“Where do you want this box? It’s the last one,” my colleague Anton asked, waiting for me to appear; the rest of my stuff scattered all over the small one-room apartment floor.

“Just leave it somewhere. I don’t have the energy to deal with any more boxes today.” It was move-into-the-new-place day and we all had had more than enough of our fair share.

“Come, get a beer. The takeout is on the table. Where’s everyone else?”

“They had to leave for that baseball game, remember? I told them I would get the last boxes up.”

“Not much of a baseball fan?”

“Nah, I am not much into sports. Here," he handed me a beer and sat down next to me on the sofa with a grunt.

It was October, yet humidity hung in the air, making it unusually hard to breathe for this time of the year. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater in an attempt to cool down a little. The constant going up and down the stairs, carrying the seemingly endless amount of things I had accumulated during the past three years at my previous place, had left us a little breathy, disheveled, and tired.

Anton reached a hand up to brush the hair away from his eyes and I found myself staring at his tattoos. Intricate and colorful, they covered his forearms and disappeared beneath the sleeves. I wondered if there was a story behind each one and instinctively stretched a finger to trace the outlines of a black tree, branches spreading out like spider webs. Suddenly aware of what I was about to do, I stiffened and took my hand back, clasping it in my lap. What was I thinking?

“It’s okay,” he said almost in a whisper, moving within reach and taking a deep breath. I also moved closer, hoping he wouldn’t flinch at the cold of my touch. He didn’t. Instead, he stared at me with intensity, like my exploration fascinated him. I was so lost at the designs that I almost jumped when his thumb gently released to touch my bottom lip. I was unaware I was bothering it with my teeth, he let his hand linger there.

My breath hissed at the contact and in a daring move, so unlike me, I touched it with my tongue. Like it was the invitation he was waiting for, Anton leaned in and brushed his lips against mine. Tracing his jaw with my hand, I pulled him even closer, deepening the contact before he took my hair out of my ponytail and breathed in the scent. The gesture so intimate, that for a moment, I forgot to be shy and settled into his lap. My skirt rose indecently high on my legs and though I was wearing tights underneath, I felt exposed. His touch warmed my usually cold fingers and I finally gathered the courage to bury them in his hair.

His hands were roaming all over my back and then caught the hem of my sweater; the question obvious in his eyes. I jumped a little. I have always been small, bird-like, my breasts barely filling a B-cup and not expecting to undress in front of anyone today, I was wearing no bra, just a warm cashmere camisole. Not exactly the most seductive way to present what was barely there.

Anton took my silence for consent and pulled the sweater over my head, spilling my hair over my shoulders. Imagining the mess I might be presenting at that moment, frizzled hair and all, I kept my gaze down, staring at the buckle of his belt. The first man that had ever touched me intimately was rough, he tugged and squeezed on my nipples and commented that I was way too sensitive when I complained he was hurting me. The second was too passive and lingered there long enough to be allowed to enter me. I wondered what Anton would be, large hands and tattoos, and how many bodies have his hands roamed over.

I suddenly felt even plainer, acutely aware of all my insecurities and deficiencies. Sensing I was no longer there, Anton pulled my chin up. Holding my gaze, he slowly lowered his head, murmuring, “Statuesque,” before his lips wrapped around my nipple over the thick material. The breath caught in my throat and I grabbed his biceps for support, my back arching in an attempt to give him more access. It was not enough, I needed more. Baring my breasts in one move that took us both by surprise, I placed his hand on one, while his mouth found the other. The gentle flicker shook through me, I felt it straight between my legs and couldn’t help but stir in his lap. His response was instant, the erection solid and pushing against me.

“I like this position,” I murmured and rocked my hips against his length. The hissed “Fuck” that rolled from his lips gave me the push I needed to slide my hands underneath his own sweater and slowly explore. Anton wasn’t ripped, but he was strong and broad-chested, the skin smooth under my hesitant touch.  Before fully undressing him, I lingered on a nipple, unsure if the feeling would be as good for him as it was for me.

Gathering more courage than I thought I had at this moment, I softly ran the tip of my finger over a peak. It instantly hardened and he stiffened. I immediately removed my hand from underneath his clothes and searched his eyes for a reaction. A small smile was lingering there and without breaking the contact he undressed himself, bringing my palm back on him. It was my turn to hold his gaze while I took a nipple between my lips and slowly ran my tongue over it.

“Touch me, angel,” he groaned and guided my hand over the bulge straining his jeans. Even through the material, I could feel he was large. My slender fingers barely managed to cup him while I stroked him, my lips still bothering his nipples. Cheeks flaming, I struggled with the button, failing miserably until he chuckled and undid it for me. He was hot, velvet, and smooth; alive in my hands.

And I rose from his lap onto my knees to catch the moan on his lips, cupping his balls in an unsure hold.

“This will be over before it has even started,” he said. “Stand up for me.” His hands already guiding me and sliding my skirt and tights in one single move. 

I was now standing in front of him in just my panties and they weren’t even one of my good ones. The need to cover myself was overwhelming and I was beginning to do just that when he caught my wrist and led me back to the sofa. Kneeling beside me, he peeled the last remaining piece of clothing from me. My skin was on fire, the anticipation of what was to follow tingling between my legs. I have never been much of a screamer, but the cry that came out when he took a nipple in his mouth and slowly slid a finger into me was so primal that it left me biting my lips in shame.

“Don’t hold out on me, baby." Anton’s words were somehow distant and yet so close. “You are so plush and tight, I like the noises you make.”

Another finger joined the first and when I arched, his mouth was on my center, a hand replacing his tongue on my breasts. I tried to meet his mouth with my hips but his free hand kept me down, so all I could do was lay down. Shamelessly sprawled on my back, I swore that even if my own birth mother came into the room that very same moment and found me finger fucked on the sofa, I didn’t think I would care.

“You are so wet,” the words scandalizing and igniting me at the same time, “I can’t wait to taste you.”

“Later.” I stood up panting and took our initial position on the sofa. “I can’t take it any longer, I want you inside me.”

Taking him in my hand, I slowly lowered onto him, the sweet stretch making us both gasp. He was big, filling all of me and I buried my face in his neck, needing a moment to adjust. The kiss he placed on my shoulder was so tender that I immediately relaxed and he sank in even deeper.

Placing my hands on his chest for leverage, I started to move. His hands grabbed my waist, guiding me and I cried out when his lips found my nipple again – teasing, licking, taunting. My back arched, hair falling around both of us and all I could hear at that moment was his quiet dirty talk in my ear.

I have always found this unacceptable, degrading even, but the way he mixed these words with hissed praises and soft touches made my insides clench.

A finger found my clit and his feather-light touch pushed me over the edge. All of me tightened around him, my teeth sinking into his lower lip, hands holding him closer than possible. It didn’t take him much longer to follow me and I was glad he took care of me first, so that I could now watch him unravel beneath me, bare, naked.

It took us a moment to get back to reality, hands gliding over backs and throats, soothing, relaxing.

“Need a ride?” I asked and seeing the devilish spark in his eyes, I quickly added, “Home, I meant. I can take you... if you wish.”

“Oh, you took me all right,” he laughed and still inside of me, buried his face in my hair.

Two can play this game, I thought and very deliberately tightened my inside muscles. The groan he couldn’t stifle was a welcomed reward for the dare I didn’t think I had in me. A reward I wish I could have claimed earlier, like a candy you taste little by little, to enjoy for longer. Sweet, welcoming, lasting, and mine to keep.