste you.”

“You sure?”

“Do it!”

He groaned, thrust twice more, then yanked out. Emily spun around and dropped to her knees just in time. Bryan fisted himself once, twice, and came with a guttural growl—thick ropes, and spilling across her tongue, her chin, dropping onto her breasts. She swallowed what she could, then gently sucked him clean while he shuddered and stroked her hair.

“Jesus fuck!” he exhaled, still twitching. “You're unreal.”

Emily smiled, licked a stray drop from her lip, then lazily cleaned the rest off her chest with her fingers and sucked them too.

“You married?” he asked, half-laughing, still catching his breath. “You scared the shit outta me when I said I was close.”

“Divorced,” she said, finally standing so they were eye-to-eye, both of them sweaty and wrecked. “And now that I remember how good this can be, I’m not about to get knocked up by the first gorgeous twenty-and-whatever-year-old who rearranges my insides.

She let the silence hang for a beat, then smiled slowly.

“But Bryan? I have a feeling I’m gonna want seconds. Soon.”

***

The next day, Emily came to around noon. She knew she’d showered once she got back to the condo, but the trip home from the party was a total blank. The tequila had done its job. Bryan’s cum was drying on her chest and chin.

Her head throbbed just enough to be annoying, and her pussy felt tender in the best kind of way. She dragged herself out of bed and headed straight for coffee.

Karen rang before the first cup was done. She needed details—how Emily was holding up, how wild the night had actually gotten.

Emily listened, sipped, and realized it still felt too raw, too brand-new to put into words. So all she gave her friend was a slow, satisfied smile Karen couldn’t see.

“It was fun,” she finally said. “Let’s do it again soon?”

**********

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