The sun was already high over the harbour by the time I met him at the ferry terminal. A perfect Sydney day—golden light, soft breeze, that kind of casual magic the city does so effortlessly.
I wore a floaty summer dress—thin straps, low back, and a skirt that moved like air around my thighs. Just sheer enough to tease, just short enough to tempt. No bra. No panties. The kind of dress that clings when there’s heat between your legs.
He wore tailored shorts and sunglasses, all coastal confidence and quiet heat.
We didn’t kiss when we met. Just a slow smile. A quiet understanding.
The ferry ride was its own kind of foreplay—legs brushing, my hand resting on his thigh, the occasional glance that said I’m going to ruin you later. We spoke about everything and nothing as the Opera House and the city glided past.
We had a long, late lunch at Icebergs. Pasta, perfectly made. A crisp bottle of wine, glass chilled just enough to tickle the tongue. The view over Bondi was beautiful, but his hand on my thigh under the table was what really had me glowing.
After he took a bite of tiramisu, I leaned in and whispered, “I’m not wearing anything under this.”
His jaw flexed. And for a moment, he stopped breathing.
Back at the hotel, the energy shifted.
I let my dress slip off in the hallway as he fumbled with the room key. I wasn’t teasing—I just couldn’t wait. He followed me in like a man chasing something sacred.
I dropped onto the bed, legs spread, still damp from the ocean, my skin sun-kissed and needy. He knelt between my thighs without a word.
He licked me through the heat first—slow, deep, deliberate. I moaned and arched, fingers in his hair, hips moving without permission.
“Off,” I whispered, lifting my hips as he peeled the fabric aside.
His mouth on my bare pussy was slow torture—lapping, sucking, fingers curling deep inside me until I came with my thighs trembling around his face.
But I wasn’t done.
I led him to the window, pulling him behind me, still naked and flushed. The skyline glittered beneath us—Darling Harbour spread out like a secret.
I bent over the glass, palms flat, ass high.
“Fuck me here.”
He entered me slow, hands gripping my hips, kissing my spine as he filled me inch by inch. I could see our reflection in the glass—his body behind mine, my eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in pleasure.
When he came, it was with his name tangled in my moan.
Later, we lay tangled in hotel sheets, windows open, the sound of the city humming below us.
He kissed my shoulder and whispered, “That was more than I imagined.”
I turned to him and smiled.
“Sydney brings out the best in me.”