The Melbourne air had that sharp, smoky chill to it—the kind that makes your breath curl like mist and your thighs press a little tighter under a coat.
I wore black stockings, thigh-high. A wool coat, belted tight at the waist. Underneath? Nothing but a silk slip. No bra. No panties. Just warm skin against cold fabric and the slow burn of anticipation.
He met me outside a hidden cocktail bar on a quiet laneway, where the lamps flickered golden and the night wrapped around us like velvet. He didn’t touch me at first—he just looked. That look. Like he knew exactly what I was hiding beneath my coat.
Inside, we sat tucked away in a corner booth. Dim light. A whisky sour for him. A red wine for me. His knee brushed mine under the table. I didn’t move away.
I leaned in close and whispered, “I’ve been wet since I walked out of the hotel.”
His breath hitched. His eyes darkened. I slid his hand beneath the table, guided it to the inside of my thigh, let him feel the bare skin between the top of my stocking and the heat of me.
No words after that. Just a low groan.
Back at the hotel, we didn’t even bother taking our coats off at the door. He had me pressed against the wall in seconds, his fingers tugging open the belt, slipping inside.
“You weren’t lying,” he growled. “You’re soaked.”
I moaned into his neck as he dropped to his knees, pushed the coat open, and buried his face between my legs. The contrast of his cold hands on my thighs and his warm mouth on my pussy made me gasp—hips rolling against his tongue, fingers tangled in his hair.
When I came, it was sharp and sudden. A rush of heat against the cool of winter air still clinging to the room.
Then he stood, lips wet, eyes wild.
I pushed him back onto the bed, straddled him still wearing my coat, letting it fall open just enough to tease the view. He unzipped just enough to free his cock, hard and pulsing. I gripped him, guided him in, and rode him slow—wet silk and wool brushing his skin, my breath fogging up the window beside us.
“God, you feel unreal,” he moaned.
“Winter makes me needy,” I whispered, bouncing harder.
When we came, it was together. Intense. Messy. Divine.
Later, I lay beside him, bare under the covers while rain tapped softly on the glass.
“You’re dangerous,” he said.
I smiled, pressing a kiss to his neck.
“Only in Melbourne.”