She kissed her way back up to him, slow and soft, whispering his name like it was a promise.

John reached for her, kissing her again, deeper this time, hands gripping her waist as he rolled them back over. He was over her now, between her thighs, cradled in the warmth of her.

She reached down, gently guiding him.

And when he slid into her pussy,

Everything stopped.

His breath left him in a stutter. His whole body tightened.

He had never felt anything like this.

Every fold of her wrapped around him like silk and fire. Tight, perfect, heat, squeezing him in all the right places.

It was like she was made for him.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck and whispered a curse against her skin.

“Oh my God…”

Before he knew it his body was going and he knew he wasn't going to last.

This wasn’t just sex. This was an unveiling.

He moved slowly, inch by inch, just as slow as he could letting every nerve ending memorize her.

And Candy? She wrapped her legs around his thighs, ankles locking behind him, feet digging into the curve of his ass. Her nails scratched lightly down his back.

Her eyes stayed on his, deep and unwavering.

She didn’t say a word.

But there was a glint—something knowing, something bold.

He usually pulled out. Always had.

But now? Now, his body wasn’t even asking permission.

He thrust deeper, feeling every flex of her around him, and he swore the room blurred.

“Candy,” he groaned, breathless. “I… I can’t…”

He was too far gone.

And she -

She just held on tighter.

That glint never left her eyes.

When he finally came, it was like white-hot lightning ripping through him. His muscles locked, his breath caught, and he poured himself into her - spilling every last drop of cum, body trembling, mind emptied.

She held him close, feet pressing into his backside, milking every drop.

She didn’t say a word, just smiled softly, leaned back slowly, and released her legs.

John moaned, "ughhhh"

And hovered there, head bowed, panting.

Cum was dribbling down his cock.

His arms trembled as he caught himself on the mattress, unsure if he could walk.

She reached up, brushing her fingertips along his cheek, still watching him with that mysterious gaze.

And in that moment, John knew: something irreversible had just happened.

And there was no going back.

As he laid her down, Candy braced against him and rolled them gently so she was on top now. Her hair cascaded around them like a curtain as she leaned down to kiss him again, and her fingers drifted down to stroke him—slow, smooth, deliberate.

He was already hard again, aching.

She looked into his eyes, and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

And then she slid slowly down his body, her lips trailing heat across his skin.

She took him in her mouth slowly, deliberately sucking on the tip of his cock, moaning softly as she tasted his precum.

John groaned, one hand in her hair, the other fisted in the pillow.

She paused at the tip, letting her lips close gently around the tip of his cock, tongue flicking beneath. Then she slid down further, deeper, wrapping him in her mouth in the warmest, slickest embrace—mimicking the soft rhythm of her pussy and his cock being inside her.

She used her mouth like it was her pussy—tight and warm, soft at first, just the head, teasing him with little sucks and the velvet flick of her tongue.

Then she took him deeper, not all the way, just enough to make him feel like he wants to fuck—then slowly eased back, lips gliding smooth, and the suction perfect.

Her rhythm built gradually—like waves. More suction. Then a little more throat. Then the back of her tongue, brushing his tip in ways he didn’t know could feel so good.

John cursed under his breath. "Fuck… Candy…"

His hips arched just slightly, trying not to thrust, trying not to take control. His hands stayed gentle, barely resting on her head, as if scared to interrupt the divine rhythm of her giving.

She moaned around him and that vibration made him nearly come undone.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Jesus Christ… don’t stop…”

Candy didn’t stop. She didn't know how.

She hollowed her cheeks just a little more, played with pressure, and gliding and licking, and just then decided she was going to do long strokes and deeper, and deeper into her throat, deeper, she just needed to breathe a little bit.

He was completely lost.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, barely holding on.

She looked up, eyes glinting, her mouth still wrapped around him.

And he knew—he would never forget this.

And never want anyone else.

John was ravenous—slow, patient, but full of heat. He kissed her thighs with reverence, letting his tongue linger against the delicate skin. He watched the way Candy breathed beneath him, the subtle hitch in her breath every time his lips grazed higher.

He parted her lips with his thumbs and just stayed there for a moment, taking her in. Her scent, her warmth, the slick heat of her arousal—all of it pulled him deeper into his hunger for her.

When he finally tasted her, it was like something ancient unlocked in his chest. He moaned low against her, letting the vibration move through her as his tongue found its rhythm. It wasn’t just that he liked it—it was that he needed it to survive.

Candy’s legs trembled around his shoulders. Her hands clutched the sheets, then his hair, then the sheets again.

And John didn’t let up.

He explored every inch of her pussy with his mouth—slow, then fast, then slow again. He flicked his tongue along the edge where the tip met the shaft of her clit and groaned as she gasped. He did it again.

She cried out—half-moan, half-laughter—because the pleasure was so rich it turned playful. Intimate. Like her body was telling him secrets and he was reading them aloud.

And when she came? It was with a whimper that turned into a gasp that turned into his name.

“Oh my god, John…”

He licked her through it. Held her hips steady. Savored every drop.

Then, slowly, he made his way back up her body, kissing a path up her belly, between her breasts, to her collarbone, her neck.

She pulled him close, and kissed him deep.

And in that kiss, she tasted herself on his tongue, and they both moaned with kinky pleasure.

He picked her up with his slick fingers and face like a predator and moved her to her bedroom, where soft white sheets awaited them.

Her laugh was low. She leaned in and kissed him again, deeper this time. Her hands slid under the hem of his shirt, palm flat against his stomach, then higher, over his chest.

John hissed softly, his whole body responding to her touch.

They were still on the couch, bodies angled just enough to suggest more—but neither made the move yet. Not quite.

Candy whispered against his skin, “I want to take this slow.”

He nodded, lips brushing her forehead.

“So do I.”

And just like that, they settled in. Letting the night stretch open in front of them like a book they were finally ready to read.

The shape of Erica tickled John’s brain stem as he breathed in, but on his breath out he realized Candy’s fingers entwined in his felt natural, felt warm, felt real and he wasn’t going to let this go, not now. They hadn't slept together recently, and did not cross any of these barriers that Candy seemed to leap over on the first night.

He had played this kind of scene in his mind more times than he could count. But nothing—not one memory—felt like this. This wasn’t performance. It was presence. Candy wasn’t just beautiful; she was there with him, matching his energy with something so whole and tuned in, it made him ache in a place deeper than lust.