He Walked In Already Hard and I Was Already Wet

He walked in already hard and I was already wet.

No greeting. No smile. Reyan stepped into my apartment, shut the door with his foot, and locked it without looking away from me. The outline of his cock strained against his sweatpants, thick and obvious. My panties were ruined before he took the second step.

“Husband still gone?” he asked, voice low.

“Until Sunday.”

That was all either of us needed.

He crossed the room in three strides, fisted a hand in my hair, and kissed me like he was angry about how much he wanted it. I opened for him immediately, already grinding against the hard line of him. His other hand shoved straight into my shorts and found me dripping.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth. “You’ve been like this since I texted.”

“Since this morning,” I corrected, breathless.

He groaned, spun me around, and bent me over the arm of the couch. My shorts and panties were yanked down together. I heard the sound of his sweatpants being shoved out of the way. Then the thick head of his cock was pushing against me, and he sank in with one long, relentless thrust.

I cried out. He was bigger than I remembered from last time, stretching me open until the burn made my eyes water. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He started fucking me in deep, powerful strokes that forced the air out of my lungs. One hand stayed locked in my hair, the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.

“Missed this cunt,” he growled. “Dreamed about it last night. Woke up leaking.”

I pushed back to meet every thrust, already close. The wet sound of him slamming into me filled the quiet apartment. When I came the first time my legs shook so hard he had to hold me up. He didn’t stop. He fucked me straight through it, chasing his own release, and buried himself to the hilt when he finished, pulsing hot and deep inside me.

He stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard against my neck. Then he pulled out. I felt the thick slide of his cum starting to leak down my thigh. Before I could straighten he turned me, lifted me, and carried me to the bedroom.

He dropped me on the bed and stripped completely. I watched, still half-dressed, legs open, his cum already making a mess of me. He was still hard. Or hard again. I couldn’t tell.

“Clothes off,” he ordered.

I pulled my top over my head and unhooked my bra. He climbed over me, shoved my thighs wide, and sank back in with a single thrust. This time he stayed close, forehead against mine, fucking me in deep, grinding strokes that rubbed against my clit on every pass. I came again within minutes, nails digging into his back. He followed soon after, groaning into my mouth as he filled me a second time.

We didn’t rest long.

The third time he put me on my hands and knees and took me from behind, one hand wrapped around my throat, the other reaching under to rub tight, filthy circles over my swollen clit. I came so hard I saw white. He kept thrusting through it until he finished again, grinding deep and holding there while he emptied everything he had left.

Afterward we collapsed in a sweaty, sticky heap. His cock was still inside me, twitching with aftershocks. I could feel how full I was. How used.

He kissed the back of my shoulder, voice rough.

“I’m not leaving until Sunday morning.”

I pushed back against him, feeling him start to harden again inside me.

“Good,” I whispered. “Because I’m not done either.”

He laughed—low, dark—and rolled his hips once, already swelling thicker.

“Then we’re going to ruin this bed before your husband gets home.”

And we did.