From Russia with Love

Evelina loves the comfort her husband’s money brings, but the sex always ends too soon. One night she tells him she misses an old friend from Russia. When he says yes, she books the ticket and waits. Oliver arrives with a bag and a slow smile. The first night they keep it polite, but every time he brushes past her she feels a warm tug low in her belly. On the second night her husband works late. Evelina waits on the couch in a thin dress, no bra, nipples already tight against the cotton. Oliver sits beside her, puts one hand on her thigh and stays there. Her breath catches. When his palm slides higher she parts her legs without a word. He pulls the dress up, hooks her panties aside, and works two fingers into her. She is already wet. She pulls at his belt, gets him out, and sinks to her knees. His cock is thick and heavy on her tongue. She takes him deep, drool sliding down her chin, then pulls back and drags her mouth along his shaft. He lifts her, turns her, bends her over the couch. The first thrust knocks the breath from her chest. He fucks her hard and steady, skin slapping skin. Every few strokes he pulls out, feeds himself back into her mouth, then drives straight back into her ass. She gasps around him each time but doesn’t pull away. The room fills with wet sounds and her low, urgent moans. She comes first, legs shaking. He follows, pushing deep, holding there. Later, they lie tangled on the couch, sweat cooling on their skin, the front door still silent.