Sensual temptation

„Come into my night, where only desire speaks.“ – Sylvia Day (Crossfire series)

Finally home. Alone. The room glowed in the warm, golden light of the candles Lena had placed everywhere. A flickering glow that bathed everything in a seductive, soft light. The air was heavy with the scent of vanilla sweetness, mixed with a hint of musk that clouded her senses.

The day had been brutal. A project at the law firm that failed—again. A client who didn't understand her vision. Six hours of meetings where she had to raise her voice just to be heard.

Lena took off the silky kimono and let it fall to the floor. Her copper-red hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, shining in the golden candlelight. Underneath, she wore only a sheer lace top in a turquoise blue shade, so transparent that it revealed more than it concealed... and tiny black silk panties that clung to her hips like temptation.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her ice-blue eyes—intense, almost unrealistically bright—looked back at her as if they were looking at a stranger. Her copper hair framed her face like a flame. Her skin glowed in the candlelight. Her nipples were already hard, excited little dots beneath the fine mesh.

Lena sank onto the bed, the cool sheets beneath her thighs. The contrast—the coldness of the fabric against her already warm skin—sent a shiver through her.

Her fingers slowly slid over her bare arms. Goosebumps spread like a wave. When they reached her neck, she couldn't suppress a soft moan. She let her hand slide over her breast, feeling her nipples tighten—hard and sensitive.

Her breathing became faster. Heavier.

She let her hand wander further. Over her flat stomach, which contracted under her touch, until she finally reached the spot her body was crying out for.

Her fingers slid over the delicate fabric of her panties. The friction was so sweet that she became dizzy for a moment. A tremor of desire ran through her. Her legs opened wider automatically as she surrendered to the tingling heat growing inside her.

There were no more rules. No inhibitions. Only the untamed desire that flooded through her and drew her deeper into this intoxication with every touch.

With her eyes closed, she let herself go completely. Her fingers moved relentlessly—faster, deeper—as if this was the only way she could release the unbearable tension that was bubbling up inside her.

The world around them faded away.

Only the heat mattered now. The pressure that grew more intense with every breath. Her hips moved to the rhythm of her fingers, pressing against her own hand.

An ecstatic gasp escaped her as her body trembled with pleasure and her heart pounded wildly. She lost herself in this sweet, intoxicating moment—the first orgasm of the night, but certainly not the last.

But the desire did not subside. This night belonged to her. And she would not hold back.

Her touches became more intense, more uncontrolled.

„Oh yes...” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper as her hand slowly slid over her stomach. The skin beneath felt hot, each touch sending little shivers through her body.

Her breathing quickened. It became heavier.

She slid the hem of her tiny panties down with trembling fingers. The sensitive skin beneath was finally exposed, and she let her fingertips glide over the smooth warmth—barely more than a gentle touch, yet so intense.

„God... that feels so good...” With her other hand, she pushed the delicate lace of her top aside, exposing her breast. Her finger immediately found the sensitive nipple. The hard, aroused spot tensed against her touch, and she massaged it between her thumb and forefinger as a soft, uncontrolled moan escaped her lips.

Her senses were heightened. Everything felt more intense.

The heat spreading through her body became increasingly unbearable. A burning desire crept from her toes to her head. A sweet, exciting pain that drove her crazy.

Her fingers slid deeper, finding the pulsating spot that drove her almost mad with pleasure. Again and again, she let her touch circle, playing with the sensitivity of her own skin as she spread her legs even wider.

The bed creaked softly beneath their movements—a rhythmic squeaking that mingled with their breathing. Outside, rain pattered against the window, a constant drumming that reduced the world to them and this moment.

„Yes... just like that...” A stifled moan escaped her throat. She pushed herself further and further. The pressure grew, building inexorably as her fingers moved faster.

Every thought, every feeling was focused on this one point.

Finally, the wave overwhelmed her, causing her to tremble as she completely let herself go. Her body convulsed with intense pleasure, her breathing coming in irregular, violent gasps.

She lay there, completely devastated, her skin still glowing from the heat she had unleashed within herself. And yet part of her craved more. Much more.

---

A soft knock broke the silence.

Lena froze, her hand still between her legs. Panic shot through her.

Who the hell?

She grabbed her kimono and slipped it on hastily, her heart pounding against her ribs. With trembling fingers, she opened the door—just a crack.

Marco.

Her neighbor next door. Tall, muscular, with dark hair that fell untamed across his forehead. His lips curved into a smile—not a dirty grin, but something more subtle. His eyes scanned her with undisguised interest, gliding over her barely covered body.

„I heard you,” he said simply. His voice was rough, deep, imbued with undisguised desire.

Her cheeks burned. „And?”

„And I thought you might... need some company.”

She should have slammed the door. She should have told him to fuck off. Instead, she heard herself ask, „What do you want?”

He took a step closer. She could smell him—sandalwood, musk, a hint of rain. „I could ask you the same question, Lena.”

Her name from his mouth. She had never spoken to him. Where from?

„Mailbox,” he said, as if he had read her mind. „Lena Fischer, 4B.”

„Creepy.”

Silence...

Lena didn't open the door any further. „What exactly are you offering?”

Marco laughed softly—a dark, knowing sound. „Direct. I like that.”

„I don't have time for games.” A lie. She had all the time in the world. And he knew it.

„Good.” He leaned closer, his face just inches from hers. „Then I'll say it clearly: I came here because the silence in my apartment is driving me crazy. And I came here because I heard that you understand what that means.”

„I don't know you,” she said.

„No. But you're curious. Otherwise, you would have closed the door long ago.”

Damn. He was right.

„What do you want, Marco?” Her voice was sharper, more defensive.

„I want to give you what you obviously need. But only if you let me in. And only if you're willing to admit that you want it too.”

Silence.

Lena's hand was on the door handle. A decision. Give up control? Or send him away?

„On one condition,” she finally said.

„Which ones?”

„No lies. No games. When I say stop...”

„...then I'll stop.” He finished her sentence. „Agreed.”

She stepped aside. The door opened.

---

Marco closed the door, the click of the lock echoing through the silence. He didn't move, just stood there, his hands loosely at his sides.

„You're standing there as if you're waiting for instructions,” Lena said, her voice sharp.

„I do too.”

„From me?”

„From you.” His eyes never left hers.

She crossed her arms. „You're the one who came here. You wanted...”

„I wanted to make you an offer,” he interrupted her gently. „But I won't take anything that isn't reciprocated.”

Lena laughed incredulously. „What if I have nothing to say in response?”

„Then I'll leave and leave you alone.” Simple. Clear.

She believed him.

That was the problem.

They said nothing for several minutes. The silence was electric, charged with everything that was left unsaid.

Then Lena stepped closer. One step. Then another. Until she was standing right in front of him, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body.

„I don't want a relationship,” she said quietly but firmly. „I don't want any promises. I want...”

She swallowed hard. „I just want to feel. Just tonight.”

Marco slowly raised a hand and brushed a strand of hair from her face. The touch was so gentle that it hurt.

„I can give you that,” he said. „But only if you trust me.”

„Trust?” Her laughter sounded bitter. „I don't even know you.”

„That's right.” He tilted his head, his face only inches from hers. „And yet here we are, standing in your apartment.”

She hated that he was right.

The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Too full of possibilities.

Then he leaned forward.

His mouth found hers with a certainty that left no room for questions. The kiss was not wild, not greedy. It was... precise. Controlled. Demanding.

Lena froze, her hands hovering helplessly in the air. But then she tasted it—coffee, mint, something dark and indefinable—and something inside her gave way.

Her lips parted.

His tongue slid between them, exploring them with a slowness that was almost cruel. Every touch calculated, every movement intentional.

He kissed her as one would decipher a secret.

Lena's hands finally found his neck, her fingers burying themselves in his hair. She pulled him closer, wanting more, needing more.

But Marco controlled the pace. His hands slid to her waist, gripped her tightly, pulled her so close that there was no space left between them.

„Take your clothes off...” she gasped against his mouth.

„Not yet,” he murmured, his smile touching her lips. „We have time.”

„I don't want time.” Her voice broke.

„Yes, you do.” He gently bit her lower lip. „Trust me.”

And damn it—she did.

He slowly led her to the bed. Gently, but insistently. His hands were everywhere—on her waist, her back, her buttocks—leaving burning marks on her skin.

The kimono slid off her shoulders like water, winding its way around her feet.

Lena stood in front of him wearing a thin lace top and tiny panties that barely covered anything. Marco took a step back. He looked at her.

Not greedy. Not lustful.

Devoutly.

„You are beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding rough, almost broken.

Lena laughed nervously. „That's what all men say.”

„No.” He shook his head. „I don't just mean your body. I mean... you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

„Maybe you should get to know me first.” Her voice trembled.

He did it.

Marco laid her on the bed—gently, not roughly. Then he knelt beside her and began to touch her. First her shoulders, then her arms, stomach, and hips. He deliberately avoided her breasts and her center.

Frustration was building up.

„I'll fall asleep right away...” whispered Lena, unable to hold back the words.

„What do you want?” His fingers danced across her stomach, circled her belly button, slid lower—but not low enough.

„You know exactly what I want.”

„Say it anyway.” He leaned over her, his breath hot against her cheek. „I want to hear it.”

„Don't be so timid. Damn it, just touch me.”

His laugh was dark, satisfied. „Where?”

„Everywhere...”

His hand closed around her breast, squeezing. Not gently. Not brutally. Perfectly.

Lena cried out, her back arching off the bed. His thumb stroked her hard nipple, circling, pressing. His other hand slid between her legs, rubbing over the thin fabric of her panties.

„God—yes—everywhere...” She couldn't think clearly anymore.

„Patience,” he murmured, but his own control was showing cracks. She could hear it in his breathing—faster, more irregular.

Marco pulled her panties down over her hips, over her legs, and tossed them carelessly aside. Lena now lay completely naked before him, her legs spread, her body trembling with anticipation.

„Nice,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. His hands slid along the inside of her thighs, spreading them further apart.

Then he leaned forward.

The first contact of his tongue against her most sensitive spot made Lena gasp loudly. The taste—salty, intimate, intense—spread across his lips. He closed his eyes, letting himself be overwhelmed by it.

The sound—wet, obscene, primitive—filled the room. She could hear his tongue sliding against her flesh, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her own voice turning into an animalistic whimper.

His tongue circled her clitoris, pressing, licking, sucking. Then a finger slid inside her—slowly, deeply. Then two. They crept inward, searching, finding—there. The spot that made her tremble.

„Oh God—Marco—I can't do this...”

„Yes,” he murmured against her, the vibration of his voice sending shivers through her. „You can. Just let go.”

His tongue moved faster, harder, while his fingers worked deep inside her. The scent of their bodies—her musk mixed with his sandalwood and sweat—was overwhelming.

„I'm—oh God—I'm coming...”

„Yes.” His command. His permission.

And it broke.

The orgasm swept through her like a storm, causing her body to tense up and her hips to press against his face. A cry escaped her—loud, uncontrolled—as wave after wave rolled through her.

Marco didn't stop. He licked her through every spasm, every aftershock, until she lay trembling, panting, completely exhausted in front of him.

Only then did he withdraw, slowly wiping his mouth, his gaze satisfied, possessive.

„Not a bad start,” he said.

---

Lena was still lying breathless, her body trembling from the aftereffects, when Marco sat up.

She watched him unbutton his shirt—slowly, deliberately, as if he knew she was watching him. His upper body came into view. Defined muscles, a thin scar above his rib, his broad chest.

Then the pants. Quickly take them off, boxers down.

He stood before her, completely naked, and Lena couldn't help but marvel. His member was hard, dark red, pulsing—visual proof of how much he wanted her.

„Do you like what you see?” His voice was flirtatious, knowing.

Instead of answering, Lena sat up—slowly, deliberately. She was still dazed, her legs wobbly, but something inside her had awakened. Something wilder.

„Stay where you are,” she commanded.

He chuckled softly. „Is that an order?”

„Yes.” She stood up, her eyes remaining fixed on his. „Problem?”

„No.” He leaned back and waited. „Interesting.”

Lena moved closer, her hand encircling his hard member. He flinched at her touch, a soft moan escaping him.

„Just a minute ago, you wanted me to obey you,” she said with a smile that was pure malice. „What has changed?”

„Nothing.” His eyes were dark, intense. „I just want to see where this leads.”

„Let yourself be surprised.” She pushed him—gently but firmly—onto the bed.

For a moment, he didn't resist. He let himself be pushed in, landing on his back, Lena stroking his hips. Her hands pressed against his chest, her nails digging gently into his flesh.

„You're trying to control me,” he remarked, his smile undiminished.

„Yes,” she whispered. „And I'm damn good at it.”

„I can see that.”

Lena slowly lowered herself, her eyes on his face. She wanted to see his reactions. Every one.

Her lips first touched his inner thighs, pressing gentle kisses onto his warm skin. Marco inhaled sharply, his hands digging into the sheets.

„I thought I was in control?” His voice was already hoarse, tense.

„You had her.” She slowly licked a trail along his thigh. „But now it's my turn.”

She slid her tongue over his scrotum—gently, pleasurably—and he flinched.

„Damn...” The word escaped him like a curse, like a prayer.

Lena laughed softly, the sound vibrating against his skin. She could feel his whole body tense, waiting, hoping.

They kept him waiting.

Instead, she kissed around him—everywhere except where he needed it. Her tongue played with the base of his member, provocative, insolent.

„Please...” The word burst out of him like a confession.

„What?” She looked up at him, her eyes wild with power. „Tell me what you want.”

„You. I want...”

She lowered her mouth onto him.

He cried out—an uncontrolled sound that came from deep in his throat. His member was hot, hard, pulsing against her tongue.

Lena moved slowly, deliberately, letting him feel every inch. Her lips slid firmly along his length while her tongue made small circles. She could taste him—salty, masculine, unique.

„God, Lena—you are—” He couldn't finish his sentence.

She sped up, taking him deeper, her hand wrapped around the base and moving in the same rhythm. His body twitched beneath her, his hips thrusting upward—an unconscious urge for more.

She let him.

She let it slide into her mouth as they quickened their movements. Not roughly, not brutally, but with a precision that began to tear him apart.

„Damn it—I'm coming—if you don't stop—”

She stopped.

She pulled back, her lips gliding over his tip before she sat up. His gaze was lost, confused, hungry.

„Not yet,” she said with a satisfied smile.

„Damn...” But his tone was fascinated, not angry.

„You provoked me,” she said. „Now you'll learn what it means when I'm in control.”

Lena positioned herself above him, her knees on either side of his hips. She could feel the air vibrating between them—electric, tense, primitive.

„Let me do it,” she said quietly. „No talking. No control. Just... give me what I want.”

Marco nodded, his jaw tense, his eyes dark as a storm.

Lena grabbed his member and slowly positioned it against herself. The tip pressed against her wet center, and a shiver ran through both of them.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she lowered herself onto him.

The sensation was overwhelming—its hardness, its size, the way it filled her perfectly. She could feel every inch, every pulse, as she lowered herself further.

„Oh God...” Her breath caught in her throat.

„You're so damn tight,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

She ignored him, concentrating only on the sensation—how he slid into her until he was completely inside her.

Then she remained silent for a moment, her eyes closed, her body trembling.

The scent of their bodies—her musk, his sandalwood, both of them sweating—was overwhelming. The sound: wetness, deep breaths, the silent intensity of two people on the verge of complete loss.

„Wait...” His hands grabbed her hips. „I need...”

But Lena had already begun to move.

Slowly at first—a rising and falling that made them both tremble. She opened her eyes, looked down at him, saw the pure lust and submission on his face.

„Mmm—yes...” She quickened the pace, her hips circling, her body swaying fluidly.

She was in control.

She leaned down and kissed him—hard, demanding—as she rode him. His taste—sweat, intensity, something sweet—filled her mouth.

Marco tried to move his hips, wanting to ride along, but Lena pulled away.

„No,” she said, her lips still pressed against his. „This is MY pace.”

He froze, only his chest rising heavily beneath her.

Lena continued her rhythm—faster now, deeper, her body sliding over his. With every movement, his base pressed against her clitoris, and a sharp shiver ran through her.

„God—it feels like—you are...” Marco's words were fragmented, barely coherent.

She enjoyed it. The control. The fact that this intelligent, dominant man was helpless beneath her.

But then—he moved.

Just slightly, a small movement of his hips to penetrate her deeper.

Lena paused, her eyes widening. „Why aren't you listening?”

„I'm sorry—I can't...”

„Yes, you can.” She pressed her wrists against his chest, pushing him harder into the bed. „Stay still, damn it.”

That was... Lena's innermost being was now not only in control. It was dominant. Possessive. Wild.

She rode him faster, her whole body working, drenched in sweat, burning with desire. It wasn't just lust. It was power. It was the feeling of having another person—this person—under her complete control.

Marcos' eyes rolled back almost completely, his body twitched, fighting the urge to move.

„Lena—damn it—I can't—much longer...”

„I know,” she whispered, relishing it. „Wait for me.”

She pressed down on him faster, the pressure in her stomach building—a familiar heat that grew with every thrust. She was close. So close.

She looked down at him—at his contorted face, the tendons in his neck, the way he trembled. That power. That intimate power.

„Come...” His plea was rough, imploring. „Let me...”

„Not yet...”

But it was too much. For both of them.

The orgasm hit her like an electric shock. Her body tensed around him as she let out a raucous cry that was too wild to hold back.

Marco held on for just a moment, then surrendered—his body pressed into her, a loud groan escaping him as he exploded his hot seed inside her.

They sat, connected to each other, trembling, breathless.

---

„My turn,” Marco muttered, his tone dark.

Before Lena could protest, he rolled her over. Her breasts hit the sheets, her hips lifted automatically—instinct, not negotiation.

He positioned himself behind her, his member—still hard—pressing against her entrance.

„You're playing a dangerous game,” he whispered against her neck before slowly sinking into her.

Lena gasped, unable to respond as the depth of this position overwhelmed her. He was as deep as possible, pressing against areas she had forgotten existed.

„God—yes—hard—please...”

And this time he didn't negotiate. This time there was no power play. This time it was pure instinct.

His thrusts were fast, precise, driven. His hands grabbed her hips, pressing her against him as he drove into her. The sounds—wet, primitive, unfiltered—filled the room.

Lena pressed her face into the sheets, her breath coming in wild gasps.

„Damn, Lena—you're so hot...”

An arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her hips, changing the angle. The next thrust hit the exact spot that made her scream.

„Cry for me.”

And she did.

With every thrust, she screamed—his name, curses, prayers. She was no longer an architect. She was pure body, pure sensation.

Marcos' movements became wilder, less controlled. His control—that damn, perfect control—collapsed under the weight of his lust.

„I'm coming—damn it—you're making me...”

„YES!” Lena pushed herself back against him. They were no longer being strategic. They were no longer in a power struggle.

They were simply two people who needed each other.

His orgasm came hard, involuntarily, a cry escaping his throat as he pressed himself deep into her. And Lena came with him—an orgasm triggered by his spasms.

They fell together, entangled, sweating, breathless...

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