Sorry 'Bout That

Rob stepped into the room expecting another routine rubdown, nothing special. Then Elle read him different. Her hands lingered. Her robe slipped from one shoulder like an afterthought. She didn’t ask; she just climbed onto the table, knees pinning his hips. He tried to say something stupid about boundaries but the words jammed when her palm wrapped him, warm and sure. Rob’s mouth went dry. She sank down slow, took every inch, then rocked hard like she’d been starving for it. Each thrust punched a grunt out of him. Sweat slicked between them, the table legs scraping tile. She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Thought this was what you came for,” she breathed, and kept riding until the room spun, walls swallowed every moan, nothing left but heat, skin, and the sharp slap of bodies chasing release.