Nostalgia

She stares at the empty chat for a minute, thumb hovering. Then she types. The replies come quick. An hour slips by, then another. They trade jokes about their old apartment, the one with the thin walls. She laughs out loud, then catches herself remembering how those walls heard them. Her thighs press together under the desk. She closes the tab, opens it again. Another message. He is blunt. She feels the heat climb the back of her neck. She types back slower now. They talk about work, weather, then nothing that matters. She feels the old pull low in her belly and hates how fast it comes back. She shuts the laptop. Two days later the new message appears. He is here. She rereads it four times. The yes is half-formed before she stops herself. She paces the room. The mirror shows her flushed. She grabs her keys anyway. He opens the door and she steps inside. The kiss lands hard. Hands slide under clothes without asking. She sinks to her knees, mouth open, tongue warm around his balls, sucking slow, tasting salt and heat. Her hand works lower, one finger pressing, sliding into the tight ring of muscle, fucking her own ass in short strokes while she sucks. He groans and pulls her up. She turns, spreads, feels the blunt head press against her ass, push, sink. Every inch stretches. He fucks her steady, deep. When he pulls out she turns and takes him straight into her mouth again, tasting herself. He pushes back in, hips snapping. She comes first, cunt clenching on nothing, ass gripping him tight. He follows, pumping thick ropes inside. He stays deep until the last pulse fades, then eases out. Cum leaks warm down her thigh. She reaches back with two fingers, drags it up, licks them clean.