It started soft, the way the best ones sometimes do. We met outside that bar in Dalston after the girls had already peeled off for their own taxis, and he had this easy smile that made the whole pavement feel warmer. Tall, dark hair catching the streetlight, the kind of quiet confidence that always pulls me in before I even realise. We talked for a bit about nothing much, just the music leaking out of the doorway and how the night felt lighter than usual. Then he leaned in and kissed me, proper slow at first, the sort of kiss that tastes of something sweet and makes your stomach flutter like you are sixteen again.
Back at mine the cuteness held for a while. Soft laughs while clothes came off, gentle hands tracing along my sides, that lovely buildup where everything feels careful and full of promise. But something shifted once we were on the bed. He must have sensed the way I was already aching for more, because the pace changed without warning. Suddenly he was stronger, firmer, turning me and holding me exactly where he wanted. The roughness arrived like a wave, the kind that makes your breath catch and your whole body light up at once. His mouth found me with that same intensity, warm and insistent, and the sensation rolled through me so deeply I could feel it in my fingertips. Every press of his tongue, every shift of his weight, sent sparks racing under my skin until I was trembling hard enough that the sheets bunched in my fists.
I let myself go completely. The high energy of it, the way he moved me and used the strength in his arms, turned the earlier sweetness into something fiercer and more electric. Pleasure built in tight, rising circles until it broke over me in a long, shaking release that left my thighs quivering and my voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a soft cry. He stayed close through every wave, kissing the places that still pulsed, and the mix of rough and tender made the whole thing feel almost ideal, like a taste of the man I keep hoping will appear for good.
This morning my body was still humming. Little aftershocks fluttered when I stretched under the duvet, a warm reminder that lingered all the way through the shower and the walk to the station. At the bank I had to bury the smile the second I stepped onto the floor. The under-25s were already milling about with their usual Monday fog, and I slipped straight into the stern face they expect. Firm instructions, sharp looks when the numbers started drifting, the whole competitive front that keeps them in line. None of them needed to know why I felt so quietly lit up inside. I poured coffee, checked reports, and stayed properly strict, all while that soft glow kept flickering under my ribs.
I still catch myself wondering when the tall dark one who stays will finally show up, the one who will throw me about like that and then stick around for the foot massages and the slow Sunday mornings. Until then nights like this keep the hope alive, sweet and a little wild at the same time.
