The Tenant Ch 03: The Dessert

Author's Note

If you're joining the story here, welcome -- though you may want to start from the beginning to feel the full burn.

In the first two chapters, Mona (a model) -- confident, teasing, and fully aware of the effect she has -- begins a slow, deliberate seduction of Dan, her quiet and inexperienced tenant. Last night, Mona unintentionally gave Dan a full view of her naked body after a drunken night through the glass window of her room. The next morning, everything changes.

This chapter is a turning point -- for Mona, for Dan, and for everything that's about to unfold between them. What begins as a quiet moment of vulnerability quickly deepens into something raw, intimate, and deliciously unrestrained.

For the first time, both Mona and Dan get what they've been aching for. And from here, sex between them won't just be emotional -- it will be playful, naughty, filthy, and beautifully kinky.

Enjoy the heat. The story only gets bolder from here.

-- R. A.

Sunlight hit Mona's face--sharp, direct.

She stirred, reaching blindly for the water bottle.

Then froze.

The curtains were open.

Her eyes flew to the glass wall.

She was naked. Fully exposed. Morning light on every inch of her.

She jumped up, heart racing, and yanked the curtains shut.

Only then did she look--toward Dan's room.

Curtains open. Lights off.

Jogging? Or watching?

Flashes from last night blurred in her head--stripping naked, stretching, the mirror by the wardrobe, her play with breasts and nipples, all flashed like a movie.

She pulled the blanket around herself and sat down slowly.

Exhaled.

"Well," she muttered.

"That's going to be awkward."

----------

By the time Mona stepped into the kitchen, it was already past nine-thirty -- late for her, even after the night she'd had. Her hair was still damp from a quick shower, and she wore a plain tee knotted at the waist, soft cotton pants riding low on her hips. No makeup. Just herself.

Dan was at the sink, rinsing a bowl under the tap. His shoulders were tense, movements slow and too focused -- like he needed something to do with his hands.

"Morning," Mona said, calm and pleasant.

He flinched slightly. Just a small jerk of the elbow before he shut off the water.

"Oh--morning," he mumbled, still facing the sink. He dried his hands fast, the bowl clattering into the rack, then turned and walked over to the table, phone in hand. His thumb scrolled aimlessly.

Mona poured herself some juice. The silence was dense, filled with everything neither of them was saying.

"You already ate?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just toast."

She nodded. "Right."

He didn't look up. Didn't ask anything back.

Lunch wasn't better. She cooked a quick rice and vegetable stir-fry, left it on the counter. Dan appeared a few minutes later, said nothing, served himself, and sat at the far end of the table--facing away.

"Want more?" she asked.

"No, I'm good."

"Too spicy?"

"No. It's fine."

The rhythm was forced. His replies short, almost rehearsed. She tried. He resisted. And yet every shift in his body screamed discomfort.

By evening, the tension had teeth.

Mona set two cups of tea on the counter just as Dan entered, awkward in his timing. He hesitated at the threshold, then stepped in with a brittle kind of stiffness.

She turned to hand him a cup--and it slipped.

Dan lunged forward and caught it, just in time. Their hands touched. Palm to palm. Warm, electric. Too long for accidental.

Dan's eyes flicked to hers. Wide. Caught. He jerked back.

"S-Sorry--I--forgot I had to, uh, charge my phone--"

And just like that, he was gone.

Mona stared at the doorway, exhaled slowly, and muttered to herself, "Okay. Enough."

It was time to talk.

Later that evening

Mona passed the hallway twice, catching a glimpse of Dan through the porch door -- alone, hunched, unmoving. She'd made two cups of tea but drank only one. The silence was louder than any fight.

Finally, with a quiet sigh, she picked up the second cup and stepped outside.

Dan sat on the porch swing, elbows on his knees, staring at the garden. His phone was in his hand, screen dark. He didn't look up, but his shoulders tensed like someone bracing for impact.

"Mind if I sit?" she asked.

He nodded stiffly. "Sure."

She sat beside him, not too close, not too far -- just enough to share the same view. She held the tea in both hands, letting the silence settle between them.

"This is getting weird, Dan."

He exhaled, almost a laugh. "Yeah. It is."

"I don't want it to be."

"Me neither."

They sat in the creaking swing, quiet.

"So... are we pretending nothing happened?" she asked. "Or do we talk like adults who live under the same roof and saw... more than expected?"

Dan cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have looked. I should've just... walked away."

"But you didn't, did you?"

He was quiet. Then, honest: "I tried. But no. I didn't."

She nodded. No scolding. Just truth.

"It's okay. You were curious. I've seen you too. Remember?"

"That was different."

"How?"

"You weren't... touching yourself."

She didn't flinch. Just nodded again.

Dan looked down. "I feel like I violated something."

"It was a moment I didn't mean to share... but it happened. We live in a house with glass walls and thin lines. We'll see more than we plan to. Let's not make it weird."

Dan gave a small nod, still avoiding her gaze.

"You look like you committed a crime," she said gently.

"Kind of feels like I did."

"You didn't. Let's not punish each other for being human."

She set the cup down on the ledge with a soft clink, then reached out -- slow, steady -- and placed her hand on his arm. Warm. Grounding.

"Breaking the tension hasn't been easy for me either."

Dan stared at her hand like it was something sacred. Then looked up. Finally.

"Can I ask you something?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"You're a model. That life seems... big. Loud. What brought you here?"

She leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the trees at the garden's edge. "Long story."

"I don't mind."

"I started modelling at twenty-one. Catalogues, bridal wear -- nothing edgy at first. I was young, nervous. But the camera... gave me power. I got to choose how I was seen."

Dan listened, open now.

"My parents hated it. But my brother Manish supported me. His friend Rajesh too. They were my anchors."

Her tone shifted, cooler. "Then came Arun."

She didn't need to explain who he was.

"He was charming. Sweet. Said he loved my fire. But slowly... everything became judgment. My clothes. My smile. My work. He didn't want a wife. He wanted a puppet."

Her eyes dropped. "He never hit me," she said softly. "But the control... the way he looked at me, like I was something owed to him... it chipped away, little by little."

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her shirt.

"One night, he brought a friend home. Told me to pour them drinks, said I should be 'a good host.'"

Her voice thinned. "I should've known. I didn't. Not until it was too late."

She looked out at the trees, trying not to show watery eyes, her mouth tight. "That night... didn't end until morning."

Dan didn't speak. His whole body had gone still.

"I left after that. Walked away from the house, the marriage, the life that looked perfect from the outside."

She exhaled. "I've never said that part out loud."

Dan's voice was soft. "It must've taken everything."

"It did. But I needed to live on my own terms again. To be seen when I choose. Touched when I want. Told what to do only when I ask."

She met his gaze. "It sounds contradictory. Wanting control and surrender. But it's about consent. Choosing."

Dan didn't look away. "It makes sense."

Mona exhaled. "I don't usually talk about this."

"I'm glad you did. It... helps me see you more clearly."

They sat quietly in the late afternoon light. This silence was different. Softer.

Mona turned to him, voice low. "Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't regret anything that's happened between us."

Dan's lips parted. Surprise, maybe relief.

"I just... don't want us to lose what we're building because of one unintentional moment."

He gave a small nod. "We won't."

She leaned into the swing's curve and gently bumped her shoulder into his.

"Good," she said, softer now. "Because I like what we're building."

The swing creaked gently as they sat in the golden hush of late afternoon, the porch wrapped in light and long shadows. Neither spoke for a moment, but the silence between them now felt... different.

Not heavy.

Earnest.

Mona turned to him, head tilted just slightly, voice softer now.

"And what about you?" she asked.

"How did you end up in this quiet corner of nowhere?"

Dan gave a small, breathy laugh.

"Not as dramatic as yours."

Mona responds warmly, "Still counts."

He shifted in his seat, scratching lightly at the side of his neck.

"I grew up in upstate New York. Only child. Quiet house. My dad worked a lot, my mom was... warm, but anxious. I guess I just always liked being alone. Books, tools, fixing things."

Mona tilted her head a little, but stayed quiet.

"I was always the guy people asked for help building something. Never the guy they asked out. I had a few friends in college. A couple of girls, too. But... it didn't work out."

He stopped there. Not abruptly -- just... carefully. Like he'd stepped up to the edge of something and wasn't sure if he should go further.

Mona sat quietly for a moment, then said, gently:

"I can sense there's more there. If you'd rather not share, that's completely okay. But... if you can, I'm curious."

Dan stayed quiet for a long beat.

"It got close. Twice. Both times, I thought it was going somewhere. But when things turned physical... they pulled away."

His voice tightened slightly.

"You saw me yesterday. I guess they got scared and thought I was a freak."

Mona didn't speak. Didn't flinch. She just stayed beside him -- silent, grounded, present.

After a moment, Dan exhaled slowly and added:

"It's not like I didn't want to. I just... never got there. Not all the way."

"Still haven't."

There was a pause. Not cold, not awkward. Just a moment where the air settled between them.

Then Mona let out the smallest chuckle. Not mocking -- just soft, surprised.

"You're still a virgin?"

Dan's head turned sharply. His expression twisted -- not into anger, but into something more bruised, more honest.

"See? That's why I don't tell anyone."

Mona raised her hands slightly, still chuckling, but her tone turned sincere.

"No, I'm sorry. Really. That wasn't fair. It just caught me off guard."

She paused, then her smile returned -- crooked, knowing.

"It didn't look that scary yesterday."

Dan exhaled through his nose, his mouth twitching into a half-smile despite himself.

"That's because it wasn't hard, dear."

Mona's eyebrows lifted at the "dear," amused now -- and clearly enjoying the shift in his tone. "Oh?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing at her sideways now, "I was trying not to die of embarrassment. Not exactly ideal conditions."

"Fair enough," she said. Then, under her breath, "Still impressive."

Dan looked at her -- actually looked at her -- and for the first time, the heat that passed between them didn't feel accidental.

Dan hesitated, then asked, his voice lower now, quieter:

"After everything you told me... about your ex, that night--are you sure you're okay having someone like me around? Out here. Just the two of us."

Mona blinked, surprised--not by the question, but by how gently it was asked.

"Dan," she said, her tone soft but unwavering, "if I didn't feel safe, you wouldn't be here. I trust my instincts. And I trust what I've seen in you."

She reached over, fingers brushing the back of his hand -- warm, intentional.

"And that question you just asked? It only confirms I was right about you."

Dan let out a soft, sheepish laugh. A little shy. But grateful.

Mona tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eye.

"If anything, I think you're the one who needs assurance."

She leaned in just slightly. "You're out here. With me."

Dan chuckled, shaking his head.

"Maybe I do."

Mona sat up straighter and extended her hand.

"Friends? No weirdness."

Dan looked at her hand, then took it.

"Friends," he said. Then added with a half-grin, "With peekaboo privileges?"

Mona smirked, her fingers still holding his a second longer.

"Good," she murmured. She leaned in just slightly, her breath warm against his cheek.

"Because I'm ready to use mine."

Dan blinked.

She stood up. "Come on. Let's go inside."

Her voice was calm, but firm.

"I want to see what you're hiding under those pants."

He stood slowly, heart thumping, and followed her into the living room.

Mona turned near the edge of the rug and faced him.

"I want to see you," she said quietly. "May I?"

He nodded, swallowing. "Yeah."

She reached for his joggers and slid them down slowly. His boxers followed, revealing him -- still soft, but already thickening. She cupped him gently.

Dan's breath hitched.

"Do I... get mine too?" he asked.

She looked up, amused.

"Your peekaboo privilege?"

He nodded.

She stepped back half a step and lifted her arms slightly.

"Go ahead."

Dan hesitated for just a second. Then reached for the hem of her top and pulled it up. Her breasts fell free, soft, full, her nipples already hard.

He stared, then touched.

One hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing across her nipple slowly.

Mona breathed in.

"You like how they feel?" she asked.

Dan nodded, still focused. "Yeah. A lot."

She gave him a few more strokes, her hand sure, her gaze steady.

God, she thought. No wonder they got scared.

He wasn't just long -- though he was that too, much longer than what she ever had. But it was the girth that struck her. The way her fingers couldn't close fully around him once he was hard. The weight of him, the pressure building with every beat of his heart. He felt like something that demanded to be handled with care -- or confidence.

"You can touch me anywhere you want to keep it that way," she said. Then let go and stepped back.

"That's better," Mona murmured, reaching for her top. "I can see why the young girls got scared."

She pulled the fabric back down, covering herself again -- slowly, deliberately.

"Dan..." Her voice dropped, smoky. "I'm going to put dinner together."

He blinked. "Okay..."

She turned, then paused, pointing at his still-erect cock.

"I don't want you to spill...., anything."

His brows pulled together. "What? Why--?"

She looked back, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Because I like my dessert full."

Dan blinked, confused--then realization hit. His jaw tightened.

"You mean...?"

She nodded, biting her lip, eyes glinting.

"And while I cook," she added, stepping away, "I want you hard the entire time."

Just before reaching the kitchen, she tossed a final glance over her shoulder.

"Oh--and Dan?"

"Yeah?" he said, still dazed.

"Before you pull up your pants..." She turned fully, smiling now.

"Take off your underwear."

He blinked. "What?"

"I want to see it," she said simply. "All of it."

"But I'd be... tenting."

She laughed -- low, rich. Her eyes dropped to the weighty bulge still pulsing between them.

"Mmm. That's the idea."

"I want to keep watching that long tent of yours while I cook."

Dan swallowed hard, his breath quickening.

His heart thudded -- not fast, but deep. Like every beat knew exactly what she was doing to him.

And then she was gone.

Dan glanced down at himself, red-faced.

This was happening.

He awkwardly stepped out of his underwear, pulled up his pants, and shuffled forward, fully hard, and completely overwhelmed.

Touch her. Anywhere.

He had no idea what that meant in real terms.

Mona stood barefoot at the stove, stirring a simmering pot, her loose crop top rising slightly with each motion. The cotton pants hugged her hips low, and a sliver of skin peeked out every time she reached for something.

Dan sat at the dining table, staring at his hands -- then at her back -- then at the tent in his shorts.

He lasted maybe five minutes.

He rose, walked quietly into the kitchen, and stood behind her, the scent of cumin and slow-cooked chickpeas wrapping around them.

His hand touched her side -- tentative at first -- just below her ribs. She didn't flinch.

His fingers drifted up, tracing gently over her cotton top until he reached her breast. He cupped it -- not a brush, not a test, but a proper hold.

Mona inhaled.

They stayed like that for a moment, the kitchen silent but for the soft bubbling of lunch.

"You like?" she murmured, not turning.

Dan swallowed. "Mmm-hmm."

Her faint smile curved. "Me too."

He brushed his thumb across the covered peak. Her nipple responded under the thin cotton -- and she didn't move. Didn't stop him.

When she bent to reach the bottom shelf for a bowl, Dan didn't hesitate this time. His hand slid over the curve of her hip, then down -- a slow, deliberate squeeze.

She paused, still bent.

"Getting bolder," she said.

"You said... anywhere."

"And I meant it."

He squeezed again. Her body subtly pressed back.

They plated lunch side by side after that -- hands brushing now and then, wordless but no longer hesitant. Touch had found its place between them.

At the table, they sat closer than usual -- elbows nearly brushing. Mona hummed softly as she ate, her eyes flicking to Dan's lap.

His hardness hadn't faded.

The meal passed with little conversation -- a few glances, soft brush of a foot here, a light knock of knees there.

Mona's eyes dropped more than once to the obvious tent in Dan's pants. But she said nothing. She didn't have to.

When they finished, she stood, plates in hand.

She paused.

Looked at him.

"Still hard?"

Dan nodded, flushed.

Mona smirked.

"Good," she said softly. "I don't like my dessert cold."

Then turned toward the sink -- hips swaying just slightly more than needed.

Dan's brain short-circuited.

Mona rinsed the last plate and dried her hands slowly, then turned to find Dan still standing --barefoot, flushed, pants riding low, and his cock visibly pressing against the front.

Then, without another word, she took him by that same stretch of fabric -- gripping him by the hardness -- and led him out of the kitchen.

Dan followed, nearly breathless, guided by his own need and the soft pull of her hand.

She brought him to the living room, where the couch sat in the glow of the nearby floor lamp. Mona turned, her hand still wrapped around the thick bulge, and gently pushed him down onto the cushions.

Dan sat, wide-eyed, legs slightly apart.

Mona knelt before him.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband, tugging them down. His cock sprang free -- thick, flushed, twitching with need.

She stared and stroked. Mona couldn't stop staring. She'd seen it soft, seen it grow... but now, fully hard, it was something else entirely.

God... it's beautiful, she thought, fingers wrapping around its impossible thickness, not meeting around him. Her thumb grazed along the underside, feeling the pulsing heat, the sheer weight of it.

It looked almost unreal in her hand--thick, long, veined, heavy. Like it had no business belonging to someone so shy. She felt it jump against her palm, responding to her touch as if it were alive, aching.

No wonder those girls ran, she thought, breath catching. They weren't ready for this.

Then she smiled, leaned in, and tugged the hem of her crop top away from her body--just enough to pull him inside.

The soft fabric tented, and Dan gasped -- the warmth of her skin, the softness, the pressure -- it was maddening.

She squeezed her breasts together, sandwiching him tight, and began to move.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Skin getting slippery with his own pre-cum.

Her cleavage glistened now, each stroke sending a new pulse through him.

"God, Dan," she breathed, watching his face. "Your cock feels so good between my tits..."

His whole body twitched.

"Don't say things like that," he gasped. "I-- I can't... I won't be able to hold..."

That's when she smiled. Not teasing -- not smug -- but dark, wicked, intentional.

"Mmm," she whispered. "So you like when I talk dirty?"

He nodded, almost desperately.

"Do you want to hear more?"

He bit his lip, hard. "Yes."

She gave a little moan of approval, moving faster now.

"Tell me when you're close," she said, voice softer, hotter. "I want to taste you this time."

Dan nearly bucked right there.

"Promise?" he croaked.

Mona pressed her breasts tighter around him under her top, her fingers keeping a steady rhythm. The fabric rubbed lightly against his shaft, but the warmth of her skin was unmistakable.

Mona, smiling, looking him in the eyes, "I won't waste a drop."

Dan was panting now, gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing grounding him.

"You like that?" she whispered. "The feel of my tits, all around you?"

Dan groaned. "Yes... god, yes."

She let the movement pause. Just slightly.

Dan opened his eyes -- his voice soft, uncertain but thick with need.

"Can I... can I see them?"

Mona tilted her head, amused.

"You want me to take this off?" she asked, tugging lightly at the hem of her top.

He nodded -- eager, breathless.

She didn't answer immediately. Just let the pause hang for a beat longer, then leaned back on her heels, eyes locked with his.

"Sure, whatever you want," she huskily replied.

And with that, she reached for her crop top and peeled it slowly upward -- inch by inch -- until her breasts spilled free. Full, warm, flushed from arousal. Her nipples, already hard from the pressure and movement before.

Dan's eyes widened, lips parting. He swallowed audibly.

"Fuck..." he whispered.

Mona leaned in again, bare now, her breasts grazing his cock without any barrier. She wrapped them around him fully -- soft, slick, and hot -- and resumed the motion. Up. Down. Slow drag. Gentle squeeze.

"That's better, isn't it?" she murmured, watching his reaction. "You like how they look around your cock?"

He couldn't even speak. His eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back as his hips rocked once into her touch.

She smiled. Kept stroking.

"I want you to remember this feeling," she whispered, her voice like silk. "Every time you're hard. I want you to think of my tits wrapped around you... so soft... so tight..."

Dan gasped.

"Mona--"

"Hmm?" she looked up, batting her lashes innocently.

"If you keep going... I'm-- I'm gonna..."

She slowed the motion just slightly.

"Good," she breathed. "That's what I want."

She pressed a kiss to the base of his cock, her lips warm and teasing.

"But I want to taste it, Dan. All of it."

He let out a strained moan, his hand twitching like it might reach for her -- but didn't.

"Tell me when you're close," she whispered, flicking her tongue once along the underside. "So I can take you in."

Her breasts moved again -- slow pressure, building rhythm -- her hands pressing them together just tight enough.

Dan's jaw clenched. He was almost shaking now.

"Mona--fuck--I'm--close--"

Before the final word had even left his lips, Mona slid down, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock, taking him in one smooth, practiced motion. Her mouth was warm, wet, soft and tight all at once.

Dan cried out, hips twitching upward instinctively, but she held him steady.

She took him deep, her tongue swirling with every pulse, every throb. He came hard, shuddering with each spasm, and she tried to drink all of it.

Some still escaped, slick against the corner of her mouth.

She licked that too.

And only then... did she look up, breathless and glowing. She kissed the tip once, and sat back on her heels, licking her lips with a quiet hum of satisfaction.

Dan was panting, blinking like he hadn't quite returned to earth.

Mona rose, bare to the waist but calm, as though she'd just finished something small -- a snack, a ritual. She picked up her top, slipped it over her head, and smoothed it down. Composed. Controlled.

Dan watched, still panting, still reeling.

They stood in the warm hush of the living room, the weight of everything between them settling around the silence. Clothes back on, but nothing was the same.

Mona gave a soft smile, stepping back. "I guess we should head to bed."

Dan didn't move.

Then--quietly, with no hesitation--he stepped forward and reached for her. One hand found her waist. The other brushed her hair aside and held the back of her neck.

He pulled her in.

The kiss wasn't careful.

It was full. Deep. Hot with everything he hadn't known how to say. Mona gasped softly into it -- startled not by the kiss itself, but by what it did to her. The way it landed right at the center of her chest and cracked something open.

Her hands lifted, caught his face, pulled him closer. Her body leaned in like it needed him -- needed this.

His mouth claimed hers again, slow but hungry, his hand cradling her head like she might vanish.

She made a sound -- not a moan, not quite -- something soft and undone in her throat.

By the time they finally broke apart, Mona's breath was uneven. Her chest rose and fell. Her lips were parted, kiss-bruised, her eyes still closed.

When they opened again, she looked dazed. Different.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Dan..."

But she didn't finish. She didn't have to.

Dan looked at her -- lips glistening, face flushed -- and knew.

Something had shifted.

Something real.

Mona's breath was still catching up. Her eyes searched his, dazed from the kiss, her fingers curled lightly against his chest.

Then she smiled -- small, soft, almost shy.

"Goodnight, Dan," she whispered, her voice husky, still tasting him.

She turned and walked slowly down the hallway, not looking back.

Dan stood there, lips tingling, heart still thudding, the scent of her skin clinging to his breath.

He didn't move.

The house was quiet again. But nothing inside it felt the same.

Not anymore.

The next morning.....

The smell of tea floated up the stairs, curling into Dan's room like a memory.

He stirred in bed, eyes still closed, his body sore in strange, unfamiliar ways. Not from pain -- from release. From the tension that had finally shattered under Mona's hands, her lips, her voice whispering, "I want my dessert."

Dan exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. Had it really happened?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up slowly, absently tugging his shirt straight. The scent of tea -- that earthy, cardamom-laced warmth -- was grounding. Comforting. Normal. What was normal now anyways?

He padded downstairs barefoot, half-lost in thought.

What happens now?

Do we talk about it? Pretend it didn't happen? Was it a one-time thing?

He was so deep in those questions he didn't even register her presence until he turned into the living room--

--and froze.

Mona was already there. Barefoot. Smiling.

Wearing nothing but a light camisole, soft and clinging, and blue cotton panties. Her hair was loose, freshly brushed, and her skin still carried the soft glow of sleep.

She looked... radiant.

And utterly, terrifyingly casual -- like this was just how mornings went now.

"Good morning," she said gently, stepping toward him.

Dan's lips parted, but he didn't speak. Couldn't.

She was so close now -- the pointing nipples clearly visible through the fabric. His eyes dipped and then jerked back up, catching hers again.

And then -- without ceremony -- she leaned in and kissed him.

Just a peck. Soft. Familiar. But this time, there was no fear in it. No uncertainty.

When she pulled back, her hands slipped around the back of his neck, holding him there, her body just shy of touching his.

Her smile deepened.

"Can you kiss me like last night?" she whispered.

Dan's heart kicked into gear -- hard.

"I--" he started, but she cut him off, her fingers brushing the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Because I've been thinking about it all morning," she added. "That kiss you gave me before bed? It was different."

Dan nodded slowly, lips dry. "Yeah..."

She tilted her head, voice dropping lower. "And I liked it."

Her thumb brushed his jawline, trailing toward his mouth.

"So kiss me again, Dan. I want to remember what it felt like."

Dan didn't answer.

He didn't have to.

His hands lifted -- one settling on the curve of her waist, the other cradling her jaw -- and he leaned in, slow but certain, until their lips met again.

Starting with a small peck, it became full. Real. A kiss that carried everything unsaid from the night before -- the desire, the confusion, the raw hunger, the weight of finally being allowed.

Mona opened to him instantly, her mouth soft and warm, her lips moulding to his. She sighed into it, her fingers tightening behind his neck. And then--

With a sudden flex of her thighs and the light push of her arms, she hunched up, rising on her toes--and in one fluid motion, wrapped her legs around his waist.

Dan gasped, instinctively grabbing her hips to steady her.

Her weight settled against him -- light, but full. Pressed completely into him, her arms looped loosely behind his neck, her face inches from his, breathing him in.

Her panties brushed against the front of his tee, the thin camisole doing nothing to hide the press of her breasts against his chest. He felt everything -- her warmth, her rhythm, her scent. Her legs locked behind his back, ankles crossed, her inner thighs holding him as if she'd always belonged there.

Dan's hands clung to her hips, stunned at first, then adjusting -- gripping her with reverent strength.

Mona smiled into the kiss. "Hold me tighter," she murmured between breaths.

He did.

Her body lifted slightly in his grip, a slow bounce of movement that ground her harder into him. She moaned softly into his mouth -- not dramatic, not staged -- just real. A sound of want.

Dan's lips moved down along her jaw, brushing under her ear. He kissed her there, unthinking, almost desperate. "God, Mona..." he whispered.

Her breath caught. Her fingers tugged at the back of his hair, not to hurt -- to pull him deeper.

"Do you feel that?" she whispered against his cheek, her voice smoky now.

She was rubbing against him, slowly, rhythmically, her body grinding just enough to make them both feel the pressure building fast.

Their kiss deepened again -- wet, messy now. The kind of kiss that didn't care about how it looked. It was need. Connection. Her legs still around him, her hips slightly rolling with every shift of his hands.

Dan backed up a step, then another, until his back met the wall. Mona gasped as the sudden stop pushed her flush against him again, her lips breaking away just enough to look at him -- cheeks flushed, eyes dark with hunger.

"Do you want me?" she whispered.

Dan's hands dug into her hips like he didn't trust them to answer with words.

Mona pressed into him harder, her breath warm against his cheek, her body rolling gently in his grip. She was lit from the inside -- restless, coiled, aching. Last night had been all about him, and she'd loved every second of it -- tasting him, watching him unravel, hearing him groan into her mouth as he emptied in her.

But she hadn't gotten hers.

And now it pulsed in her belly -- hot, sharp, unfinished.

Dan's hands slid lower, tentative, and then one slowly trailed along the underside of her thigh. The pads of his fingers brushed the soft curve just beneath the edge of her panties.

He paused, unsure. She was wrapped around him, legs locked, completely open for him. But this was new. This required more than permission. It needed trust.

Testing, his fingers moved again, lightly brushing above the mound of her panties through the fabric.

Mona gasped -- low, quick, involuntary.

Dan looked at her then -- wide-eyed, seeking her gaze.

She met it without blinking.

And nodded.

Then pulled him into a kiss so hungry it stole his breath.

His hand moved.

Two fingers slid under the elastic edge of her panties, warm and trembling. He touched her slowly, reverently -- and felt it instantly.

Wet.

Soaked.

The kind of heat that made his whole body tighten. Mona moaned into his mouth, her hips arching against his hand, silently begging.

Dan hesitated -- unsure how far.

Mona broke the kiss, gasping.

"Put them inside," she whispered, her voice cracked with need.

And then she kissed him again, more desperately this time, her lips open and urgent, her breath trembling through the contact.

Dan found her opening, slick and welcoming, and slowly eased his fingers in.

She clung tighter to him, her arms gripping his shoulders as her body twitched around the stretch. Her breasts pressed fully against his chest now, the camisole offering no barrier between her hard nipples and his shirt.

He moved slowly at first, curling slightly, unsure of his rhythm.

Mona gasped in his mouth.

"Yes... like that," she panted. "Keep going..."

Encouraged, he angled himself better, bracing his back firmly against the wall. His other hand supported her weight as he thrust two fingers deeper -- slowly, then retreating, then in again.

And with his thumb... he began to rub.

Small, deliberate circles on the swollen nub at the top.

Mona cried out softly, her voice catching in her throat as her hips jerked in his arms.

He kissed her harder, muffling her moans, holding her tighter, stroking her faster now. Her thighs clenched around his waist, her back arched -- she was unraveling quickly.

Dan could feel it in the way her walls tightened around his fingers, in the way her lips faltered, breath skipping.

Then she broke the kiss, threw her head back, and gasped--

"Don't stop--don't stop--ohh--fuck--"

And she came.

Hard.

Her whole body trembling, jerking once, then again -- her thighs twitching around his waist, her nails digging into his shoulder, teeth clenched as the moan tore through her.

Dan held her steady, letting her ride it -- his fingers still moving, slower now but never stopping.

Mona barely had time to catch her breath before he started again -- his fingers curling just a little deeper, his thumb pressing firmer. She gasped, surprised by the persistence.

"Dan--wait--too--ahh--"

But her hips betrayed her -- rolling into him again, her body greedy, overwhelmed, desperate for more.

Dan kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, the side of her neck as he worked her open again.

"You feel so good," he whispered.

"Don't stop," she whimpered. "Please--do it again--make me--"

He didn't speak this time. Just obeyed.

Her second orgasm came harder, faster. She shook against him, thighs clamping so tightly around his back that he grunted under the pressure. Her moan was louder now -- raw, high, unfiltered. She broke the kiss, panting, and let her head fall into his shoulder, her arms limp, breath ragged.

Dan slowly pulled his fingers out, wet and glistening. Her thighs twitched as the air hit her skin.

He held her there -- just holding -- one hand cradling her under her ass, the other stroking slow circles over her back.

Mona finally lifted her head.

Her hair was stuck to her cheek, lips swollen, breath shallow.

She looked at him like she didn't quite believe what just happened.

And then she kissed him again -- slow, grateful, melting.

"Holy fuck..." she whispered into his mouth. "I really wasn't expecting that."

Dan swallowed. "Was that... okay?"

She laughed softly -- not mocking, but wrecked.

"I just came twice," she said. "While hanging in the air. What do you think, Dan?"

He chuckled nervously, and she smiled, kissing his nose.

Mona's body finally began to soften in his arms, her breath slowing. Her head rested against his shoulder, hair damp against his skin, her lips parted in a lazy, satisfied half-smile.

Dan stood there -- stunned, aroused, still hard -- but steady, his hands still under her thighs, fingers gently brushing her skin.

She shifted slightly, her arms still around his neck, and kissed his cheek. Then, with a sigh that was more bliss than exhaustion, she unhooked her legs from around his waist and let them slide down until her feet touched the floor.

Her knees wobbled. Just a little.

Dan's hands stayed at her hips, steadying her.

Mona looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing -- that same wicked glint returning behind her breathless smile.

She leaned in and kissed him again -- slow, deep, grateful. And when she pulled back, her smile widened.

"What a way to say good morning, Dan," she whispered. "You're getting dangerous."

He chuckled, nervous but proud.

"Tea?" she offered, voice soft but casual -- like what had just happened was, somehow, part of their new routine.

Dan nodded wordlessly, still stunned, and followed her into the kitchen.

Mona walked a few steps ahead of him, her panties clinging to her, visibly soaked and darkened between her thighs. Her camisole swayed with each step, just barely covering her from behind, the hem rising as she reached for the kettle.

She poured two cups with practiced ease. Steam rose between them.

And then -- without turning around -- she spoke.

"That was.... wow," she said softly.

Dan looked up.

Mona turned her head over her shoulder, her voice teasing now. "Really good."

She glanced down at herself -- then back at him.

"But," she added, "these panties are ruined."

Dan blinked, speechless.

Mona didn't wait.

Still holding the teacup in one hand, she slid the fingers of her other down her side, hooked them into the waistband -- and slowly, seductively, began peeling them down.

They clung to her skin, sticky with her own arousal, sliding inch by inch over her hips, down the curve of her thighs. She didn't bend -- she let them fall under their own weight, stepping out delicately, still facing away from him.

Then she picked them up -- balled them loosely in her hand -- and with an elegant flick, tossed them into the trash bin by the fridge.

Now she stood there in the soft morning light, bare from the waist down, her camisole hiding nothing, the soft swell of her backside visible with every shift of her posture.

She turned to face him fully now.

And she was completely comfortable -- not hiding, not blushing -- just there, confident in her skin.

"Sit," she said simply, nodding toward the table as if she wasn't still glistening between her thighs. "Before the tea gets cold."

Dan sat down slowly, heart still hammering.

Mona placed his cup in front of him, then settled into her chair across the table, one leg folding underneath her. The position, exposing even more -- but she didn't adjust it.

She just sipped.

Dan's eyes couldn't stop flicking between her face... and her glistening pussy.

Mona caught the glance, enjoying his uneasiness about looking and not looking.

After finishing tea, Mona picked up their cups, walked to the sink with that slow, barefoot sway Dan was starting to recognize as intentional -- every movement somehow sensual without trying too hard.

She rinsed the mugs, water trickling, the faint clink of ceramic grounding the silence.

Then she turned her head over her shoulder and caught him staring.

Her hands moved -- one, then both -- down to her bare ass, cupping it lightly.

"You like it, Dan?" she asked, voice light, teasing.

Dan opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Her brows lifted playfully. She gave her hips a little shake -- barely anything -- and smiled.

"See? It doesn't jiggle," she said with a mock pout.

She gave herself a soft slap, the sound crisp in the quiet kitchen.

"Even when I spank myself..." she said with a sigh, grinning over her shoulder.

Then, turning toward him, she stepped closer -- slow, deliberate -- and stopped in front of him.

Dan stayed frozen, seated, eyes wide, pulse hammering.

Mona turned her back to him again, bending and whispering over her shoulder:

"Try."

He swallowed hard.

"What--me?"

"Yes, you," she said, gently taking his hands and placing them on her hips. "Don't look so scared."

Dan hesitated, fingers twitching against her skin.

Mona waited.

After a long beat, he raised one hand awkwardly and gave her a light, uncertain smack -- barely more than a tap.

Mona blinked.

Then let out a small, unimpressed laugh.

"Come on, Dan," she said, turning her head with a grin. "Even I can do better than that."

He flushed, opening his mouth to apologize, but she beat him to it.

"Do it again," she said, firmer now. "Harder. I want to see it jiggle."

Dan hesitated again.

She leaned in slightly, her ass now inches from his lap, looking over her shoulder, inviting.

Dan's breath caught.

Slowly, he raised his hand again.

This time, the smack was firmer -- sharp, full-palm.

The sound cracked through the air.

Mona gasped.

Then let out a small, pleased hum.

"Mmm... see?" she whispered. "That's better."

Dan's hand hovered, uncertain.

Mona looked over her shoulder at him again.

"Grab my ass," she said, softer now.

Dan placed both hands on her ass now -- gently at first, then fuller, fingers splaying, squeezing the firmness of it, letting himself feel her.

"You like that?" she murmured.

He nodded, cheeks flushed. "Yeah."

Mona smiled -- soft, breathy, a touch amused.

"I told you," she said, her voice low and teasing, "you can touch me anywhere."

She leaned her hips back just enough to press into his palms again, her bare skin brushing the front of his pants.

"But I guess you're not taking full advantage of that."

Her tone wasn't disappointed -- it was inviting. A little challenge wrapped in warmth. She was giving him permission, not just in words, but in body -- encouraging him to want without needing to ask.

Dan's grip shifted slightly, a little firmer this time. She didn't flinch.

Instead, she tilted her head, kissed him lazily over her shoulder -- lips soft, drawn out, her body still pressed into his.

When she pulled away, she held his gaze just long enough to make him ache.

Then she turned and walked off, her bare backside exposed beneath the hem of her camisole, hips swaying with quiet pride, as she disappeared.

Dan stayed frozen in his chair, hands still tingling from the feel of her, pulse thudding against his ribs.

It wasn't even noon yet.

And he already wanted her all over again

Noon - Kitchen, preparing lunch

The sun was higher now, spilling through the glass wall like a spotlight on domestic sin.

They were in the kitchen again, side by side -- chopping, stirring, tasting -- like they'd been doing this for years. Mona had pulled on a pair of soft cotton shorts that clung to her hips, but skipped the bra again. The same camisole from morning hung loosely off one shoulder, the curve of her breast visible every time she leaned forward.

And she leaned forward a lot.

Dan was watching now. Not secretly. Not nervously. Just... watching.

He moved around her with less hesitation -- brushing past her back to reach the fridge, his hand grazing the bare skin of her waist; setting a plate beside her and letting his palm linger just a second longer on her lower back.

Mona noticed. She just didn't say anything.

Not with words.

Instead, she leaned down a little further while opening the oven, her neckline gaping, breasts gently swaying beneath the thin camisole. When she stood back up, she glanced at him with a slow, knowing smile.

Dan stepped behind her, arms brushing the sides of her waist as he reached past her for a spice jar. But he didn't move away. His fingers trailed lightly down her hips, settling there, thumbs brushing under the hem of her shorts.

"You're not wearing panties again," he said quietly against her ear.

"Last pair... got ruined," she replied sweetly.

His hands gripped her hips more firmly now. He kissed her bare shoulder, letting his lips linger on her skin.

"You know," he murmured, "you got your dessert last night, but I didn't."

Mona froze. Then slowly turned around, pressed between him and the counter.

"Oh?" she asked, mockingly serious. "Are you... asking what I think you are asking?"

Dan smiled. "I am not sure what you are thinking."

Mona bit her lip, her voice softer now. "And what are you asking for, exactly?"

Dan looked into her eyes. "You know what... You got me last night, now I want you..." No stammer. No blush. Just him. Present. Hungry. Steady.

Mona looks into his eyes, with a seductive smile, and says, "Let us eat lunch first...?"

Lunch could not have been quicker. Mona clears the plates and puts them in the sink, her back to him, turns her head around, looks him in the eyes, and walks towards the couch. Dan follows.

Mona sinks into the cushions, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. Her legs are bare, parted just enough. The camisole has slipped higher. She doesn't adjust it.

Dan sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, his both hands teasingly moving from feet to calves to thighs, slowly reaching the waistband of her shorts and pulling it off.

Mona, opening her legs completely, using both hands to open her pussy lips, says, "Here is your dessert, have it."

He moved slowly, easing between her legs, kissing the inside of her knee first. Then higher. Then higher still. Her thighs trembled.

His tongue slid between her folds, warm and slow, and she gasped.

"Oh--"

He didn't rush. He licked her like he was savouring something rare, drawing soft circles, tasting her with reverence. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her a little wider, anchoring her to the couch.

Mona tried to prop herself up, her elbows slipping, her breath shaky. "Dan... oh god..."

He flicked gently over her clit, then pulled away just enough to speak.

"You're so wet already," he whispered. "Did I do that?"

She nodded, then whimpered as his tongue returned, this time firmer, more deliberate. He flattened it and dragged it slowly, nose buried against her, inhaling her deeply.

The first wave came quick -- more surprise than surrender -- her thighs clamping slightly around his ears, a high-pitched sound breaking in her throat.

"Ohh--fuck--Dan--"

He didn't stop. He looked up, still licking, "I like the dessert... I want more."

He adjusted his grip, held her firmer, lifted one leg over his shoulder, and opened her up wider. His tongue kept moving, alternating between flicks and pressure, sucking gently at her swollen nub.

Five minutes looked like eternity. The second climax built differently -- slower, heavier. Her hips started rolling on their own, back arching, one hand tangling in his hair.

Her voice was breathy, wrecked. "How the fuck are you so good at this--?"

Dan pulled back just a little, lips glistening.

"I learned," he said simply. "It's why girls kept coming back to me... for a while."

Then he dove back in -- mouth and fingers now. Two fingers inside her, curled perfectly, brushing the right spot inside, his tongue never leaving her clit.

Mona let out a strangled cry. "Oh--oh god--Dan--fuck, I--"

She exploded again -- her second orgasm cresting with a long, drawn-out moan, legs trembling. But Dan didn't stop. He held her there, drove deeper, more focused, relentless.

Mona writhed above him. "Dan--it's too much--fuck--I can't--"

But her hips were betraying her, grinding against his mouth, greedy and feral.

Dan's fingers are moving in a come here motion, repeatedly following the pattern. His tongue relentlessly draws numbers.

She tried to close her thighs around his head, but he just groaned into her, his free hand pinning her hips open. Her moans turned into gasps, her belly tightening.

"Dan--" she whimpered, half-warned, half-pleading. "I can't help..."

And then it hit.

A rush of warmth spilled from her as the third orgasm tore through her, messy, hot, unstoppable. Her thighs shook, her hands flew to her face, breath choking out of her in a cry she couldn't suppress.

Her whole body locking, then bucking -- and she cried out, louder than before. A gush of wetness burst against his face, her hands flying to cover her mouth as her body convulsed.

She squirted. Hard. For the first time in her life.

Dan didn't flinch.

He stayed there, mouth sticky with her taste, tongue still flicking gently as her body slowly came down.

Mona collapsed backward onto the couch, one arm draped over her face, chest heaving, legs still trembling uncontrollably.

"Holy... holy fuck," she panted. "What the--what the hell was that?"

Dan rested his head lightly against her thigh, still licking the spill.

"You... taste good," he said simply, grinning against her skin.

She looked down at him, shocked, stunned, "I have... never... squirted before"

He nodded. "You are welcome..."

Dan climbed up beside her on the couch now, eyes dark, mouth still shiny with her slick. Mona pulled him into a kiss -- tasting herself, not caring, wrapping an arm around his neck.

"Girls don't know what they missed," she whispered between kisses. "With that tongue... that cock... and that sweet little face..."

She smiled, flushed and undone.

"You're a full fucking package, Dan."

He chuckled nervously.

She curled into him, let out a soft laugh -- breathless, dazed -- and shook her head slowly. "You're ruining me," she whispered, not accusing, just stunned. "I don't think I've ever lost control like that..."

They both lay there in a warm, tangled sprawl on the couch -- breath still catching now and then, skin sticky against skin -- until sleep took them for a while.