My new boyfriend

Everything began when John took me out for dinner on Valentine's Day. Midway through the meal, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. As he left, he slid an email across the table with a wink. "Happy Valentine's Day, love."

I opened it. It was from a bachelor named Paul—mature, self-assured, with a deep voice I'd soon discover—and included his number. When John returned, I raised an eyebrow. "Your fantasy," he said with a smile. "Call him when we get home if you want to make it real."

A few glasses of wine later, I did. Paul sounded even sexier than his photo suggested, and just hearing him speak made me squirm in my seat, thighs clenched, already soaked. We agreed to meet the following weekend at a quiet hotel bar. If there was chemistry, we'd see where the night took us.

The evening arrived. I chose a short skirt, a nearly nonexistent lace thong, sheer stockings, and a silky blouse hugging every curve. When I spotted Paul across the bar—tall, broad-shouldered, silver streaking his dark hair—I thought: Yes, you'll do just fine.

We talked, laughed, flirted shamelessly. John kissed my cheek and discreetly vanished, leaving us alone.

Paul's fingers traced lazy circles on my hand, then slid up my thigh beneath the table. Each touch sent sparks straight to my clit. I was dripping before we finished our second drink.

"There's a room upstairs," he murmured. "The vibe is good. Only if you want."

I kissed him—slow, obscene, promising—and went to find John. My husband's eyes darkened with lust at my expression. "Go ahead," he rasped. "I'll be at the bar when you're done."

Back at the table, I whispered: "Room 109." Paul's smile could melt steel. He disappeared to check in while I waited, heart racing, pussy throbbing with anticipation.

The text came: 109. I kissed John one more time—deep, grateful, mischievous—and practically floated down the hallway.

Paul opened the door wearing only his half-unbuttoned shirt. As it closed, we lunged at each other, mouths hungry, hands everywhere. He walked me backward until my knees hit the bed, laid me down, and trailed kisses along my neck while his palm slid beneath my skirt.

When his fingers brushed the soaked lace between my legs, he growled: "God, you're already dripping for me."

He shoved my thong aside and thrust a thick finger inside me. I arched off the mattress, a moan escaping. I fumbled with his belt, freed his cock—burning hot, heavy, hard as stone—and stroked him until he hissed my name.

Clothes vanished in a frenzy. He stood naked before me, slowly pumping himself as he devoured me with his gaze. "I've been hard since the moment you walked in wearing that sexy skirt."

I knelt, licked his length from base to tip, then took him all the way down. He tasted clean and salty, precome pearling at the head. I worked him with my mouth until his thighs shook, then released him with a wet pop—I wanted him in me, not down my throat.

Paul flipped me onto my back, spread my thighs, and buried his face between them. His tongue was relentless—long swipes along my folds, tight circles on my clit—until I ground against his mouth, fingers tangled in his hair, coming so hard the room spun.

He crawled up my body, kissed me so I could taste myself, and growled: "I need to be inside you now."

I pushed him onto his back, straddled him, lined his cock with my entrance, and sank down inch by delicious inch until he was fully sheathed. We moaned together. At first I rode him slow, savoring the stretch, then faster, chasing clit friction with every roll of my hips.

His hands gripped my ass, spread me open, a thumb circling my tight back hole until I begged. "I want you everywhere," I panted. "Fuck my ass, Paul. Please."

He needed no encouragement. I got on all fours, back arched, offering myself. He slicked his cock with my juices, pressed the head against my clenched rim, and pushed in—slow, steady, perfect. The burn melted into pure pleasure as he bottomed out.

He began to move, shallow thrusts building to a wrecking pace while I pushed back, screaming with each drive. When I came again, squeezing around him, he pulled out and painted my ass and lower back with thick ropes of cum.

We collapsed, breathless and laughing, exchanging lazy kisses until we could move. Eventually I dressed, thighs still trembling, and left wearing the biggest, most satisfied smile of my life.

John waited in the lobby, eyes blazing at the sight of me. We didn’t even reach the car before I knelt in the front seat, taking him all the way down my throat as he drove. He nearly swerved off the road when he exploded—thick, hot, delicious—and I swallowed every drop.

We barely crossed our doorstep before he bent me over the couch, then again in bed, finally coming in my ass just before dawn.

We fell asleep tangled together at sunrise. When I woke the next afternoon, I still had to pinch myself to believe it had really happened.

The best Valentine’s gift ever.