Professional sneaky links 3

Pete didn’t touch me again...

Not because he didn’t want to, the tension was insane, but because he waited for my body to make the first mistake.

And it did.

It always does.

By midnight, I closed my books and lay back on his bed, scrolling through nothing, pretending I wasn’t baiting him.

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching me the way men watch things they’ve already decided to want.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

He said it calmly.

He walked over, sat beside me, and took my phone out of my hand.

“Come here.”

I moved without thinking, without pretending, without hesitation.

He didn’t kiss me immediately.

He just held my jaw and traced his thumb across my lips like he was studying my mouth before taking it apart.

When he finally kissed me, it wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t messy.

It wasn’t hungry.

It was intentional. It was the kind of kiss that tells you,

I already know how I’m going to fuck you tonight.

I climbed into his lap, straddling him, and he slid his hands under my shirt, slow, like he was testing how much control I’d allow him this time.

“You sure?” he whispered.

I nodded.

He kept staring into my eyes.

“Pete… I’m sure.”

He exhaled, relieved and ruined at the same time.

He picked me up and laid me on the bed, kissing down my stomach, down my hips, down the inside of my thighs.

And when he opened my legs, he didn’t rush.

He didn’t pounce.

He just looked at me —really looked—and it did something to my chest.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Let me show you properly this time.”

Then he ate me out like he was trying to read me with his mouth.

Slow at first, then deeper, then teasing, then hard, then slow again…like he was trying to feel my body memorize him.

His hands kept my thighs apart while his tongue kept pulling sounds out of me I didn’t plan to make.

“Good… right there… don’t stop…mmph, God.” I was teary. Because it was that good.

He didn’t stop.

He dragged me to the edge of the bed, lifted my hips, held my waist, and kept going until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fake control.

I came so hard my legs shook around his head and he just pressed his mouth deeper into me like he wanted the proof.

Then he kissed up my body again, leaving my thighs trembling.

“Turn around,” he whispered.

I did.

He slid into me from behind with one long, deep stroke that made me gasp into the pillow.

Slow at first, so slow I felt everything.

Then he pulled out and thrust harder, holding the back of my waist, breathing against my neck.

“This…” he said between thrusts, “…this is what I wanted to do the first day you slept over.” His voice so rough, so low, so…

Every stroke got deeper.

Harder.

More deliberate.

He wasn’t fucking me to impress me, he was fucking me like he knew exactly what my body needed to break open.

I kept moaning, pushing back, losing rhythm, losing pride.

“Yes, yes, yes Pete… right there… don’t stop… don’t stop please—”

He grabbed my wrists behind me and pinned them with one hand, keeping me arched while he pounded into me so hard I kept losing my breath.

“Argh, ffff… grgh ah,” he whispered against my skin. “Take it… take everything…”

It was filthy.

It was intimate.

It was too much and exactly right at the same time.

Then he flipped me over, kissed me hard, slid back inside, and fucked me while looking me directly in the eyes. His brows furrowed. His pace steady.

Slow.

Deep.

Hard.

The kind of rhythm that turns your brain into water.

“Come with me,” he murmured again, but softer this time, like he wasn’t begging, just inviting.

I came so intensely my nails dragged down his back.

And he held me, thrusting through it, until he groaned and let go inside me with his forehead pressed to mine.

We stayed like that.

Breathing into each other’s chins.

Quiet.

Ruined.

Soft.

After a while, he laughed under his breath, brushing my soaked hair out of my face.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“Date me.”

I froze.

He kept going, calm and certain, like he’d already thought this through.

“You’re single. I’m single. We click. We fuck well” he licked his lips “insanely well.”

He touched my cheek.

“And I like you. Not just your body… you.”

I looked at him, trying not to smile, trying not to act shocked.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Dead serious,” he said. “I want us.”

He said it like a statement, not a plea.

Like the decision was already made in his mind and he was simply waiting for me to join him.

I didn’t answer immediately.

I just pulled him closer and kissed him, and he smiled against my mouth like he already knew my answer.

Next Sunday, I’ll tell you what I told him.

Stick around.

zenstateofmindwriter