Game. Set. Match.

I keep catching myself staring at the buttons of his shirt. He catches me. He knows what I’m imagining; unbuttoning them.

“I dig your shirt.”

“Thanks,” he smiles knowingly.

The patio is crowded. So many of his students are here. We’ll need to be discreet.

I begin the chess match. My hand to his thigh. Upper thigh. Bold, I know. Your move, my eyes tell him.

“So you were with your girlfriend for seven years?”

“Yes.”

“And why the change to men? Can we pull on that thread?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I’m craving men.”

I take a sip of my drink. “I’m not overthinking it.” I smile at him. My eyes are pulled back to the buttons.

As a countermove, his calve finds the length of mine.

The conversation is good, easy. He’s well read but not pretentious. Alluring dark eyes framed by thick lashes. Great body. The kind of man you just know will be good in bed.

The deeper he gets into his drink, the more I feel his eyes explore me; thighs, cleavage, collarbone, lips.

We’ve got this energy between us, this anticipation. We can’t finish our drinks fast enough.

“So you’ve had good luck on tinder?”

“Well,” I smile, “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

He leans forward to the edge of his seat. One hand find my thigh, at the crease of my hip bone. The other pulls back my hair. His voice, bassy and low finds my ear, sending chills all over me, making my nipples instantly hard.

“You have no idea just how lucky you’re about to get.”

He leans back. A small smile of victory when he notices my nipples. He finishes his drink.

Check mate.

“Mind if I shower?”

“Be my guest,” he says.

It’s June, late afternoon and humid. The cool water feels rejuvenating.

I don’t hear the shower door open. I feel his hands. Big, strong, calloused. They trace down my back, grab my ass.

He turns me toward him. Pulls my hips to meet his. My lips to his. I like the way he kisses. Curious. Wanting. Then deeper.

My hands explore over his scruff to his ears. I have a thing for ears.

His hands find my breasts. “Wow,” he breathes into me.

I feel him get hard between my thighs. I look down.

“Wow,” I say, “that is going to do some damage.”

We laugh.

He wraps me in a soft white towel. Gently, he chases beads of water running down my back, arms, legs. The tenderness in this takes me aback; there is an undeniable sweetnesses in this gesture.

We’re making out on the bed. His body, hard, feels good against my softness. He is making it all. About. Me.

He kisses my neck and fingers me. Slowly at first. Then quickens the pace of his kiss and his touch. I quiver and gently bite his shoulder as I moan, cumming.

He teases my breasts, sucking and licking. He kisses me deeply as I grind into his thigh. He goes down on me, pulling me closer to his face. His tongue feels fucking amazing. My moans let him know.

I’m about to cum when- “I need you inside me,” I moan.

Ever the gentleman, he obliges. It’s not long before the condom is on. He tries to ease into me.

“Oh my god,” he marvels, “you are so fucking tight.”

Even with how wet I am, he doesn’t fit at first. He pulses slowly, “is that ok?”

My head tilts back, “yes,” I breathe.

I relax my legs. He relaxes into me. His turn for his head to tilt back.

He kisses my neck and collar bone. The sensation of his scruff on my skin and his breath in my ear... I’m dripping.