A special occassion

Rita hardly ever returns to Hungary, so last month I booked a room and went to her. She answered the door in a thin silk robe. I stepped inside, pushed the door shut with my heel, and kissed her hard enough to steal a breath. She tugged the knot at her waist and the robe slid down her arms. I cupped her breasts, rolled the nipples between my fingers until they tightened and lifted against my palms. She reached for my belt while I walked her backward to the bed, shoving my trousers low enough to free my cock. She lay back, spread her thighs, and I sank straight in—slow at first, just enough stretch to feel every inch of wet resistance. She gripped the sheet, arched once, and then I thrust deeper. Each stroke snapped her hips up to meet me. Her slick heat clung tight, pulled me farther, soaked us both. I bent to bite the soft skin at her collarbone and felt her pulse race under my tongue. She came first, a sudden, fluttering squeeze around my shaft, nails biting into my back. I drove through it until the tension coiled low in my gut snapped, pumping hot into her as she dragged me down for another open-mouthed kiss.