Elizabeth stepped back just enough to let her robe fall completely. It pooled at her feet like dark silk. She stood before him in nothing but black lace lingerie—bra and panties that hugged her slim, mature curves. The soft lamplight caught the faint sheen of her skin, highlighting the gentle swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the long lines of her legs.
Michael didn’t speak.
He didn’t have to.
His eyes moved over her slowly, deliberately—taking in every inch like he was committing her to memory. No words. No compliments. Just raw, quiet hunger in the way he looked at her. His breathing deepened. His jaw tightened. The front of his jeans strained visibly.
Elizabeth felt the heat of his stare like a physical touch. It made her nipples harden against the lace. It made her thighs press together instinctively.
She sank to her knees in front of him.
The carpet was soft under her shins. She reached for his belt without hesitation—buckle clinked, zipper rasped down. She tugged his jeans and briefs low enough to free him.
His cock sprang out—long, slender, already rigid. The head was flushed dark pink, slick with pre-cum. Below it hung heavy, full balls, skin taut and slightly wrinkled.
Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around the base. He was hot, velvet-hard, pulsing against her palm. She leaned in and took one ball into her mouth first—sucking gently, then harder, tongue swirling over the sensitive skin. Michael hissed through his teeth. His hand came down to rest lightly on the back of her head—not forcing yet, just anchoring.
She switched to the other ball, lavishing it with the same slow, wet attention—sucking, licking, letting her tongue trace the seam. Her free hand stroked his shaft in long, lazy pulls, spreading the slickness from the tip down the length.
Then she opened wider.
She took the head between her lips, tongue flicking over the slit, tasting salt and heat. She swirled around the ridge, then slid down—inch by inch—until he hit the back of her throat. She gagged softly but didn’t stop. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, bobbing fast and rhythmic.
Michael groaned low in his chest.
His fingers tightened in her hair.
Now he took control.
He pressed her head down harder—deeper—setting a rougher pace. Each thrust pushed past her gag reflex, making her eyes water. Spit slicked her chin, dripped onto her chest, soaked the lace of her bra. She moaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk.
He fucked her mouth like a man who’d been holding back too long—fast, relentless, hips snapping forward while he held her head steady. Her throat burned, stretched, filled. Wet, choking sounds filled the quiet room—gluck-gluck-gluck—mixed with his harsh breathing and her muffled whimpers.
“Fuck—Elizabeth—”
His voice cracked.
He pulled out suddenly, hand stroking himself fast and rough.
“Open.”
She did—mouth wide, tongue out, eyes locked on his.
He came with a low, guttural groan.
Thick ropes of cum splashed across her face—hot, heavy spurts hitting her cheeks, her lips, her tongue, streaking over her closed eyelids. One jet landed in her hair. Another dripped down her chin onto her breasts, soaking the lace. He milked every last drop, painting her until she glistened.
He held her there a moment longer—head still in his grip—until the last twitch faded.
Then he released her.
Elizabeth stayed on her knees, breathing hard, face messy with his release. She looked up at him—eyes glassy, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.
Michael exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling.
He reached down, thumb brushing a thick streak of cum across her lower lip, smearing it deliberately.
“Get up,” he said, voice rough but steady.
She rose on shaky legs.
He watched her for a second—taking in the sight of her: lingerie soaked, face painted with him, eyes still dark with want.
Then he tucked himself away, zipped up, smoothed his shirt.
He picked up the pizza box from the floor where it had been forgotten.
“Enjoy your dinner,” he said quietly.
He turned toward the door.
Elizabeth reached past him, grabbed the can of coffee from the table, and tucked it under her arm.
She walked past him without a word.
She opened the door.
She stepped out.
The night air hit her skin—cool against the heat still burning through her.
She didn’t look back.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Michael stayed inside for a long moment, staring at the empty space where she’d been.
He smiled—small, satisfied.
He knew she’d order again.
Sooner or later.
They always did.