4

The click of the lock echoes in the quiet apartment, and Celeste is already shedding her silk blouse, half-turned from the door. "No small talk, huh?" Nate's low voice rumbles with amusement, a slight grin playing on his lips as he bends to untie the laces of his work boots. He comes straight from a job site; the faint, earthy scent of sawdust clings to his worn jeans and the simple white t-shirt stretched taut across his broad chest. He looks rugged and casual, utterly delectable, a raw masculinity that is both unsettling and incredibly appealing. His late thirties sit well on him, his body a testament to meticulous care, much like the cases she once handled with such precision.

He still thinks she is practicing law, arguing high-stakes divorces, a demanding career that perfectly justifies her insistence on nothing more than casual encounters. It isn't entirely a lie, of course. She is still an attorney, barred and meticulously maintaining that status, but the days of battling in court are long behind her. This convenient half-truth suits her perfectly, a shield against any messy emotional demands, leaving her free for the kind of raw, uncomplicated urgency that now thrums between them.

As Nate kicks off his boots, Celeste strides towards him, her fingers already fumbling with the final tiny buttons of her blouse. He senses the coiled impatience in her posture, the hungry gleam in her eyes, and wastes no time. A fluid motion, and he scoops her up, hiking her skirt high on her hips in one swift movement. His mouth claims her throat, a bruising, hungry kiss that tastes of sweat, sawdust, and something uniquely Nate. Celeste's head falls back, baring her neck, her hands tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer, anchoring herself to his solid form. He keeps kissing, a trail of fire down her jawline and across her collarbone, as he walks her backward. The cool, unforgiving marble of the kitchen counter presses against her bare lower back as he gently lowers her, settling his powerful thighs between hers. Even through the remaining layers of her skirt, she feels the hard, insistent press of his arousal against his jeans, a blunt demand that instantly sends a molten heat blossoming in her core, spreading rapidly through her veins.

"Fuck me," Celeste says, her voice a breathy, impatient whisper. The familiar phantom weight of his hard cock inside her, the gentle stretch of him filling her entirely, is so close she can practically feel it, needs to feel it.

"Soon," Nate rumbles, a delicious promise in the single word. He hooks his arms underneath her thighs and pulls her ass to the very edge of the cool marble counter. Celeste pushes up on her elbows, ready to scold him, to insist he take his pants off and fuck her, but there is no time for words. He is already kneeling, his head between her thighs, and his deft fingers push the lace of her panties to the side.

He makes eye contact with her as he runs two fingers gently between her wet folds and then brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them. Celeste’s mouth hangs open in arousal. "You taste so good," he moans, diving between her thighs. His mouth is on her, parting her with his tongue, which he is more than adept with as he twirls, kisses, and sucks her to the very edge of an orgasm. She lays back on the cool marble, which does nothing to cool her rising temperature. She wraps her legs around Nate’s shoulders, hooking her ankles as she puts her hands into his hair and pulls, bucking her hips into his mouth in instant circular motions.

Just as Celeste crests the wave, poised on the very precipice of release, Nate's hands clench on her ankles, pulling them wide. His mouth lifts from her, the sudden absence a sharp, almost cruel shock. Her eyes snap open, a frustrated gasp catching in her throat, but the distinct click of his belt buckle, followed by the familiar, intimate rasp of his zipper, instantly shifts her focus. A wicked heat blooms through her. He knows exactly how to drive her to the edge, then pull her back for the delicious fall.

She watches, a slow, knowing smile touching her lips, as he tears open a condom packet. Her gaze tracks the deliberate journey of his hand, rolling the latex slowly down the throbbing, engorged length of him. Her core clenches in hungry anticipation, a deep ache demanding to be filled. Celeste places one hand on his shoulder, her fingers digging slightly into his warm skin, and her other hand presses flat against the cool marble, bracing herself. She steadies for the weight, for the glorious, inevitable press of him, for what comes next.

Without hesitation, Nate lifts her thighs, positioning her, and plunges into her. This isn't lovemaking; this is pure, raw pleasure—hard, rough, and precisely what she needs. Celeste leverages herself, pressing her hand into the cool marble, meeting each of his powerful thrusts with a buck of her own hips. Nate's eyes meet hers, a wild, primal fire blazing in their depths. A low, guttural "fuck" rips from his throat, veins bulging in his neck as he drives deeper, faster.

"Harder!" Celeste demands, her voice hoarse, barely a whisper.

Nate's responding laugh is low, a promising growl that vibrates through her. He pulls Celeste off the counter, holding her suspended for a moment, letting her legs wrap around his waist. She starts to ride him, a desperate, rising undulation, but he cuts her off, spinning her quickly. He places her feet back on the floor, then swiftly bends her over the counter, guiding her until her chest and stomach rest against the cool, unforgiving surface. With his foot, he expertly pushes her legs wider, then positions the head of his cock at her slick entrance, just barely pushing inside, a tantalizing torment.

"How hard?" he asks, his voice rough with suppressed desire.

A wicked smile curls on Celeste’s lips, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Make me forget my name," she replies.

Nate plunges into her then, a relentless, punishing rhythm. Her hips slam into the hard edge of the marble with each thrust, a rhythmic impact that promises bruises in the morning—sweet reminders for the next few days. "Yes!" Celeste screams, the sound swallowed by the violent slap of his pelvis against her ass, a primal symphony of collision. He grips her wrists with one hand, pinning them behind her back, while the other palms the back of her hip, digging into her curves. She buries her face against the counter, letting go, letting the exquisite agony of her orgasm rip through her. Nate follows shortly after, with three slow, final thrusts, his own release a deep groan against her ear. He releases her hands and bends, pressing a hot kiss to the back of her shoulder before finally, slowly, pulling out.