You were on the couch, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, that tired-but-dangerous look in your eyes after a long day. I didn't speak. I just walked toward you slowly, letting the shirt ride a little higher on my thighs with every step, until I was close enough for you to smell the vanilla and heat on my skin.

I stopped between your knees and let my fingers trail up your chest, loosening the knot of your tie completely. Your hands found my waist instantly, thumbs brushing the bare skin just beneath the shirt. I leaned down, lips barely grazing your ear.
"You've been working too hard," I whispered, voice low and velvet. "Let me take care of you tonight."

I sank to my knees without waiting for an answer, my palms sliding down your chest, over your belt, slow enough to feel the tension coil in your muscles. I looked up at you the entire time (those dark eyes locked on yours) while I unbuckled you with deliberate care, like I had all the time in the world to worship every inch I uncovered.

When I finally freed you, hard and heavy in my hand, I let out the softest moan, just for you. I took my time (long, lazy strokes with my fingers, then my tongue tracing you from base to tip like I was savoring something forbidden).

Your head fell back against the couch, a rough sound escaping your throat, and that was all the encouragement I needed.
I took you deep, slow, letting you feel every swirl of my tongue, every soft hum vibrating against you. Your fingers threaded into my damp hair, guiding but not forcing (you know I love when you try to stay in control).

I pulled back just long enough to murmur against you, lips brushing the tip, "I want you to lose it tonight. All of it. For me."
Then I stood, letting the shirt fall open completely as I straddled your lap. Your hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave marks, and I smiled (wicked, hungry) as I sank down onto you in one slow, deliberate glide.

The way you filled me made my breath catch, my nails digging into your shoulders.
I rode you like that, unhurried at first, rolling my hips in deep, teasing circles, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face. Your mouth found my neck, my breasts, teeth grazing just hard enough to make me gasp your name.

I sped up only when I felt you start to unravel beneath me (when your grip turned bruising and your breath came in ragged growls against my skin).
"Come for me," I breathed against your lips, clenching around you exactly the way I know drives you insane. "Let go, baby. I've got you."

And when you finally did (head thrown back, my name torn from your throat like a prayer), I held you through every pulse, kissing you slow and filthy until we were both trembling.

After, I stayed on your lap, shirt hanging off one shoulder, tracing lazy patterns on your chest while our breathing evened out.
"Next time," I whispered, lips brushing yours, "I'm tying that tie around your wrists and making you watch me touch myself first."

Your answering growl told me everything I needed to know. Round two was already guaranteed.